Shemeskas Planescape Storyhour

Todd Stewart

December 7, 2012
Thanks to Shemeska, ENWorld, etc.
Preface

The wind from the void contrasted bitterly as it rushed with gale force over the burning slopes

of Khalas. Beneath its rage, unyielding in its face, an iron city crawled upon legs of grafted flesh

over the landscape of Gehennas first furnace. Titanic and eternal, the Crawling Citadel had

existed since before the rise of Dis in Baator and Tunarath in the Astral. Of those cities that

still existed upon the planes, only Sigil could truly claim to have utterly predated it.

Within the depths of the city the first Ultroloth, the General of Gehenna himself sat and

pondered over a great table of maps, diagrams and figures. He sat tracing out the desired path

of the armies of both the Baatezu and Tanarri, and the required actions of the Yugoloths in order

to balance both sides in the war, yet make it seem as nothing more than the eternal stalemate

between the sides. Let no pattern of influence fall to the eyes and minds of the other fiends.

Let them remain ignorant of the truth, and even ignorant of his existence. After all, his very

hand had played a role in their very creation as the waste left over from his purification of the

Yugoloths.

Around his neck upon a chain of cold iron hung a black sapphire that gleamed with an

inner luminescence, the Heart of Darkness, the artifact that he had created at the tutelage and

instruction of his makers, the Baernaloths, the Gloom Fathers, the first fiends. The inner light

of the Heart shed its faceted patterns and shadows across the maps before The General, the rest

of the chamber a study in inky darkness, and empty except for its maker.

With brilliant ease the prince of Ultroloths balanced armies and tugged upon the strings of

power that would profit his race and provide the raw data of their grand experiment into the

nature of evil that was the Blood War. This time however, something weighed upon the being

of The General, a subtle but persistent tug upon his black soul. For the first time in eons he was

uncertain and troubled by this. Whatever it was, it seemed oddly familiar upon his mind as if he

had once before felt its touch. The General paused and pondered, his eyes shifting in patterns

of malign color, with not a drop of emotions behind them in the cold and detached clinical evil

that permeated the thoughts in his brain.

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In the darkness behind the General, the shadows stirred suddenly and took form, congealing

rapidly into a figure that stood heads above the ultraloth prince. Milky, cataract filmed eyes

gazed down upon the General as the form placed its bony hands upon his shoulders. The General

did not react at the touch, seemingly unfazed and unconcerned at the beings sudden presence.

It lurked above and behind him, gazing silently across his work with a mad and knowing

gleam in its features and its mannerisms. Despite the fact that the greatest Yugoloth since the

very beginning of time stood beneath this second being, the chamber felt polluted and sullied

by its presence, something more foul than its normal occupant by far.

You have a feeling in your brain that you cannot shove to the side, or destroy or dominate

or explain. That troubles you my child, does it not?

The General spoke without turning to face his better, Yes it does. And Ive felt it once

before, when I was newly formed from the Waste, when you first spoke to me. It was there then,

but I never felt it again till today. Tell me, what is it?

The Baernaloth, Lazarius Ibn Shartalan, The Architect smiled a rictus grin down at his

creation and tool. Diseased and noxious thoughts bubbled to the surface of his pit of a mind

and he spoke once more, Something stirs my little chosen one, first of your kind. Something

that stirs the winds of the lower planes and forces events and processes into being in its wake.

Something that would destroy you if we allowed it to do so. But that is not what we wish, and

not what we have planned. You are destined for much that has not come into being yet, and

neither will this deviate you from your destiny. No, it will forge it.

The General of Gehenna turned and looked up at this one of his makers with respect bordering

upon awe, Tell me what I must do then.

The Architect leered and replied as The Heart of Darkness dimmed at random, but seemingly

in response to his words, Then listen and do as I instruct. This is what you must do...

*****

In a forsaken corner of Krangath, the frozen and dead 4th furnace, a bitter wind stirred the

ash of a vale cut into the flank of the mount. Sitting upon the broken block of stone that was

once, and would be the foundation stone of a buttress to the shattered cathedral whose ruins

stood before him, Sarkithel Fek Parthis looked up from his musings. The ashes upon the ground

stirred in agitation with the fevered thoughts of the Baernaloth as his dead white eyes sparkled

with madness.

It begins, finally it begins.

The Chronicler, 5th of the Gloom Fathers screamed aloud into the sky, a manic bellow of
3

exultation passing from his wasted lips and echoing out across the ravaged foundations of the city

that surrounded him. The incinerated and frozen ashes of fiends and celestials alike stood around

him as well with expressions of shock, panic and fear patterned across their faces, statues of solid

ash all of them. Sarkithel paused in his excitement as a fit of phlegmatic coughing overtook him

and several minutes later he stopped and wiped flecks of blood from his sallow lips.

Just as we said, just as we planned, everything will fall into place. All that remains to be

done is to wait and to watch for the signs to manifest themselves. Isnt that right?

The Baern chuckled to himself and gazed once more around himself to the city of ash and

its dead as the wind began to rise and the ashes began to whisper back to him in fear and

apprehension of it all happening again.

*****

At the same time deep in the hinterlands of Pluton, third layer of the Waste, the fiend once

called Oinoloth, then and now called Anthraxus the Decayed seethed in displeasure. Gazing

across the blighted, dead landscape of stunted trees and despair taken physical form, he felt a

surge of purpose. Too much time had passed since he had stepped down from his position as

Oinoloth of the Wasting Tower of Khin-Oin in favor of the Ultraloth Mydianchlarus. The words

that his usurper had whispered to him had, at the time, filled him with fear and shock. At their

potency alone he had abdicated the Seige Malicious and surrendered his position to his lesser.

Those words had spoken of his own doom in the shadow of Khin-Oin, of prophecy whispered

by the Baernaloths, and things to come. But none of it had come to pass, not a single bit of

those truths had become a reality. He had been deceived and his hunt for confirmation of those

same words had come to naught, a chase after shadows, legends and half-truths. His search for

confirmation had even led him to approach the deities of the Waste, those spawn of mortal belief,

and to abase himself before them in hope of being granted their power as a proxy. All of them

had spurned his attempts. The Godless Yugoloth had remained so.

Anthraxus turned away from his gazing across Pluton and the Hill of Bone and towards the

city of Center. There it would start and it would end at Khin-Oin when he reclaimed his throne

and rightful position as lord of his race. Lies would not stop him this time. The once and future

Oinoloth would come into his rightful place again.

*****

The tortured screams and agonized howls of the petitioners molded to form the walls of the

Tower of Incarnate Pain were music to the ears of a jet black Arcanaloth who sat and smiled
 4

within a chamber at its apex. Vorkannis the Ebon looked with the reddish pink eyes of an albino,

oddly contrasting with his shadowy coat, at the projected images of his guests. They were a

cross-section of their rank within the Yugoloth hierarchy, the powerful and the influential, all

unable to take their proper role under the yoke of the faceless masters of Khin-Oin.

The Ebon stood and spoke, Mydianchlarus is worried over reports that Anthraxus seeks

to regain his position atop Khin-Oin. Good, thats how it was meant to be. Anthraxus has a

burning hatred now and an eagerness for allies and old connections to fall to his side. He needs

to build his base of power before he can challenge his successor.

He sneered and bared gleaming fangs, pausing for effect as he looked at the other two looking

back to him. This is where we have our chance to play them both for fools and claim what is

ours.

The image of the red robed, chocolate furred Arcanaloth to The Ebons left spoke, You

sound as if you planned this from the start, or at least know more about this than youre willing

to let on. I can certainly muster a significant force on my own, and you as well from Bubonixs

old position. We all still wonder how you managed that. But again, how can you be so certain

of this?

Vorkannis smiled, amused at the question, You sound so much like Larsdana when you have

doubts. She would be proud of you, is proud of you. You will tell her I give my regards after

our meeting, yes? Such a light upon your work she is still.

Helekanalaith the Keeper of the Tower of the Arcanaloths looked taken aback and once again

he pondered how in the hells his compatriot knew certain things. Hed been asking himself that

question for centuries now as The Ebon had climbed the ladder of power quickly and without

question. It didnt entirely make sense. For starters hed simply walked out of the Waste without

a past, at least as far as he could tell.

Indeed. Send me the information you promised and Ill set the wheels into motion from my

own position, only if you can assure me of certain things. And if I receive certain things. Youve

yet to ask my price for aid in this gamble, Im risking everything.

The Ebon glanced away from the Keeper and towards the other image where the 3rd Ar-

canaloth sat and slowly preened before a mirror, her ears tilted and pivoted towards her col-

leagues.

And my most elegant Marauder, is your self imposed exile in Sigil still as enjoyable a game

as ever? I know youve managed to advance your self more there than here within the lower

planes, and youve enjoyed yourself to no end, despite other mitigating factors, despite other

persons. He smiled at her sneer at the last point.

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She turns and regarded him arrogantly, You know full well what Im capable of, but you

havent given me the tools I asked for. You just told me what you wanted from me, and the

reasons. Now tell me how to do it and with what. Otherwise Im content enough here dodging

shadows and blunting ogres and titans. And like my erstwhile superior in Gehenna, she smiled

at Helekanalaith, Ive not yet been told what I will receive from our little deal. Ill grease the

wheels from my end, but I only give favors in exchange for others. You better than most others

should know how we work.

Indeed I do, better than anyone else I assure you I know how we work. Vorkannis glanced

down and smiled inwardly before looking back to his conspirators.

I have a question for you both, answer me and you will have what you ask and we will set

this third wheel into motion, a wheel among wheels of conspiracy, the wheel within wheels. His

eyes flashed more red than the dim corpse light of Carceri and The Ebon snarled and barked out

a series of words that grated the air and caused the walls to ache and distort.

The other two Arcanaloths looked disturbed at the incantation, What was that, and in what

language, Im unfamiliar with it. The Marauder said, dropping her typical pretense of vanity.

That my fellows, was a question. Spoken in the tongue of the Baernaloths, the Gloom

Fathers. I know it well, fluently in fact. Vorkannis smiled again.

Helekanalaith, looking once more at ill ease replied for himself and Shemeska, And what

does it mean?

The light of Carceri through the window sparkled in his eyes as he answered that question

with one of his own, THE question perhaps, the root of damnation, What is it you want?

The two other fiends paused and answered their future lord in turn.

And thus it all began, bits and pieces of the puzzle sliding into place across the lower planes,

all part of something greater, all the players claiming to know the answers, the plots, the details

and contingencies. Thus it began.

Chapter 1

A slow and wet sensation crawled across the mans face like the caress of a lover, but a foul

smelling and gritty one... He blinked and opened his pale blue eyes, a slow drizzle of water

cascading onto his face from the drainpipes of the ramshackle building that he was sprawled

next to.

He brushed the mud from his face and sat up, wincing as he did so from a soreness that

pained his body from no specific source. Glancing around at his surroundings, confused and

uncertain, a worry ran through him of things he should have been frightened or angry over, but

they had fled his mind.

He blinked again at the realization that everything had fled his mind. His name, where he

was, what he was doing here, his memories were an empty slate devoid of these things.

Huh?... what the hells..., he looked down at himself, damp and spattered in mud as he

was for any clue of what had happened. As he glanced down, the back of his head began to

throb under his rain spattered blond hair. The pain suddenly made him aware of the bruise and

bleeding at the back of his skull from a heavy blow that had knocked him out. A second pain

erupted from his left ankle from underneath the rough homespun trousers he wore.

He was dressed in dirty peasants clothing, nothing special about them to distinguish him

from any random beggar or bubber on the streets. A simple shirt and a dirty cloak completed

his attire of anonymity. Hanging limply from his waist were the leather ties upon which a belt

pouch had hung, though only a few inches of severed leather remained.

... he murmured as he glanced down the cluttered alleyway, wondering if the thieves that

had bobbed him might still be close. The two buildings he sat between in the muck were poorly

cared for, dilapidated and largely bleached of any colors besides muted grays, browns and blacks.

In fact, everything around him seemed infested with a wet melancholy that festered on the air.

He shrugged it off and stood up, his trim and athletic build flexing subtly and mostly hidden

underneath the simple clothes. He winced again at a sudden pain in his ankle as he rose to his

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feet and put his weight upon them.

He looked down at his ankle but didnt see any blood on the ground, or on his feet. In fact

his feet were both bare and cold, the thieves evidently having gotten away with his boots as well

as his jink. Sod it all, why was I in this... wherever this is anyways?

His ankle still throbbed and the muscles felt sore, something had happened to it even if

nothing showed. He reached down to pull up the pant leg to examine the flesh, and found

something that seemed even to his amnesiac mind out of place. Embedded in the flesh and

perhaps bone of his ankle was a single, smooth, egg shaped cobalt blue gem. It was cool to the

touch but gave off a slight tingling sensation when touched. It didnt feel right, it didnt seem

like it should be there.

His inspection of the gem was suddenly interrupted by the sudden noise of a door swinging

open into the alleyway. The abrupt noise caused him to start as a black, reptilian humanoid

stepped out of the opening and hurled a hissed curse back towards the occupants of the building

he was leaving. The language was dark and guttural, conveying force and authority, and the

man understand every word of it.

Youll have better bub next time for me or Ill see to it you and my teeth get acquainted!

That swill isnt good enough for a piking Tanarri! the reptilian creature spit at the last word

he spoke and a name or designation, of black abishai came bubbling up to mans senses from.

The Abishai slammed the door behind itself and strode down the alley towards the man. It

stretched out its draconic wings and shrugged off the effects of whatever it had drinking and

strode forwards, ignoring the man who backed up against the wall to avoid it.

It passed him with a thick smell of brimstone and acrid reptile odor that washed over the

air. He followed it as it passed, and as it reached the end of the alleyway it paused and turned

to him with narrowed eyes.

What exactly are you staring at mortal? it spoke in another, less harsh language that the

man also understood and knew to be planar common.

Nothing, I just... no, nothing, sorry. He looked away as the Baatezu growled and walked

down the street.

He breathed a sigh of relief, straightened his back and stepped away from the wall out towards

the main street when he stepped upon something cold and hard underfoot. He looked down to

see a long metallic object partially buried in the muck that he had been sitting over. A sword of

a dull greenish steel, otherwise sharp and well manufactured. He reached down to grasp it and

found it familiar feeling to his touch, comforting even.

He cleaned the sword off on the edge of his cloak, then removed the garment and wrapped
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the sword carefully bundled in the rough cloth. Odd that they left that, it looks nice. Hell its

mine, at least it feels that way and I obviously took care of it. He looked around and kicked

at the mud to test if anything else of his had slipped into the mire, and finding nothing else he

walked out of the alleyway onto the main street some twenty feet distant.

He gazed out of the alleyway down both sides of the street, the buildings all with the same

color bleached and apathetic feeling. The few people wandering the streets were dressed in

similarly muted colors, none of them seeming to be in either a hurry or to have much motivation

in their movements. The dim grayish light from overhead was filtered through fog and clouds,

and its mood seemed to say that the sun had withdrawn to sit and pine away the loss of the blue

sky, depression taking over the roll of sunshine and washing down to light the city itself.

The street itself was muddy with the slight drizzle, but not as muck-laden as the alleyway

had been. To his left the street seemed to incline slightly, and decline to the right. Looking

to the right, some twenty meters distant, the Abishai walked down the street. As it closed to

within distance of a small man huddled on the stoop of a building, a thin plea of Jink? carried

on the wind. It was answered by a whistle and a crack as the fiend responded with a sudden

backhanded crack.

The begger slumped, unmoving against the wall of the hovel, and the fiend continued walk-

ing, barely pausing its stride. The amnesiac frowned and moved towards the slumped figure,

muttering a cautious, ...are you ok? as his hand closed tentatively over the blade of his sword.

For whatever reason it seemed that his hand was naturally gravitating back towards the hilt of

the blade, unconsciously settling over it.

But pausing to kneel next to the begger, he reached out his other hand to touch and check

to see if he was alive or badly wounded. There was no response but the beggers chest rose up

and down in a slow pattern. At the very least he was alive, just not responding.

...hey. Are you... well. Thats a really stupid question for me to be asking isnt it. I mean

clearly you arent ok, you got knocked out... um.

He frowned again and brushed aside the cowl over the other mans head to reveal a thin

angular face, uncertain now if they were male or female. Their hair was thin, stringy and

dappled with muddy water, their eyes closed but slightly almond shaped.

Cause if you were ok - youd be telling me where I was I bet. He looked around and sat

down on the stoop beside the unconscious man and cradled his bundled sword in his lap. ...

great.

As he sat, drizzling rainwater falling across his head and shoulders he sighed. Between glances

down at the unconscious beggar he strained to remember who he was, why he was here, and
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anything else at all. The Abishai as he now firmly remembered it being called had seemed to be

in a hurry. But to be honest he wasnt really sure why hed be in such a hurry. After all, what

would be the use of it all. Why bother when whatever it was wouldnt matter anyways...

Are you gonna wake up now? But it wasnt as if the sword had helped him at all. What

good was it? Hed still been left for dead in that alley, cold, wet, muddy...

...yeah, but if I was hit from behind... I wouldna been able tuse it... He paused abruptly

and looked around again in confusion. His thought running all the more depressive and apathetic.

Somehow he knew this wasnt normal, even if he couldnt even remember his own name. It was

almost as if by sitting down and brooding upon things he was unconsciously reflecting the

depressive, color leeched and gritty surroundings, or that wherever he was was similarly leeching

the color and feelings from him.

... dont like this place. Ok - youre coming with me - youll wake up in a happier place

- then youll tell me where I am, right? Right. The begger remained unconscious, but despite

not getting a response he put his sword across his back, bundled in the cloak, and picked up the

man at his feet.

I mean, I was awake and this place is getting to me. Youre asleep - cant imagine what it

might be doing to you.

The man hefted the rag bundled figure without difficulty, most of their weight apparently

being clothing. They seemed unhealthily thin and malnourished. Under the cloth they had to

have been a stick figure of a person.

Youre thin. And you still cant hear me, so Im still being silly.

Coming further into view as the clothing slipped and settled as they were lifted up, one of

beggars feet was a white cloven hoof, bony and emaciated. The sudden word, tiefling sprung

into his mind along with the idea that he was still somewhere upon the planes. Wherever that

was. His mind was supplying words, terms and ideas without encasing them in their original

context that he had apparently known before.

Ok. So youre a tiefling, I wonder why they call em tieflings. He picked up the beggar and

carried him down the muddy street in the hopes of finding a place seemingly less depressing,

or at the least safer than in the middle of the street where a fiend had passed by only minutes

before.

The street continued on moving downwards slightly for several blocks before opening up onto

a wider square. Four streets branched out crosswise from it with the buildings surrounding the

square appeared to be a mixture of boarded up, abandoned and burnt out shells. Several people

milled about the square, all ignoring the man and his unconscious partner, either passing through
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as quickly as possible or sitting still, looking as despondent as the mans own thoughts had been

minutes before.

The man glanced around and up, suddenly filled with the odd prickling sensation of having

been watched from above and behind. He stiffened to see a large blot of shadow dance across

the square as something large tracked across the rainy sky but was gone by the time he turned

around. He shuddered and make haste down the widest of the four streets.

As the street grew wider it was filled with more foot traffic, a strange mixture of depressive

looking humans, tieflings and full blooded fiends, lots of fiends. Uniformly they ignored him and

he passed uneventfully down the street till it split into two forks.

Passing down one of the forks at random he kept his eyes wide and alert, looking for an

alleyway that if it were possible in this place, was less depressive than the one he had woken up

in. Gradually the rain stopped but the sun, if there was a sun here, had failed to emerge from

the gloom overhead. However as if to spit the city and shame the sun, the wind began to pick

up making it that much more colder and uncomfortable.

He stopped and glanced down the street to where a freestanding stone archway rose in the

center of the street to a height just over the rooftop level of the surrounding buildings. Over the

top of them he could also make out the rise of a similar stone arch down the path he had not

taken when the street had split.

Glancing up at the archway as he neared closer to it he put the tiefling down and shook him

slightly, Hey. You awake now?

The tiefling gave little reponse but a slight moan. However, this near to the archway that

dominated the center of the street the air was laden with a sense of wrongness and despair.

Something sparked in his memory and firmly told him not to proceed. Nothing definite or

elaborated upon, but a creeping dread related to some past knowledge or experience. The feeling

grew more intense as a tall human strode past to stand before the archway. The figure held up

something indistinct in his hand, spoke a word and then vanished into nothingness through a

swirling portal that appeared in the center of the archway.

The portal lasted only a few seconds, but the apathy of the town was a drop of water in an

ocean compared to the sudden flood of despair and agony emenating from out of the archway.

The man hesitated and backed away several steps before collecting the tiefling in his arms again.

...oh. This doesnt look good. Ok, no. he turned and walked back down the street the way

he had come, the portal to his back still casting traces of misery into the grief saturated air.

Back towards the fork in the road, the other street seemed less drained of life than the others he

had entered thus far. In fact in comparison to the area that surrounded the portal, this street
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seemed almost a polar opposite. He smiled.

As he somehow expected, a second similar portal stood a block away down this second path

of the original fork in the road. Several minutes later and he stood at the base of the obvious

portal entry and smiled up at it, his spirits perking up as he placed the tiefling against the side

of the archway.

Hey, you, wake up. He poked his companion, Come on...

While there were a few random splashes of actual color on several of the building on the

street, the street was still cold and unattractive. The archway was composed of a smooth, deep

white marble whereas the other one had been of grayish black granite. Glancing up at the arch,

the keystone seemed to be engraved with a symbol that resembled a single large torus.

Wake up. He poked the tiefling again who seemed to be regaining a portion of his color, a

mild green hue. Eventually he groaned, wrinkled his face and twitched as his eyes opened.

...hi... oh wow, I was right - you would wake up when you were in a nice street. The

amnesiac smiled cheerfully. The tiefling blinked his eyes, their pupils having the appearance of

cats eyes.

You got hit pretty hard by that Abishai. Youve been out for a while. I didnt think it

would be good for you to just lay there in the open. It was wet. Another smile at the tiefling

and he simply sat there looking down and waiting for a reply.

Seconds later he got one. The tieflings eyes widened and he rolled out from the archway.

Backing up and crouching against the wall of a building opposite his would be savior.

Whatdya want berk... he snarled and glanced around nervously.

Umm. Were you there when I got hit on the head?

Leave me alone, I dont have anything. I aint done anything to anyone, Im clean with the

Mocking...

Umm... were you there when I got hit on the head?

The tiefling relaxed partially as he saw that no blades were being drawn and spells cast in

his direction. He smiled, ...why yes. Just saw the last bit of it I did. Dont you remember me

sitting there when you walked down that alley?

...just wanting to confirm what I remember...

The tiefling grinned as his eyes flashed from side to side and then refocused back on the man.

I dont have much, whats that bit of dark worth to you?

Well, I coulda just left you there unconscious on the street where I got robbed before... he

glared suspiciously at the tiefling, look... Im lost. Not stupid.

Who said you got robbed? You was out of it when they dumped you there...
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... he sighed and got to his feet, Look. I just dont know where I am, or how I got here.

Fine then Clueless, ignore me and soak up the greys why dont you. With that the tiefling

awkwardly stood up and began to walk away down the street, pausing for just a second to look

back.

The man began to follow him, looking annoyed, Damnit... I just need a few questions

answered... theyre really simple ones...

Talk is cheap for those who have something, not me. Make it quick... I have places to be.

The man looked down and pointed at the two slashed cords on his belt, I dont exactly have

much of anything either. Where am I exactly?

The tiefling edged away a step, barely noticeable by anyone not acquainted with thieves,

Youre where, is what most of us are, Hopeless.

The word struck a chord within the mans hazy, enigma riddled mind, Hopeless was the

gatetown to the Grey Waste in the Outlands. Wherever that really was, but he remembered

those places, just not much about them.

The man blinked a few times then nodded, Ok... um, can you tell me who dumped me on

the street?

The tiefling balked, Then you can come back and ask me when youve got something to give

now Clueless.

He grated his teeth together, ..ok. youll be in the same place right?

Sure, its as good as any other place in this sodding hole. Just look for the starving tiefer.

...why do you stay here if you dont like it here? I mean, it doesnt make sense. It doesnt

seem like theres a lot to hold you here.

The tiefling walked away slowly without much purpose or eagerness, it simply didnt appear

as if he actually had any places to be or things to do. A block later he vanished off into an

alleyway and out of sight.

The man sighed, Ok... He stood there for a moment, collecting his thoughts and trying in

vain to recall much of anything. Nothing as it related to his own person seemed to be within

his grasp. At best over the next ten minutes of pondering he was able to apply a bit of context

to his current location, Hopeless, the concept of gate towns and the plane they inhabited, The

Outlands. But beyond that, all was still a vast blank.

He walked a few steps away from the arch idly, then paused abruptly as when he did so there

seemed to be a pull, a resistance, a slight tug upon his whole body as he put distance between

himself and the bound space.

..whoa. he muttered and stepped around the border of the arch, testing the feeling and the
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boundary of it. A few minutes of testing and the feeling seemed to be emanating from the gem

that was embedded into his ankle. He continued to test the feeling before walking to the side

of the street and sitting down on a stoop to think again. The gem hadnt opened the portal, or

told him anything at all besides throb slightly. Nor had it changed color or anything else.

Well. You know what. I dont think Im gonna get anywhere here. As he talked to himself,

several people approached the archway from down the street, most of them shedding cloaks of

muted gray and brown to reveal dress of more varied and brighter colors.

The first in their line turned around, looked at his surroundings and showily spat at the street,

giving a disdainful glance to all around. Then he abruptly vanished into a swirling whirlpool of

color centered within the arch.

The man blinked from where he sat upon the stoop and then watched the others proceed

to perform the exact same ritualized display before they too vanished through the portal. An

idea sparked in his mind that he might have just witnessed the portal key in use, and so he

approached the archway again.

The tug upon his ankle returned. He walked through the archway with little effect, but at

the other side, the polarity of the tug on his ankle reversed back towards the portal.

Ok. Thats not it then. Cant just walk through. Lets see... he walked around to the

other side of the archway and then performed the same exaggerated routine he had witnessed

the other group perform. As he did so the archway was flooded with a pale blue white light that

swirled in an intricate clockwise flow. The tugging upon his ankle began to drag him forwards,

urging him on towards the portal insistently. Then he stepped through.

Connecting with the swirl of colors he was immediately struck by a momentary but breath-

taking COLD that vanished in an instant as he stumbled out onto a wide square in a decidedly

warmer location. The air was mildly humid, and the light a pale diffuse glow casting out of the

sky. Looking up there was no sun that he beheld, just that pale glow and... city streets high

above him in the distance.

As he stood there gazing upwards in wonder, several people jostled him and cursed quietly as

they bumped into him. Tall buildings rose up from the cobblestoned streets, most of them being

curious examples of architecture. Most had tall, peaked eaves, guard spikes on their walls and

roofs, barred windows, and a gothic otherworldly feeling. Somehow it all looked very familiar,

the style of the buildings though not this particular street per say.

...ok... he murmured as he began walking across the square with a feeling of relief. There

was also no longer that insistent tug upon the stone in his ankle.

Ok, thats weird... he said to himself, looking down curiously at his leg where the stone sat
15

beneath his pant leg cool and familiar now.

Sometimes things can be! came a reply from several steps behind him, a slight amused

chuckle to the unfamiliar voice.

He turned around to look at the speaker, seeing a thin, elvish looking woman with red

sparkling eyes, a faint golden skin tone and wind tousled auburn hair. Something about her

seemed nonthreatening, and he had a vague sense of being familiar with her race, some kind of

celestial that he couldnt place.

A half smile from him was followed up by a bemused, Im a little lost right now actually. I

just followed some folks here because it was better than where I was... where am I actually?

The Firre Eladrin fell in alongside him, matching his slow wandering pace as she glanced back

towards a ragged patch of torn gray stone in the wall of a building from where hed emerged.

Fresh out of the Hopeless gate I take it? Cant blame you for coming through, though you

dont look like a regular for traffic through there. Neither fiendish enough or despondent enough.

Business?

He chuckled and adopted a much more friendly attitude, finally free of the effects of Hopeless

and his encounters therein.

Well... I kinda woke up on the street with a cut on the back of my head there - so Im not

exactly sure how I ended up there in the first place. He wrinkled his forehead at the thought,

still vainly trying to place those missing memories and events.

Ahhh... she chuckled slightly, Clueless, but not A Clueless I take it then? I wasnt quite

so sure when you jumped through. ...but Im being terribly rude. She extended a hand for him

to take which he did without a pause as she introduced herself, Terelia Vistari, Ladys ward

tout by trade.

He smiled back, her hand feeling quite warm to the touch, almost unnaturally so. Hello and

nice to meet you. Im... he abruptly trailed off, blinking in confusion.

Not sure?

Umm... yeah actually. He replied, perplexed and embarrassed at being unable to give her

an answer. As he did so, he felt a sudden nagging sensation at the back of his head. Something

about the color of her eyes, but beyond that he wasnt sure quite where to place it.

Need help placing yourself? I might be able to help you out. Itll be easier if youve been

in The Cage before, more people to have seen you. Or, if not, theres some... specialists I know

who might be able to pluck the answer from your head.

Um... it would be appreciated, but I cant really pay you for it. I... he paused and gestured

vaguely at the portal behind him, ... the guy there I asked, was focused on coin.
 16

She waved it away with her hand, Psssh, youre lucky to have gotten greed in Hopeless and

not some more overt action towards feeding some berks greed. Thatd likely be a knife in your

back. Rotten folks. But, not being able to pay for my services, which would normally be an

issue, theres ways to get around that as well. I get paid by the facti... guild and I can certainly

afford, and enjoy just helping someone because. You could use it I think, and youre cute on top

of it. That always helps. She winked and smiled.

He smiled back warmly, happy to have someone seemingly willing to give him a chance,

Thank you.

Well, come on along, the day is long, tis not even peak yet, a few people we can talk to and

a ways to walk if youll follow me. She took his hand in hers and strode down the street.

The mans smile grew steadier as she began to pull him gently along, catching up quickly

enough and taking an evaluation of the place as they both walked along. Her tug was gentle,

not insistent and her hand was smooth with no calluses. Still it was abnormally warm it seemed

and her hair was more active in moving like a collection of frozen flames wrapped around her

head rather than normal looking hair.

He couldnt help watching her as she walked. There was a practiced and subtle sway of her

hips, probably to snag customers from the competition. Still she was dressed in a practical sense,

not anything for seduction. Mostly leather and some brighter spots of cloth and adornments to

the outfit.

As they walked, he glanced over at one of the buildings at something that looked like black

ivy spilling out onto the street and crawling up the side of the structure. He walked carefully,

fully aware of his bare feet considering that the slithering vine stretched out onto portions of the

street.

...whats that? he asked, ...some kinda ivy?

As he took notice of it, she fell back a step and nudged him aside with a hip, making sure

that he gave the plant growth a wide berth as they walked down the street.

She glances over at him as they passed by the main outgrowth of the plant, Ivy? Anything

but. Razorvine is what its called. Looks fine enough, but touching its not a good idea, the

stems anyways. Falling into its like taking a bath in a tub full of razors. Its a pest at best, a

public hazard at worse, and it grows like mad here in Sigil. We have to keep it cut back all the

time.

She glanced down, Damn, we need to find you some shoes too. Got them stolen back in

Hopeless I take it?

He nodded, Nasty stuff that sounds like. And yeah, I woke up without my boots. Actually
17

I think that I might have gotten robbed *before* Hopeless. Im not so sure. His toes wrinkled

self-consciously as she looked him over, running her eyes up and down and frowning a bit when

she reached his bare feet. In fact, her gaze lingered for a moment upon his ankle, but she said

nothing about it.

And I have no idea what *that* is. It was there when I woke up. he said as he noticed her

peculiar interest in the stone in his ankle, deliberately not looking at it himself.

Hmm? Oh, your ankle. I learn to not ask too much about most bloods if I dont know what

something is. You dont know what it is either? she queried.

He shook his head. Not a clue. I havent tried to get it off my yet either. Its in there pretty

solid. Im not sure it *can* be removed, not easily anyways. I guess thats something I should

keep in mind too?

Hmm... another question to get answered then. They both nodded and continued to walk,

passing through a number of streets, smaller squares and then finally down a long street towards

a large towering building.

As they walked, his mind was once again puzzled by something. Not the reddish color he had

seen first in her eyes that had triggered a vague memory of something else. No, though that still

nagged him. This time there was something rattling around in the back of his mind that had

been woken up by the razorvine he had seen just then. Something about it looked hauntingly

familiar but the puzzle was still jumbled.

He looked over at Terelia, ...you know - I think Ive seen that kinda vine before. Does it

grow anywhere else but here?

All over Sigil, and all over the whole of the lower planes, maybe some prime worlds too.

Doesnt really pin down much for you Id say.

He shrugged, Guess not - oh well. So... wherere we headed anyways?

Well, heres the first stop. Terelia motioned up towards the tall structure and walked

towards the wide, tree-flanked path to the main gates. Tis the Hall of Information, a better

place here now than the Hall of Records was under the Takers. Been a full cycle since then that

that lot of thieves doesnt have the place anymore. The information here is actually accessible

now, which for us is a very good thing. Besides, it cant hurt in asking.

The doors, each fifteen feet high, opened into a large reception chamber with hallways going

off up and down stairwells to other levels, and down to other vaults of books and records. To

one wall, there was a number of windows, at which a number of lines formed with people waiting

to request certain records or information from the clerks that milled about behind their counters

and desks.
 18

He nodded as they entered the building, Yeah, I guess it cant hurt to ask.

Approaching the lines, Terelia smirked, Looks like itll be a wait, hope you dont mind.

Good thing we started early. She blinked and a glimmer of flame sparkled within.

...I guess. Do they actually have a line for folks who cant remember who they are? his

eyes grew wide then looked back at her, I guess so. Wow.
,
She smiled back, amused at his good natured naivetA c No, this is how it usually is, but

its a longer wait if you arent paying, or paying much. The sages take jink, the Dabus work for

free, but it also means a longer line.

Pointing towards the clerk at the nearest window she continued, See him, or her, or it,

whichever there at the window? Thats a Dabus. Ubiquitous little servants of The Lady.

Dabus? he looked and nodded, another question already forming in his mind, Whos the

Lady?

Her eyes quickly glanced over and she nudged him in the ribs gently, Not so loud there...

she makes a half unconscious sign over her heart, Ill explain later, or you can ask the Dabus.

Theyll be happy to explain, though it might not be as informative as you might hope. But Shes

a question without an answer really.

I...ok. he nodded and held back more of a similar question.

After here if we dont find what were looking for, we can always try the Gatehouse. Amnesia

and that sort of thing, head problems, are their strong point in a way. We might also try the Civic

Festhall, see if your name pops up there in any of the sensory stones. She smiles particularly at

the mention of the Festhall.

That sounds fine with me. He looked up a little bemused, then back at her, still not exactly

sure what question to ask when they reached the top of the line.

Eventually after about ten minutes, the line split in two as another window opened. Soon

enough they both stood before the window looking up at the mostly expressionless face of the

creature that stood behind it as a clerk. A shock of white hair stood upright upon its head over

two pairs of horns, one goat and the other ram. It wore simple robes with little decoration or

ornamentation, and seemed to bob up and down very slightly behind the window. In fact it

almost seemed to be floating on the air rather than standing.

As both of them stood there looking up at it, the air over its head shimmered and the following

string of symbols appeared, floating in mid air. First an arrow pointing to the man, then [hat

-T + VE, (a man climbing a mountain then slaying a dragon and being rewarded by a king) +

(a man being ignored by a crowd and thrown out of a town)]

The Dabus continued to patiently hover as the two translated, eventually folding its arms
19

into the sleeves of its robes.

Clueless (by default hell be referred to that) slowly mouthed out the words and symbols with

his head tilted to the side before blinking with sudden insight, Oh! Yeah, um. Well, I dont

actually remember who I am. Is there something here that can help me find out who I am? Or

even just find out what my name is?

The Dabus projected more symbols and pictures over its head, No stranger are you, for

you have been here before, though with different questions then. Your name you did not leave.

Though your answers lie both within Sigil, without and within. I cannot tell you more, save that

some questions are best left unanswered.

Oh... Clueless nodded with faint disappointment in his voice. Cant you tell me what

questions I asked before?

The Dabus nodded and projected another string of rebus symbols, Before you asked us the

portal key to one of the spheres of Carceri. You left without fully receiving the answer to that

question.

Carceri? Ok... odd. Thank you.

Tarelia looked up at the mention of Carceri, Well, razorvine grows there, if that jogs your

memories any.

Blocked memories stirred slightly but in the end, nothing budged and nothing revealed itself.

Clueless spoke with disappointment again, No, only vaguely. He frowned and nodded in thanks

to the Dabus. Nothings really fitting together yet as to what happened.

As they began to step away, Clueless paused and looked back to the Dabus, Oh yeah...

Terelia stopped as well, He had one other question you could answer for him. He wishes to

know about The Lady. She cringed just slightly as she mentioned this as if uncomfortable with

it.

Above the head of the Dabus, a single picture appeared in answer to the question. A face,

female in appearance, stoic, grayish or dull metallic, surrounded by a halo of jagged, slashing,

razorsharp blades that sprouted like hair and seemed to merge with her head rather than being

worn like a headdress. He felt instantly uneasy for having asked the question and the rebus

image vanished after a few seconds.

O...k.... he murmured quietly, still ill at ease before looking back to the Eladrin.

Well, thats probably about all the answers to your questions that well find here. She

motioned with her head to the door.

Clueless nodded back, Yeah, still it gives me a few clues. Like where I may have gone looking

for something before whatever it was got me in trouble. Something like that.
 20

They walked on and out of the building but he still couldnt help but feel cold and unnerved by

the Dabuss answer. Eventually the Eladrin led them back towards The Ladys Ward, eventually

working her way towards a similar section of the city shed repeatedly referred to as The Clerks

Ward. It was, as she explained, the quickest way to the Gatehouse without having to pass

through the bulk of the Hive as she called it.

The Ladys ward is the rich part of the burg, the clerks ward can be in some places too.

Thats got more businesses than homes though. Then theres the Lower Ward, mostly shops,

workshops, and the Great Foundry. Then theres the Hive, the slum of the city and the location

of a good chunk of the lower planar portals.

Clueless nodded as she gave him a general overview of the citys different areas as they passed

through them. Most of the information was coming back to him in regards to the city itself, just

no specifics. Sometimes it just felt familiar as if hed been there before, but just couldnt say

when or why.

She continued on, And of course theres my own home, the Market Ward. Its a little ways

off from here, weve already passed through it when you werent looking really. The name says it

all though. Most of the guilds in the city make their home one ward over in the Guildhall ward.

Tradesmen and all. Make sense?

...I guess it does, is there a Touts guild?

She smiled happily, Sure is, I work as a sort of go between for them and the Entertainers

guild at times. Though I work with the entertainers most often.

Clueless continued walking along, his sword still wrapped up in the bundle of his cloak kept

under his arm or over his back. Every so often he commented on the city as they traversed it,

...ok -wow-, there must be a *lot* of people here...

Lots, its the center of the multiverse, the hub of the great wheel, its to be expected I guess.

Some good, some bad, some neither, but lots of them.

He nodded back hopefully, ... well, someone heres gotta know who I am then, right?

Terelia smiled again and brushed a hand against his face, Well we know youve been here

before, so most definitely someone knows you, we just have to find them.

Cluelesss ears turned red at the brush and he gave a sheepish smile as they passed through

the Clerks Ward. Along the street, all of the buildings seemed well maintained. Some of them

were ornate, even garish in their exteriors. A few things seemed familiar to him, mostly it felt as

if hed seen them before in passing, rather than having been there enough to have known them in

depth. But as they continued, about hallways down one particular block in the Administrators

district, as Terelia had called it, they came into view of a small outdoor cafA c of sorts. There
21

were a fair number of cutters seated at its small tables, all of them talking, drinking, and generally

having a good time.

A few loud, boisterous voices rang out over the street and the rest of the other patrons, their

conversation drowning out those of the others around them. As Terelia got into range of the

tables she turned to Clueless and made a face. Her ears seemed to perk just ever so slightly as

she picked up the strains of the loudest conversation. She muttered unhappily under her breath,

Self aggrandizing trollop of a fiend, damn headdress looks like a Gelugon crawled atop her head

and died...

As Clueless get a better look at the group making the noise, he noticed first two people sitting

down on one side of a table, one human and dressed in robes, the other some manner of tiefling

and dressed in leather armor. On the other side of the table stood four well-armed tieflings,

dressed in leather armor, blades at their sides, flanking one figure lounging in the other chair at

the head of the table.

A single, jackal headed fiend sat in the chair, animatedly talking to the two others at the

table, dressed in a garish blue-green gown that constantly sparkled. A large number of rings,

bracelets, and other jewelry were almost stacked and layered to the point of absurdity over her

figure. A tangle of what looked like living razorvine sat curled atop her head, perched between

her two perked, and multiply pierced ears. Loud portions of her conversation spilled out into

the street, mostly consisting of boasts, insults towards names that seemed somewhat familiar to

Clueless, many of them names within the citys hierarchy.

His eyes widened a little at the sheer amount of glitter and he muttered a muted, ...whoa...

But as he passed by, that familiar nagging sensation was back in his mind, but much more urgent

this time, and very much closer to home. Clueless paused and concentrated on the feeling, his

eyes unfocusing slightly as he tried to hunt the root of the feeling down mentally. Losing track of

where he was and what he was doing, he finally came to his senses and looked back up, finding

himself looking firmly across the way into the jackal headed fiends eyes.

The familiar sense he had felt from the outgrowth of razorvine earlier in the streets drew his

gaze back to the fiends headdress then back down to her eyes, matching gazes with her. She

noticed and turned to gaze back at him, her eyes narrowing and her conversation trailing away

as she did so.

He knew her. He didnt know how or why, but the eyes glaring back at him were like burning

coals in his memory. Sparkling green doors to some hell. Not red like the color in his memory, but

somehow that too was linked to this fiend. A Yugoloth, thats what she was he now remembered.

Clueless nodded politely and took a half step back, confusion and alarm crossing his face. He
 22

still didnt know how exactly he knew her, but butterflies were raging in his stomach either way

as she glared back at him. A slow grin spread across her muzzle and recognition dawned in her

eyes. Good or bad, Clueless hadnt a clue.

Umm, do I know you? he asked, a sense of dread growing in his stomach that his association

with the fiend was not a pleasant thing, and that perhaps he didnt care to remember. Then he

gave a startled yelp as he was latched around the arm by Terelia, who drug him quickly away

from the fiend and her entourage.

As he was accosted away and into a side alley out of plain view he looked down with alarm

at the Eladrin, I know her, somehow... I dont know how... I just...*do*. And she recognized

me...

He had a frightened, spooked look in his eyes as he glances back down the street, a drop of

cold sweat running down his forehead. What does that mean? I dont know if I knew her on

friendly terms of anything... she makes me nervous...I... one hand came up to rub at the drop

of sweat on his forehead.

As Terelia took Clueless around the corner of the block she stopped to push him against a

wall, looking into eyes and appearing more than a little nervous herself.

Trust the Dabus to be right... some questions are better left unanswered. I dont know if

I want to know just how you ended up in Hopeless without a name if you knew the likes of

Shemeska the Marauder. The damned fiend runs half the crosstrades and backstabbing deals in

the whole sodding burg. You just dont know her or deal with her and come out on top. Id

put jink that whatever happened to you, she had her claws all over the deal. And that cant be

good. Nor can that.

She glanced down pointedly at the blue-black stone embedded firmly in Cluelesss ankle. He

nodded back and followed her eyes down to it as well, ...I... his voice trailed off and he bit his

lip, freaked at the sudden turn of events.

Come on, lets gain some distance on the loth, weve got some more places to ask questions

anyways, if you still want to find your answers. She spoke firmly but calmly, hinged on what

Clueless wished to do at that point.

...agreed. He replied and breathed heavily as he followed her down the street, eager to

indeed put some distance between himself and the Arcanaloth.

However, as they retreated down the street, somewhere in the back of his brain he could hear

the voice of that same fiend whispering to him from a memory, But of course I can make a deal,

theres never a deal that Shemeska, the king of the crosstrade, cant make. Just the price is all

that it hangs on.

Chapter 2

Tarelia led Clueless from the Clerks Ward and into the fringes of the Hive. The air gradually

became more... pungent, the buildings less kept and the persons wandering the streets more

shifty, downtrodden and in some cases more fiendish.

Were going to the place with the memory people... right? Clueless glanced around at the

persons that passed them by, most of them either ignoring them or glaring sullenly.

The Eladrin had yet to slow down her pace since Clueless and her encounter with the Ar-

canaloth.

Now, were going to the Gatehouse, which just unfortunately happens to well, be in middle

of the bleeding Hive. But yeah, its got the people who just might be able to help your head,

one way or another, being that youre not just plain barmy.

She grinned at Clueless with that final statement and her eyes glowed just a little redder to

match a slow blush to her cheeks as she poked his nose. Clueless returned her grin and looked

back curiously at the new surroundings unfolding around them.

Glancing up he eyed a black streak of soot extending across the sky that seemed to bubble

up from overhead on the far side of the city like a black gash across the sky.

Whats that across the ring there?

The tout glanced up and pointed to details on the opposite side of the city, details that she

could clearly see or know by experience, but that Clueless had difficulty in discerning.

That group of smokestacks there across the ring, thats the great foundry, havent been

inside the gates myself since the Godsmen packed up and left, disbanded the whole lot of them

when Factol Amber got mazed

...Godsmen? Mazed? Cluelesss expression combined a number of questions in his confused

look.

Tarelia gave a grin again and launched into a friendly rendition of her oft used lecturing mode

as a tout, Oh, one of the old factions. They ran the foundry and thought they could, anyone

23
 24

could, with enough hard work, ascend to divinity. Well, lets just say none of their members

working the forge ever got close, in fact none of the lot did.

...ok.... sounds... barmy, you said the word was?

Tarelia nodded at his use of the local cant, And Amber got mazed, sent packing, unwilling,

into a demiplane of the Ladys construction, always one way out they say, just may take you

a hundred years to find it, they also say you dont age, hunger or thirst inside either... makes

you wonder....I hear some Bladelings from Ocanthus run the forges now, either way business has

gone smoothly.

She paused to look down from the sky at a street sign indicating a few lackluster streets

before chipping back, And yep, barmy is the word. And dont get too comfortable here, were

about to hop over to the other side of the city there and then back. I know a shortcut.

Clueless followed down an alley before pausing with her before a boarded up window. Tarelia

knelt down to retrieve a bit of broken glass from a window pane that had once graced the now

covered opening and deftly cut a thin mark into the wood. It immediately glowed a fierce orange

light as the boards vanished.

Portals dont just have to lead outside Sigil, they can go between points inside too. You

first. She motioned him through before dropping the broken glass that had served as a portal

key back onto the ground.

They both stepped out into a haze of yellow, filthy air laden with soot and smog. Clueless

coughed immediately as he followed her down another street. Shortcut or not, maybe next time

we can just walk a little longer?

Oh the air in the hive isnt much better, just different. She smirked and twitched her nose

at the sulfurous tinge to the air from the smokestacks of the Foundry and the numerous cooking

fires and workshop chimneys that dotted the tops of many of the buildings surrounding them.

Several minutes and two blocks later, she paused and pulled off onto another side street, casting

sidelong glances down the previous.

Sorry, not going down that street any more... she muttered then, something about a friendly

fiend.

...why not? Clueless said with a glance down the previous street.

Tarelia pointed down that way to a sign hanging above a shop a half block down. The carved

and brightly painted sign read, Akins The Friendly Fiend. Magical Curiosities and Treasures

of the Planes.

...isnt that an oxymoron? Clueless raised an eyebrow. My last two run ins with fiends

didnt give me a super great impression of them you know...

25

She shrugged, The OTHER resident loth in Sigil. I dont know which Id rather choose

not to be involved with, at least Shemeska acts like youd expect. And Ive never seen Akin get

angry, or yell, or be mean, makes me trust him even less...

Clueless nodded before coughing slightly to get rid of some of the soot.

As the two continued walking, the air became clearer of soot, but the smell became worse as

the buildings slowly transitioned from utilitarian stone and wood to more beat up, ramshackle

tenements and hovels. Every so often, a burbling puddle of muck dotted the road, each of them

given a wide berth by any passers by.

...I should really start watching where I step shouldnt I...? Clueless glanced down at his

bare feet and then nervously at the burbling puddles, consciously avoiding them.

Ooze portals, watch em, they like to send bloods on a one way trip to the inner planes, and

one of the least pleasant ones. Half of them are bricked over, but not all of them. And were in

the Hive now, so watch yourself. Least its not the slags...

As they continued into the Hive the population of fiends and fiendspawn slowly increased

and the dwellings became poorer. The number of beggars, and potential thieves grew, not to

mention drunks and the occasional corpse.

... okie. murmured Clueless - quieter now and shifting the bundled up sword on his back

just the slightest so, that in the event of a fight, it would be more accessible.

As they passed one of the corpses, they watched it being rapidly picked clean of anything

remotely valuable by a few rag-covered humans and tieflings who then begin to drag the body

onto a rude cart drawn by ragged and skeletally thin horses. Cluelesss eyes grew wide as they

walked past the scene and he found himself tracking the event out of surprise.

Tarelia soon motioned down another street which they took deeper into the Hive, avoiding

several fights along the way in the middle of the street between what appeared to be rival gangs,

or in one case, street urchins fighting over what might have been called food in the very loosest

sense of the word. But some time later, rising over the top of the local buildings off a few blocks

they could see the spires and towers of possibly the largest building Clueless had seen in Sigil,

or most anywhere else. Solid, black, and forbidding.

Tarelia pointed out the huge structure as soon as it came into full view, Theres the gate-

house, as depressing as the inhabitants.

Oh. So thats what that is. Clueless gazed at the gargantuan central tower and the two

wings extending out to its sides like the wings of a gigantic looming dragon. He felt a little

baffled at the numbers of people that waited or milled about at the base of the building, but

he felt at once both out of place and not out of place in the shadow of the towers. I have to
 26

wonder = is the architect still alive... Clueless said dryly.

I sure hope not... nobody whos still around knows who actually built it, or why, just that

the Bleakers used it, and still do, though they dropped the name and stayed mostly the same.

They do good work, even if they lack a bit in the personality department. Not as bad as the

Dusties though.

As they walked closer they noticed lines of rag clothed persons of various races entering the

structure through several lines leading towards the main central tower and its truly massive rusted

iron gate. Some of the people stood apparently in line for food, others for reasons unknown. All

in all, the Gatehouse had the look of a giant homeless shelter and soap kitchen.

Drawing closer towards the outer walls though, from the wailing coming from several of the

towers closest to the streets, it served as a giant asylum as well. Screams and shrieks echoed out

across the street from several high, barred windows, drawing Cluelesss wary gaze, but none of

the other persons milling about the base of the walls or waiting in the block long lines seemed

to give it any heed.

He shook his head and looked over to Tarelia, What kinda work do they do here?

Unthanked work, but good work nonetheless. They take care of the poor, the hungry, the

sick, the barmy. I like their work, dont like their philosophy though. They dont think the

universe has a purpose, that theres no grand plan for anything.

So they just do good stuff... just because?

She nodded back in the affirmative, Because they think that in the absence of any meaning

in the world, they only way to find any meaning is to find it within yourself. Even if thats

meaningless. I dont get them, like I said.

As he looked over at his guide, Clueless noted a small tattoo on her left shoulder. He couldnt

make out much detail though as it seemed obscured by either a scar or a burn. He made a note

to ask her about it later. Lost in that thought he nearly stumbled over a loose cobblestone in

the courtyard as they walked across it, avoiding the lines.

Tarelia moved away from the main lines and off towards a gated entrance beside one of the

smaller towers. As they approached she paused to palm something to one of the guards who

nodded at her and motioned them both through past the open portcullis to his rear into an

open-air courtyard. Long strides and echoing footfalls heralded a robed, dour looking human

who approached from another entrance to the courtyard. He nodded to them both patiently

before asking, May I help the both of you my children?

... um, Hi. I... Clueless glanced at Tarelia, unsure how to handle the situation and greeting.

Finally with a blush he nodded to her slightly ...I dont know my name.
27

She motioned towards him at the prompt, Yes actually, my friend here, while hes not

actually one of the Clueless, he took a blow to the head in Hopeless. And, well, hes lost his

memory of who he is, or how he ended up where he did.

The man nodded and listened to Tarelia recount the story, glancing up into Cluelesss eyes

periodically and giving him the odd impression that he was looking right through him a few of

those times.

At the conclusion of the story he nodded, betraying little emotion on his long face, Perhaps

I can help, follow me if you will.

Having said that he swept one of his arms to the side over towards a smaller entryway leading

deeper into the buildings interior. Accompanying Clueless and Tarelia he walked them down

the dimly lit, mildly damp corridor to a small office, that was sparsely furnished with little more

than a chair, a bookcase set with a number of book and bottles, and a single burning torch with

a flickering blue-white light.

Clueless followed like a puppy, still awkwardly gaping and looking at everything.

The man motioned for Clueless to sit, Please be seated if you would, this should not take

very long.

As Clueless got comfortable in the offered chair, for the first time he noticed that the mans

face was not quite normal for a human. His facial bones were more elongated than normal, his

hair stringier, and his skin more sallow in the light.

As the man wrote several notes down within a journal or log book at his desk, Clueless sat

down, taking the moment to wriggle his toes against the floor while absently watching him.

Finally the man turned and walked over to place a hand on Cluelesss forehead. Carefully he

took his patients right hand with the other and began to murmur to himself in a language

Clueless couldnt recall having heard before.

mm. Cluelesss eyes half drifted shut, a sleepy look crossing his face as the Bleaker spoke,

the words making his head feel drowsy and his hearing like everything was being filtered through

a thick layer of cotton. The Bleakers eyes gradually began to shift from the solid shiny black

that they were, to a cloudy, swirling pattering of duller black and milky gray as he continued to

intone.

As he continued to speak in the same strange language, Clueless began to hear his voice within

his head, but clearly, and in planar common. This is strange, but not unprecedented. Your

memories have not been stolen from you by injury, though an injury you did receive. Rather,

your memories have been blocked by magical means, and by one of no small skill in such matters.

I will attempt to remove that which was placed in your mind, however my removal of it may not
 28

be entirely complete, and it may only come back fully with time. You may soon see flashes of

memory as I attempt this.

There was a sudden flash of light in Cluelesss minds eye, a bit of resistance imagined rather

than felt, and an image came unbidden to him, one of several.

Clueless stood upon a battlement in the midst of a raging battle, an army of Tanarri stretched

out across the plane before him, battered and mindlessly hurling themselves at the Baatezu

fortress and its seemingly impenetrable defenses. The fiendish commander of the Baatezu forces

began to bellow an order out to his forces, but paused, sensing motion behind itself. Before

it fully turned Clueless drove home the point of his greensteel sword through the chest of the

Cornugon. As it collapsed to the stone of the battlement, a dim glimmer of recognition flickered

in its eyes as it comprehended the betrayal.

- Another flash and another image -

A hairless, gargoyle-like, dog headed fiend nodded in his direction, or rather to someone

behind him, as Clueless fell forwards onto the ground and his vision faded to black under a deep,

crimson red sky.

- A third flash and a third image -

Clueless walked under an archway that he dimly comprehended at present to have been under

the ruins of the Shattered Temple. His companions exchanged nervous, wary glances, and seemed

kept in place only by the considerable profit to be made on this scavenger hunt as he had called

it. Suddenly then a flash of light burned out from an adjoining passage and the scene faded.

- A forth flash and a forth image -

Clueless sat in a bar, sipping on a deep amber colored ale, listening to the tales of a drunken

bariaur sitting next to him. The bariaur kept going on and on about the same night in Arborea

that hed heard him speak of many a times before, but he just let him keep talking, it made the

Ysgardian happy, and to be honest, he was happy too.

- A fifth flash, and a fifth image -

The sky was a burning crimson red overhead, cloudless and Clueless could see the distant

orbs on the far off horizon. But that is not what drew his gaze as he and his companions were led

along, unwilling, but rather the massive hexagonal tower breaking through the red stone bedrock

of the valley before them to jut up into the sky. Black, forbidding, and seemingly woven through

with iron spikes like thorns on a rose bush.

A single thought raced through Cluelesss mind in the present, echoed by one in the past,

This cannot be good.

- A sixth flash and a final haunting image before he awoke -

29

Clueless rested in a darkened room, surrounding by cold thin air and shadows. Out in the

darkness he could hear the sounds of barefooted, clawed feet on the smooth chilled stone floor.

A deep, resounding, and mirth filled voice whispered into his ear, whiskers brushing against his

face, Any deal can be made, but all that matters is the price to be paid. No? Payment is due.

The words in the memory were similar, but not exact to the words spoken to him earlier in

the day in the Clerks Ward by Shemeska the Marauder. However the voice was NOT hers in the

last memory. The voice was masculine and even in a memory sent shudders through his mind

like trickles of ice freezing across a still running river. The memory alone left him feeling cold

and befouled by its presence, and solely on account of the voice.

I was a REAL crazy sob... her voice?... no... Damn...uh oh... the thoughts and implications

of the recovered memories rattled around inside Cluelesss mind as he struggled to rid himself of

the unsettling, and lingering feelings of corruption that had pervaded the last flashback...

Clueless blinked and opened his eyes to see the very disgruntled face of the Bleaker standing

before him, his thin and knotted arms crossed in frustration.

The block on your memories is... extremely strong. I was unable to fully remove its presence,

only weaken it. Whoever placed it upon you, they exceed my own abilities. However the block

does not appear to be permanent, and in time it will remove itself. My efforts will hasten this

process, though I cannot tell you by exactly how much exactly. You will have to wait and accept

what comes to you as it does. That is the best I can do.

Clueless nodded slowly, still shaking off the effects of a few of the memories. Thank you...

He turned to Tarelia, I think I need to just sit down somewhere and think for a while.

She nodded back to him, Dont worry, Ill take care of you. Just follow me and youll be

fine, right?

She handed a few jink to the Bleaker who reluctantly accepted the payment and found her

way out of the Gatehouse with Clueless following alongside her.

Are you ok? You look nervous. Whats coming back to you, anything?

Clueless shivered despite the warm air surrounding the Gatehouse from the masses of the

crowds, You could say that. I was nuts. I mean I did some barmy stuff that I cant much

understand how I had those kind of balls. Seriously. And some of the stuff was disturbing. Im

not so sure I really want to remember all of it...

Tarelia looked with concern at that last statement and led him back through the Hive and

towards the Clerks Ward. I have a place you can lie down for a while, dont worry.
30
Chapter 3

The two spent the next twenty minutes walking back from the Hive into the Clerks Ward. In

fact, the particular section of the Clerks Ward seemed to be almost a small ghetto of sorts, a

small insular neighborhood situated right on the margins of the Guildhall Ward. Close enough

to commute easily to either ward for whatever reasons, but away from both the bustle of the

Guildhall Ward and the... order... of the Clerks Ward.

Clueless looked around with a slight smile, ...this is a nice place...

Tarelia smiled back as they arrived at the front of a small, two story building where several

children sat and played on the front steps of the next door down. They appeared to be Aasimar

by the look of them, and they giggled as they tossed a blue ball amongst themselves.

Tarelia returned a mutual wave to the children, Good evening to you Misha and you too

Tarel. Tell your parents I said hello will you?

Clueless waved to the children as well, feeling faintly shy as the Eladrin greeted them warmly.

But Tarelia removed the awkward moment as the knocked a few times on a blank doorplate on

her door, no handle apparent. She closed her eyes and held her hand to the metal plate and

several seconds later some unseen mechanism gave a soft click! and the door swung open

inwards. Clueless gave a fascinated look at the whole affair, his head tilted just slightly as he

pondered just how the door lock worked.

Tarelia ushered Clueless inside to a slightly small but cozy room containing a table, a few

chairs and a tiny cooking area. Clueless was still looking back curiously at the door, ...how did

you do that door thing?

She smiled back as she set down a few things on the table, A little magical gift I got from

a wizard I knew a few years back. I originally rented this little kip from him, then eventually I

bought it when Id finally made enough jink for myself. The door actually keys off a memory or

two. You hold your hand against it and think. You remember the correct memory and the door

opens for you. Pretty simple.

31
 32

Clueless grinned, Now thats a neat trick...

Tarelia closed the door as a soft amber glow filled the room and flowed dimly from the

doorway of another one adjacent. The glow wasnt really centered, but seemed to fill the rooms

from the air itself. Magic obviously. Meanwhile, sitting in the center of the table, on a cushion,

was a large and multifaceted globe of crystal. The sphere shed a very slight white light as it

refracted back the amber light of the room itself.

Clueless blinked his eyes several times as he panned around the room trying to focus on the

light source. Eventually he gave up and instead began to mentally catalogue the various articles

in the room.

Table, chair, door, glowy light thing... he muttered to himself.

Tarelia walked over to the globe as Clueless watched and placed her hands over it. She closed

her eyes and relaxed for a few moments, then opened them again and covered the globe with a

soft yellow velvet cloth.

...what is that? Clueless still peered curiously at the globe as it flickered softly beneath the

cloth.

Oh, its a diary I guess you could call it.

Oh, okie. He smiled at her trying his best not to do the pushy curious thing most people

have a tendency to do.

The Eladrin chattered with her guest while in the process of putting down her things. She

unconsciously slipped off her shoes and kicked them into a corner. You must be famished, can

I offer you anything?

Clueless looked around a little for a place to put down the bundle hed been carrying, finally

putting it in a chair near the door, and looking down just to make sure he didnt end up tracking

anything in onto the floor.

Hmm... lets see what I can offer you. I have some fruit, some bread of course, some other

little things. Please feel free to take what you like, I have more than enough for both of us.

Are you sure? Clueless asked, wanting to check first before he took anything.

Would I have offered if I wasnt? she grinned.

Clueless answered with a wry smile back, ... point... very good point... The food was

already set out in a few bowls with a tray for the bread. A slim knife sat near to the bread ready

for use. All of it seemed to have been waiting there since the morning, likely set up ahead of time

for whenever the tout came home and might have been too tired to sit and prepare anything.

Wandering towards the food as he found a chair to settle in, Wan me to cut you some of

this? He motioned to the bread and glanced at his host. Oh please if you would.
33

While Clueless sliced the bread, he heard the soft clink of glasses or mugs being taken down

and Tarelias voice call to him from where she crouched on the floor in front of a small cabinet,

Care for a drink? Its nothing fancy, but its fresh.

He nodded in the affirmative, relaxing now that he was someplace warm and safe. Its

probably be the best thing Ive tasted today.

Tarelia took a slim glass bottle, popped open the cork and poured out something rich and

teal colored into a small copper cup for herself and Clueless alike. She brought one of them over

and offered it to him, then took a small sip of her own.

Clueless took it and sipped, relaxing further at its taste as he cored and sliced up an apple

for the two of them to share. She smiled at him as she watched him slice the apple, just standing

there patiently observing, looking quite relaxed. When he finished slicing the apple he held one

of the wedges up to her, one eyebrow raised.

May I? she asked as she stood up on her tip toes and opened her mouth.

Yep! Clueless replied and popped one in with a grin of his own as she closed her mouth

around it and happily munched away.

Mmm, dith gut.. he said around bites from his own slice of apple. When he finished his first

bit of the fruit, she picked up one of the other slices hed made and held it up to him, offering it.

He smiled further at the game she was making the whole situation into and tilted his chin up,

opening his mouth up for the slice.

She took a slim piece and popped it into his open mouth, then took a finger and pushed up

on his chin to close his mouth for him. Clueless smirked at her as he munched. She proceeded

to repeat this little game of hers with the rest of the fruit, clearly enjoying the mutual teasing.

After the both of them seemed to have had their fill of food, on the last slice of the apple as

Clueless opened his mouth and waited for her to give him another piece, she paused a second.

Well, I hope this isnt too forward of me, but maybe I could help you remember a few other

things you might have liked. With that she leaned in, and instead of popping a bit of bread or

fruit into his mouth, she planted a kiss on his lips and laid a hand on his shoulder.

By the last slice Clueless seemed to have reached a conclusion of sorts, ...I think I liked

apples. Or at least... I like em now.

There was a startled sound from him for a split second before he relaxed and his lower brain

caught up with his upper. He leaned in a little as he tried to remember just how to handle such

things.

She waited to judge his reaction and then tentatively gave him another kiss, a little longer

this time, waiting to see if hed go along or if shes overstepped some unspoken boundary between
 34

two people whod only met that day. It seemed she hadnt as Clueless relaxed with it and slowly

his instincts come back. He lifted one hand to frame her face, the other placed at her waist to

steady her as he leaned into it, old skills resurfacing.

As he did so, she placed one of her hands on his chest and the other at the back of his head

while she leaned in fully against him, delicately slipping her tongue into his mouth. With that,

her skin flushed warmer as he responded and a happy murmur escaped her throat.

Finally after a few moments she broke off the kiss to catch her breath. Clueless smiled slightly

at her sounds of approval and stroked lightly at the skin over her ribs as she broke away.

She looked down and smiled to herself before looking back up, I think youve done that

before, remembering anything more yet? Do you think I should try a little harder?

As for remembering... I think I was a bit distracted.... might have to have another go at

it... there was a wry yet giddy note in his voice as she smiled coyly into his eyes then took his

hand and led him towards the other room. Clueless followed her but glanced behind himself

briefly, just to make sure that his sword was still in place near the door, wrapped in his cloak...

The room she led Clueless into was clearly her bedroom by the look of it. It was lit by the

same amber light as the other room of her kip and was arranged with a small mattress made

from several cushions and some blankets towards the rear. Clueless scanned the room out of

curiosity, noting little out of the ordinary except for a small household idol of sorts situated in

the corner and a small, sheathed dagger on a chair near the doorway.

As the two of them reached the bed she smiled again and looked up, You can say no now. I

wouldnt want to force anything. But if you would like.... she trailed off and her eyes sparkled

with a tiny orange flicker within.

Clueless raised an eyebrow and lifted up the hand of hers that she was still holding. Gently

he kissed the knuckles lightly, and replied while still looking up into her eyes, ... I would, very

much so. She gave a rosy blush at the kiss.

Lets see if this sparks any memories. She said as she reached over and started to remove his

shirt. Her hands gently wandered over his muscles while she worked the clothing up and over his

head. Clueless helped her with a lithe little stretch, and half ducked out of the shirt as a large

series of tattoos became visible covering his back. Her hand brushed and traced over some of

the lines that comprised the elaborate and obviously arcane markings that crisscrossed his back

in a swirling pattern of knotwork.

Oh now thats interesting. Last time I saw something like that, the only time I saw something

like that was on that fellow in the Tir on the Outlands. You dont look like an elf though... maybe

you grew up somewhere with a lot of elves? Clueless gave no reply to her question as his eyes
35

got stuck somewhere below her chin as she examined his back.

After sating her curiosity and examining her partners back for a few more moments she

slowly started to remove her own shirt and bodice, obviously enjoying watching Cluelesss eyes

play along.

... youre beautiful... murmured Clueless as he helped her undo the laces to her top.

Thank you... I should say the same of you. How someone like you ended up in Hopeless is a

crime. Her sentiment was genuine as her eyes traveled over his obviously well tended physique.

Clueless laughed at that, Well... the lump on my head agrees with you on that one!

He looked down to her hands and then traced back up her arms to glance at, well... other

things. She tossed her shirt off to one side, stood there for a second just admiring the muscles on

his chest, and then ran the tips of her fingers over it. They seemed unusually warm on Cluelesss

skin and in turn she sighed happily as he ran his own hands over her skin.

[Intentional fade to black and shift to outside the room. I had to cut out around 4 pages

worth of fairly well written porn here so as not to offend anyones grandma. Oh well, all of your

loses. *waves the pages of pr0n teasingly*]

Heard from outside the room:

Clueless - If I may?

Tarelia - Definately Id say.

Clueless - .... I meet approval?

Tarelia - Care to help me now? followed by the sound of breaches being unlaced.

A sound of giggling can be heard through the door.

Clueless - ...Im gonna have to revise my previous statement... georgous.

Tarelia - You flatter me, thank you...

Clueless - ... you deserve it..

Clueless - And so do you, let me give you something.

Tarelia - Mmm!

Clueless - Thats... nice...

Clueless - Do lie down...

Various noises can be heard dimly through the door

Tarelia - This seem familiar at all? Or shall I try again?

Clueless - ... oh... some of its familar... some of it wasnt ... but... oh...

Clueless - ... this isnt fair you know... oh...

Some assorted and distinctly happy noises on both of their parts

Tarelia - Ooooohhh....Not... fair....please... keep doing... that....

 36

Clueless - ... good... no fair?

Tarelia - Remembering anything more? Surely youve done this before...

Clueless - Oh... *quite* a bit...

Tarelia - Please dont stop....

Various assorted happy noises

Clueless - ...huh? what? Um...

Tarelia - Oh my! This is unexpected!

Clueless - .....what did I do?

Tarelia - Look back dear, were flying, hovering actually, mmm... Theres a giggle from her

Clueless - ...I have wings@?!

There was a loud thump! of two people hitting the ground onto something padded but not

quite padded enough to completely cushion the fall.

Clueless - ...um... I have... wings? said in a bemused voice

Clueless - ... those... are sensitive... murmured

Tarelia - Well, looks like I helped you remember. Well to remember something anyways.

Clueless - Guess so...

Tarelia - Mmmm...

[Back inside w/ full view again]

Both Clueless and Tarelia sat in each others arms, flushed and smiling, clearly basking in a

serious level of afterglow. Somewhat difficult to see fully over his shoulder, but there nonetheless,

were a pair of shimmering black or dark blue in color, almost iridescent, thin wings. They seemed

almost like larger sized versions of those you might expect to see on a sylph, pixie, or fairy. To

a person knowledgeable in such matters they would have immediately pointed to a distinctly

Unseelie origin.

But time passed and they enjoyed each others company for the remainder of the evening

before finally falling asleep. The next morning as the both of them awoke, however, one thing

was different in the kitchen and readily apparent. Sitting upon the chain on which Clueless had,

the night before, left his sword and cloak, directly on top of them was a singular sealed scroll.

Tarelia gathered a robe around herself in the cooler morning air and immediately checked

the door. It was closed and the locking spell didnt appear to have been tampered with.

Cluelesss eyes widened as he followed her and glanced at the scroll with a confused look.

...um... could someone have put that in here magically?

Possibly... but most magic like that generally doesnt work reliably within Sigil.

As they both examined the scroll, the seal was cast in a fiery red wax that glittered slightly.
37

It almost seemed as if a crushed red stone or glass had been mixed in with the wax while it was

still warm.

...still. Clueless murmured while looking closely at the seal, ...do you know this sigil?

He showed Tarelia the scroll and its seal. The symbol was clearly a wizards sigil looking

almost like a small flame.

Never seen it before... she said with a bit of apprehension. Clueless broke the seal to read

the scroll - wings fluttering behind him absently - half rubbing against each other in ill concealed

nervousness.

As his eyes scanned over the first line of the letter, they widened considerably.

The letter read: Greetings my memory deprived fellow.

I first of all urge descretion in the reading and showing of this scroll. Your location and

identity would fetch a high price in some hands, and so unless you wish those parties to be

informed of said details you will follow my following instructions.

....Im.... being... blackmailed... there was low surprise in Cluelesss voice and he looked at

Tarelia in surprise, I cant believe this...

The note continued: Firstly, I desire to meet with you. Secondly, I have a task which requires

completion, and one which I will admit to not wishing to undertake myself. Blackmail is not my

ideal method of action, but in this case it suits me nicely. I wish for completion of a certain task

by yourself, and others procured into my service in similar fashion. Once completed, you will

be sent upon your way, and by which time, those seeking you will have been... sated by other

means. Again, I urge your discretion. I will meet you, and your soon to be companions at the

third room on the left at the top of the stairs at the former location of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer.

You will be there, for I doubt that the Baatezu will act slowly upon finding out you are still

quite alive. The door to the building shall be unlocked. Meet me there at Antipeak, come alone.

- B. Trenevain

Clueless turned again to Tarelia with astonishment playing across his face, ...Im being

blackmailed...Um... wheres the... he paused to read; ...*Former* location of the Ubiquitous

Wayfarer?

She paused to think ... well thats the old name... changed to Portal Schmortal after The

Lady scrambled every sodding portal in the burg after mazing the factols. Name didnt have the

same ring though, and business dropped off with the portals vanishing. It went out of business

shortly afterwards. Its a ten minute walk down a bit more into the Clerks Ward, down between

the Workers district and the Administrators district.

Clueless nodded, ... do you know who ... B. Trenevain is?

 38

Id doubt thats a real name, but no, never heard of him.

He nodded again and looked down at his sword, ... well. Whoever they are - they know who

I am... or at least know enough about me to know that I dont know who I am...

[With one intro finished, on to the next poor soul in our slowly unwinding, and progressively

more complicated story.]

Around the same time as Clueless was waking up to his own little surprise, an abnormally

tall and broad shouldered man was waking up in his own room at the Drunken Dabus.
Chapter 4

Toras of Andros sat at his desk, away from the thin light that current waxed through the window

into his room. The fog and haze of Sigil made that light a sallow, sickly mockery of the light he

was used to experiencing upon Ysgard and many of the other planes. As such, he shunned the

light and relied upon the abilities granted to him by his own blood-line.

For the past hour he had eaten his breakfast, washed and now sat reading over his daily

meditations and holy scriptures of the power whom he served, and who as far as he was aware,

was by way of His proxies, his sire. That Toras was a half celestial was certain to most observers,

though his unique appearance might have led some less keen observers to ponder deeply just

what it was that he was descended from. Many might have guessed at some form of Archon,

Eladrin, Aasimar or even an Asura. In fact the last two might have gotten the most guesses from

those who wished to guess. Guardinal was right out, he simply possessed none of the slightly

animal traits that defined the children of such matings, rare as they might be.

To the eyes, Toras stood at nearly 7 feet tall, pushing the limits of what a normal human

might reach. His skin was a smooth almost unnatural white, making him seem chiseled from

marble like some statue rather than being normal. His hair was long and jet black, and contrasted

heavily with his pale skin. Most striking perhaps though were his eyes whose pupils flickered

with an inner flame, not unlike those of some fire genasi or tieflings. However there was nothing

fiendish or indeed elemental about his being as he sat and prayed, dressed even then in the

brushed steel and red lacquered armor of his particular militant branch of the clergy of Andros,

self proclaimed protector of children, the innocent, and the infirm.

But several hours passed by, and as he neared to the end of his devotions, there was a knock

at the door. Firm but not insistent, practiced but not arrogant. The strength behind them might

have been enough to wake him up, had he been asleep, but clearly it was unlikely to come from

anything larger than a human.

Toras stood up and walked to the door, pausing only to place his sword to one side, away

39
 40

from the door, but within his own reach should he need it. Sigil had so far been a surprisingly

unwelcoming place to those who seemed to not fit in with the local populace.

There was another knock at the door just as he unlocked and opened it. The knocking paused

and there was a shifting of feet as the open door revealed a slim, well dressed tiefling standing in

the hallway. The man was smiling politely and clothed in a suit that wouldnt have looked out of

place on a master of ceremonies at a banquet hall, or upon a lawyer in a courtroom. Despite his

purple colored eyes and small horns curling back over his hair like a rams, he seemed a model

of courtesy apt to put at ease even the most wary person.

Toras of Andros? I do apologize sir if I woke you. The tiefling smiled and his vaguely

reptilian tail swished slowly side to side behind his back.

And you might be? Toras asked

A humble servant of greater persons, though my employers have a matter they wish me to

discuss with and inform you of. I dare say that you will be most intrigued. If I might sir? he

motioned with an empty hand past Toras into the room.

Toras hesitated then nodded and stepped to the side, walking first back into the room. The

door remained open behind the newcomer.

First of all, I wish to say that my employers have noticed you and your past accomplishments.

You have raised their attentions since entering Sigil. To that end I have an offer of employment

from them to give you. However first... he held out a sealed scroll, then lowered it as almost as

an afterthought he removed a small gemstone from one jacket pocket of his suit. He handed the

gem to the half-celestial with another smile. This may persuade you into accepting our offer.

A sensory stone of a memory, as witnessed by another of my employers functionaries. Another

smile, this time almost with a knowing smirk.

Toras touched the gem and activated the memory in the form of a projected illusion in the

palm of his hands. He blinked and swallowed hard involuntary at scene unfolding in his hands.

Surely you remember your time upon the prime world of Toril a good number of years ago.

During that time you fell in love with a young woman and indeed she returned your feelings.

Sadly she died, and in such a manner that prevented her return to life by the most common

methods. Energy drain... such a way to pass. You honored her memory and have allowed her

to enjoy her rest and enjoyment of her promised reward in the beyond as a petitioner upon the

upper planes. Youve neither sought her out in her innocent now form, but allowed her her peace

and reward rather than seeking to draw her back into this life and its complications and pains.

As I said, youve chosen to honor her memory. The tiefling smirked and raises an eyebrow,

craning his neck to see the image floating in Torass hands that was now playing and repeating
41

slowly in sequence.

Sadly the priests of Bane my employer has contracted for this present job have not chosen

to honor her in the slightest. No, they prefer to raise her, torture her till death and then repeat

the process quite happily. Theyve done so a dozen times or more by this point. Ive honestly

lost count.

Toras was shaking visibly as he stared down at that scene of torture and the clear enjoyment

on the faces of the Banite clergy in the illusory image playing out in his hands from the sensory

stone. It was indeed her, and the look upon her face...

Mother fu*****...

The tiefling smiled once more, the same polite geniality showing through but tainted with an

obscene confidence that belied an enjoyment of his present work.

Harsh words, but save them for the task my employer wishes to set you upon. The terms

are this: read the scroll I have given to you and obey its terms to the letter. If done so to

my employers satisfaction what you have seen in the gem will cease immediately, and those

who carried it out will be killed. That young, and currently suffering woman you still by your

reaction hold some feelings for, she will be allowed to rest and return to blissful ignorance upon

the planes, wherever that might be. Am I clear?

Without looking up from the scene looping once again in his hands, Toras spoke with grim

and steady tones, his frame rigid and tensed, Run now, itll make it more fun when I catch

you.

The tiefling was already stepping back, Read the scroll sir and youll have a chance to change

things. Killing me, were you capable of doing so, wont stop her suffering. I dare say itll prolong

it because I hold use to my employer. Enjoy the coming days sir, she wont. And with a brief

motion with his index finger towards the illusion, he moved out the door in a burst of speed.

The footsteps echoed down the hall and then abruptly stopped.

Toras gripped the gem tightly dispelling the harrowing images and bolted after the scum,

sword in hand. Out in the hallway there was no one in sight, but a glimmer from a doorframe,

two rooms down, spoke of the hallmarks of a just closing portal.

Fu****..., Toras cursed numerous times and slowly walked back to his room to sit with

barely contained anger. His eyes flared with a need to right a serious wrong. Before it was over

he would have that man and his puppet master on the end of his sword.

Now what in the 9 Hells was this damned employment offer Im being fu***** blackmailed

into doing? he muttered and spit as he broke the seal on the scroll. It looked like sparkling

reddish wax, emblazoned with a wizards sigil shaped like a stylized flame.
 42

Dear Toras of Andros,

I first of all urge discretion in the reading and showing of this scroll. The eventual fate of

a certain young woman lies very much on your hands at this point. The clergy of Bane in that

particular location she is being held at specifically train torturers and interrogators, and even

were I not paying them well they would likely continue with her for some time before moving

on to another unwilling victim. If you do not wish for her to be tortured to death and routinely

torn unwillingly from her afterlife to return to a mortal hell you will follow my instructions.

Firstly, I desire to meet with you. Secondly, I have a task that requires completion, and one

that I will admit to not wishing to undertake myself. Blackmail is not my ideal method of action,

but in this case it suits me nicely. I wish for completion of a certain task by yourself, and others

procured into my service in similar fashion. Once completed, you will be sent upon your way,

and the priests of Bane who hold your former beloved will be silenced and their current charge

returned to her eternal reward in the upper planes.

Again, I urge your discretion. I will meet you, and your soon to be companions at the third

room on the left at the top of the stairs at the former location of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer. You

will be there, for I doubt that you can live comfortably with the images that youve just been

shown by my servant. The door to the building shall be unlocked. Meet me there at Antipeak,

come alone. - B. Trenevain

Bloody hell..., he spat again and whispered a prayer to his deity. A prayer of vengeance

to by action and deed see to justice and punishment those who would harm those who did not

deserve such. Andros would forgive him allowing such to happen to the girl, but He would not

forgive those who made her to suffer, nor would this humble servant of Andros either.

Before then however, these new employers would need to be met and sated in the short

term. Blind rage and violence, though likely fulfilling, would not bring an end to this.

Well, Antipeak then it is. I want to see your face, if only to see how it looks before I decide

to break it. You deserve that much I swear.

Hot with anger, Toras stood up and gathered his belongings to leave. After paying for his

room and tipping the cook for the mornings meal which current circumstances now had set to

churning in his stomach, he needed time to learn more about the location he was to meet at, and

more about his employer if possible as well. And so full of simmering, righteous zeal he stalked

out of his room.

****

Around the same time in the spireward end of The Lower Ward a silvery blue furred Lupinal
43

was sitting down for her morning breakfast and a drink in the common room of the Green Mill

situated in the heart of Little Bytopia as the squat was called by the residents. It wasnt Elysium,

but it was closer to home than most of the city, especially more so than the fiend cluttered, soot

choked streets of the rest of the Lower Ward.

She was dressed in little but to make for the local social standards, in this case a white tunic

over a thin layer of fine, celestial forged chain and a short chain skirt of the same manufacture.

Over the bottom she wore a colored and beaded belt and cloth of a pale ivory color, chased in

places with black and silver. Pretty to the eye, but not garish or presumptive as some in the City

of Doors seemed to prefer to dress. Tales of warriors in red colored, spiked and bladed armor had

filtered to her ears from tales shed been told in her travels. However shed seen none of these

hardheads yet as the storyteller in Ecstacy had relayed the tale to her nearly a decade ago. She

shrugged and chalked it up to an invented or embellished tale on the part of the drunken bard

years ago.

Fyrhowl sipped at her thin, sweet ale and smiled. As she pondered the various places within

Sigil she had been told to visit, and which to avoid, her ears involuntarily swiveled to the noise of

the chair opposite her being moved. Her eyes followed suit as she beheld a smiling, well dressed

and genial looking tiefling standing across the table from her.

His hand resting lightly on the top of the only other chair at her table he nodded his head to

the spot, Might I join you for breakfast? If you have a moment for me, those I represent have

some information for you that they wish for me to deliver to you? If Im intruding I can wait

elsewhere till it is convenient.

She blinked and put down her ale. He only smelled faintly of brimstone, unlike most of his

kind in the ward, and unlike most of them he seemed to have dressed and presented himself in

a way not intended to disturb anyone or seem confrontational. As well, he wasnt wearing a

weapon.

The lupinal nodded and gave a curious smile across her muzzle, Please, join me. How can I

help you?

The tiefling smiled graciously with practiced ease and took his place across from her and

placed a thin, red waxen sealed scroll in the center of the table between the two of them...

I realize that you are newly arrived to Sigil. However my employers are in need of the

services of one such as you. They are apparently well aware of your past services upon the planes

on behalf of your celestial race, as well as your own prowess in those endeavors. Coupled with

your own nature as a guardinal, they are interested in procuring your help. He smiled again.

Oh? Thank you, though Im surprised they found out where I was so quickly, Ive been in
 44

Sigil less than a day or two already. What do they need me for? I might not need payment from

them depending on what they wish. She looked curiously at the scroll lying before her.

My employers words can probably explain their wishes and needs more clearly than I can.

Please read if you would. Again the tiefling smiled then flagged down one of the servers and

ordered a drink of his own.

Fyrhowl broke the odd looking waxen seal, noting the sparkles of glass in the wax and how

the symbol upon it seemed to flicker in the morning light like a living tongue of flame. The paper

even had the smell of wood smoke to her sensitive nose as she unfurled it to read.

Dear Fyrhowl of Elysium,

I first of all urge discretion in the reading and showing of this scroll. I am well aware of your

sister and pack mate, Lightdancer. The last you were aware she was still on Elysium, hoping to

venture off plane to follow in your own footsteps. Sadly her travels did not go far before she was

taken alive by those in my employ. She is currently being held well, but confined tightly. She

will come to no harm, and offers for her... purchase will be rebuffed assuming you following my

instructions herein to the letter. Otherwise I begin to entertain the offers of a number of fiends

and wealthy but depraved mortals.

Firstly, I desire to meet with you. Secondly, I have a task that requires completion, and

one that I will admit to not wishing to undertake myself. Blackmail is not my ideal method of

action, but in this case it suits me nicely. I wish for completion of a certain task by yourself,

and others procured into my service in similar fashion. Once completed, you will be sent upon

your way. Your sister will be released and unharmed except for some selective memories of her

captors faces erased. Otherwise, no harm will come to her.

Again, I urge your discretion. I will meet you, and your soon to be companions at the third

room on the left at the top of the stairs at the former location of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer. You

will be there, for I doubt that you would wish your sibling to come to harm. She does so admire

you, and has whimpered several times that you would rescue her. Such idealistic heroics aside, I

offer you a simple and potentially bloodless way to secure that release. The door to the building

shall be unlocked. Meet me there at Antipeak, come alone. - B. Trenevain

Her fur was bristling rapidly and an involuntary snarl was rising in her throat as she looked

up from the scroll at the still smiling face of the tiefling as he sipped at his drink.

No need for that here, it wont solve a thing I can assure. Your kind can act pleasant in

public yes? That would be good, a scene would not endear you to this establishment, nor to

our employer, rest assured. He downed the last of the mugs contents as Fyrhowl simmered

and bottled her anger and worry alike.

45

So... what now? she smoothed her fur back down to normal and gritted her teeth as the

fiend-spawn opposite her smiled with that same damnably cheerful innocence.

Now I walk away, leave you to pick up my tab and you do as your told if you wish for your

sister to come to no harm. You would be amazed at the demand for a young celestial such as

herself, and who might make such demands.

He smirked, stood up and walked away from the table with a confident and steadfast stride.

If he had anything resembling qualms or conscience, they certainly didnt show in the least as

he walked out the tavern door with a smile on his face and a spring in his step.

Shortly thereafter in the Hive...

46
Chapter 5

Blessings of the Festhall Maiden upon you, the young woman smiled and made a gesture of

good tidings in the air before the kneeling worshipper who smiled back, kissed her hand and rose

to leave.

Aren turned around and snuffed a small candle before the shrine to the Mother of Cats and

whispered a prayer. As soon as the supplicant had left and the door closed with a soft knock of

wood upon wood, she smiled and placed a new candle upon the wax-spattered altar. Without so

much as a word she rubbed her thumb and index finger over the wick which sparked and ignited

with a sudden rush of flame from between her finger, those two fingers which she withdraw

without so much as a scorch or blackened mark upon their alabaster surface.

Standing there in the dim light of the shrine, Arens eyes glowed softly red in the gaze of the

idol before her. Any who saw her would have seen just a young woman with raven black hair

and strikingly smooth, creamy white skin that stood in distinct contrast to it. She was dressed

in close fitting and revealing garments of the clergy of Bast, and except for the holy symbol that

hung from a thin golden chain and dangled between her cleavage, she would not have seemed

out of place at one of the many brothels that filled the Hive.

It was a rough area of Sigil, but the land here was cheap and it was the only place upon

which she had been able to lease property to build the shrine she ministered to. It was a terrible,

beautiful contrast to her former existence, one that as much as she wished to put it behind her,

forced her daily to hide herself, watch her words, and look for the signs that she might have been

discovered. But the price of absolution was worthy of the struggle against that which ran in her

veins, pumped through her blood, composed her very being. The Tanarri within howled in rage

at the betrayal of her birth. Sometimes it brought depression, other times it brought agonizing

pain, but the realization that she was something ascended over the mindless destruction and

corruption that was her birthright, that was a worthy trade. Her patron deity spoke within her

heart daily, reassuring her and bringing comfort within these uncertain times.

47
 48

A rapping of wood on stone brought Aren out of her thoughts. She looked out at the pews of

the sanctuary to see a tiefling standing in the center aisle with a long, black cane tapping upon

the flagstone under his feet. She hadnt heard the sanctuary door open, nor had she heard his

footsteps leading up the aisle where he now stood, halfway between herself and the entrance.

She hadnt heard a sound at all. Her thoughts had put her at a loss it seemed, she would atone

for the lapse in her duties later. She blinked as he smiled and approached. May I help you sir?

she asked, bowing with a flourish and slipping back into her place as priestess and guide to the

impoverished of this place.

The man smiled back, Indeed I think you can. Might we speak somewhere in private for

a few minutes? I come on business, not as a parishioner. If Ive disturbed some ceremony I

apologize and can wait, or return later if you wish?... His purple eyes reflected violet in the

candlelight and his long shadow stretched down the aisle behind him. But despite the harsh

light he seemed polite, genuine and courteous, especially as he was dressed in the clothing of an

advocate.

Aren nodded and motioned him off towards a door that led to one of the small rooms used

for private counseling, or her own personal devotions. She held open the door and ushered

him within, then took a seat opposite him upon one of the small pillows scattered around the

periphery of the rug in the center of the room.

So, what exactly may I do for you, Mr...?, she offered him a small bowl of almonds and

reclined across the floor. He smiled but ignored the bowl as he reached into his jacket pocket to

produce a slim scroll case that glittered with magic under her vision.

Youve done a fine job here in the Hive, providing a bit of hope and a bit of comfort to those

who come to see you. Contrast I should say with the face of things, no? he placed the scroll

next to the almonds but kept his hand upon it. She looked up at him curiously but said nothing.

The Tanarri inside was wary all of a sudden.

That said, you and I both may drop our pretenses. Im fully aware of your nature, as is my

employer. It would be a pity were your former Balor liege to become aware of your continued

existence, especially within a place that eluded his own personal grasp. Am I wrong? I can only

postulate upon the tortures reserved from a traitor in the Abyss... he smirked triumphantly as

Arens face grew ashen.

What do you mean, I kn... she sat upright and glared at him, trying to appear angry despite

a rush of fear spreading through her veins like ice upon the Styx.

Please, you neednt try. Bluster is lost on me, because frankly my dear I dont care if you

wish to admit anything to me or not. My employer only wishes for me to deliver his knowledge,
49

his threat, and his demands. Ignore them at your own peril. Your usefulness in my employers

current situation might become rapidly out valued by the price upon your head to the right

buyers in the court of Ashrathul Soultwister. He smirked, placed the scroll before her, tossed

an almond into his mouth and bit down onto it with an emphatic crunch.

At an utter loss for words, her heart pounding within her breast she snarled at the tiefling,

a pair of fangs suddenly showing over painted lips. He stood, kicked the scroll towards her and

walked confidently towards the door without any seeming concern. However he paused at the

door while she still snarled at his back, Admission noted. However my dear I would keep a lid

upon your nature, after all, the brimstone will frighten away the congregation...

With that, he slipped from the chamber and his footfalls receded into the distance. She never

did hear the sanctuary door open and shut this time either. But now gradually the pounding in

her chest slowed and her rage ebbed to uncertainty. She reached out to open the scroll case that

bore a red, glittering wax seal with a mages symbol upon it shaped like a flickering flame.

The scroll read: Dear Aren, my wayward corrupter of mortals I first of all urge discretion

in the reading and showing of this scroll. Any attempt to involve any others besides yourself

will sadly force me to reveal your current location and identity to those in the Abyss that would

see you stripped down to a dretch and skewered upon a spit for eternity for your crime of

transcending the evils of your race. I could care less, I simply require you for a task.

That said, I desire to meet with you. Secondly, I have a task that requires completion, and

one that I will admit to not wishing to undertake myself. Blackmail is not my ideal method of

action, but in this case it suits me nicely. I wish for completion of a certain task by yourself,

and others procured into my service in similar fashion. Once completed, you will be sent upon

your way. Your identity will be kept secret and you will have no more contact with myself or my

agents. If you do not trust me after we amicably part ways, you are always free to retreat to the

upper planes or even the domain of your fostering, redeeming patron.

Again, I urge your discretion. I will meet you, and your soon to be companions at the third

room on the left at the top of the stairs at the former location of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer. You

will be there, for I doubt that you wish to be handed over to your former Abyssal master. His

power has waxed since you last knelt before him in supplication to his will, and other things...The

door to the building shall be unlocked. Meet me there at Antipeak, come alone. B. Trenevain

Sodding hells...why does it all have to haunt me? The risen Tanarri placed the scroll off

to one side and slumped on the floor, letting her wings spring out behind her, not bothering to

hide her form as she felt a wave of depression wash over her. Kneeling there in the dark, she

whispered a soft prayer to her patron deity and wept for the burden of her blood rising once
 50

again to tread upon her back. Maybe though this time it would end well and she wouldnt be

forced to kill, that was what her kind did. They killed and they ravaged.

I dont want to bring myself to that again. I left that behind. What do they want me to

do anyways? Well, Ill find out tonight then wont I, Bast forgive me if I have to bring harm to

any...

And thus the group of wayward PCs was brought together, along with one other to join them

shortly. The hours passed and the clock grew near to Antipeak. The shadows grew long and

separately they said their goodbyes to those who knew them and set out to darken the doorway

of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer, known for a short time as Portal Schmortal. The first to arrive there

was Clueless...
Chapter 6

The sky of Sigil sparkled overhead with the glow of streetlamps, torches and the pyres raging in

the stacks of the Great Foundry clear across the other side of the Cage. They glittered artificially

as the haze that blanketed the Clerks Ward that evening washed over and periodically obscured

some of them. It was under that mottled, fire speckled sky that Clueless walked as he navigated

the streets leading up to address of the former Ubiquitous Wayfarer, briefly known after the

Tempest of Doors as Portal Schmortal.

The darkened profile of the tavern stood at the corner of two intersecting streets, neither of

which held any appreciable traffic at that period of the evening, and had likely seen less since

the inn had finally closed its doors. A wooden sign hung from iron brackets above the doorway,

slowly swinging in the light breeze. Bits of graffiti had collected on the boarded over windows

and walls of the building in the past few years, little collections of epitaphs running the gamut

from crude jokes about Cipher Quickies to random names, faction symbols scrawled, defaced

and scrawled again in various substances. A few scraps of paper rustled in the wind, all of them

advertisements for shops and other still successful inns located in the ward.

Clueless paused and stopped beneath the sign as it swung in the breeze, then looked at the

door. His hands gripped tightly on the wrapped bundle of his cloak that held his sword.

Looks like Im the first to arrive, apparently Im prompt. He glanced up the two streets,

looking for any of his soon to be companions. Not seeing anything but a single rat scurrying into

an open sewer grate he turned his attention back to the door.

Or I might be late and theyre already inside... he put his sword underneath one arm and

reached out to try the door handle.

You were instructed to arrive at the stroke of Antipeak. It is not yet antipeak, and this

door will not open until that time. In the future you will pay attention to orders more closely.

It is currently twelve minutes till the time at which you were instructed to arrive. Patience is

expected by your employer.

51
 52

Too prompt maybe... Clueless paused before the door and stood there awkwardly for a few

minutes, staring down at his new shoes that Tarelia had bought for him that morning after hed

gotten his blackmail note. His concentration on the new boots was broken by the muted sounds

of someone or something padding softly down the street towards the inn. He looked up to see

a silvery-blue furred lupinal walking confidently in his direction. Clueless nodded to her as she

approached.

I assume youre one of the victims here as well? she spoke and bowed slightly. Clueless put

out his hand which she looked at oddly for a moment before taking and shaking it in return.

Yeah, Id be one of them, you too I assume.

Indeed

So, umm... Im Clueless. You?

She blinked at his name, clearly being uncertain if the word was an adjective or a noun, along

with the meanings they carried in either case.

Oh, thats my name, kinda. Clueless smiled like a rube. Fyrehowl chuckled back with a

hint of confusion but her tail began to slowly wag back and forth amiably.

Im Fyrehowl, pleased to meet you, though I wish it was under better circumstances. She

growled softly and looked towards the inn. So what was it they used to bring you here?

Clueless replied with some hesitation, These people, this Trenevain person, says hell turn

me into the Baatezu if I dont do what he says. Umm...I had some differences of opinion with

some rather powerful Baatezu at some point in the past, and at the moment they think Im

dead. Im safer right now assuming Trenevain is telling the truth. Thats not something you toss

aside...

Clueless frowned and the lupinal gave a nod of concerned fellowship. Me? They have my

sister, so they claim. Yeah...

Ouch, I... Clueless stopped as Fyrehowls ears swiveled to face one of the adjoining streets.

Clueless looked in that direction but saw nothing as Fyrehowl looked as well.

Walking down the street looking at the same moment both mildly paranoid and comfortably

fitting in was a slim tiefling woman. Her legs appeared to be goat-like from the knees down and

her footfalls gave a soft but distinctive clip-clop! noise as she walked towards the two already

gathered companions. As she drew into the light they could see that she was dressed in the

typical attire of one of the denizens of the hive, more specifically one of the tiefling denizens of

the Hive. That was to say, not too terribly much. However the style though, she was a bit more

modest than most, and clearly not destitute by any means. If anything it could be said she was

well dressed for comfort and practicality, while giving a nearly perfect appearance of being less
53

than what she was. From the bits of leather armor just barely visible under her clothing and

the concealed sword strapped to one thigh, and her quick and dodgy stance, she screamed out

thief and a not unskilled one.

The tiefling walked up, the light from one of the streetlamps falling on her mildly olive toned

skin, shoulder length dark hair, and glittering in her greenish eyes. She smiled as a thin, reptilian

tail jerked from side to side behind her, wrapping around one leg seemingly every other moment.

So... you here for the were getting pealed party too? I know I certainly am. She said

matter-of-factly as she pulled out a set of lock-picks and moved past Clueless and Fyrehowl to

the door.

You cant get in there, Ive already tried, I... Clueless spoke as she crouched before the lock

and seemed to ponder its shape for a half second before choosing a few select picks and bars.

Suuuuure you have. Thats probably why Im here. That and the fact that theyve got me

bent over a barrel. I woulda showed up just because if theyd asked me. Buuuut no, they had

to be typical. Oh well. Anyway, you can call me Nisha. This should be easy, I...

tink Her lockpick firmly hit the wall of force layered in front of the door and she blinked.

Told you. And its gonna get preachy here in a second I think. Clueless said as if on cue

the same magic mouth appeared once again. Nisha was already making an almost comical face

at the mouth as it started to rattle on.

You were instructed to arrive at the stroke of Antipeak. It is not yet antipeak, and this door

will not open until that time. In the future you will pay attention to orders more closely. It is

currently six minutes till the time at which you were instructed to arrive. Patience is expected

by your employer.

Clueless shrugged, It did that to me too. Our employer is a control freak apparently.

Fyrehowl smirked and then tilted her head to the side slightly as Nisha rose to her feet and

started pacing over the front of the inn.

What are you looking for? the lupinal asked with perked, inquisitive ears.

Oh Im just curious if Mr Ooooh Im a scary powerful wizard who likes force walls bothered

to lock the windows on the second floor or block the chimney. Im gonna break in otherwise,

just because. She chuckled and winked as she plucked a spider from a web on the side of one of

the drainpipes of the inn.

Clueless looked at the tiefling oddly as she examined the tiny arachnid, Whats that...oh

eww... Nisha recited several words under her breath and swallowed the wriggling bug with a

sour look on her face. After a moment in which she looked somewhat sick to her stomach she

walked to the side of the inn and scampered lithely up the flat surface without bothering to use
 54

a rope or anything else. Just like the spider shed swallowed, the girl skittered up the sheer rock

and wood without so much as a stumble and vanished over the top of the roof.

Awwww, they sealed the chimney with one of those blasted force walls too. All the sodding

luck in the planes, we had to get a competent wizard with something on us. Shoot.

Below, on the ground, Clueless and Fyrhowl both repressed an honest chuckle and then

turned in the direction of heavy footsteps walking up an adjacent alley towards the inn. Striding

up the alley was a tall, heavily armed and armored man with a grim, extraordinarily displeased

look upon his face. He walked up to Clueless and Fyrehowl, nodded in a preoccupied manner

and looked at the door.

So, Trenevain get something on you too? Clueless asked.

Yes, you could definitely say that. Hes earned himself a sword in his gut, which is better

than he deserves.

Umm, yeah, I take it he has something personal on you then?

Very much so. Toras gritted his teeth in a manner that effectively silenced any more ques-

tions about his own blackmail particulars.

Fyrehowl broke the momentary tension, Pleased to meet you, Im Fyrehowl, this is Clueless.

And Nisha is around here... somewhere. You are?

Toras nodded and smiled at the celestial, Toras of Andros, humble servant of the protector

of children and the weak.

Wow... youre pretty... well armed for the job. Clueless raised an eyebrow as he looked at

the massive sword strapped to Torass side. Toras smiled in a way that likely would have made

a fiend shiver. Fyrehowl suppressed a smile.

A small shower of dirt from above gather the attention of the three as they looked up to see

what the commotion was.

Oh pike it! They greased the sodding roof! Woah thats slippery! there were some muted

sounds of sliding and the clatter of hooves on stone and iron.

Uhhh, you ok up there Nisha? Fyrehowl said with some alarm. Several seconds passed

without any reply. Clueless and the lupinal exchanged glances with each other and then both

turned to look at the newly arrived half-celestial.

Whats she up there doing? he asked.

Trying to break into the inn through a window or the chimney I think. The doors blocked.

Clueless replied.

Have you just tried breaking the door? It cant be that sturdy. Toras asked and walked

over to the door with a single gauntleted fist raised and tensed back.
55

Huh? Oh its not locked, it... aaand there its gonna go again. Clueless sighed and Fyrhowls

ears laid flat against her head and to the side.

Torass fist feel short of the door, slamming directly into the invisible barrier with a hollow

thud. The half-celestial didnt seem to particularly phased or hurt, though he did seem surprised

as the magic mouth reappeared on schedule.

You were instructed to arrive at the stroke of Antipeak. It is not yet antipeak, and this door

will not open until that time. In the future you will pay attention to orders more closely. It is

currently four minutes till the time at which you were instructed to arrive. Patience is expected

by your employer.

Told you. Clueless leaned back against the wall next to the magically barricaded entrance.

A few seconds later, Nisha dropped down to the ground next to the group with little more

than a dull clatter of hooves on the ground. She brushed off her hands on the front of her vest

and looked at Toras.

Wow, youre tall. What are you actually? Oh, and theres a fiend headed this way. She sat

down next to the door and looked completely unphased by anything so far, despite the unease

that seemed to percolate through her companions. Fyrehowl smiled down at the tiefling and

glanced over in the direction she had pointed. Walking sullenly down the street was a young

human woman dressed in a clerics traveling robes embroidered with the holy symbol of Bast.

She looked out of place in the Clerks Ward neighborhood, and she looked equally at ease as she

approached the group assembled outside the door of the inn.

Shes a fiend? Since when did they get good looking? Clueless poked Nishas shoulder and

looked past Aren as she approached, clearly looking for a Vrock or Hamatula or something a bit

more overt. Fyrehowl poked him back on the tieflings behalf, Shes right actually...

The woman approached, only pale violet eyes betraying that she might be anything more

than the comely woman that she appeared to be. Fyrehowl looked oddly at her for a moment,

tensed slightly, then relaxed greatly and extended her hand.

Youre the last one here. Im Fyrehowl, this is Clueless, the big one is Toras, and thats

Nisha there making faces at the door.

Aren smiled and nodded her head, looking better to have company and seemingly reassured

to have met those in the same situation as herself. However she said nothing besides quietly

introducing herself and bowing.

Seconds later the quiet was broken by the pronounced click! of the doors locking mechanism

as it was sprung open by some unseen device, hand, or more likely, spell. The magic mouth on

the door appeared one final time.

 56

It is now Antipeak and your employer is expecting you. Proceed inside to the top of the

stairs and enter the third door on the left, do not tarry. There were several muted snorts and

rolling of eyes and angry twitches of tail as Nisha nudged open the door with her foot planted

firmly in the jaw of the illusory mouth.

The door swung open and the five newly met companions walked into the darkness of the

taproom of the inn. Light filtered through the spaces between the boards that covered the

windows that faced the street. None of them however seemed to have any difficulty in making

there way around in the dim light that faded into shadows near the back of the room. Several

pairs of eyes gleamed red, purple or white as they made their way inside, betraying hints of

darkvision and their own varied bloodlines.

Fyrehowl wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the room, Smells like someone set a fire in

here, theres wood ash all in the air. Not fiendish though, theres no lingering sulfur scent.

One of the pair of reddish eyes blinked at that last comment, but otherwise said nothing.

They all collected in the center of the room, letting eyes grow fully accustomed to the gloom and

looking for the stairs.

The room was a shambles. Tables and chairs that had once seated patrons were scattered

and tossed at random, and fully half of them seemed to have been partially consumed by flame.

A layer of ash was scattered across the left side of the room and almost seemed to have been

rolled in by some creature and scattered around.

Alright, who let their pet fire mephit loose? Nisha remarked as she moved towards the back

of the room.

The old front desk and bar was on the far left of the taproom, and doors to adjoining rooms

and likely the kitchen or wineceller were ajar behind the bar, under the flight of stairs at the rear

of the room and stuck in the right far corner behind a charred stack of chairs. A loud thud!

echoed through the room as the tiefling collided with an invisible barrier to the right of the stairs.

Im getting to hate these things... she rubbed at her forehead and winced as her tail flicked in

annoyance.

Theres another one over here too. Toras laid his hand upon another invisible barrier, this

one to the left of the stairs. Both force walls effectively blocked any access to the doors leading

off from the room and only gave a single path from the entrance towards the stairs at the back.

Cute. Clueless rolled his eyes as he kicked at some ash and walked towards the stairs.

Fyrehowl sneezed at the sudden scatter of soot into the air. As the group paused and gazed

up at the stairs and Nisha poked around the wood, looking for traps or other hazards, another

magic mouth rose into existence behind one of the force walls.
57

My patience is not unceasing. Not only were you to be prompt in arriving, but you had

specific instructions as to where to go once you arrived. See to it that you follow - all - of your

orders and not just some of them. Proceed. Now. With that, the mouth vanished back into

thin air.

I really do hate him, really really do. Lets go. Toras walked past Nisha up the stairs, his

weight giving way to soft protesting creaks from the wood.

Ok, you set off the traps then. Not my way of springing any, but that works too. Nisha

waiting till the half celestial had passed then stuck out her tongue at his back. Clueless and

Fyrehowl chuckled softly as the walked up the stairs as well, Nisha beamed a grin back at them.

The stairs ascended a story and then took a 90 degree turn to the left into a long corridor

lined with doors and with a second set of stairs at the far end of its length. Several of the doors

at even intervals were open while others seemed shut, perhaps locked. The third door on the left

was closed, but through the space between the door and the floor, a pale yellow light washed out

over the hallway in a semicircle.

Looks like were expected people. Clueless gripped the bundle under his arm and looked

nervously at the others. Toras was already walking down the hallway, much to the chagrin of

Nisha who sighed once again, rolled her eyes and put away her lock picks along with another

small pouch.

The five of them clustered around the door and listened for a moment. Fyrehowls ears perked

and strained, but she heard nothing except the sound of their own breathing. She nodded to the

others and they opened the door which swung open to reveal a small twenty by twenty room. The

room was lit by a bright magical glow and devoid of anything except five evenly spaced chairs

along one wall opposite another door. Where there was once a window, it had been bricked over

since the inn had closed.

So much for them being prompt either, Clueless said as he walked into the room. As he

did so, yet another magic mouth activated, this one on the face of the rooms other door.

Enter and be seated, your new employer will be meeting you shortly. This meeting will be

short. You will be given a task and you will complete that given task without argument. You

however, having made your betters wait, will wait yourselves. Be seated.

Toras stood back up from where he had taken a seat and glowered in the direction of the

door, but otherwise said nothing as Fyrehowl and Aren took their seats to flank Clueless. Nisha

sat on the floor in front of her seat, her tail flitting side to side nervously. After a minute or so

she plucked a copper piece out and flicked it across the floor towards the door opposite her. It

rebounded without a sound several feet before it would have struck its target. Another wall of
 58

force.

Yet another amazing surprise to shock and astound. I wonder what the next actll be?...

someone kick me my coin back? she made a face when no one did and muttered the phrases of

a spell under her breath to snatch it back without having to stand and move. After she retrieved

the coin she smiled and began to play with it on the floor.

Apparently he likes force walls, a lot. Guess he thinks we might try to just kill him. Clueless

mused as he watched the tiefling spin her coin on the floor. I would. Toras replied quickly,

breaking his silence.

I have to say I wouldnt blame you... the guardinal commented as the door across from

them all opened and three figures entered.

A red robed fire genasi entered first, followed by two hulking Nycaloths who stood behind

him, one to either side. Each of them held a single massive broadsword to their sides and gazed

out to match the five where they sat. The wizards hair was a deep shade of orange and fluttered

like an open flame, while his coal black eyes contrasted with his very obvious theme. Embroidered

flames spiraled across his robes and dark fabric fringed the edges of the fabric like singe marks

on burned cloth. Fyrehowl growled softly in the direction of the wizards bodyguards.

He smiled haughtily and spoke, Welcome my little puppets. As youve all read my scrolls

and seen my sigil upon each of them, my proper name is Bartol Trenevain. Id apologize for

the circumstances of your employment, but I dont have to. Suffice to say, Ive selected you all

for various reasons that I neednt share with you. But youll all work well together to obtain

something of mine that was lost...

And if we say pike it to you? Clueless asked, interrupting Trenevain.

Then in your case youll end up either in the hands of the Baatezu, or a pile of ashes on

the floor here as an example to your companions. Whichever I feel more appropriate at the

moment. The genasi snipped back and held up one hand that flickered with a sheath of flame

he gestured out of thin air. Behind him, the Nycaloths glanced at Clueless, then to Trenevain,

then oddly to each other. Diverting his attention from the wizard, Clueless blinked at that last

detail.

That settled, this is what I require of you. This... property... of mine was in transit across

the first layer of Acheron when it was ambushed and taken by force by a host of orcish petitioners.

They dont have a clue what it is they possess and if my property is not recovered within a short

period of time it may face irreparable damage. I will not stand for such to happen to that which

is mine.

We cant exactly find something of yours if you wont tell us what it is? Fyrehowl said
59

as she gazed past Trenevain at the Nycaloths who had been staring at her with a lechers eye.

Whether they intended to do such or not, their presence was making her horribly uncomfortably.

And they clearly enjoyed it.

Trenevain paused and glanced back at them momentarily as one of them repressed a snicker.

Both of them in turn glared back at him, and oddly he swallowed, recomposed himself and

returned to his new employees. Again Clueless blinked at the play between bodyguards and

their employer... Trenevain pursed his lips angrily and continued, Youll find it because youll

be provided with a planar compass that Ive attuned to the property, or at least several items

present in the same shipment. All youll need to do is follow the direction it gives to you. Youll

find it will hum when in close proximity to the package, and this will increase as you grow closer.

When you locate the package youre to take it safely to the nearest portal out of the plane.

And we... Clueless began before Trenevain cut him off.

Shut up boy. When in possession of my property the compass will point the way to the

appropriate portal. Youll follow its directions and it will serve as a portal key that one time,

giving you access to a safe location to hand over my possessions to me.

Youre awful talkative for a dead man. Toras said while looking directly at the wizard.

Again, one of the Nycaloths glanced down at Trenevain and the other drew his gaze though

nothing was said. Aren narrowed her eyes at them as she sat quietly in the corner, not having said

anything during the meeting as of yet. Fyrehowl glanced over at her curiously before Trenevain

coughed to regain their attention.

The door out of this room is a portal to Acheron. In this box, aside from your compass is the

portal key. Youll be leaving directly from here to that plane. However a word of advice before

you go. Youll likely be cube hopping so Id advise you to utilize the Styx if possible. One of

the ferrymen will accept you upon payment, and dont be cheap if you wish to stay above water

during your trip. Additionally, Id hurry because the group or orcs in possession of my property

are likely to be swamped by a force of goblin petitioners washing across several of the cubes

presently. Getting caught in the wars between their respective pantheons would be unfortunate

and likely deadly to you. Hopefully though youll be able to use that chaos and confusion in

both of their ranks to slip in and reclaim what is mine. With that, the genasi drew a small box

out of his robe and held it out as he walked up to the boundary of the force wall.

Take it one of you, you have placed to go and I have other matters to attend to. He pushed

the box through the force wall and held it out. The five blinked at him penetrating the barrier.

How did you...? Nisha asked. Trenevain ignored her question as Clueless walked up to take

the box.
 60

As he took it however he smirked at the wizard, And oh... tell your minders were sorry if

we have to kill you after this is over. Oh... did I say minders, I meant bodyguards. Truly I did.

The wizard snarled at the half-fey and threw a punch through the barrier separating them

both that caught Clueless across the face. Clueless fell to the ground clutching his jaw as the

box clattered on the ground and Trenevain spat at him.

Fool, Im your owner and youre an idiot to think any otherwise. Dont make the mistake

of taking me for less than I am ever again. Get out of my sight. He walked towards the door he

had come from originally and passed through still scowling. But sure enough as he passed his

bodyguards they both looked at him in unison before following after him. Again, Aren stared in

their direction with a look on intense concentration on her face. Clueless slowly recovered and

smacked the once again solid barrier with an open hand. Thats just not sodding fair.

Youre telling me, I want to know how he did that! Nisha chirped from where she still sat

on the floor playing with the same copper piece. Toras muttered a string of curses and walked

over to offer Clueless a hand up. Hes dead, and so are those two Nycaloths.

Ill help you, believe me. I just wish I knew more than I did about this. Clueless replied

as he stood up and opened the book that Trenevain had given them. Inside was a dried and

broken birds wing, from its color, likely that of an executioners raven, now little more than a

collection of feathers and bones; presumably the portal key to Acheron. Next to it and glowing

a faint green was a smooth pearly orb, roughly the size of a large hens egg. Clueless took the

wing and handed the orb to Fyrehowl then looked over towards the priestess of Bast.

What was it that had you so quiet during that little speech? Clueless asked. Aren nodded

back in the direction of the door that Trenevain and his bodyguards had left through. Those

two Nycaloths were talking to him most of the time he was talking to us. I couldnt catch what

they were saying, but they seemed to be telling him what to say and how to respond. Almost

like they were coaching him. Bodyguards dont do that sort of thing.

That was what I was thinking too. Who wants to bet that hes as much a pawn in this as

we are? Clueless said back.

Sounds reasonable, but I wonder just who it is were working for if it isnt him. Fyrehowl

nodded and rolled the compass around between her paws. Just three more people to go along

with that tiefling whore going to die. Toras said as he drew his sword and walked towards the

exit, Shall we get going?

Lighten up big guy, you might get to take out some of that anger here in a few minutes.

Acheron has plenty of that stuff. Nisha said without looking up from her spinning copper piece.

Plenty of that stuff, just hopefully not right on the other side of the portal, that would be bad.
61

She stood up and palmed the copper coin back to wherever shed pulled it from in the first place.

The group gathered around the door and waited as Clueless took the broken birds wing and

pushed it past the plain of the bound space of the doorway. Instantly the door vanished and was

replaced with a swirling whorl of colors, mostly rusty browns and reds mixed with gray. The five

companions looked at each other, drew their weapons and jumped through the portal.
62
Chapter 7

In an instant Sigil was gone and replaced with a singular moment of darkness, a sensation of

weightlessness and instant, terrible cold. Barely a moment later and it was gone as they all

emerged onto a surface of pitted iron, a patch of ground upon the flat surface of a massive cube

floating in the endless expanse of Acherons first layer of Avalas. Overhead the sky was pitch

black but dotted with distant cubes, all in slow states of motion hung there in the sky like bloated

modron corpses under a new moon.

Fyrehowl shivered despite the warm temperature emanating from the metal underfoot. The

celestial was clearly uncomfortable within Acheron, but she was not the only one of the five to

appear so distressed. Both Toras and Nisha looked anxious to be gone from the plane and while

the fighter did his best to stomach his discomfort, the tiefling was actively pacing and hoping

from thin hoof to thin hoof. Her tail fully betrayed her feelings as it whipped from side to side

fitfully.

I really, really dont like this plane... wherere we going fuzzy... you... celestial lady...

Fyrehowl, yeah. Wheres the compass point?

Fyrehowl smiled despite her unease with the conflict of her very being with the nature of

Acheron. She took out the compass and held it in her hand, then spun in a slow circle before

pointing off in one particular direction. That direction wasnt to a point on the current cube,

rather it went up slightly, roughly in the direction of another cube that drifted distantly in the

sky. That way, maybe that cube off in the distance. Shall we fly, or ...?

She let the question hang and looked at her companions. Clueless was looking away and

towards a glimmer perhaps a mile distant that cut across the face of the cube, drifting more or

less in a line towards the direction the lupinal was pointing towards.

I think the Styx is over that way if we dont want to fly, I dont think all of us can. Clueless

said as he pointed towards the infernal river.

I can solve the cant fly part, but I only have so many of the potions for it. I dont carry

63
 64

around more than I expect to use in a week or so. I work alone usually, no sense to carry more.

Nisha pointed towards the small satchel slung around one shoulder that dangled near to her hip.

They bantered some more, discussing the benefits and risks of going by way of the Styx.

Fyrehowl seemed adamantly against it, but the others seemed to think it was best, despite the

dangers involved. Finally, despite the lupinals ill ease with travel upon the black, infernal river,

they set out across the warped steel surface of the cube face towards the serpentine river as it

cut its way across the landscape.

Some twenty, uneventful minutes later the group stood upon the banks of the Styx where it

had worn smooth and deep the metal of the cube by untold millennia of passage. The water ran

unexpectedly fast, surging along in places to send up a mist of syrupy water. The water itself

was black as the void above them, foul smelling and thick with hints of shapes reaching out of

the currents to snatch at anything foolish enough to swim its depths. Nisha blinked hard and

shook her head as they stood upon the bank, Toras and Fyrehowl both stood some feet back

from the bank, while Clueless and Aren stood close to the edge, only inches back from the water.

The mist off of the river made them pause and shift as its memory sapping influence sought to

insinuate itself, only a few seconds of this made all of them step further back from the bank.

So, what now? I dont see anyone sitting around with a boat looking friendly and wanting

to give strangers rides. Nisha sat near the bank and questioned aloud to her companions.

Clueless looked back at her, then back to the river with a vague nagging feeling in the back of

his mind concerning his own loss of memory. He said nothing, but at his pause, Fyrehowl spoke.

You just need to stand near the bank and hold out a coin, the fiends know where you are.

If they want to ferry you, theyll appear. Dont expect them to be trustworthy though.

The others nodded and waited near the edge. Nisha began playing with the same copper

piece she had before at the inn and Toras held a pair of stingers in his hand. Aren looked over

at him, Theyll take your money, but you do know thats going to burn them to touch, yes?

Toras smirked, Thats why Im paying in silver...

You try that at a few bars in the Hive I know of, wow... they wont take kindly to you. Just

dont get us capsized ok? Nisha mused up at the half-celestial.

Barely a minute had passed by when the waters some distance upstream seemed to flicker

slightly and the ripples across the surface heralded the sudden appearance of a previously unseen

skiff. Seemingly emerging from the river itself, or out of thin air, a slim, flat-bottomed skiff

drifted with the currents downstream. Standing motionless at the back of the craft was a tall,

rail thin figure wrapped in a tattered brown robe. It held a boatmans pole cradled in its arms but

the craft seemed to move of its own accord down the river without any action on the ferrymans
65

part.

Why is it I suddenly feel more like flying? Nishas tail twitched nervously as the boat drifted

closer, slowed its approach and came to a silent rest on the metallic riverbank.

The boatman stood motionless in the skiff, only lifting its cowled head to reveal the jaundiced,

skeletal face of a Marraenoloth. Twin burning reddish eyes seethed silent and malign from its

skeletal eyesockets as it slouched forwards slightly, resting its weight on the pole in its arms. It

seemed to be waiting for some word or request from the group.

Aren spoke first, We need to buy passage from here to -that- cube there. Can you take us

there? she pointed up into the sky at the distant cube. The Yugoloth ferryman turned to look

up in the direction of her hand, then back to her with its emotionless gaze. It said nothing, but

stepped to the side and extended one of its hands out to her, palm up as if waiting for payment.

Thank you. Aren said as she nodded to the rest of her companions and placed a small gem

into the palm of the Marraenoloth. It closed its hand and allowed her to step into the boat before

repeating its stance for Toras. When it opened its hand for the fighter however the priestesss

gem was gone even though none of them had seen the fiend stow the gem anywhere visible. Toras

placed both of his coins in the palm of the loth which then curled its hand around them and let

him step into the boat. As he passed by however, its gaze followed him for a moment before it

turned to accept payment from Fyrehowl.

The lupinal paid the fiend its money in gold and never once turned her gaze away from staring

directly into its face, unwavering and slightly confrontational. The fiend said nothing, nor did

it give her a response as it allowed her to enter the boat. Nisha paid next in a number of small

gemstones that another collector of donations might have noted to have apparently come from

rings or other jewelry, pried from their original settings.

Finally Clueless was the last standing upon the bank of the river, waiting to pay the fiend

for passage. He paused as his hand closed around his severed purse strings still hanging upon

his belt. He stiffened and shut his eyes in frustration, only now remembering that he hadnt a

copper to his person. Still, the fiend was rigid with the same hand open for payment, two small

discolorations on its flesh from where Torass silver coins had touched its palm.

I cant pay you, I dont have any coin. Can one of my companions pay for me? he seemed

wary and self-conscious. The boatman didnt move but kept its hand open for him as Fyrehowl

began to take out several coins to pay for the bladesinger. As she did so, the loth turned on her

and shook its head. Angrily she put away her coin.

How is he supposed to come with us if he doesnt have coin, and we cant pay for him?

The Marraenoloth smiled grimly and touched its pole upon the edge of the bank as if to push
 66

the skiff off into the river and leave Clueless behind.

Wait! I cant just, I mean... Clueless looked alarmed and so did his companions at the

ferrymans threat. Then, something odd happened. The boatman turned rapidly to look at

Clueless and paused, gazing at him. He had the sudden impression that the fiend was looking

-through- him, not at him. It canted its head slightly at an angle, blinked its crimson eyes and

withdrew to the front of the craft to allow Clueless room to enter.

Not one to reject such an offer, he jumped about the ship and took a seat next to Fyrehowl.

All of his companions looked curiously at the boatmans back as the vessel moved away from the

riverbank and rapidly moved downstream with the current.

Youre one with words, I just hope he doesnt drown us all now. Ive never known them to

give free rides either. Fyrhowl bared her teeth and silently scowled at the Marraenoloths back

as the craft sped down the river. Beside her, Clueless sat and wondered what in the hells the

last minute or so meant. He couldnt well answer it.

The boat moved across the face of the current cube till the group could see the approaching

end of the current face several miles downriver. At the edge gravity seemed to flip over to the

new orientation and soon they made the transition without so much as a jolt. Unexpectedly

though an hour later the vessel sped off down a tributary to the sound of raging water. The

boatman gave no warning and suddenly the vessel passed through a pocket of mist and churning

water. The boat rocked and there was the sensation of weightlessness for a moment of two before

the skiff re-emerged onto the river seemingly on another cube entirely.

Toras looked up, The sky is different, were on a different cube. What does the compass

say?

The tiefling took out the compass and glanced at it. This is the right cube I think. Its

starting to get warm actually. She turned around in her place next to Toras and felt out the

compass points for a direction. Finally, she pointed in a place roughly fifteen degrees off from

where the vessel was headed. The compass -had- been held by the lupinal, and she hadnt given

it up as far as anyone had seen. Fyrehowl said nothing but quickly checked her other pouches

for their proper contents.

This is our stop. Toras said to the fiends back as the vessel was already slowing and drifting

towards the edge of the bank. As the boat alighted on the bank and stopped, the Marraenoloth

gestured to the shore and turned away from them, making as if to put out onto the waters again.

The party complied with its unspoken wish and stepped out onto the shore of rough, knobby

iron dusted with reddish black rust.

Nisha held out the compass again with a pointed grin at the celestial. That way. Getting
67

pretty close it seems. Behind her, the boatman and its skiff silently glided away with the current.

Almost imperceptibly it glanced in their direction as it drifted away without a sound, its eyes

glimmering like hot steel.

As the group traveled further from the Styx, the steel of the cube became warped and

disrupted. From a distance it might have seemed as if some massive hand had reached down

and crushed and bent the surface. And considering the unending wars of extermination between

the orcish and goblinoid pantheons on the first layer of Acheron, the cause of the damage might

have been less natural than deific. Regardless of the proximate cause of the warped metal, the

normally flat surface of the cube was folded and rippled into a series of sharp hills, valleys and

vales. A perfect place for hiding troops from the sight of armies marching on the flat surfaces of

the cube, or even from hostile forces in the next valley over.

An hour later, having traveled in the direction of the compasss more and more urgent pushing,

the five crept along the base of a series of sharp, shallow hills. Halfway along their length, the

lupinal stopped and perked her ears. She signaled for the group to pause as she strained to listen

to some otherwise imperceptible sound that eluded her companions.

Theres something ahead, Id guess a camp or a group of people. I can barely make out

some fires, maybe some drums, pack animals maybe, iron shod boots on the cube surface... try

and be quiet once we get near the top of the ridge ahead.

Toras drew his sword as she signaled the possible danger ahead. Aren sighed slightly and

took out her wand again as Clueless drew his own blade. Nisha played with the compass some

more.

Yep, whatever were looking for, that seems like where it is. Umm... she looked at Toras

specifically. Yeeeeaaaahhh... it might be nice if we could be quiet and all sneaky like for this?

I dont do sieges, and well, even all of us couldnt if theres lots of people on the other side of

the hills here. I can make us all invisible, and if you can fly, all the better.

Nisha passed around a number of vials and potion bottles, all of them in a different style

and color of bottle, none of them likely paid for in the first place. Clueless spread out his wings

and muted their colors to a pure, deep black without any other illumination as Fyrehowl lifted

slightly off the ground. Toras looked up at the both of them and smirked as he quaffed two of

the potions Nisha had given him. He too began to hover slightly as he faded from view.

Try not to bump into each other, invisibility doesnt let you see anyone else you know. And

theres a story there Ill have to tell you later. Nisha likewise quaffed two potions and soon the

entire group was aloft and hidden from view. Silently, riding the wind they edged over the top

of the ridge.
 68

Stretching out below them, situated on the other end of the small bowl of a valley was a

walled encampment. Orcs sprawled across the camp and groups of dozens of them marched in

squads outside the hastily erected fortifications. Each of the four corners of the site had a squat

observation tower, more for noticing anyone approaching over the hills than seeing beyond them

so as not to reveal the location of the camp itself beyond the valley. Disorganized clusters of

tents surrounded cookfires and several small wooden buildings seemed to comprise the barracks

of officers and perhaps weapons storage.

However, that was not the site that most garnered the groups attention. Their gaze, and

the pull of the compass in Nishas hand was drawn towards an iron building sitting on a small,

artificial mound at the center of the camp. The building was surrounded by guards at its single

gated entrance, and a great banner was erected overtop of it, emblazoned with a symbol of a

crushed goblin skull within a field of red with black watery curls surrounding the primary image.

Orcish runes recounted recent victories in battle by the Blood River orc clan.

Cloaked by Nishas potion, Torass voice whispered to the others, Theres a lot of them, but

I think we can distract them enough to get into the center building. Looks like their clan trophy

room and treasury. Anything important would be there, and looks like our package is there as

well. Any ideas?

Aren spoke up, Theyve got a mix of mortals and petitioners for what its worth. I can tell

anyways. Fyrehowl nodded unseen.

Looks like theres a number of clerics walking around as well. Hopefully they expect some-

thing large, like a siege, and not a smaller pack... group, like us.

Pack? We must be growing on you. Clueless chuckled back and tried to reach out to poke

the lupinal. He only grabbed on thin air though.

Well, I think that...umm... what in the sodding hells is that?! Nishas train of thought

derailed suddenly as the far side of the camp erupted in chaos. Beyond the far wall of the

camp the sky was lit with the telltale flashes of teleportation magic and screaming goblins and

hobgoblins descended on the orc encampment. The companions could only stare and watch in

abject shock as an explosion suddenly erupted on one of the guard towers and it toppled inwards.

The camp became a mass of screams, shrieks and bellows as the goblin raiders poured into the

camp to meet the larger, but haphazardly organized orcs. Blade met blade, and more often than

not, flesh as the mixed mortal and petitioner forces clashed openly.

In the chaos, the guards surrounding the center building rushed from their posts to repulse

those goblins that had breached the walls. As they did, a number of teleportation flashes burst

near the rear of the building. The orcs seemed not to notice, but the companions did.
69

Oh pike it! Theyre getting in where we need to be! Best distraction ever, move! Nisha

lamented as she flew over the walls towards the fortified building with the rest of the party in

tow.

They reached the outer door as an explosion shook the building from its rear and the sound

of tortured steel rang over the din of battle. Hurriedly, Nisha picked at the lock for several

seconds and it fell to the ground as Toras battered against the frame. Unlocked, the door fell

inwards with the force of his blow, likely weakened in some way by the damage to other side

of the structure. Several flashes of light washed over the group as they barged inside to nearly

stumble over several dead orc bodies and listen to the scream of others outside rushing towards

their location.

The inside of the building, peppered with soot and burning iron as it was from the explosion

that had torn a rough hole in the back wall was a sight to behold. At least seven barrels sat on

the ground, each of them packed to overflowing with silver and gold coins. Open crates filled

with iron and gold ingots stood opposite them on the other wall. A pile of carved and decorated

goblin skulls, each inscribed with the name of the former owner stood stacked above a pile of

stolen weapons, heraldry, banners and standards taken in battle from a goblin clan identified on

the banners as the Venom Fangs. The standards on the items on the floor matched those borne

by the goblins currently attacking the campsite.

Whats the compass say? Which of these is it? Fyrehowl shouted as she and Toras moved

to block the entrance against the group of five orcs rushing the hill to fight what they seemed to

presume were goblins.

Nishas now visible face was a mask of large, overwhelmed eyes and a giddy grin as she looked

at the wealth surrounding her. She blinked and shook off the luster lust as she examined the

compass. Giving a confused look she glanced back to Clueless and Aren as she moved to the

back of the room and stopped near to the hole blasted in the iron wall at the rear.

As Nisha fervently looked for the object they had come for, orcish bellows at the main entrance

were suddenly cut off as Fyrehowl and Toras turned visible, their swords impaled solidly in the

chests of two orcs. Those behind them screamed curses and rushed the doorway. Three fighters

fought against the lupinal and half-celestial, hard pressed despite their larger numbers. Behind

them however a single orc dressed in vestments of Shargaas the Nightlord pointed into the room,

directing a towering, heavily tattooed companion that hefted a massive greataxe.

Aren turned visible as she stared intently at one of the orcs. He blinked, suddenly confused

and looked at his sword then up at Fyrehowl. He started to apologize for mistaking her for a

goblin when Toras cleaved through his arm and into his upper chest, dropping him in a bloodied
 70

pile.

Fyrhowl had slashed one of the other remaining orcs as the larger one laughed and approached,

greataxe in hand. Behind him, the cleric was waving his hands and chanting a spell in deep,

intoning language. Shouting a curse he hurled his hand out towards the party as a black wave

burst outwards in the center of the room. Fyrehowl faltered and her defense dropped as she

grimaced in pain from the spell, Toras seemed to mostly shrug it off as he parried the first

whistling cleave of the largest orcs axe. Clueless likewise seemed to mostly shrug off the spells

effects as he rushed forwards, flying over the heads of the orcs at the door in an attempt to reach

the spell hurling cleric.

Behind them all, Aren and Nisha seemed to be out of the range of the spells effect. Over

the fighting Nisha shouted in frustration. Pike it all, they took it! She glanced at the ground

and several items scattered there, then back to her party.

Back at the door, Fyrehowl, sickened by the clerics spell, took a spear jab in her left shoulder

as one of the several thrusts at her broke through her defense. Toras bellowed and swung at the

orc chieftain, wounding it heavily and wiping the smirk of arrogance from its face.

Clueless dove at the cleric, slashing his sword up the length of its forearm and disrupting its

spellcasting. Landing behind the wounded orc and ducking into a crouch, several upward thrusts

silenced its screams to its patron deity as it slumped heavily to the ground.

The death scream of the cleric gathered the attention of the chieftain, and with its brief look

of concern behind it, its greataxe dipped slightly as Toras jabbed his blade between its ribs. It

jerked and turned to look at him, then the blade lodged in its ribs. It seemed incredulous as it

tilted forwards with blank, glazed over eyes, dead.

As the cleric and chieftain lay dead, the resolve and moral of the remaining two orcs failed

and they died by Fyrehowls blade as they turned to run. Toras touched some minor wounds he

had taken in the fight, then helped steady Fyrehowl who grimaced at the wound in her shoulder.

Aren touched the wound and whispered a soft prayer to her patron, calling on her to close and

heal the wound. Her hand began to glow with a pale rose light and in seconds the wound had

vanished.

Better? the priestess asked. Fyrehowl nodded, Thank you. We should hurry though,

theyll be sending more soon.

Outside the battle still raged and dimly, the lupinals ears perked to listen for the sound of

other approaching orcs or goblins. We need to leave now, theres more coming this way. Whats

back there Nisha?

The others glanced warily at the door and approached the tiefling where she crouched on the
71

floor next to an iron ring in the wall. A broken length of chain and a single snapped leg shackle

dangled from it next to a small spattering of blood. The compass in her hand flashed with an

intermittent light.

The what was a who... and the goblins took her. She frowned and her tail jerked side to

side in irritation. A chorus of disappointed groans echoed from the others.

Does the compass point to where she is now? Clueless asked with some concern in his voice.

Yeah, looks like they teleported to another cube. More flying for us at the very least, and

its down. She pointed towards the floor. Either the bottom of this cube, or maybe even the

next layer of the plane. This isnt going to be as easy as wed hoped.

Nisha stood up and held out a long wooden case with a lock dangling open at its side, This

was chained to the wall too. The compass hums when it goes near some of the stuff in here so

it looks like it was the stuff of the prisoner here. Grab some of the gold and we should leave.

The inside of the case held several items lain over the top of a folded black robe that swirled

with runes burned into the dark velvet. A long, golden etched sword and a matched, red bladed

dagger lay on top of the robe along with a set of simple but visibly glowing bracers and a pair

of sparkling rings. Nisha pushed the robe to one side to reveal a slim leather spellbook or two

underneath the robe.

Somebody had themselves a wizard...and our employer evidently wants them. Im not so

sure I want to meet them though. The tiefling frowned as she closed the case and slipped it into

her satchel. Why is that? Aren asked curiously.

Nisha pointed back towards her satchel as she moved to quickly dump coins from one of the

barrels into it. Because that robe was a black Archmages robe. Doesnt do a think for a mage

who isnt evil, in fact, I think it hurts anyone who isnt. And the dagger was poisoned. Lovely

huh? Then Nishas greed quickly got the best of her.

For a frantic minute or two, the group gathered as much of the gold and silver as they

could before they rapidly bolted from the building. Outside the orcs were beginning to rout the

goblins that had begun to teleport back from where they had come from. Presumably they had

spellcasters with them capable of the task. In seconds though, the five had flown beyond the

range of the archers and any spellhurlers from the orc encampment and were moving with rapid

speed to the east across the face of the cube, skirting the land as much as possible.

The compass drew them onwards and as they approached the rim of the cube it became

readily apparent that their target had been taken to another cube entirely. In fact, based on

the direction the magical bauble was pointing them in, their path led down into the void past

the point where the cubes hung solid and whole. Down in the darkness, the cubes began to
 72

appear broken and battered, incomplete and unwhole; somewhere in the depths of Thuldanin

their quarry was waiting.

Chapter 8

With a slight bit of trepidation as the five looked at each other, they hurled themselves over the

edge of the cube face to fly down into the ebon void. The air grew chill as they flew further

and further into the darkness and away from the last cube. The continent sized block of metal

receded at a rate far quicker than it should have, and when it began to grow suddenly distant and

far off there was a slight shudder in the air as they passed the ephemeral dividing line between

the first and second layer of Acheron.

Fyrhowl looked over at Nisha as they flew onwards. The tiefling seemed even more disturbed

than before, shivering every so often and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Are you ok there Nisha? the lupinal asked. The tiefling shrugged and looked around at the

broken, weathered cubes and the other less distinct shapes that hung like dulled ornaments on

sackcloth around them near and far.

No, the planes getting to me. Im about as chaotic as they come, and well, Acheron isnt...

Ill be fine though. Its just going to make me feel a bit sick if we stay here much longer. If thats

all I feel though while were here, thats fine. Believe me, it could get a lot worse than it has.

Perhaps the plane heard the Xaositect (yet though she it to hadnt that companions she was

mentioned her) and sought to pick out the chaotic irritation blundering about upon it, or perhaps

true to form for the tiefling, things simply happened by random chance just because and without

any real reason. As she and her companions flew down in the dark, following the direction of their

planar compass, something saw them and acted. Turning visible at the last possible moment

as it dove screaming out of the void, a green skinned, thin winged beast careened towards the

group with a mind-piercing shriek. Seated upon its back in a cushioned saddle sat a richly robed,

tiger headed humanoid. Before they could react, the Rakshasa loosed a spell from a wand in one

backwards-pawed hand and its Yrthrak mount bellowed a cone of deafening sound.

A tiny flaming bead closed the distance between the companions and their attacker, growing

larger as it sped towards them before exploding in their midst with a pyroclastic roar. Already

73
 74

in motion, they avoided most of the flames, but none of them escaped unsinged or unhurt.

Oh son of a bitch! Toras exclaimed as he glanced at the rider and its mount wheeling

around for a second pass. Nishas eyes grew wide as she recognized the type of fiend attacking

them and she dove downwards and away from the group should it loose another area affecting

spell.

Clueless and Fyrehowl, both of them used to flight, and attacking while doing so, shot off to

intercept the Rakshasa as Toras hovered next to the priestess as she began to invoke the name

of her patron power. Halfway to the fiend, the bladesinger and the lupinal saw two spells strike

at the greenish, screaming mount. Tiny, flaming barbs shot out from a wand in Nishas hands as

a golden burst of light erupted on the Yrthrak. The mount stumbled in its flight, slowing down

long enough for the two fighters to close within striking distance.

The Rakshasa bellowed a string of curses in heavily accented infernal, all of the words being

half roared and half spoken. A bolt of lightning struck out at clueless and Fyrhowl as the fiend

held up one paw, half an invocation for the magic, and half in a crude gesture. The bolt flung

wide as the Rakshasas mount jerked in pain, barely missing Clueless as he rolled to his left and

slashed at the mount with his sword. The blade bit deep on the creature, as it made no attempt

to avoid. In fact, the Yrthrak seemed to be still in some state of shock or disorientation following

Arens spell.

The fiend roared again and slashed with a black bladed scimitar at Fyrehowl as her sword

carved into the mount twice in long slashes across its flank before a third slash buried itself into

its back. A spray of black blood drifted out, falling into the void and the mount screamed madly

in pain, convulsing as it died.

Abandoning his shuddering mount, the Rakshasa hurled himself off the mount and into open

space, hurtling downwards in a flying rustle of black robes flapping in the updraft. Fyrehowl

moved to return to the other three party members as the fiend fell out of sight, still snarling

impotently in fainter and fainter outbursts. Clueless however did the opposite and hurled himself

downwards, chasing after the sorcerer with his sword out and aimed for its heart. The half-feys

black wings shimmered in the darkness and swept back behind him as he sped downwards towards

the fiend. A second later he struck and nearly skewered the fiend through to the hilt of his blade.

The fiend choked and spasmed as Clueless perched atop him, driving the blade in deeper till

the hate in the Rakshasas eyed dulled and died as it did too. Before launching himself back up

with a flurried beating of his own wings, the bladesinger paused to snatch at several rings on the

fiends hands and grab the wand clutched in its rapidly hardening deathgrip.

Hmm... have to look at these later... he muttered to himself as he looked up at his fellows
75

in the distance slowly retreat as the corpse of the fiend slowly plummeted into the void. A

moment later and he was speeding back towards them with the Rakshasas former possessions

stuffed into his pockets.

Back together, Aren was slowly healing the burns suffered by the group during the ambush.

There were winces as her spells took effect, but soon enough they had all mostly recovered. Nisha

was fiddling with the compass again, regaining her sense of direction and bearings.

Wheres it pointing towards? I hope were not running into a cube full of those things...

Fyrehowl said to the rogue as Toras gripped his sword and muttered a soft, I wouldnt mind

it...

Somewhere Id rather not be? Which is about anywhere on this sodding plane? she mused

and flicked her tail to one side derisively.

Oh its not that bad. Well it is, but you get to kill things and know that theyre all better

off dead. You just cant pass that up when you have the chance. Toras smiled as Fyrehowl did

the same and nodded, Yeah, well there is that. I cant say it isnt true...

Aren simply shrugged and Clueless chuckled, but with that momentary pause they moved

in the direction indicated by Nisha. The planar compass, attuned to their target, drew them

closer and closer to one specific cube that hung in the void, battered and forgotten. Deep furrows

scarred the surface on three sides as it slowly spun and drifted, reflecting dim light and casting

deep, long shadows over a pitted landscape burrowed through with holes like a rotting apple of

cast iron hurled into the night to be feasted upon by great steel worms.

The air was silent as they neared the surface and one of the larger holes that burrowed deep

into the core of the cube.

Umm... damn. You go first Toras. Nisha said as she paused at the lip of the cave mouth.

Toras raised an eyebrow and looked down into the darkness.

Fyrehowl and Aren scanned the depths of the hole before shaking their heads in concert.

Its deep, but theres nothing down there that I can see. The lupinal said.

I really hope whatever made this hole isnt down there... goblins I can deal with, but

anything that ate its way down into there... no. Clueless breathed deeply as he snuffed the

faerie fire dancing over his wings before following Toras downwards.

The cave was steep but oddly smooth as the party descended into the depths. After several

hundred feet the air grew warm and slightly humid. Patches and dots of rust were speckled

across the walls around them from the moisture, and somewhere far off in the distance they

could make out the faint sounds of rushing water. Fyrehowls ears perked to the noise.

Well thats not natural. Not for this layer of the plane anyways. And it smells... it smells
 76

nauseating almost, and theres soot on the air as well. Id say more but its too far off still. The

lupinal sniffed at the air and looked curiously at her companions as they continued.

A quarter mile down the tunnel, the passage began to widen and the sound of faint water

became a closer rushing of a river or waterfall. A slow and lazy mixture of warm steam and thin

smoke wafted up from the depths the closer they grew to their target. Fyrhowl paused abruptly,

moments before she and Nisha stopped the others with a frantic waving of the tieflings arms and

a finger over the lupinals lips. SSssshhh! G-o-b-l-i-n-s. A-h-e-a-d. B-e, q-u-i-e-t. she mouthed

as she pointed towards two lips of stone some thirty yards or so down the tunnel where it began

to curve into a horizontal passage rather than a vertical shaft.

The others looked towards the spots the tiefling had motioned towards. Painted to resemble

normal stone, and largely obscured by several outcroppings of iron saturated rock sat two guard

posts. Manning their bases and roofs were a half dozen goblinoids each, armed with pikes and

wicked looking crossbows that glimmered in the darkness.

Unspoken between them, the five crept slowly and laboriously against the cave walls above

the sentries, hoping to avoid detection. The guards seemed bored and utterly at ease at their

posts. In all likelihood the cube had never before been under siege by their orcish enemies, and

their lax attitude worked to the advantage of the companions as they made their way past.

Creeping along at a snails pace now, the tunnel gradually became filled with a flickering

greenish glow that filtered through a haze of smoke and steam that clung to the roof like a

flowing, living thing. The sounds of rushing water grew louder along with the sounds of repeated

blows of metal against metal. As the tunnel opened into a large cavern, the source of the noise,

light and heat became clear.

Bisecting the cavern was a rushing black surge of syrupy water, likely a wayward tributary of

the Styx. Lines of goblins made their way from the river, collecting buckets of the foul fluid, and

made their way towards several squat buildings to one side of the infernal waterway. Furnaces

built into the structures belched gouts of roaring greenish flames into the air along with rushes

of smoke and steam that cast brilliant but harsh, flickering, and sporadic surges of light and

shadows across the cavern. Another, longer line of goblins and non-goblin slaves stretched from

the furnaces towards the far side of the cavern to collect raw ore cut from the cube itself.

Sitting upon a rise in the cavern floor and stretching nearly to the roof above, watching over

the whole of the forgeworks below, sat a double towered keep of bluish black steel and dressed

stone. At the rear of the party, Nisha looked at the planar compass and muttered, No, it

couldnt be one of the slaves. It had to be someone stuck in the heavily defended and fortified

keep. Wonderful.
77

Clueless held back a snicker at the tieflings obvious enamored feelings about the plane and

their current task. Do you have any more invisibility potions? I really dont think were going

to just waltz past all of those slaves, their handlers and any guards watching from that keep

and... ! Get down, theyve got beholders!

The bladesinger ducked back behind a ragged chunk of rust frosted iron at the opening of

the cavern. Drifting slowly into view from behind one of the clouds of smoke that rose from

the furnaces was a pair of chitinous orbs, each dotted with eyestalks and a single central eye. A

number of soft curses resounded from the companions as they snuck glances out to count a total

of three eye tyrants patrolling the area, along with one slightly different and larger example.

What in the Nine Hells is that one? Nisha asked, pointing to the larger variant orb.

Not good, theyve got a spectator... its probably directing the others, keeping them in

telepathic contact with each other. Sometimes they can see through illusions. Fyrehowl growled

softly after answering the tieflings question.

Its a pretty regular pattern of patrols theyve got. I think we can wait, go invisible and

then make a run for it. We can make it assuming we can find a quick way into the keep. And...

you do have more invisibility potions, right Nisha? Toras said quietly with some confidence.

Yeah, not many more. But I carry extra, this week anyways. This gnome in the Lower Ward

wasnt... I mean to say, this potion making fiend in the Hive wasnt being careful with his bags

when... dont look at me like that, all of you. Nisha replied with a grin equivalent to a child

being caught with their hand stuffed into a jar of cookies. She flicked her tail in the lupinals

direction as she handed out potions.

Toras looked at her in a mildly disapproving manner before glancing at the keep and com-

menting on their plan of action, The gates pretty well sealed up it looks like. How about one

of the towers there? They dont look defended and theres a stone lip around the top of them.

So unless theres guards stationed at the top, its probably a safe spot to hide till the beholders

make another pass through the area. Id bet theres got to be some sort of entrance on the top

there as well.

Sounds good to me. Ready? On the count of three. Nisha nodded, quaffed a potion and

faded from view to leave only a faint impression in the dusting of rust on the ground, subtly

moved and broken by the shifting of her tail.

Two, One, Three! and with the tieflings out of pattern count, they bolted from behind

their hiding space and launched themselves out across the cavern as the beholders moved out of

direct line of sight. The smoke that billowed out across their path burned their skin and stung

their eyes with fragments of burning coals and stray sparks of forge iron. But undaunted, they
 78

sped across the cavern, upwards towards the keep, to bolt over the lip of one of the towers just

before the roving squad of eye tyrants returned to gaze across where they had just been.

The group sat motionless on the iron-laced stone of the parapet until the many-eyed guards

passed overhead before more closely examining their surroundings. The lip was broken by arrow

slits angled out towards the main entrance to the cavern, and an iron trapdoor sat in the center

of the floor. Otherwise the ramparts were unoccupied and undefended.

So, this time are you going to let me pick the lock? Nisha asked, looking up towards Toras

as she bent over to examine the trapdoor.

I wasnt planning on it, no. he replied matter-of-factly as he nodded down towards the

trapdoor where Cluelesss green steel sword was tapping at the obvious lack of a lock on the

latch.

Oh... good, you noticed... yeah, she stuck out her tongue at first Toras then Clueless, then

turned to the other two women and repeated the process for good measure. Showoffs. Fine go

right ahead, do my job for me.

She gave an amused smile as the trapdoor swung open, and then cursed as the entryway gave

off several multicolored sparks. And this is why you let me check these things...pike it... they

set an alarm spell on the other side.

Fyrehowl and Clueless jabbed blades into the opening as the heavy plate was moved to one

side to show a set of stairs leading down into the main structure of the keep. Magical torches

burned in their sconces at regular intervals down the stairwell, but otherwise nothing marred the

progression of steps as they descended downwards.

I hope noone was paying attention to that ward... Nish sighed and kicked at the trapdoor.

Hells, well know soon enough.

Blades drawn, they descended the stairs quickly, trying to be as quiet as possible, all but

Toras floating rather than walking. The fighter was too large simply said, and would have collided

with the ceiling above him considering the fortress was built for goblins, perhaps hobgoblins at

the largest.

The stairs ended at a shallow portal into a connecting chamber between several hallways.

Walking out into the hallway, still cloaked from vision, Nisha consulted the compass and pointed

down one of the halls at an iron portcullis and several chatting hobgoblins.

Go kill the hobgoblins, we gotta go that way... Nisha whispered under her breath. Several

seconds later Clueless, Fyrehowl and Toras suddenly reappeared as blood marred the stone of

the passage and the guards collapsed with looks of shock on their faces. Clueless gazed down the

passage warily and Fyrehowl sniffed at the air with curious intent as a pair of invisible tiefling
79

fingers grabbed a ring of keys from one of the corpses, and then fished around quickly for two

coin purses with a soft whisper of success.

Nisha unlocked the gate hurriedly and Toras raised it with a rough heave for the group to

pass. Nisha paused to kick at one of the corpses, returning to visibility as she consulted the

compass and floated down the corridor, going directly to where it pointed as quickly as possible.

You couldnt very well follow me if I was invisible... she said as Clueless shot her an odd

glance. Behind him, Fyrehowls ears perked back in the direction they had come from.

Theres footsteps coming from down two of those corridors we ignored. Pretty distant, but

theres a good number of feet behind them.

Picking up speed now, the group passed several empty, mundane cells and one that contained

a rotting orc corpse, before finally pausing in front of a massive steel door with an oddly glowing

lock plate that seemed to swirl in random patterns of color. Nisha stopped and landed with a

number of soft, abortive clip-clops of her hooves as she skidded to a halt in front of the door, to

look at first the compass, then the door.

And here we are... so now just who are you were here to get? she pocketed the compass

and took out her lockpicks and sat down in front of the cell door.

Fyrehowl glanced down the hallway again with concern as the sound of footsteps grew closer

and the others began to notice it as well. Toras glanced at the group and walked down the

hallway, back towards the portcullis. If someone comes this way, Ill stop them or warn you all.

Ill be back.

Before he did so, Aren took out her holy symbol, kissed it and made a sign in the half-celestials

direction, blessing him. Toras smiled and gripped his sword with slightly more conviction than

before as he walked off.

Paused to pick the lock on the door, Nisha stopped and put down her picks to quaff a small

vial. She shook her head at the evidently bitter taste and then narrowed her eyes to examine

the door and the lock.

Strange... theres not a drop of magic on the door, not even the lock. Ten stingers in an

osyluths palm that whoevers behind heres sitting in the middle of an anti-magic field... she

wrinkled her brow some more and poked at the lock tentatively. It warped and distorted as she

touched it, her pick simply sliding into it for an inch or two and moving around. She might

as well have been attempting to pick a lock made of jellied arborean apples. Her head tilted

curiously to one side as she poked at the lock some more, fascinated by its behavior. Down the

hallway the sound of footsteps grew louder by the second.

Weird, seen of I these never one... oops, sorry. Bad habit... but hells, if someone cared this
 80

much to bottle you up, Id really like to meet you. Or maybe not; doesnt matter if cant pop

the damn lock though.

Above her, Clueless held his ear to the door, straining to listen for any clue of the occupant

of the cell. He gave a curious look and motioned over to the lupinal to try to do the same. She

pressed one of her own ears to the cold steel to try and came back with an odd look. Sounds

like someones chanting or repeating something over and over again behind the door. Its faint,

so theyre either whispering or theres a space between the door and their actual cell.

As Nisha made more and more frustrated noises and abortive attempts to pick the doors

ever shifting lock, somewhere in the depths of the keep the peal of an alarm bell was raised and

reverberated through the walls and echoed down the halls.

Hurry up! Somebody knows were here! That someones probably the entire sodding

fortress. Toras ran back towards the party, drawing his sword and glancing back over his shoul-

der. Nisha glared up at him in abject frustration.

Im picking the piking lock as fast as I can! I dont think I can pick it, its made of some

sort of chaos matter. Normally Id think that was pretty swell, but not when I need to open it

and Im guessing that it wont take a set form of tumblers till you think a certain thought. If I

knew what that was Id have a chance to pick it. But I dont, and Im not a psion or a gith so

theres not a fiends chance in Celestia of me popping it! I cant, so if you have any better ideas,

go right ahead.

Nisha spat at the door and slumped backwards angrily in defeat, staring at the glowing liquid

metal patch on the iron door. A chorus of muttered curses and sighs echoed amongst the group,

but in their concentration on the door, none of them looked back at Clueless.

Standing at the rear of the group, the bladesingers eyes suddenly glazed over. He tilted

his head to look at the door, sneered, and then, without incantation or gesture, hurled a single

burst of green pulsing light at the door. The disintegration ripped the door from its hinges and

incinerated it into dust before it was flung inwards more than several inches. Slowly the rest of

the group looked backwards in shock at Clueless who simply stood with one hand raised out to

the door, looking confused at what had just occurred. His eyes were no longer glazed over as

they had been just moments before.

Well why in the nine hells didnt you do that before?! Nisha exclaimed as she stood up.

I... dont have a clue... Clueless answered honestly, feeling perplexed than he tried to let

show. He didnt know the spell hed just seen himself cast, and when he had, he was only a

spectator in it all, watching himself rather than doing it. Shaking it off he moved towards the

open cell door.

81

Past the door was a long stone corridor that ran some twenty feet towards a single dimly lit

and cloistered cell. A frayed mat of rags lay in the center of the small cell upon which its sole

occupant sat. Nisha glanced at the person, then at the planar compass, and finally nodded to

the group who walked to the edge of the cells entrance.

Sitting in the center of the cell, perfectly still and with their back turned to them was a single

woman dressed in ill-fitting rags. She was thin, exceedingly so, likely from lack of food. Still it

was obvious that she had once been in prime physical condition since her muscles were lean and

taught despite her circumstances. Her skin was a pale, milky white that turned to a tieflings

gray/green hue in places, almost a blue pallor in the dim light of the cell. Her ears were thin

and pointed, further betraying the blood of a fiend running in her veins, but otherwise she would

have passed as a human with tangled locks of brown hair mixed with reddish highlights tied in

a loose knot at the back of her head.

Nishas eyes suddenly grew wide in their sockets at her first unobstructed glance at the other

tiefling. Her tail was rigid and her mouth quivered slightly in nervous fear as the others crowded

around to look and meet the prisoner.

Still unmoving as they approached her, she sat there, calm and seemingly meditating. In

between soft, measured breaths she was carefully and deliberately reciting a series of mantras.

I will uphold Justice before all else, purging the multiverse of those who break the law.

In all situations I shall weigh the rights and wrongs with a clear and impartial mind.

I shall decide where Justice must fall under the law, and I will mete out that Justice with a

firm and unyielding hand.

I believe in the righteousness of my faction; we alone answer to the higher law of Justice.

I will not pass judgment on good or evil, only on law-abiding and law-breaking, for therein lies

wrongdoing.

I will punish the guilty as the crime demands.

I will be diligent in my pursuit of the guilty, and while so engaged I shall remain innocent of

any wrongdoing in the eyes of others.

I will never release a lawbreaker until his sentence has been carried out.

Nervous glances were exchanged behind her as she paused from her recitations, rose to her

feet and turned to face her rescuers. The glimmer of madness danced in her eyes as she looked

at each of them in turn, all of whom were painfully aware of the identity of the woman standing

in front of them.
Chapter 9

Having done so she gave the faintest of bows as she gave her introductions, though in truth, few

of the companions required her name to recognize her nor the the scope of whatever it was that

they themselves had now become embroiled in.

Factol Alisohn Nilesia. You all have my thanks for the righting of an injustice. Who sent

you? My faction? Or did Rowan send you all? subdued insanity danced in the factols eyes as

she smiled at some memory and stepped forwards.

The factol glanced to the box stuffed into a sack at Nishas waist, I see you recovered my

belongings. Again, my thanks to you all. She extended her hand expectantly to the other tiefling

who faltered and handed over the box without a word. The entire group was clearly still in some

manner of shock.

The rulers of the fortress will be coming, they dont wish to lose me. They view me as

something of a prize since they recognized me when the orcs did not. Their guilt is not in

question, but I have judgment to provide to them before I may leave.

Nilesia slipped on her rings, quickly donned her robes and gave her blades each a few quick

and precise passes through the air to test her skill and hunger sapped strength. At first unsure

of herself, within a few deft slashes and cuts through the air she seemed satisfied with herself

and a level of skill that garnered respect from her rescuers. The factol glanced at her spellbooks

longingly before slipping them into an inner pocket of her robe and sifting quickly through a

small bag of spell components nestled in another pocket of the black garment.

I still have spells in memory, but Ive had no components for some time. Still, the goblins

thought it wise to place my cell inside a blanket of antimagic. Guilt leads to overprotective

sheltering of crimes, and I have lingering crimes to punish when we are away from here. You will

have to tell me what changes Sigil has seen since I last saw it. Someone in my faction has my

blood on their hands and I will find them for what has happened to me. She grinned with a look

of eager anticipation of bloodshed that would have made a Tanarri feel warm by comparison.

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It will be good to see Rowan again... she smiled and gained a starry eyed glitter over her

expression before casting a glance down the hallway and making for the exit from her cell. Her

rescuers paled slightly at her last phrases.

She doesnt know, does sh... Aren glared at Nisha and silenced her verbal train of thought

as all of them exchanged nervous glances.

Obviously no, she doesnt. And frankly I dont think now is the time to break the news

to her about what happened. She doesnt have a faction anymore, Darkwood is dead, and she

was sold into slavery by someone, probably Darkwood himself. He never loved her, but she was,

and is, clearly still head over heels in love with him. Shes BARMY!! Arens voice rang clearly

inside the minds of her companions without her lips moving as they followed Nilesia out into the

hallway. They all exchanged nods of agreement on Arens thoughts on the matter.

Fyrehowls ears twitched slightly as they moved to enter the corridor and Nilesia held up one

hand suddenly and glanced down the hallway. She muttered something harshly under her breath

and turned the corner out of the cell.

Factol I... Clueless glanced at the Factol, only to find her vanished, nowhere to be seen,

as several figures came into view turning the corner into the hallway. Five hobgoblins in ornate

armor and carrying spears advanced before several goblins with a brilliant bluish tint to their

skin. None of them wore armor, or much more than loose fitting clothing, but each of them

had a small crystal hovering about their body as they approached. Behind them, towering over

even the hobgoblins was another of the blue colored goblins. However the larger one was naked,

heavily muscled, and with a slight dog-like shape to its face. Its four arms were already making

small motions in the air and fiendish looking spikes jutted at random from its back. It turned its

luminescent, reddish eyes towards the group and bellowed out a mixed bestial roar and command

to its subordinates to attack.

As the half-fiend roared, Toras, Clueless and Fyrehowl charged to meet the Goblins. They

had gotten perhaps ten feet before a blue glow erupted from the forehead of the goblin leader

and an invisible force detonated in their midst. Without a sound the walls and floor vibrated

with concussive force and the three were dashed to the ground, dazed and bloodied from the

attack. As they struggled to regain their feet the more mundane goblins advanced, weapons out

and one of their blue skinned kin touched a small gem on its forehead. Instantly there was a

glowing green mass of semi-transparent filaments that burst into being around Nisha and Aren,

wrapped around them and suddenly growing more solid and tangible. Nisha squirmed and rolled

forwards across the floor, shedding most of the sticky material before it hardened, but Aren was

not as quick in her movements. In seconds the material had formed a solid cocoon around her
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as she toppled to the floor, struggling but making little progress in freeing herself.

As the group struggled to make themselves ready for the next attack, with only a blood-

thirsty, crazed scream as a warning, Nilesia reappeared at the rear of the group of goblins as her

invisibility spell dropped and she charged one of the psions, wreathed in a circle of blue flames

and swinging her glowing, black bladed sword. Three quick cuts to the back of one of the blues

and a sharp stab into the arm of one other and she vanished again. In her passing, the one blue

that had taken the brunt of her attack was left crumpled on the floor and struggling to staunch

the blood pouring from its back, its other companion was more stoic in its endurance of the

shallow stab on its arm, but still it cradled the limb and was hampered in its movements.

Surprised by the factols sudden attack and her just as sudden disappearance, the goblins

faltered for a moment, disorganized and dazed. Nisha took the opportunity to draw her blade

and begin cutting Aren free from the psionic entanglement she was trapped within. Rising to

their feet in that moment and charging forwards were Clueless, Toras and Fyrehowl, blades

drawn and faces grim. The lupinal, quicker than her two other companions, struck first. Her

first cut bit deep into the shoulder of one of the goblins and a second thrust to his side drew

blood as well, tearing through both armor and flesh alike. Off balance and in pain the hobgoblin

barely raised his shield as she leapt for his throat and clamped her jaws down with a wet crunch;

her opponent went instantly limp.

Clueless struck next, darting up into the air as his wings suddenly sprung into motion. Several

of the hobgoblins made jabs at him with their spears but he deflected them and cut at the heads

of several of them. In the confusion of suddenly facing an aerial opponent as well as having lost

one of their front guards, Toras managed to shoulder his way past to attack one of the psions. As

he charged one of them he swung at it a single time and nearly cleaved its arm off when it raised

it up defensively. It fell backwards and spit out a single curse at him, somehow manifesting a

power despite the pain of effectively losing a limb.

As Toras was struck by a burning ray of light that made him stagger backwards in pain, the

half-fiend turned its attention to him. It gestured with its hands and a second pulse of light

manifested from its forehead to send a wave of concussive force against Toras and Clueless both.

It cackled and looked around the vanished factol.

Clueless was flung backwards by the half-fiends blast and took a moment of lying on the

floor before he managed to recover. Fyrehowl was already on her feet and carving through the

hobgoblins with ease while Toras had somehow managed to stay on his feet despite the two

attacks against him. The fighter backhanded one of the hobgoblins, killing it in one stroke,

before finishing off the psion whose arm he had already separated from its shoulder as its head
85

joined the other limb on the ground.

The half-fiend roared as most of its fellows were left dead or dying on the ground. It closed

its eyes and vanished in a burst of light, only to reappear several dozen feet away to hurl another,

larger blast of concussive force at its opponents, this time not caring that it killed the remaining

two of its hobgoblins in the process. Toras dove to one side as Fyrehowl ducked to avoid the

rippling wave and they both seemed to avoid most of the blast, though it left them bruised and

dazed in its wake.

It was at that moment as the psion prepared to unleash yet another attack that something

glimmered on the ceiling and dropped behind it into a crouching position. The sound of first

one blade and then another being sheathed in flesh could be heard next as the psion stumbled

forwards and coughed a spattering of blood across the floor. Nilesia stood behind it, calm and

composed with both her sword and dagger dripping with the half-fiends blood. She looked

expectantly to Toras as the psion stumbled forwards, dazed and stunned from the wounds the

factol had given it. The half-celestial could only comply with her unspoken order as he followed

up her attack by burying his own sword in the fiendish goblins chest.

Good, you have some measure of skill. I commend you on that. Nilesia stalked forwards

like a hunting predator before swiftly severing the head of the half-fiend without so much as a

sound apart from the snap of vertebrae and the sharp report of steel on stone as her blade grazed

the flagstones before she whipped it back in a spray of blood across her face. She didnt seem to

notice it at all and left the gore to speckle her face like hellish freckles.

Theyll have more of those, though the fiend-spawn was their leader as far as I can tell.

The factol remarked as she glanced down at the blues. As she looked back at the half-fiend, her

newfound companions made no comment at the soft giggling chuckle that escaped her lips. They

ignored her out of a mixture of respect and fear as they gathered their wits about them, as most

of hers seemed to have fled with her sanity some time previous.

While Nisha examined the planar compass that would tell them the direction to their exit,

Aren cast a few quick spells to heal the worst of the wounds they had all suffered in the fight,

and Clueless quickly picked at a number of the items their attackers had been carrying. Nilesia

made certain of matters by going from corpse to corpse and brutally, but efficiently, slitting their

throats with a single thrust of her sword. She looked up at the others, the flames of her fireshield

flickering and dying down, spattered in blood but with a calm, almost pleasant smile upon her

face, Lets go, shall we? The others could only smile and nod as they hurried down the corridor

the stairwell back towards the tower.

As they ascended the stairs, the sounds of more goblins in pursuit echoed up from below, a
 86

mixture of angry barked orders and bellows of shock and dismay as it seemed that one group

had discovered the bodies of at least some of their leaders down below. Hearing the sounds of

the goblins behind them, Toras emerged from the trapdoor and up onto the roof, shouting back

for his companions to hurry. He looked around quickly and then willed himself to rise into the

air to flee. Nothing happened...

What the hell? and then he glanced over the lip of the ramparts to look directly into

the central eye of the Spectator orb and two of its thralls as they began to move into flanking

positions on the tower and where their targets were clambering out into view.

Stay under the cover of the walls out here, the damned beholders are pinning us down.

Flying isnt an option... Toras shouted as the others clambered out onto the top of the tower

and took cover.

Nilesia glanced down the stairs into the tower and began to softly chant before hurling a bolt

of lightning down the stairwell. Screams and agonized dying curses filtered up from the lower

reaches of the tower as a half dozen advancing goblins danced spasmodically and died amid a

cloud of ozone reeking smoke. Take care of the beholders, I have the goblins handled... the

factols statement was calm as she glanced down the stairs, though her face was contorted in a

fanatical grin.

Toras risked another glance over the rim of the tower, looking to one side as Fyrehowl glanced

over the opposite side. Hows it look over there? Toras asked, fishing around in a pouch at his

waist.

One of them on this side, but theyre just holding position to keep us pinned here. Probably

thinking well be overwhelmed by the goblins from down below. Too bad for them its not going

to happen. The lupinal said as she ducked back down for cover.

Clueless gripped his sword and looked over to Toras as the half-celestial took out a large metal

ball studded with spikes in a pyramidal arrangement; an oversized caltrop. Whats that... oh...

he said as Toras smirked and stood up to hurl the unconventional weapon direction into the eye

of the spectator beholder. It struck dead on and impaled itself up to the ball on one of the

three-inch spikes just off the center of the spectators pupil. It let out a startled scream of pain

and surprise while it turned away from the tower as blood began to well up and cloud over its

iris in a smeared reddish haze.

The problem with being covered with eyes is that getting things in your eyes really hurts...

Toras remarked as he dove for cover as suddenly deprived of the spectators leadership and

coordination the other two beholders moved forwards to bombard the tower with their own

eye-rays.
87

One of the beholders grimaced wickedly as it approached in closer range and swung half of

its eyestalks towards the party, even as the spectator writhed in agony. Streaks of color and lines

of distortion passed through the air and struck at its targets, narrowly missing some of them,

though Toras, Nisha, and Aren were barely struck. Toras gritted his teeth and dove for cover

as the offending ray caused his exposed skin to blister and erupt in angry red welt wherever it

touched. Nisha collapsed to the ground with a scream and clutched at a deep furrow cut into her

shoulder, though she had managed to avoid being disintegrated by the attack. Aren was struck

in the back by a single ray and seemed for but a moment to stiffen and turn slightly grayish

before she dropped to the ground breathing heavily and shaking off the effects of the petrification

attack.

Nilesia glared at her rescuers as they bore the brunt of the beholders attack before she stood

up and flung out her hand at the other eye tyrant approaching them from opposite the first. With

a few arcane syllables a cone of glittering, silvery frost ignited from her outstretched fingertips to

envelop the beholder in its chilling embrace. The beholder, its central eye closed in order to hurl

its eye rays at the tower only saw the incoming spell at the last minute and could only attempt
3 of
to dodge. It was only partially successful and the cloud of frost crystallized across nearly A 4

its body with a sound of shattering, cracking ice and tearing exposed flesh. Though it was still

clearly alive and howling in agony, several of the tyrants gas sacks had to have ruptured in the

attack as its ice-covered body began to quickly lose altitude and drift off to one side abruptly.

Nilesia returned to cast a withering gaze at the others before Fyrehowl stood up and repeated

the same gesture as the factol had done. While the lupinals spell was more an innate ability

and lacked most of the arcane gestures and all of the incanted words, the effect was the same

as a cone shaped burst of freezing mist billowed out to strike the beholder. Having seen the

fate of its companion though, it was not struck as heavily and managed to avoid any crippling

damage, though several of its eyestalks hung limp and covered in a layer of ice, frozen and

nonfunctional. As Fyrehowl dove back for cover and the tyrant raised another four stalks in her

direction Clueless tossed a wand to Nisha.

Try and get that to work, it should take out the beholder if you can. Trust me! he said

to the tiefling as she caught the wand and turned it over in her hands with a curious, if slightly

perplexed look upon her face. Abruptly the curiosity turned to mischievous intent as she stood

up and pointed it directly at the beholder. All the others saw, taking cover as they all were, was a

brilliant flash of red and orange flickering light and the boomed sound of the fireballs detonation

at close range as the shockwave passed over the towers top. Nisha dashed to the edge of the

ramparts and looked down with an impish grin and a wave, soon joined by her other companions
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as they watched the beholders frozen and charred corpse plummet downwards before landing

with a sickeningly wet crunch and bursting from the force of the impact upon the lower walls of

the keep.

Youll have to buy me one of these when we get back to Sigil you know, I like it. Nisha said

with a briskly twitching tail as she handed Clueless back his wand. Nilesia was by this point

casting a flying spell upon herself and looking down the stairs. Fyrehowl perked her ears and

joined her, I dont like that noise... theyre bringing something heavy up those stairs. Lets go.

I couldnt agree more, as much as they deserve for us to stay and slaughter them to the

last... another time. The factol sighed with far too obvious regret at having to leave with some

of her captors still alive.

As the companions and their rescued Mercykiller alike rose into the air above the fortress

they looked around at the scene below. The spectator was still floundering about in the air,

hurling a half dozen rays out at random, most of which struck the cavern floor below to send

goblin slaves and guards alike running for cover as the beams kicked up scatterings of rock and

gravel, and occasionally killed one them unfortunate enough to have been in its path. No longer

any real threat to themselves, they ignored it and made for the exit.

The group retreated with the swiftness of foxes fleeing a henhouse and dashed overhead of

the field of petitioners and furnaces. Nisha glanced nervously at the planar compass every few

seconds as they passed into the more confined space of the exit tunnel.

Sodding luck... the portal isnt on this damn cube! Back the way we came in! she shouted

out to the others as she flew as quickly as possible back towards the exit passage back up to the

cubes surface. As she and the others continued, Nilesia turned backwards and loosed a fireball

onto the field below to detonate in the midst of a rapidly organizing group of guards making a

hasty pursuit. The blast of the explosion was barely a ripple on the air by the time it reached

them, such was the speed of their flight. The Factols gaze lingered on the carnage and she

cackled with manic delight before turning back to gaze over the tunnel. As she sped up to the

rest of the party, Fyrehowl glanced at her warily but said nothing.

Out of sight of the main cavern floor the group approached the point at which the tunnel

sharply sloped upwards. The guard posts that lined the floor and walls of the tunnel were brightly

illuminated now by a series of spells and brilliant torchlight. The metallic tips of crossbow bolts

and at least one ballista were visible as the group closed the distance between themselves as the

goblinoids defenders. As they grew to within the distance of the torchlight there was a loud

blast of a horn from one of the fortified guard posts and the sudden sound of something heavily

scraping the floor of the cavern as it launched itself up into the light.
89

Rising up from the floor of the cave with a sudden and unexpected burst of speed was a gray-

green reptilian form with thin, membranous wings. The draconic bulk of the creature hovered

in the thin light drifting down from the opening of the tunnel, several hundred feet above. Ruby

colored eyes sparkled and it roared, rust colored mist drifting from its own maw. Goblins raised

crossbows and aimed them down the passage from where they huddled defensively behind the

rust-dragon as it blocked the center of the passage with its bulk.

Cluelesss eyes went wide as the dragon rose up and its roar buffeted him and his companions.

Torass eyes grew wide as the beasts throat convulsed slightly and it prepared to breath a cloud

of metal corroding gas. The bladesinger tilted his wings abruptly to one side and veered to the

wyrms right as a dozen crossbow bolts cut the air and hurtled towards him. All of them missed

horribly as the goblins deliberately aimed low to avoid hitting their own pet drake. Clueless cut

upwards at the last possible moment and slashed with him sword at the rust dragons flank and

underbelly. The blade met resistance from the beasts scaled hide and then bit deep. The dragon

roared and shook its head, breaking its concentration as it swallowed the belch of rusting gas it

would have breathed out in the next several seconds.

Seeing his chance and already ahead of the others except for Clueless, who was now barely

dodging the beasts claws and a swipe of its barbed tail, Toras raised his sword and charged

directly for the dragon. Already distracted by the pixie-winged pest to its one bleeding side,

the rust dragon made no attempt to defend against the fighter till it was too late. At the last

moment the dragon whipped its head around to snap at Toras as he charged through the air, but

as it did so it felt the sudden, oddly cold sensation of the fighters greatsword buried to the hilt

in its neck. The blade had to have hit the beasts spine and snapped it almost instantly because

almost as if in slow motion the dragons eyes glazed over, its limbs went slack, a death rattle of

greenish brown gas passed from its lips, and it plummeted to the group as goblins on the cave

floor screamed in terror and scrambled to avoid its body.

In the momentary break in the crossbow cover of the tunnel as the dragons corpse crashed

into the ground below, the group darted for the exit. As fast as they could fly they ascended

the quickly sloping passage and within minutes broke out above the surface of the cube. All eyes

went to Nisha as once again she paused, hovered in the air and consulted the planar compass.

There, that cube, she pointed towards a broken, pitted cube hanging in the distance, alone in

the darkness.

Pray for no company along the way, Im eager to get back somewhere safe... Nisha shivered

slightly as they all hurtled through the void towards the location of the portal promised to

them to exist somewhere ahead. It took them nearly two hours of constant flight to reach their
 90

destination where they paused on the rusted iron surface as Nisha surveyed a crevice leading

down into the cubes guts. The sides were lined with stone concretions that seemed composed

of, or carved into the likeness of weapons of all types, chariots, parts of ships, siege engines, and

other things unrecognizable. All of them turned to stone and plastered together in the darkness.

Toras looked over the edge of the crevice, You sure its down there Nisha?

Yeah, thats what the compass says. Not the first time Ive said it today, but ... you go

first? she gave a weary smile and looked down as the compass gave a soft hum the closer it got.

Clearly something at least was drawing the compass.

The group drifted down the cleft in the cube and into a surreal place that resembled the

graveyard of some massive battlefield frozen in time and turned to stone. Bizarre shapes that

had once been weapons on the battles of prime material worlds now stood broken, shattered and

tossed aside here amid the fragments of other devices best left undescribed. If the tools of war

could have souls, this would be their perdition.

Toras poked his sword at several of the petrified weapons that stuck up at odd angles from the

bulk of the stone. Clueless looked around with a soft sense of awe at the surroundings. Nilesia

smirked.

The mines of Marsellin make this all pale by comparison. You have no idea of the things

that weve dug out of the rock there. Or the things that have dug their way -out- of the rock

either. The factol walked on, largely oblivious to the same sense of wonder that her companions

displayed. Where is the portal you said you had waiting for you?

Nisha glanced towards a ragged square-shaped outcropping of rock on the other side of the

chasm from where they now stood at the bottom of it. There... she said as she approached it.

The planar compass began to shine with a pale, flickered blue light as it neared the proximity of

the space bound on the face of the rock. The portal activated as Nisha touched the surface of

the stone and the others gathered alongside her.

Lets go, weve done our part of this. Clueless said as he stepped forwards through the

portal, but not to where he was expecting.

Meanwhile in Sigil...
Chapter 10

Florian Schneider sat in the tap room of the Drunken Dabus, picking at his breakfast, his mind

repeatedly returning to the events of the past year that had finally grown far too much to handle.

Family. It was always about family. Such things you couldnt simply handle by spells or swords,

you had to either deal with them or run from them. Well, you -could- handle it by violence, but

he wasnt going to do anything of the sort. The Foe Hammer already had to be looking poorly

on his servants inability to deal with relatives on the whole matter that had finally led him to

throw up his hands and take his leave of them. Hed eventually return, at least thats what hed

told himself at the time before he went through that portal in a back alley of Athkatla. To run

off to the capital city from Esmeltaran hadnt been enough since both his own family and the

gaggle of harpies that seemed to compose the family on the other side of that arranged marriage

had followed him there. Hell, if they managed to follow him here then hed chalk it up to the

will of the gods and face it all. Otherwise he needed some space and a time to reflect on it all.

He shuddered for a moment as he contemplated having to look at, let alone do anything else to,

that ...

His internal debate was suddenly interrupted by the soft tapping of an ale mug being set

down on his table. He glanced up into the smiling face a well dressed tiefling. I do hope Im

not intruding sir...may I? he motioned towards the empty seat across from Florian.

The stocky, sandy haired cleric of Tempus shrugged, Be my guest. Can I help you with

something?

Yes actually, though I can wait if youre still eating your morning meal. He took out a

letter of sorts and fingered it softly in his hands.

Dont mind me, go right ahead, Im almost finished anyways. Florian took a few quick bites

of eggs and ham before sliding the plate off to the side. The food at the inn was remarkably

good this morning for some reason.

The tiefling nodded, My employer has directed me to look for persons in the city who might

91
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be in need of either jink, diversion, escape, some mixture of them all. He requires interested

persons to recover something of his along with a larger group he had already sent out on this

task. They were partially successful but sorely lack certain skills that he foresees them needing

in the immediate future. They lack a dedicated arcane and divine spellcaster. The temple of

Tempus here in Sigil was gracious enough to inform us of your presence here in the city. And

being that youre new to Sigil and as of yet not serving in any official capacity with your church

here, my employer felt you to be more than fitting his needs.

Interesting... I might be in need of a bit of work, if more to take my mind of some things

than for the money. So what sort of thing is your boss looking for me to do exactly? Florian bit

down on another bite of his breakfast, all of it delicious. In fact hed nearly cleaned the plate by

that point. The tiefling smiled, looked at the letter he held, and then pointed with it at Florians

food.

And you should be aware as you consider my proposal for employment, that the food that

youve just eaten was poisoned. Oh, it wont have any immediate effect, but without the antidote,

or anything short of a wish, youll be dead within 15 days. The toxin is very... specific... normal

curative magic will quite simply fail in ridding it from your system. Without us, you will wither

and die in the space of two weeks. That said, this letter is for you, I suggest you read it and

do as asked. He smiled cordially and passed the letter across the table to the now sick looking

cleric.

What the hells? You could have just asked you know, I would have said yes! Florian pushed

his plate of food away and glared angrily at the unconcerned tiefling.

Bluster all you like, you have two weeks at best before the poison runs its course. Take my

employers offer or do not, its only your life at stake here, not mine, and frankly it matters little

in the grand scheme of things. I have other people to see today if youll excuse me. Show up at

the appointed time or do not. Good day to you cutter.

And with that the tiefling tipped his hat, smiled and walked confidently to the door of the

inn and vanished out into the street leaving the shocked looking cleric behind with only a sealed

letter.

Only me... Florian sighed and opened the letter angrily. It was sealed with an odd blue wax

bearing the symbol of an open palm. Though the fingers seemed unnaturally long and possessed

of an extra knuckle each. The letter read: Greetings to you my newest employee. If you wish to

find yourself free of the toxin now coursing through your veins you will meet another of my latest

acquisitions this evening at the former location of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer. Once there enter

the front door and proceed to the second floor and enter the fifth door on the right. Further
93

instructions will be found there, as well as any others you will shortly find yourself working with.

- Patriarch Dalmar Imshenviir

Twelve hours previously and an entire plane removed, Tristol Starweather sat brooding in

his parents tower in the southern Faerunian nation of Halruaa on the prime world of Toril. The

wizard sat sullenly in a chair and rubbed the head of his familiar, a small twintailed fox who

yipped softly up at its master. The unique little fox tilted its head to one side in that ever so

typical canid manner of questioning. He didnt understand fully why Tristol was upset. The

mage looked down and gave a weak smile mixed with more than its own share of arrogance.

Certainly hed shown that trait over the past week, all coming to a head that morning. An

outsider might have found a curious dichotomy between mage and familiar, since both of them

had black tipped fuzzy ears and fox tails...

Tristol Starweather was a bit of a rarity in his nation of mages, being not quite fully human

but an odd little type of Aasimar, descended down from a type of celestial known as a Vulpinal.

Reclusive beings found on the plane of Elysium that served as sages, inventors and artists of

their kind. The aasimar heritage was passed down from his father, Kefnar Starweather, himself

an aasimar. His mother, Lutra Starweather, was as purely human as you might find. How the

mages who paired his parents together had made the match, Tristol wondered about it still since

they were nearly opposites in so many ways. Ability came first over fondness in Halruaa, and

under the laws of the land you didnt easily shirk responsibility to produce the next generation

of capable wizards.

Tristol pondered what exactly his parents were going to do with him. Whatever it was it

wasnt going to be pleasant, nor was it likely to be the idea of his father. Lutra was both the

more powerful mage of the pair, and the dominant personality. Whatever happened he would

likely be able to have his mother alone to thank. In fact what had started all of this coming

trouble was his mothers idea in the first place. Stupid illusion magic...

It had all started a month or so before. Tristols chosen area of magic was evocation; a

perfectly respectable school of magic, but not at all one of the politically favored schools. Kefnar

was an abjurist and Lutra was an illusionist, a powerful illusionist. This fact was apparent from

the illusions that constantly flitted over the face of their tower and wandered around inside half

of the rooms therein. The problem was that Tristol loathed the little wastes of magic with a

passion. He didnt find them useful, and they were one of the schools of magic that hed forsaken

in their entirety. His mother had never really gotten over that little snub. Shed wanted an

illusionist or a diviner, not some hurler of flames and lightning.

Thats what you got though, someone who uses real magic... Tristol scoffed and thought
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back again. Lutras little figments were amusing to him as a child, but as he grew older and more

skilled in magic they seemed like shadows of real spells, tricks without real use or substance. In

time they grew to be very shallow seeming to him. As his open contempt for them grew his

mother became displeased and put it upon herself to have her wayward son instructed in such

things and made to understand that all magic had its place. And in Halruaa some magic had

its place more than others.

To that end they had provided him with a tutor by the name of Jengo, the last in a long line

of wizards that had instructed him in the various schools of magic to supplement the teaching

of his own parents. It had been clear by that point that their sons prowess was approaching the

point where it would soon outstrip that of his father, and potentially that of his mother as well,

and that it was aspected firmly opposite to her own. Tristol had resented being lectured over

and over in tolerance for all forms of magic, being told that all magic was an equally powerful

blessing that Mystra had granted her servants, and that illusions had real uses. He scoffed at

the waste of magic he saw them all as, but still Jengo persevered in trying to mitigate some of

his pupils more extreme views.

Everything had come to a head when Jengo had drug Tristol along to a mage fair and carnival

of sorts on the other side of the city, specifically to guide him around a house of mirrors and

illusions. It had been three hours of misery for the young evoker in which hed been mocked

by phantasms, stumbled through illusory doors just to hit his head on a real wall, all the while

getting lectured on the positive aspects of illusion magic. Eventually hed had enough. He looked

in the direction of Jengos voice and shouted at the top of his lungs, This is what I think of

these lessons and this is what I think of this waste of magic! His shouting hadnt been for

naught as hed woven a greater dispelling incantation into his words and hurled them outwards

into the illusions cloaking the room. Walls melted away, Jengo appeared from behind a suddenly

dissolving stand of trees, and there was a shower of sparks from above them both.

Both Tristol and Jengo looked up to see a silver sphere come crashing down to the floor

where it burst into a dozen sparking pieces. The sphere had been the focus for the entire

house of illusions. Jengo looked on in horror as the dispelling spread outwards and entire rooms

vanished like a house of cards tumbling down upon itself. They both scrambled for the exit

before the physical sections of the building finally collapsed upon themselves in a cloud of all too

real smoke.

Jengo looked aghast as he looked to the ruins of the building and back to Tristol, I cant

believe what you did! Why did... how could... The very act itself was shocking to him, but also

the fact that his charge had hurled such a powerful spell on his own. All around there were the
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sounds of angry merchants, shocked and outraged wizards and the approaching sound of the city

guard. Tristol had just a bit of a triumphant smirk on his face even as he was politely escorted

away for detainment.

His parents bailed him out as soon as they heard what had happened from a shocked and

apologetic Jengo. As Lutra teleported herself, Kefnar and Tristol back to her tower on the

outskirts of the city, there was a palpable silence amongst them all. Walking down the halls

of the tower towards a sitting room, Tristol was fully aware that a number of the wandering

illusions in the tower looked down at him with disapproving stares, no doubt linked in to what

his mother was clearly waiting to say to him. Once they arrived and shut the door on their son,

Tristol sat and worried about the days events.

Back in the present he looked down at his familiar and simply stared out the window in the

room, making a face at the illusions that danced over the window frame. Fifteen minutes passed

before his parents returned. Lutra walked in and stood in front of her son before she launched

into her tirade. Kefnar skulked behind her, not fully party to her rant and clearly feeling some

sort of empathy for his son. Whatever might come, if it could be toned done, it was very likely

at his doing and not hers.

Tristol... his mother began. I arranged to have all that mess cleared up... but at a very

expensive price I must say! However, you are not allowed to set foot in the town proper for at

least year, or charges will be filed. She then took a long deep breath. And your father and I

have been discussing things. We both agree it would be wise to send you out on your own for a

while, so that you can get into trouble and get yourself out. You might learn some lessons while

youre out there as well since you didnt listen to half of those wed paid to have you taught. Im

not quite sure where I went wrong as a mother but...

Tristols father broke in suddenly, stepping out from behind his wife both figuratively and

literally, Were going to be very hands off on this. Weve packed some of your things up for

you, anything that youll need, but please do let us know where you are and what youre up to

so we dont worry. I hate sending you away, but your mother thought it might be best for all of

us for a while. His ears flopped sullenly to the sides in emphasis on the last part clearly being

his wifes idea entirely. Tristol wasnt going to let it all seen like a bad thing though, or even a

punishment...

Finally... a chance to be on my own. Tristol said, breathing a sigh of relief. Where should

I go? Waterdeep? Amn? Cormyr? Zakhara?

Weve arranged for you to get to Sigil. Its a bit further away from where youre thinking,

but its really only a door removed from here you could say. He tried to smile to make his son
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more at ease with leaving, With your ability there should be plenty of opportunity for right...

or wrong. Just remember, we wont be there to bail you out. Kefnar let out a sigh and motioned

with his tail over towards a table next to Lutra stacked with Tristols spellbooks and a travel

bag.

Tristols mother nodded, Weve prepared a small travel bag for you. She then hefted the

small brown bag up from the table. It has a few changes of robes for you, random scrolls, and

a few rings to help protect you. We want you to take this opportunity to get to know yourself

and find your place in the world. Come back to us when youve figured it out.

The next dozen or so hours were a whirlwind as he stepped through a portal to the Concordant

Domain of the Outlands and from there teleported to the city of Trade Gate. It had taken him a

few minutes to figure out how to use the portal to Sigil in that bustling city of traders, merchants,

craftsmen and gnomes. In the end one of those same gnomes and approached him and handed

him several links of silver chain before pointing to the archway and telling him to simply hold

out the bit of chain, what he called a portal key, and hed be in the City of Doors.

He did just that and spent the rest of the day wandering through what he had been told was

the Market Ward of the city. Hed also been called a number of other things ranging from berk,

to clueless, to sodding berk, to spellhurler, to things in languages hed never heard of before. All

of it seemed to relate to his penchant for stopping in the middle of the streets, even the crowded

ones, and looking around to stare at most everything in sight.

Eventually hed wandered into a nicer area of the city filled with mansions and fancier build-

ings, even a few towers. A few more instances of asking for directions led him out of what those

people had called the Nobles District into the other half of The Ladys Ward. By this point

hed been wandering for hours and was getting somewhat tired and more than a bit hungry.

Another person stopped and asked for directions, a few blocks walked, and Tristol noticed a sign

for what seemed to be some manner of inn. The oversized sign was decorated with a large golden

colored wheel above symbols of food and drink. If nothing else it would be a place to sit down

and digest all of the things hed seen so far.

Walking in the front door he was surprised by the number of people in the esblishment that

was now clearly both an inn and a gambling and Festhall as well. The sounds of dice cups,

shuffling cards, and from somewhere a but more removed, the sound of some snarling animal

clouding through the air and mixed with the more mundane sounds of people dining and talking.

The occasional shout and groan would be the rare winners at the gambling tables and the much

more frequent losers.

Tristol walked to a large desk opposite the entrance and looked up into the face of a large
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green colored dragons head that was either affixed to, or coming out of, the wall over the desk

and extending out over a bar to the side. His ears lay flat and his tail jumped for a brief moment

when the dragons head tilted and smiled a toothy grin at him. You look new here, can I help

you find anything? the dragon said.

You dont look like a green dragon... and youre nice... Tristol asked a bit impertinently.

Well, Im green today. Tomorrow Ill be something else likely. The dragon shrugged, as

well as it could do without shoulders anyways. In fact he looked more like a gold dragon, or

some odd looking silver. But regardless of his exact species, he continued, Something to drink?

Eat? A room for the evening? Oh, and if youll be so kind to sign the guestbook there to your

left.

Tristol smiled back, Right now a room for the evening. Its been a long day and I just need

to rest for a bit to handle everything this city has tossed at me. Yeah, Im new here if you

couldnt tell from the way I act, if not for my looks.

Very well. If youll go up those stairs to your right back there youll find the inn over top

of the Fortunes Wheel here, properly called the Azure Iris Inn. I warn you its a tad expensive,

but its very nice. Youll find a very pleasant wood elf up there, her names Verden. Tell her that

the big green scaly thing by the bar downstairs sent you up to her. Shell give you a little bit of

a discount. The dragon, or at least what looked like part of a dragon smiled again and pointed

its snout in the direction of the stairs near the back of the common room.

Well thank you, I think Ill do that. His tail twitched happily behind him, kicking up his

robes slightly as he dipped the pen on the bar into the ink well and hunted for a place to sign his

name in the registry. Hmm... might be a little cramped. Some Marauder person signed their

name over half the page...

But Tristol signed his name, smiled up at the dragon once more and walked up the stairs to

the Azure Iris inn. As he left for an evenings rest, his never saw the well dressed tiefling who

emerged from a spot at one of the card tables to walk over and examine the latest name in the

registry. The tiefling smiled and knocked a dash next to it as the dragons head hovered over

him with an altogether disapproving look on its face. The tiefling simply looked up and smirked

wickedly at the dragon, but both of them said nothing and the tiefling vanished back into the

crowd in the gambling hall.

The night came and went and Tristol Starweather slept soundly in his room at the end of the

hall in the Azure Iris Inn. The owner, Verden was a nice enough woman, if seeming a bit cold.

Maybe all elves were that way, but he wouldnt have known since Halruaa had very very few of

them within its borders. But she did give him his discount after he mentioned the dragon. As
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he slept his mind was growing to appreciate in some ways this little excursion from his family.

Freedom was sweet as he slumbered that evening. But that, like all things, would soon change.

The morning light slowly crept across Tristols face as he blinked at the hazy yellow light

breaking in a line across his bed and into his eyes. Thats daylight? Youd think they could do

something about the haze out there. He yawned and got up out of bed to splash a bit of water

on his face to feel a bit more alive. Back on the bed his familiar pounced the now vacant pillow

and happily claimed it as its own with a sharp bark of triumph as it curled up atop it.

Well fine, sleep there all day and Ill just have to leave you here while -I - go eat breakfast.

Hmm? Tristol chuckled as he brushed out his hair and smoothed the fur on his ears and tail.

The fox, at the mention of breakfast, was already at the door and waiting impatiently. Various

suggestions of what he wanted to eat were already starting to filter into Tristols mind through

the telepathic link they shared. Along with it, his own appetite was growing.

Thats not fair and you know it. Now stop, youre making me hungrier than I am. Next

time I go drinking Ill do the same to you, and I can hold my liquor more than you can.

The mage changed into a fresh set of robes and made his way back down to the fest hall area

of the Fortunes Wheel. He found an unoccupied table and took a seat. The fox barked at him

from on the floor impatiently. Oh? Mr. Im making the wizard hungry wants his own seat,

does he? The fox barked again in a just so fashion and Tristol stood up and slid out a chair for

his vulpine companion.

What can I get you sir? one of the servers, a cute looking aasimar of Eladrin heritage,

asked.

Hmm... anything that might qualify for breakfast. Its my first morning in the city and Id

like to try something I might not have before. But some sort of sausage for the fox over here.

The fox barked softly and wagged his oversized tails.

Anything to drink sir? she asked as she jotted down the food order.

Tristol thought for a moment, Something to wake me up?

She grinned puckishly, I can handle that, itll be out shortly.

Several minutes later a different server walked out and placed a shot glass of some fiery

reddish alcohol in front of the aasimar. Tristol look at it and the fox hopped up on the table

to sniff. It snuck out its tongue to lap at it before its master shooed it away. As he did so, the

fox got a single slurp and a small puff of smoke shot from its nose. The familiar looked slightly

dazed and flopped down on its side with a surprised yelp. Tristol himself paused and shook off

the shared effects of the alcohol.

Wow, just what the hell is this stuff? he pondered as he tentatively took a swallow of it,
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with an almost equal effect to himself. A short period later after he recovered from the bite of

the wine he flagged down yet another server and asked them what it actually was.

Ah... that would be Baatorian firewine sir. They said matter-of-factly. What the hell

indeed, not bad. Certainly woke me up, thats for sure. Tristol said to himself as he looked

back towards the still slightly stunned fox. You alright over there, or just buzzed? I told you

I could handle my drink more than you could. Might have to put you in an extradimensional

pouch later if youre too drunk to walk.

Tristol sat back and watched the various dozens of planar and prime races that populated the

taproom that morning as he waited for his food to arrive. Half of the patrons eating breakfast

or getting and early start on their days allotment of hard drink hed never seen before outside

of some of the books hed studied when he was learning conjuration spells. He marveled at the

existence of such a place where mortals, celestials and fiends walked in shared space, as well as

beings such as him with a trace of at least one of those planar races mixed in with their own

prime material bloodline.

Soon enough the same server who had brought the alcohol arrived with a tray of food and

placed several dishes in front of Tristol and a second, smaller dish in front of the familiar. I

thought your companion here might appreciate a plate of his own. Is there anything else that I

can get for you sir? the tiefling serving girl asked with a smile.

No no, this all looks very wonderful. Thank you. He returned her smile and hungrily

launched into his breakfast, mouthful after mouthful. The fox was finished with its own smaller

plate and sniffing towards Tristols food a few minutes later. Fine fine, you want some more?

Tristol thought as he pushed a few links of sausage over to his familiars plate.

Engrossed in his meal, the wizard failed to notice the tiefling approaching his table till the

well-dressed man had tapped a small cane on the chair opposite him. Excuse me sir, I apologize

for interrupting your breakfast, but I was hoping that I might have a word with you.

Tristol started to reply then remembered his manners and swallowed his mouthful of food.

Umm... certainly. Please have a seat.

Thank you. The tiefling sat down and placed a small sealed letter on the table in front of

him. Where to begin, where to begin... again Im pleased to make your acquaintance, its not

everyday that one gets to meet a wizard from Halruaa.

Wait... did my mother set you up for this? If she went out of her way to have people keep

tabs on me while I was here in Sigil, Ill... his ears were suddenly a bit flat against his head

before the tiefling waved off his concern.

Nothing of the sort sir, Im personally not familiar with your family. I was however told that
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you were in Sigil and staying up in the Azure Iris. Another colleague of mine by the name of

Tripicus keeps tabs on prime material residents from a few select spheres, its an honest curiosity

in him. He studies people from the various primes. But I get ahead of myself.

The tiefling waved over the server and ordered himself a drink. My own employers have

been looking for help with certain matters, and specifically are in the need of arcane expertise. I

was having an evening meal with Tripicus the other day and he mentioned you, and being from

a nation of wizards on a prime world noted for wizards, I figured I might as well meet you and

see if you might be interested in what my employers have to offer.

Hmm... well I might be open to it. What sort of work would I be doing? Let me finish up

the last of my breakfast here and we can talk about the details.

All of the finer points are in the letter I have here if youd like to look over it. He slid the

letter across the table to the wizard and took a sip of his own drink as it arrived. A moment

after his shot of whiskey he paused and pointed towards Tristols plate, And I believe that I

would be remiss if didnt inform you that your meal was poisoned...

Tristol stopped, blinked and looked up at the tiefling. What was that you said?

Ill repeat it again in case you misheard me. I said your food was poisoned, every scrap of

your breakfast in fact. The effect will be slow and subtle at first, but without the antidote, or

anything short of a wish, youll be dead within two weeks time. The alchemical toxin is quite

rare and has the peculiar ability to resist clerical healing spells that would normally purge it

from the body. So Ill spare you a trip to a temple of Mystra and just tell you now that they

cant help you, but my employer can. Do exactly as this letter spells out and you will be given

the antitoxin before it kills you. Choose not to agree to those terms and youll have two weeks,

at most, to find yourself a cure without knowing what the specific poison was...

The tiefling stood up, tipped his hat towards the mage, and tossed the letter in front of him.

Youll be wanting to read that. Good day to you. And with that, he turned and walked off,

vanishing into the crowd and leaving Tristol stunned and staring at the letter.

His familiar looked at the empty plates in front of them both and whimpered softly, its two

tails gone limp and curled between its hind legs. With trembling fingers, Tristol opened the

letter that was sealed with a shimmering blue wax, impressed with an image of an open palm

with an extra digit to each elongated finger. The letter read: Greetings to you my newest

employee. If you wish to find yourself free of the toxin now coursing through your veins you

will meet another of my latest acquisitions this evening at the former location of the Ubiquitous

Wayfarer. Once there past the front door, proceed to the second floor, and enter the fifth door

on the right. Further instructions will be found there, as well as any others you will shortly find
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yourself working with. - Patriarch Dalmar Imshenviir

Lady of Mysteries preserve me... Tristol put down the letter and help his familiar in his

lap as he contemplated just what exactly he would do. Assuming the food was poisoned and

what that arrogant prick of a tiefling had said was true, he didnt have much of a choice but

to do what he was being forced to do. First hed confirm that he was indeed poisoned and see

if normal curative magic could heal it, unlikely but he could try in case it was all an elaborate

bluff. But for the moment he sat, suddenly quiet, his own ears and tail matching the sullen and

worried attitude that his familiar displayed.

And two more were thus snared into the plot, wrapped in the same webs of guile, treachery

and lies as the others they would soon meet...

Chapter 11

The companions gazed out into an empty gray void stretching out as far as the eyes could see.

Several brilliant, glowing orbs of light hung suspended out in the empty space around them,

illuminating the large outcrop of rock that they stood upon. Like an inverted mountain it hung

there in space, connected to a single black marble bridge that reached out to another, larger

hanging rock suspended in the void. Hulking upon that second island of stone stood a solid

and utilitarian stone fortress that could have been picked up off of any random prime world and

deposited where it now stood. Some portions of it seemed of human make, others seemed to be

constructed in more of a dwarven style. Nothing particularly stood out to give any real clue of

the origin of its owners, or at least its makers. Certainly nothing stood out in comparison to the

demiplane it sat within.

The temperature was pleasant and a slow warm breeze drifted across their faces as they gazed

up at the castle sitting there motionless in space. The orbs in the empty sky shed their harsh

white light over the landscape of the demiplane, stretching out their feeble illumination into the

empty expanse of nothing that surrounded them.

Clueless looked at the others, Well... so much for going right back to Sigil.

Fyrehowl sighed angrily, And you believed him? The man dealt with Nycaloths. That

doesnt make him trustworthy as far as Im concerned.

I still hold to my previous statement that he needs to join the Dustmen. You dont find too

many walking dead men outside of that group... Toras smirked with the anticipation of future

comeuppance for the arrogant genasi wizard that had blackmailed them all into this originally.

The group walked on towards the castle, over the connecting span of stone and up to the

gates themselves. The demiplane was utterly silent as they stood and gazed up at the closed

doors of the fortress. Flanking the entrance stood two square stone towers with clearly visible

arrow slits. None of them, nor the ramparts above, seemed to be manned. From the exterior the

place looked deserted.

102
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Nisha scampered up closer to the gates with a cautious look crossing over her face. She

looked back at the group as she tapped the door, Theyre not locked. But theres some piking

strange magic around... With the words hung on her lips the tiefling suddenly blinked out of

sight, vanished.

Umm... Cluelesss wings blazed with a concerned flicker of faerie-fire.

One would expect you to know your employers better, and their tactics. Just step on the

stones in front of the gate its clearly a teleportation circle worked into the fortress. The factol

said with a bemused bit of irritation as she stepped forwards herself to vanish upon touching

the marble paving stones directly before the gate. Shrugging and hoping for the best, the others

followed suit.

When the spells effect faded, all of them stood inside a large meeting room perhaps fifty

feet across and equally long. The unadorned chamber was furnished with only a large table at

one end and a shimmering tapestry that hung on the wall to their left. A single door led out

of the room near to the end with the table and was flanked by two unmoving dull grayish stone

golems, each in the same plain and utilitarian style of the fortress itself. All of this however was

not what gathered the rapt attention of the newly arrived companions and their guest.

Standing in the center of the room and flanked by two others of his kind as well as a much more

elaborate looking shield golem, was a twelve foot tall, blue-skinned and richly robed humanoid.

A mercane. The wizard, Bartol Trenevein was nowhere in sight.

I congratulate you all on a job completed ahead of schedule. I hope that there were no

unforeseen problems. The voice of the primary mercane rung out loudly in the minds of the

group, steady and confident.

It then continued, Factol Nilesia, I am honored by your presence. Your return has been too

long in the making. My associates and I, we welcome you. Know that your dream remains alive,

even while your faction has splintered. We seek to aid you in your goals and make that dream a

reality. If you will follow my assistants, they wish to obtain the details of your absence, inform

you as to the changed face of the kreigstanz, and expedite your return to the City of Doors.

Nilesia paused at the words of the mercane, especially the part about the disintegration of

the Mercykillers. A moment later and she steeled herself and walked towards the taller figure

with a nod of respect and gratitude. I extend my thanks to you as well. Whatever your motives

may be you have righted a wrong. You have my respect as do those who brought me here. See

that they are rewarded.

Wordlessly and as impassive as ever the lead mercane motioned towards the single exit and

the golems moved to the side as the two smaller attendant mercanes nodded to Nilesia and
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escorted her from the room. As soon as she and they had left the room the golems closed the

doors and retook their vigil. A sudden flash near the back of the room drew the gaze of the

group and an unconcerned glance from the mercane. Standing there behind the party were two

figures with a curious and wary look on their faces: an axe wielding and armored cleric bearing

the symbols of the Torillian god of War, Tempus, and an orange robed aasimar wizard. The

wizards bushy tail was nearly bottlebrushed out behind him as he looked at the party and then

the mercane.

The mercane motioned in the air and a number of simple, unadorned chairs appeared for

each of the members of its captive audience. Be seated.

Now wait just a minute. Who in the 9 blazing Hells are you? Toras asked, remaining stand-

ing and even walking towards the mercane a few steps. The mercane seem entirely nonplussed

at it all.

Sit down Toras of Andros before I find myself down one servant bought and paid for. My

name to you may as well be master, but if it makes you sit and listen then you may also refer

to me as Patriarch Dalmar Imshenviire. Two of you are already familiar with my name. Now

associate a person with it. Imshenviire gestures one elongated finger at Florian and Tristol

where they sat nervously.

Fyrehowl blinked and looked around the room, sniffing curiously at some scent on the air.

Clueless looked at her oddly as she glanced around the room for something he obviously wasnt

aware of. Eventually she stopped and looked back towards the mercane but the nagging look of

suspicion never left her face.

Whatever happened to that arrogant son-of-a-bitch Trenevain? Clueless asked with a flutter

of his wings beating irritatedly on the air.

Nothing you should be concerned with. As far as you must know, you are now my property

as you were his previously. The same conditions that bound you to his service apply now to me

as well. Imshenviires telepathic voice washed out over the group with arrogance to equal the

genasis.

So I take it you were his puppet master from the beginning? What was with the Nycaloths

then. Dont they make better bodyguards than golems? Clueless egged on but the mercane

ignored his questions. Fyrehowl once more glanced around the room with a distressed and

paranoid look.

Be quiet and be seated as your indentured servitude now enters its second phase. Two others,

procured in similar fashion, join you in your service. You will require their aid for your next

task. Now that we have the factol... Imshenviire paused on the phrase with obvious pleasure,
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....your next task is this.

The mention of a second task drew forth irritated sighs from his subjects as he gestured

with one hand to conjure forth a shimmering chest out of the air in front of the party. The

chest opened of its own volition to reveal a collection of papers inside its misty interior. Nisha

reached out to collect them, gave them a cursory glance and then passed them around to the

others. Clearly stamped on each of the pages in brilliant but fading red ink were the following

words, BANNED BY ORDER OF FACTOL SARIN OF THE HARMONIUM, Possession of

these maps is an offense punishable by fine, hard labor, imprisonment, or death. The papers

were some sort of collection of maps, each of them annotated in elaborate handwritten githyanki

script.

If you will examine those maps, they detail a specific section of the deep ethereal in which

your next target lays. The mercane patriarch waved its other hand towards Nisha and the planar

compass at her belt began to glow with a soft light. You will need that. I would go myself on

this task, but I would not be... welcome. The planar compass will give you further instructions

once you reach the proper location in the ethereal. From there you will take an ethereal curtain

to the actual location of your task.

Tristol looked up from the maps, clearly about to ask a question, but the mercane cut him off

abruptly. The tapestry at the rear of this chamber is an active ethereal tapestry that will lead

you out into a small chamber built on the ethereal proper at the boundary of this demiplane. You

may rest there as you feel the need to do so before leaving, and there is an ample supply of food

and drink there as well. However I would not tarry there long as your two newest companions

are living on borrowed time.

Florian gave the mercane an icy glare and walked towards the tapestry without another word

as Tristols face flushed a dozen shades of red and his ears flattened back onto his head, black

facing up.

Hold on. Clueless glared up at the mercane patriarch, This last little stunt in Acheron

was supposed to be the only thing we had to do before what was taken from us was returned

or the situations making us do this were reversed. What assurances do we have that were not

going to be brought back here after risking our lives yet again just to be sent out to do some

other errand?

You dont, Imshenviire replied as impassively as ever. And considering the circumstances

you have little choice but to do as I tell you. However if it will insure your prompt cooperation

then very well, if you finish this next task then I will release you from my service. I have nothing

more for you to perform after this nor is it in my best interests to retain your services or the
 106

conditions binding you to myself. Business may be harsh at times, but it is never overly vindictive

for no reason. Return here when you are done and we will collectively wash our hands of this.

Until then however you are mind to do with as I see fit. Go.

Under the baleful watch of their mercane taskmaster the group walked back towards the

shimmering veil of the ethereal curtain, one by one stepping through and vanishing from sight.

Fyrehowl paused to once more look around the room with a wary look before Nisha nudged her

forwards.

Come on, lets just get this over with. Whats wrong? Youre acting all wierded out and

paranoid. At least the first part is my job, find your own shtick.

Theres... nevermind. The lupinal shrugged off her feeling of lingering dread about the

whole place, the entire situation really, and stepped through the curtain with Nisha trotting

close behind.
Chapter 12

The chamber dissolved into a haze of muted colors and in another step vanished altogether to

open into a small chamber with crystalline walls beyond which swirling gray mist floated like

unyielding fog. A single stretch of wall shimmered like the curtain had before, presumably leading

out into the ethereal at large. Otherwise the chamber was filled by a long wooden table carved

with scenes of various mortal races eating, drinking and making merriment. Plush cushions and

pillows lay scattered around the chamber to allow a person to sit and rest or even sleep on the

otherwise hard glassy surface of the small pocket sheltered off from the rest of the ethereal.

So... Florian began, How did those long fingered blue bastards get you all into this mess?

They poisoned me over breakfast the other morning. I wouldve said yes to their request for

help. Clearly they didnt do their homework on me. And before anyone asks, no I cant remove

the poison myself. I already made certain that yes Ive got something in me and that it resists

the normal curative spells that I know. But before I start rambling on here like an angry fool,

Im Florian, servant of the Foe Hammer, formerly of Toril.

Dont worry, youre hardly the angriest person here..., Toras grumbled under his breath,

more to himself than otherwise.

Blackmail, lovely little thing that it is. All of us theyve got something on, or theyve got

-someone- that we know and you can guess yourself from there on. Me? Ive got holes in my

memory you could march armies through. I dont remember everything in my past so for all I

know anything they claim theyve got on me could be true. Clueless shrugged and put his sword

down at his side as he settled on one of the cushions. Fyrehowl and Florian sat adjacent to him

and began to expand upon their own situations.

Nisha walked over to the table and looked at it with sudden delight, Well, Hashkar on a

righteous bender! Evil moneygrubbers or not, they know how to feed us before sending us off to

our deaths! Theyve got a heros table!

The others broke off their explanations of their own blackmail situations to look over to where

107
 108

the tiefling was now sitting on the table, kicking her hooves out like a child on a chair too tall

for them to reach the ground, pondering something intently.

A what? Toras asked, giving her an odd look (not the first time hed ever done that).

A heros table! Whats your favorite food, somebody, anybody? she grinned like an idiot

and glanced around at her companions faces before finally Clueless walked over.

I dont know actually what my favorite food is. He shrugged.

Doesnt matter, just think about your favorite food. Maybe if you just think about my

favorite food as an idea itll work. These things make whatever it is you ask them for. Its the

greatest thing since Ooze mephits in the guvners law library!

The others just chuckled politely at Nishas -exhuberant- opinion on such things and looked

at Clueless as he looked intently at the table and put out his hands. There was a small flash of

sparkling light in front of him that swirled away to reveal a small platter of food on a golden

plate and an elaborate fluted glass bottle filled with a multicolored and swirling liquid.

Wow, youve got exotic tastes. What is that? Fyrehowl asked as she sniffed in the direction

of the newly created food. She stood up and wandered over to the table as well, hunger getting

the best of her.

Id tell you but I dont actually know what it is. Apparently I used to like it a lot though.

Clueless said as he sat down on one of the cushions on the ground as the others gradually made

their own choices from the table. True to Nishas word as they made their rounds they came

away with smiles on their faces and bowls and dishes of food as well as amble amounts of drink

to suit their most wild or imaginative tastes. All the while Nisha kicked her hooves back and

forth happily. Eventually Tristol walked up with his familiar in tow and looked suspiciously at

the table.

Its not poisoned is it? Im a bit overly cautious with these people considering what they

did to me to get me here. I mean... I didnt do anything to these guys! Nothing! the mage

sighed as his familiar hopped up onto the table, apparently being in a more decisive mood than

its master. Nisha cooed at the fox and put out a finger to scratch the vulpines head.

Your familiar is cute. Arent you cute! the tiefling said as she descended into babbling at

the fox who simply looked at her with the typical canid expression of perplexion with its head

tilted to one side. Tristol chuckled and looked over at her with a smile.

Hes smarter than he looks, he just cant talk to people. Not yet anyways. Tristol rubbed

the foxs head lightly as a small dish of some sweetmeats popped in front of its nose. It barked

happily and swished its tail as it promptly buried its muzzle in the bowl and munched away at

its meal.
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Tristol looked back at Nisha, So what got you into this? Ive heard from a few of the others.

It seems like Florian over there, he and I have the same situation. And weve got a time limit

too... He shrugged off the gloom and tried to smile for the overly perky tiefer who sat there still

swinging her legs cheerfully.

Well, Im mostly a thi... collector of donations from overly rich perso... overly rich evil fiends

who like to punch small children in the mouth and laugh at old people. Exactly. He chuckled

and blushed slightly as she glanced over at Toras who looked at her with skepticism. Yeah, as I

was saying... I do that and Im pretty good at it if I do say so myself. Yes I do. Well thank you

Nisha youre very kind. Oh youre certainly welcome. She babbled back and forth to herself a

bit more, even supplying gestures for each persona switch. Tristol tried very hard not to laugh.

But I also know a little bit of magic. Just a bit, and Im mostly self-taught and from a few

other mages I knew from here and there. However Im at a distinct lack of my spellbook right

now since that piking genasi stole it from me. Without it I know maybe two or three spells that

Ive used enough to remember without studying the book. But thats what theyre blackmailing

me with, my spellbook. She shrugged, I dont think my situation is as harsh as some of the

rest of you all though, you especially. Thats harsh.

Clueless looked up from where he sat tentatively tasting his apparently favorite food. Well,

from what I remember I used to be able to cast spells as well. Only problem is I didnt wake up

with a spellbook on me...

Tristol looked over towards Clueless as Nisha poked his familiar with her own tail and the fox

tried to bite it. Are you sure you needed a spellbook? Not all casters need one. Some have an

innate command of the spells they know, but they usually cant learn new spells easily. Maybe

you fit into that sort of mage?

Clueless shook his head, No, I remember having a book. I dont have any spells left in

memory so I cant just write them back down to preserve it all. If I live through all of this

Im going to have to start over from scratch it seems. With that the bladesinger took a deep

draught of the bottle hed been given by the table. With a startled look he gasped for breath as

a mixture of sparkling light and colored smoke wafted from his mouth.

Woah... came his response in a weak voice after he took a few moments to steady himself.

I have no idea what this is, but thats the first time I can remember any alcohol actually doing

anything to me. I tried to get drunk back in Sigil and I couldnt. This... probably could though.

Fyrehowl looked at Clueless and laughed as she took a seat next to him with her own meal.

Florian did the same and silently said a small prayer before taking a first few tentative bites

before he dug in with gusto.

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So... Tristol. Once were done with this could I possibly get you to teach me some more

magic? Once I get my spellbook back that is. Kind of useless to learn stuff and not be able to

write it down and all. Nisha said with a hopeful grin.

Tristol paused for a moment and looked over at both Clueless and Nisha before taking out his

own spellbook along with some other bits of paper, thread and ink. I cant give you both back

everything you had, but I can get you started. With that, the wizard carefully and deliberately

began tearing out blank pages from the back of his own book as well as a few selected pages

already filled out with spells from his own repertoire.

This should start you out... if you have anything left in memory you can put them down

on paper again here after youre done eating. If theres a few that you really liked or want again

Im willing to part with a few of them since Ill still have all of the more powerful ones in here

to play around with. I can replace the lower sphere spells easily once were done here. Tristol

paused and sighed, I also wont really need them all unless I can get an antidote to the poison

they gave me.

Thank you... Im not sure what to say besides that. Thats a real sacrifice for you to give up

parts of your own spellbook. Nisha accepted the pages that Tristol bound together with string

and handed out to Clueless and her. Maybe a little bit of your favorite drink might cheer you

up? Youre getting too gloomy and we need you in better spirits if well be running up against

something with an allergic to fireballs out there.

Clueless accepted Tristols donation with equal humbleness and offered a drink from the bottle

he held in one hand. And if you want something thats just... different, and potent too, theres

always this. Firewine has nothing on this stuff...

Tristols familiars ears perked at that mention and it would have dashed over to pilfer some

of it from the half-fey before Tristol firmly grabbed it around the waist and placed it in his lap.

I dont think so. The last time you tried Baatorian firewine you sneezed smoke and I saw stars.

I dont even want to think what -that- stuff would do to you, or me for that matter. Dont even

think about it...

The fox whined softly and even made one last ditch attempt to leap up onto the magical

table itself to try and request some of the same alcoholic witches brew for itself. Tristols hand

on one of its tails ended that adventure before it started. But it got Nisha and Toras both to

laugh at the tiny canids failed exploits.

As Tristol helped Nisha recall the spells that she had once had in her own spellbook, presum-

ably recalling a few of them from his own memory to write down with her, Clueless laid back

and tried to relax. His stomach was full and his head slightly buzzed from the fey-wine hed just
111

drunk. Fyrehowl and Florian both looked down at him and smiled, then they both looked up

at each other and glared for a fraction of a second. Fyrehowl looked oddly at the human for a

moment before looking back down to Clueless.

Can I try... both Fyrehowl and Florian said simultaneously before pausing and looking at

each other again. So tell me... again, both of them repeated the same words and yet again

glared at each other.

Hmm? Clueless looked up lazily at them both, still slightly buzzed on the effects of the

fey-wine the heros table had provided him.

Over the next half hour, Clueless sat and randomly chatted with Fyrehowl and Florian. Had

Clueless not lived up to his namesake in that regard, nor had he been slightly inebriated, he

might have clued into the fact that both of his companions had gradually been edging closer to

him as they chatted about their own experiences and asked him to talk about his. In fact, both

Florian and Fyrehowl both seemed to be attempting to outdo each other in terms of getting to

know the bladesinger that they both crowded around there on the floor of the chamber.

Nisha noticed and rolled her eyes, Tristol and his familiar were both too busy studying the

wizards spellbook, Aren was deeply in prayer, and Toras was slumped and brooding to himself.

Eventually however, Fyrehowl stood up and walked over to the table in the center of the room.

Anyways... Ive not had the chance to bath since before we went to Acheron. And Im sorry;

I cant stand the stink of that place in my fur. I feel like Ive got a band of imps creeping up

on me. Except the smells on me and not from any imps. Can anyone here see in the dark?

Fyrhowl grumbled as she walked over towards the far end of the table. She held out her hands

and produced several goblets of water and a large bowl of the same.

Dont tell me youre going to take a bath in here... Nisha said with a bit of exasperation.

Theres probably a joke I can make about revealing the glory of the heavens and all, but nude

celestial isnt something I like to see. Behind her, Tristols familiar whined and covered its eyes

with its forepaws.

Thats fine. Clueless said and continued to look in her direction, seemingly oblivious to the

idea that she desired some level of privacy.

Very funny. The lupinal replied as she stepped to the far end of the room and a globe

of darkness suddenly popped into being around her. Unphased and still not getting the hint,

Clueless turned away to ponder over the spells that he knew he once had.

Under the cover of magical darkness, all the others could hear were sounds of water hitting

the floor and the occasional pleased murmur from the celestial as she washed herself. A small

puddle gradually seeped out from the confines of the globe of darkness and inched its way across
 112

the floor, spreading along the bottom of the small chamber until the splashing noises stopped

and Fyrehowl presumably stopped pouring out any more water.

A drenched and water slicked hand groped out of the edge of the darkness, feeling along the

top of the table to finally land upon a towel and drag it back into the darkness with the pile of

clothing left on the tabletop as well. A minute later and the globe of darkness faded to reveal

Fyrehowl drenched in water with her fur limp and matted down with the added weight. She

stepped back a step and without warning rapidly shook from side to side like a mortal dog in

from a rainstorm. A spray of water shot out from her fur as she flung the water every which way

to dry herself off amid sharp and sudden howls of protest from the others in the room as they

scrambled for cover from the sudden unwelcome shower of water droplets.

Ewww, you could have warned us. But I do approve of the spontaneity! Nisha chuckled

and patted herself dry with a cushion that she had used as cover a moment before.

Fyrehowl smiled from under a mess of still wet fur that flanked both sides of her muzzle like

a mop tossed over top of her head. Hey, I needed it, trust me here. I dont feel trailed by smelly

imps anymore at the very least.

You just look like a damp puffball now. Clueless said as he snickered.

Drink less. Trust me here, drink less. The lupinal sniped back, none too amused as she

smoothed down the errant and honestly overly poofy fur that covered her.

Actually its probably a good idea to not get soused on that wine Clueless, I dont care how

good it actually is. It wont do us any good to actually have you drunk while we wander around

the ethereal here soon. I dont want anyone to be at less than his or her best before we throw

ourselves in harms way. I wont, because I have every intention of living through this to pay back

the bastards for what they did to me. Toras sullenly growled and gained some curious looks

from the others in return.

Just what exactly did they do to you Toras? Aren glanced up from where she had been

praying and largely ignoring the conversations of the others.

The half-celestial chuckled very grimly and looked over at her, Its not pleasant. Do you

really care to hear it?

Please do, if its on your mind we should hear it. Aren spoke up softy from where she sat

opposite the fighter.

Well, they dont have anything on me. Rather, they have something on the one woman Ive

ever had feelings for. She died years ago and I never got the chance to ever really tell her I loved

her. I lost it after she was killed. I stormed the keep that the enemies of my local lord had

occupied and I killed them to the last mine. Ill spare you the details of what I actually did to
113

the people directly responsible for her torture and execution, but it wasnt pretty and Im not

proud of my rage that day.

Toras took a deep breath and continued as the others looked on with a mix of concern,

empathy, and pity, Trenevain, or the mercanes, or maybe both; they found her body or maybe

just called her back from the dead without need of it. But they returned her to life and then

tortured her to death a second time! And theyve been repeating that each day since they first

blackmailed us all. Every day that has passed I fear that theyre doing the same and theres no

way that I can stop it unless I do what they tell me. For the first time in a very long time I feel

utterly powerless.

He slammed his hand down with a loud crack! on the top of the table before he sat down

to clear a few tears from his eyes. They gave me a sensory stone that showed them doing that.

They may have only done that once, or they may, like they claimed, be doing it over and over

again, dragging her back from her rest and putting her through a hell she never deserved.

A palpable silence descended over the chamber as the other six looked at Toras with shock

on their faces. Theyll pay. I will put them through far worse than theyve done to her and me

before this is over. I swear by my god that I will make them pay.

And well help you. All of us owe them something and theyll be paying for each and every

thing theyve done to us and put us through. I know I want to be there at your side when you

get that chance. Fyrehowl cleared a tear from her own face as she looked resolutely at Toras

then glanced at the other nods of agreement from the rest of the group.

No other real conversation could truly begin after the emotional catharsis of Torass story

and oath, and so the group gradually drifted off to sleep. Nisha curled up under the table, Tristol

gathered his familiar and spellbook close to himself and curled up with them. Clueless drifted to

sleep with one hand curled around his sword and the other curled around the bottle of fey-wine.

Fyrehowl and Florian both slept adjacent to Clueless, perhaps closer to the half-fey than might

be considered normal for traveling companions but even had he noticed it, Clueless would have

been exactly that. Finally, Aren and Toras slumped against the walls of the chamber, propped up

by cushions and as content as they might be with the blackmail lurking over them omnipresent

in their waking minds.

Several hours passed and the group slept as well as they could, bracing their bodies for

whatever they might soon face. They woke eventually and ate a small breakfast to suite their

appetite and taste, the food once again supplied by the magical table. There was little conversa-

tion amongst them before they gathered their things, consulted the maps the mercane patriarch

had provided, and left by way of the ethereal curtain at the far end of the chamber. They all
 114

felt more or less the same: uncertain of the immediate future, but resolute that they would all

live to return what had been done to them. All of those feelings had no need to be placed into

words as they all emerged onto the ethereal plane.

The demiplane behind them shimmered with a blurred orange and white haze that flickered

softly against the muted rolling white banks of formless fog that drifted across the void.

Alright Nisha, you have the compass, which way are we headed? Clueless stretched his

wings and glanced over at the tiefling.

Umm... Nisha glanced at the compass and spun around in a circle before pointing at one

otherwise featureless spot in the slowly swirling ethereal clouds. There.

Toras floundered slightly off to one side, uncertain how to actually move about within the

ephemeral ether surrounding them all. How do we actually move around in this? Anyone?

Tristol glanced over as he helped usher his familiar into a small dimensional pouch, Either

fly, or swim, or just think about moving in one particular direction and youll go that way. No

solid ground on this plane, so theres nothing really to grip onto. But you can still move around

regardless. Anyone else need help?

Clueless grinned and fluttered his wings slightly as Florian took a moment to get used to the

odd mechanics of the plane. Oh by the holy breasts of Sharess! Stop showing off you. Thats

not fair and you know it.

Clueless laughed at the unexpected and novel swear before Aren turned and glanced at them

both unapprovingly. Sorry... they both said simultaneously.

Alright, come on you three, we need to get moving. Some of us are on a restricted timetable

here. Fyrehowl said firmly with the smallest hint of a growl and marshaled the group together

as they all went diving headfirst into the ethereal shallows surrounding them in all directions.

Hours upon hours passed and ever so slowly the ambient light in the swirling clouds of ether

grew more muted and more like an odd partial moonlight they deeper they dove. Periodically

the group stopped to consult the compass and/or the maps they had been given by the mercane,

but otherwise the travel went smoothly and without incident. But everything has an exception...

Some eight hours into their travel through the ethereal, diving ever deeper into the trackless

sea, the group of seven was tested in battle together for the first time as a group. Hurtling out

of the misty ether and screaming in their own alien tongue, a group of eight red skinned, four

armed creatures emerged. Looking like some unholy crossbreed between reptiles and insects, the

Xill swarmed over the party. Natives to the deep ethereal and rumored to use living humans as

host for their young, they were formed of a group of seven blade wielding warriors and a single,

heavily ornamented cleric who hung back, hurling spells and supporting his lesser.
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The battle was brief and spectacular. Before the Xill had closed ranks they were struck by

an explosive ball of flame conjured to life by Tristols sorcery in their midst. Toras, Clueless and

Fyrehowl met them blow for blow as the Xill warriors surged forwards. Florians protective spells

warded away many of the blows from the two largest Xill that might have otherwise hit before

he finally conjured a blinding column of holy flames atop his Xill counterpart some twenty yards

distant. Badly injured, the Xill clerics invocations to whatever god he served were silenced by

another eruption of flame that crossed the distance between Tristol and himself before exploding

in pyroclastic fury.

Breathing heavily and smiling with the sudden release of pent up rage and anger, Toras

glanced across the ethereal battlefield as the bloodied, inert and scorched corpses of the Xill

slowly drifted out of view to vanish into the featureless fog from which they had first emerged.

Damn were good. Nisha grinned with glee as the group drifted back together fresh from

their first combined victory.

Fyrehowl wiped her blade free of the thick black blood of one of the larger Xill as Clueless

darted from one side of the group to the next, emotionally high from their success as a group.

The half-feys wings glimmered with dancing flickers of faerie fire as his passage left tiny eddies

in the ether.

Anyone need to stop and rest after that? If you do, youll have earned it. Otherwise we

should probably keep on going. Tristol asked and looked at each of his companions. Upon

hearing not a single request to pause and rest, the group resumed their travel deeper into the

ethereal.

Hours more passed but little of mention was encountered as they passed from one unremark-

able bank of ether to the next. They talked on and off during the time as they suffered no

attacks, nor any natural obstacle on the plane to slow them down. However some nine hours

after the encounter with the Xill, they found something that drew their attention.

Swirling through the mists surrounding the group were flocks and clouds of shimmering,

multicolored beetles. Each of them the size of a humans thumbnail they lazily drifted with

barely a sound through the ether, glowing in ever changing swirls and hues of rainbow colors

from one end of the spectrum to the other. Nisha chased after a few of them for a moment before

giving up as they swam in circles around her. Compared to them she was clumsy and slow, and

she stuck out a tongue at one of the flocks of bugs as she came to the same realization. Florian

held out an open hand to one of them and it lighted down on his hand. Pretty. Ive never seen

one of these before.

He paused and looked at it closer, Theyre harmless right? Not flesh eating or anything,
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yes? Tristol? Clueless?

Fyrehowl laughed, Theyre as harmless as fireflies, and you can pretty much think of them

as the ethereal equivalent. I think Aren can back me up on this one. She looked over at the

priestess who nodded and smiled as a cluster of the glowing insects buzzed lazily around her

outstretched arm.

Actually... hold on a second and let me try something. Can you keep that bug on your hand

comfy Florian? I want to talk to him for a minute. Clueless grinned and hovered for a moment

in the ether, concentrating deeply on something as his wings flickered with a distinct pattern of

colors.

Try talking to it? Theyre not really intelligent. I can normally talk to just about anything,

but it still has to be smart enough to speak to someone in the first place. Fyrehowl blinked and

looked curiously at the bladesinger as he stopped what he was doing and floated over to Florians

side with a flutter of his wings.

Hello there little one, Clueless thought more than spoke towards the single ether scarab

perched happily on Florians hand. He hadnt tried this trick since waking up in Hopeless and

so he wasnt honestly sure if would work on the tiny animal, or if hed be able to make it work

even if it normally would.

There was a buzzing noise from the sparkling insect as it moved to face Clueless. Clueless

smiled at it and it buzzed again. All the others heard was silence from the half-fey and a sporadic

buzz and dancing by the ether scarab, almost like the speech of a prime material honeybee.

Hello large winged swimmer. You rare here. Not see many your kind this deep. The ether

scarabs movements and buzzing somehow made perfect sense to Clueless and he smiled widely

before replying in his own mind to the little creature perched on Florians hand.

Hello to you too little one. My friends and I are looking for something deeper still, do

you know if anything is down in that direction that we should be wary of. Clueless mentally

remembered the maps that Nisha had been carrying, and then glanced in the direction that the

group had been traveling in. The beetle buzzed rapidly in return and danced around on Florians

hand animatedly.

Danger. Large angry great huge large one there. Devours things swimming that way. Great

ugly one. The ether scarab seemed extremely insistent about the creature it was describing. In

his mind Clueless had a sudden image of a gigantic crab-like beast with claws and a great fanged

maw that glowed in the same strange colors as the ether scarabs. Likely all a lure to attract

prey.

How can we avoid it if were going that way? We need to dive down below it. Clueless
117

projected the words into the bugs mind and it paused for a moment and flitted about on Florians

hand once more before buzzing in several distinct patterns.

Swim along edges of swirling whirlpools and currents in the deep. Great hungry thing not

go there, slow swimmer. Tricks food come to it. Not hunter. Clueless smiled as the beetle

imparted its advice.

Florian looked to the bladesinger, Whatd it say? As she asked her question the scarab

lifted its wings and buzzed off to rejoin its fellows as they flitted through the ether. Clueless

waved to the rainbow shimmering insect and flitted his own wings towards the flock with a rush

of faerie fire sparkling over them in imitation of the beetles own patterns.

Well... theres something large and hungry in the way that were heading. Thats the bad

news. The others in the group groaned and glanced warily in that direction. The good news

is that the beetle knew how to avoid it and still not be too far off from where were going on our

map.

Nisha pulled out the maps and drifted over towards Clueless, Lead on, Id rather not get

eaten in transit.

Clueless grinned, Thank the beetles, not me. Im glad I remembered how to do that.

Anyways, on the map here there are some areas marked as dangerous because of some storms in

the ether, if Im reading the gith here right.

More tornado than storm, but close enough. Tristol remarked as he drifted close and

glanced at the maps.

But all we need to do to keep away from whatever it was the scarab mentioned is to skirt

along the marked area here and we should be fine. Apparently for a hungry monster this thing

doesnt like to leave home. Good for us. Clueless tapped the center of the map with his finger

where the creature likely would be lairing. Nisha marked it with the words here there be

monsters.

Before they departed, Clueless took out the remaining scraps of food he had gotten from the

demiplane and scattered it out into the ether for the remaining ether scarabs to scavage. He

smiled as they hungrily swarmed over the bits of food. Enjoy little ones, you may have saved

us a good deal of time and a world of hurt. Thats the least you deserve.

Hours upon hours passed while the group drifted through the nearly endless expanse of

misty ether, each mile as unremarkable as the last. The trackless sea certainly was living up

to its moniker as they found no landmarks, no denizens and nothing to mark their way. But

eventually the ether began to drift and swirl with some unseen turbulence bubbling within its

unknown depths.
 118

A wave of trembling mist brushed against the party as they paused, something like the electric

calm before a storm seemed to be lingering out among the misty clouds in the deep surrounding

them. Ok... this would be the edge of those storms. Which way does the compass point now

back in the direction that were headed towards? Id rather avoid an ether cyclone just as much

as I would something with sharp teeth... Cluelesss wings shimmered with a faint purple as he

spoke.

Nisha pointed off in one direction and the rest followed along, leaving wispy trails in the ether

as they continued on, brushing the edges of the more turbulent region. Over the next several

hours they nearly plunged headlong into the ever fluctuating boundary of the roiling deep, the

invisible winds and currents of the storms lurking within constantly making them correct their

movement to avoid being lost in the churning mists that served as both a constant threat and a

protection against the things that lurked out in the featureless regions surrounding them. But

eventually, with frayed nerves being the only penalty for their passage, the group emerged in a

more tranquil section of the ethereal.

Praise be to the foe hammer, now we just need to find that portal and perhaps kick some

ass. Florian touched his holy symbol as he drifted along within the remarkably still fog that

marked their current region.

Ill second you on that one. How do we look on the map? Toras floated past Florian,

holding his greatsword out like the figurehead slung at the front of a sailing ship.

Well, the writing here mentions that the area gets darker and more calm as we approach

the portal. Again, thats if Im reading the gith right. Sodding maps in piking languages that

none of us speak natively. Nisha smirked and offered the maps to Fyrehowl who happened to

drift by at that moment.

More or less thats what it says. The lupinal rolled up the maps and tucked them into

her belt before plunging along with the others headlong into the mist as they all continued on

following after Nisha at the urging of the planar compass.

Three hours later the area had indeed grown darker, almost murky and hazy as opposed to

the otherwise light expanses of the ethereal that they had thus far swum though. But till now

they had in truth only been skimming upon the surface of the near ethereal, close to the prime

and not into the unknown depths of the ethereal deeps. Now with a tentative push they plunged

into the darkening mists.

As they progressed into the darkening portions of the ethereal deep it seemed even more

clouded and murky than the rest of the deep ethereal in which they traveled. As they dove still

deeper and deeper, by the minute the ethereal seemed... congealed, thicker somehow. Nisha
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glanced warily at the planar compass as they dove deeper into the murky haze. This is where

it says were supposed to be going. Nothing else besides that yet. The portal has to be in here

somewhere though.

Deeper still they could begin to physically feel the space around them condense into a tenuous

consistency. Less a solid fog of ether than thickening strands of it with a feel like passing ones

hands through water. The place was utterly silent as they descended into the deep, devoid of life

and lit from further in by a pale white luminescence that reached out through the denser stretch

of ethereal fog like grasping fingers and tendrils.

Anyone know what this is? This really doesnt feel good. Tristol? Clueless, dont you have

some connection to the ethereal? Florian asked with a worried look before he touched his holy

symbol out of reverence and a need for reassurance.

Clueless placed a hand on one of the thicker filaments of congealed ether and watched as his

fingers slipped through it to leave fickle and transient lines of passage in their wake. I dont

have a clue. This isnt like anything Ive ever heard of before.

Continuing tentatively, the strands and filaments of ethereal mist grew thicker and more

numerous, almost like a spiders web or cocoon of some sorts slowly condensing out of the ether

the further they dove in. Gradually the light became less diffuse and more definite in source.

The majority of the ghostly light still shown from deeper within the mass of filaments, threads

and shapes that rapidly emerged out of the ether, but some of those same structures had begun

to shed that same pearly luminescence of their own. Those that did were more defined in shape

and structure. Tangled through the morass of ethereal protomatter were distinct shapes that

resembled blocks and columns of white, translucent glowing alabaster.

What the hell are those? Toras remarked as Fyrehowl squinted to make out any further

details.

I dont know. I cant focus on them. Theyre blurry, or the ether around them is. Thats

not natural though. The lupinal glanced at a number of the columns before rubbing at her eyes

and glancing instead deeper into the core of whatever it was they were within.

Hold on, Im going to go take a closer look at them. Clueless volunteered and dove down

towards the nearest column where it hung suspended among the threads and filaments of semi-

solid ethereal protomatter. As he drew to within a dozen feet or so he stopped and hovered.

Something about it all didnt seem quite right. He hesitated to approach it further. Some malign

but indescribable dread held him from getting any closer to the structure.

Can you see any more detail? Arens telepathic voice drifted into Cluelesss mind as he

stared intently at the sides of the column where writing or decoration of some sort seemed to
 120

scrawl across its surface. Letters, runes, pictograms; all of them blurry and hazy. For whatever

reason he couldnt seem to focus his eyes properly on them.

Clueless flicked his wings briefly and drifted closer to the column by a few feet and descended

down a half dozen more towards where the bottom of the column might be more visible. As he

moved he noticed one detail that had eluded him before. The letters or runes upon the column

were not in fact written or carved into the material. The letters floated nearly an inch removed

from the ghostly glow that emanated from the stone.

Clueless strained his eyes to focus in on the nearest patch of floating pictograms. His eyes

seemed to sting from the strain and the glow from the column and runes alike turned a sudden

shade of deep red. He blinked and looked back at his companions only to find that his vision

itself had turned that solid color. His eyes had begun to bleed internally from simply focusing

on the letters, whatever in the names of the powers they were. A streak of fear passed through

the bladesinger then and he prepared to dash back to his waiting fellows to have either Aren or

Florian heal the damage that stung the back of his eyes like a burn from hellfire. But he stopped

dead in his tracks, his wings motionless, unmoving and covered in a flickering faerie fire cover of

dread as his blood suddenly ran with ice at what he saw at the base of the column as he drifted

into view.

Near the base of the column the glowing alabaster-like stone changed and shifted in structure

and appearance. The stone turned to a dull metallic sheen and from its surface sprouted blades.

Hundreds of them. Razor sharp and very, very familiar in their appearance...
Chapter 13

Clueless screamed and jerked back with a sudden flutter of his wings as they furiously swept at

the ether. Holy crap!

What? What do you see over there? Arens telepathic voice reached out into his mind once

more with alarm.

The others hung within the ether and looked at Clueless with a mixture of curiosity and fear

as he flew back to within range of their voices. He was pale and shaking, his wings covered with

an unhealthy sheen of yellow faerie fire.

I dont know what the hell this place is, but Im not going near any of those things. Theres...

blades... growing out of the stone on that pillar over there. And theres only one place Ive ever

seen blades that look like that. And were not in Sigil right now... Clueless shuddered as he

exhaled. His companions blinked and turned towards the pillar.

Tristol seemed confused, but given the expressions on the others faces, his own ears flattened

back against his head. What do you mean? Ive only been in Sigil for a day at the most, and I

dont remember seeing anything like that...

Her Serenity. Nisha deadpanned with a slight tremor in her voice. Tristol didnt spark

a glimmer of recognition. Her Dread Majesty. Nisha made one more mention of the Bladed

Queens various titles but the wizard still hadnt connected the phrases to the blades that grew

like leaves from the column some twenty yards distant, suspended in the tangle of solidified

protomatter.

I dont... Tristol murmured as he and the group drifted closer to the structure, Clueless

hung back to their rear and only followed them at a distance.

The Lady of Pain. The tiefling shuddered and looked distinctly uncomfortable as she in-

voked The Ladys name. Tristol jerked back several feet from the column where he had been

slowly floating towards it before his mind tumbled to the dark of the matter.

Mystra preserve me... Tristol whispered softy, invoking his patron deitys name like a shield

121
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against his uncertainty and his fear.

Somehow I dont think thatd be enough, given past history... Fyrehowl inhaled deeply and

turned away from the column.

A palpable silence descended over them as they hung motionless amid the tangle of ethereal

webbing and the blocks and columns that seemed to emerge out of it seamlessly. They gazed

around to gather the full scope of whatever it was they had wandered into. The region that

surrounded them like a gigantic spiders web with its own trappings of captured insects had to

be miles across at the very least and still continued inwards. Deeper into the core of the cloud,

the strands of ethereal protomatter grew thicker, denser, and seemingly more patterned.

The more dense the strands and chords of ether became, the more blocks and columns seemed

to emerge from the mass itself. All of the discrete structures glowed with the same ghostly white

pallor, each of them detailed with the same burning lines of runes, and more and more they

sprouted blades.

Turn around if you want, I dont have that option. I have a week or so before I die of

the poison in me. I dont know what this is here, and yes it scares the hell out of me, but a

frightening unknown is still better than certain death. Tristol said with sudden conviction as

he began to drift forwards.

Oh hell, why not. Its not like I havent done stupid things before... today. Nisha glanced

around at her companions and smiled. That was a joke, but still, Im in. How about the rest

of you.

Im not doing this for myself, but to save the life of a loved one. My own fright doesnt mean

a thing. Im going through with this even if my own life isnt at stake here, it might as well be.

Fyrehowl said and nodded towards Toras as he began to drift forwards after Tristol with a grim

look on his face and his sword drawn.

You all know how I feel already... He said without looking back.

Clueless blinked, Im in. But Im not going near anything that even reminds me of The

Lady while we keep going. Not much scares me except the unknown, and thats an even bigger

unknown than what Im being blackmailed with. Still, I cant let you all go on alone. You go in

there, so do I.

The bladesinger flicked his wings to follow the others as Aren softly sighed to herself, touched

her holy symbol and hesitantly followed along. Youll need me. Hopefully not as much as I

think though.

Together they all descended down into the murky depths of the cloudy, semi solid ether that

spun out around them. Flies descending into a spiders webbing. They altered course several
123

times to keep their distance from the bladed structures that sprung up in greater frequency from

the latticework of protomatter as they went deeper. While the area soaked up light and grew

darker as they continued on with trepidation, there seemed to be a single point of light growing

within the depths below. A single point of light that sparkled dimly like a candle seen through

smoke or clouded glass.

As they made their way downward still, the mass of congealed ether finally grew thin and

evaporated as they entered a hollow within the center of it all. Within the cavernous open space

was a massive, slightly egg shaped bubble that shed a pale, silvery luminescence. Hazy lines and

flaws traced across its surface like afterimages on the eyes after staring at a bright light. They

wandered across the eggs surface like a patchwork of pipes, roads or bundled tubules. Nothing

moved, nothing stirred. There was only the pale ghost light of the egg and the hollow bubble of

space at the core of the semi-solid ether that surrounded the party.

What in the 9 Hells is that? Clueless whispered to himself with more than a touch of awe

in his voice. His sentiment was returned by similar comments from the others as they all slowly

drifted towards the edge of the massive glowing bubble.

Nisha put out her hand to touch the surface as they came into reach of it, then she hesitated

and stopped. The surface rippled and warped like it was made of liquid as her fingers stopped

within a few inches of it. Whatever it was, it wasnt solid. As they watched the ripples pass

through the surface, the hazy details that they had seen within seemed to move and jostle like

things suspended in a liquid. The bubble was more a membrane than anything else.

Nisha? Wheres the portal that was supposed to be around here? Please check. This doesnt

feel right... Fyrehowl glanced over her shoulder warily. She shuddered as the light from the egg

glittered and reflected tiny motes of light on the surface of the blades that dotted the ether at

the fringe of the hollow like stars upon a mist-covered sky.

Nisha fiddled with the compass for a moment before looking back at the lupinal, In there...

its pointing dead center of this... whatever this is.

Oh hell! Toras swore as he looked at the surface of the bubble that gave back no reflection

of himself, or the rest of the group. He slowly realized that fact and backed away from the liquid

surface of the egg.

So, whos going in first? Florian asked with a wry grin to offset his own fear.

Tristol, can you tell us anyth... Clueless began to say before the aasimar cut him off with

a shake of his head.

That thing, whatever in Mystras name it is, it isnt magical... Tristol said with genuine

unease.
 124

Not magical? How so? Aren asked and drifted closer.

Just what I said. Its not glowing with any magical aura. The spell works because some of

us are lit up like candlesticks. But aside from us, nothing in this place glows of any magic. Not

the bubble, not the light its making, not the strands of ether out there, not the columns, not

the blocks and dare I say, not the blades... Tristol lowered his voice for the final remark and

turned back towards the bubble.

Fyrehowl breathed deeply and reached out towards the surface of the bubble out of instinct.

As her fingers brushed the surface the surface rippled like the waves made from tossing a large

stone onto the surface of an otherwise tranquil lake. There was a spark of light from the point of

contact with her fingers and an abrupt sucking noise as the lupinal vanished from sight without

a trace. Her companions jerked back, startled at the effect and worried for her safety.

Well... umm... whos next? Nisha chuckled uncomfortably as she reached out to touch the

surface. A moment later she was gone with similar effect.

One by one the others followed suit with doubt and fear running heavily through their minds

before all of them were gone and vanished into the interior of the egg with not a mark left behind

to detail their passage.

All of them stood confused and disoriented on the dirty cobblestones of a city street. Buildings

rose up on either side of them while the street extended for some way in either direction with

frequent intersections. The air was stale and heavy with dust and age. The buildings seemed

vacant, unoccupied and abandoned. The style was strikingly close to those within the Clerks

Ward of Sigil, but the architecture was old and archaic. Many of them appeared in some manner

of decay, with broken windows, rotted doors and collapsed roofs along with several buildings

along the street that appeared to have been burned to their foundations. Imagine a section of

Sigil spun off on its own, locked away, abandoned and moldering amid the aftermath of a war.

Were in Sigil... but... Tristol looked up, expecting to see clouds drifting overhead, partially

obscuring the familiar curve of the opposite side of the city high above. Instead, he saw nothing

but a black, starless void hung above them. There was no other side of Sigil to see.

Awe, wonder and confusion strummed the air like a musicians fingers upon a harp. The

group stood there in silence, trying to contemplate just where they were and how the place had

come to be. Not a sound echoed across the empty expanse of the city, only the soft noises of

their own breathing and movements. Looming in the distance and rising over the rest of the

cityscape, towering over the other ancient buildings like a black spear stabbing at the void above

was a single, monolithic ebony tower. From their distance it barely stood out against the sky

above, all of its windows as black and vacant as the void it reached out towards in either spite
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or supplication.

What the?! Nisha dropped the planar compass as it began to glow a harsh blue in her

hands and hover on its own volition. The bauble gave a rhythmic hum as it projected a recorded

message to its owners.

Our apologies for this little deception. There is no portal here waiting for you. Rather,

congratulations for having just now willingly mazed yourselves. If you have not yet realized this

charming fact, you now stand within one of the mazes of The Lady of Pain, having just entered

from its exterior in the deep ethereal. It took us some time to divine the exact location of this

particular maze. Do not despair; there is yet hope for your escape provided you do as instructed.

Listen well, this will not repeat.

The group came to sudden attention and glared angrily at the hovering compass as it contin-

ued, Several centuries ago, there existed a faction, now almost entirely extinct, called nowadays

The Incantifers, then simply as The Magicians or The Wanters. They believed that magic,

specifically arcane magic, was the key to power, indeed the only power that mattered in the

multiverse. Gain enough knowledge of magic and skill in it and you could do anything. Even

challenge The Lady....

According to legend, at least two members of the Wanters tried just that. They died, horribly

and spectacularly. Legend also says that one of them almost succeeded. Duke Rowan Darkwood

was well aware of these legends. According to our agents within the Takers, some might say

he was obsessed with them. At some point in the Wanters history they rose to such collective

heights that the other factions simply played the game according to the rules the Wanters set,

everyone grasping for table scraps comparatively.

Then one day, they vanished. Cutters looked up one morning and the Tower Sorcerous, the

faction headquarters of the Wanters was simply gone. Nearly all of their members vanished with

it, though a scant few remain to wander the planes. Between the information the Duke gleaned

from his obsessive search of Sigils darks, and others employed by us, you now stand in the maze

to which the Lady damned the Wanters. If any of them yet live, find them and any information

relevant to the mage Shekelor, once Factol of the Wanters. Engage any persons in combat only

if hard pressed, and above all do not aid any of them in escape from the mazes.

The Tower Sorcerous is likely to yet be magically guarded even these many centuries later.

And one more warning: even the most apprentice Incantifer is at the very least an accomplished

mage. Most, if not all of them, do not age and so many are likely to yet remain alive, pending

certain variables, and they have both a high resistance to magic, and an ability to absorb spells

cast at them.
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Upon finding any relevant information return to the spot of your entry using this planar

compass, at that point you will be guided from the maze to the one exit that every of The Ladys

mazes carry. Assuming of course there is one. We are willing to take that risk. If you escape

the maze and return to Sigil you will proceed immediately to the Styx Oarsman, a tavern in the

Lower Ward.

With that, the compass sparked with a release of its last bits of magic, sputtered and died.

Nisha caught the now useless trinket in her hand and frowned at it. Sodding mercanes...

Toras grit his teeth, Fyrehowl snarled and Florian threw up his hands in the air before

whipping out his axe. Well, that history lesson aside, lets get moving because Im no closer to

a cure otherwise. Tempus forbid theres many of these people left...

While Florian had been speaking, Tristol had wandered over towards one of the buildings

that lined the street and crouched down to examine something laying in the rubble where part of

its structure had collapsed inwards. He paused, looked closely at something there in the debris

and stood back up. I dont think theres going to be many people left here, if any...

Tristol pointed with his staff towards a withered, gnarled body lying in the rubble. It had

once been a human of what could only be described as advanced age, turned to stone by some

ancient spell. The rotting remains of a wooden structural support still jutting out of the corpses

chest from where the building had collapsed down upon it. Cracks radiated away from the point

of impact and the head was no longer entirely connected to the rest of the body. Even had it

been returned to flesh it would have been dead. However that would have been merciful given

the apparent condition of the corpse when it was struck by the spell that had petrified it. At

their death, the corpse, clearly that of a wizard given its clothing, had been starving. The limbs

were thin and decrepit, the faces cheeks were caved in, the ribs clearly showed through the flesh

of their torso. Starving, anemic and withered.

Tristol pointed towards a crater opposite where the first figure had fallen. Theres another

corpse over there, looks like it was burned to cinders by whatever leveled that part of the building

here. Id say a meteor swarm or fireball cast by a very, VERY powerful mage.

Why do you think that nothings going to be left alive though? Ok, two people died fighting

each other. Tempers flared when they all got mazed, Im sure I would have been enraged as

well. My temper can take down a room or two, an angry wizards argument can level the whole

building, it happens. Florian quipped as he walked over to look at the body.

Think about it though. This place is as silent as a tomb, these buildings look like they

suffered through a war. I think they did. Tristol continued.

How so...? Aren asked.

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They all ate magic. They ate other peoples magic. Spells, items, anything they could buy,

steal, or otherwise get a hold of. This place is sealed off from everything. Theres no way out

and youve got an entire faction of magic eating wizard suddenly bottled up with each other and

no food source... except each other. Tristol prodded the corpse at his feet with his staff.

Oh hells... Nisha paled as she looked at the petrified corpse that appeared to have been

starving at the time of its death.

Sure, they could have eaten items they had stored up, but eventually they would have fallen

over each other like a pack of wolves, the more powerful ones killing and consuming the magic of

the less powerful. Most of the damage to these buildings looks like it was done by spells. I can

tell you in a few cases just what spell might have done the damage, some... I couldnt begin to

tell you. These people starved to death and turned on one another. Who knows if there are any

of them left... Certainly not if these two are any indication. Tristol shrugged. Theres not a

spark of magic left in here. Even the tower over there is dead from what I can see with the spell

Im using. They ate everything they could, even each other.

Still, we have to find out. If theres anything left, its probably in their faction headquarters.

Clueless said, pointing towards the tower looming off in the distance.

Agreed, even if theres not a living soul left from this mess there have to be books, logs,

journals, notes taken by the wizards. We might find a library or faction records that have what

the mercanes are looking for and... Tristol trailed off as he stared at Fyrehowl. The lupinals

ears were suddenly perked and twitching, she was staring off past the group towards the end of

the street where it intersected with another branch of the maze.

Fyrehowl? You ok? Nisha asked curiously.

Sssshhh! Fyrehowl waved her off and narrowed her gaze towards the direction that her ears

were so intently focused upon. An uneasy hush fell over the group and slowly they too began to

hear what it was that had perked the celestials attention. First Tristol with his own more keen

ears, then the others.

Softly, coming in jerky spurts followed by a return of the deathly silence that cloaked the

maze, there was something approaching from deeper within. Something that sounded, as faint as

it was, like the scuttling of insects or the rustle of dead, dry leaves on a frigid winters morning.
Chapter 14

The group clustered closer together and raised their weapons in the direction of the approaching

noise. Seconds later they could see the creature emerge around the corner of a building, partially

floating along, partially scuttling like an insect between the wall of the building and the dusty

cobblestone street. It was a tangle of twisted black lines suspended in a moving, fluid, jelly-like

cloud that seemed as insubstantial as a ghost. With the same rustling, skittering noise is closed

to within some thirty feet and paused, wavering slightly as it hovered and seemed to examine

the group before it.

Tristol warily eyed the creature and he shrugged as Clueless and Toras glanced at him with

unspoken questions. The wizard muttered several words in draconic and examined the creature

for any latent dweomers. The surprise and confusion on his face was startling as the creature

darted forwards.

Clueless held out his hand and gestured at the approaching beast. A flick of his sword

carrying hand and a whisper under his breath called forth a crackling bolt of lighting that struck

the surging form full in the bulk of its nebulous body; it made no attempt to evade. Like water

to a sponge the spell was absorbed into the creatures bulk, lines of energy crackled along the

black streaks within the creatures body, and aside from the pungent reek of ozone there was no

effect. The creature stopped, reoriented, and began to snake towards Clueless. The bladesinger

began to backup...

Aren invoked a spell of her own, sending a cluster of burning missiles of orange light into the

beasts side that elicited only the same effect. She too backed up as Tristols eyes went wide and

a single word came rushing into his memory, Spellhaunt. With shaking hands he reached into

his memory and formed the patterns for a greater dispelling. With any luck he thought he might

be able to undo the structure of the living spell that would otherwise hungrily devour the magic

of his entire party and himself. Meanwhile Clueless and Toras hacked ineffectually at the beast,

their blades passing clean through the ephemeral body of the Spellhaunt.

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This isnt doing anything, theres nothing to sodding hit! Nisha exclaimed as she crouched

at the rear of the living spell and repeatedly jabbed her sword into its interior. For all of her

efforts, she may as well have been stirring a soup kettle with her blade. When the dweomers on

the sword began to flicker and fade she withdrew it with a sharp exclamation and backed away

hurriedly.

Then Tristols spell struck. With a rush of air the creature seemed to implode and the lines

within its body coursed with a black radiance. As it collapsed upon itself it coalesced and with

a ragged rush of cold, black fire a black bolt of force erupted from its withering form to arc to

the closest target. The bolt hit Toras clear in the chest and made the fighter stagger and have

to steady himself.

Toras! Aren shouted his name and helped to steady her larger companion as he grimaced

and tried to remain standing.

Ill be fine... that just took more than a bit out of me. He waved away any further help

and steadied his grip on his sword. Just what in the hells was that?

Something I never want to see again. Tristol deadpanned.

Hmm? Do tell. Fyrehowl asked as she made sure that Toras was fine.

The aasimar took an unsteady breath. A spellhaunt. A living spell. Theyre mistakes and

accidents. Every so often under the right, or wrong, circumstances and conditions a spell gets

miscast and doesnt just fail. When that happens the spell becomes alive in some sense, but it

fades away eventually unless it can find magic to sustain itself.

Nisha looked at her sword with a worried expression.

It eats spells. Itll drain the charges of scrolls, staves, and wands. Itll pluck spells from

my memory. The only way to destroy them is to either dispel them like any other spell, or

counterspell them if you know what spell it was that went wrong originally to create it. This

one was some sort of enervation spell... sorry Toras.

Not a worry, Ill be fine.

Fyrehowl paused and looked at Tristol. But the faction that got shunted to this maze also

ate magic. Either that thing was a mistake during their war against each other, or some bloody

fool made one on purpose to take down his enemies.

Oh pike it all. If its the second case, theres probably more. Nisha cursed at her magic-dead

sword.

And if so, were probably the only things left alive in here, not counting any spellhaunts.

Theyd have drained the entire maze dry centuries ago and the wizards would have starved to

death even if they could have fought off their own mistakes. Tristol sighed with resignation.
 130

Florian walked over to Toras, whispered a prayer and laid a softly glowing hand on his

shoulder. Toras seemed suddenly more invigorated and thanked the cleric.

Hope there arent more of them, I dont have any more restoration magic for another half a

day or so. Healing wounds, not a problem; causing them, even less of a problem; but restorative

magic, that was all I had.

We should get moving to that tower. And everyone stay alert, there might be more spell-

haunts lurking around here... Fyrehowl said as she moved down the street, pausing to glance

into each building, especially the ruined ones that would have provided dozens of hiding spaces

for an ambush.

As they moved through the maze, they realized that true to its name, the streets seemed

to double back upon themselves and warp in bizarre fashion. One intersection might lead to

three blind alleys, then bring them back to a point they had seen, or thought they had seen,

some twenty minutes and a mile earlier. While quiet and dead, the cityscape labyrinth was

hardly unoccupied. As they gradually made their way towards the looming edifice of the Tower

Sorcerous, the maze came alive around them.

Spellhaunts, dozens of them, seemed to stir from a hibernating torpor instilled on them from

centuries of starvation in the magic-dead maze, devoid of any prey but themselves. Each of the

ravenous creatures glowed with a color corresponding to the school of the spell whose disastrous

warping had birthed it. The spellhaunts seemed to unerringly seek out the magic of the group

and rather than fight, they ran.

Eventually the companions reached progressively widening streets and finally they paused at

the outer defensive walls that had originally surrounded the block of land upon which the Incan-

tifers had constructed their faction headquarters. Beyond the walls stood the Tower Sorcerous,

rising dozens of stories overhead like an infernal black pike awaiting a cavalry charge from the

heavens. Not a glimmer of light marked the windows that dotted its exterior.

Alright, heres the damn tower. And no welcoming committee... Fyrehowl growled and

glanced back down the broad avenue behind them. Already her ears could listen to a dozen or

more spellhaunts crawling like great scuttling insects, hungering for their magic.

Except for the welcoming committee that weve already been acquainted with... Clueless

smirked and stared up at the towers defensive walls. Wow...

Even with the steady approach of waves of Spellhaunts then being heard softly in the distance,

they all looked up at the fortifications surrounding the tower with awe. Most of the thick, heavy

walls were intact, but they were uniformly scarred by flames, pitted by acid, and gouged with the

telltale traces of lightning strikes. Craters pockmarked the streets surrounding the battlements
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and one or two sections of the walls, each nearly 10 feet thick, had collapsed from the ravages of

time or the original war that had washed over the tower when its makers turned on each other.

Still standing in silent vigil atop the walls were the dead and crumbling remains of twelve

stone golems, each blindly looking outwards into the maze. Several iron golems remained in

their own guardianship near the ravaged and crumpled remains of the main gate, the golems

now little more than piles of vaguely humanoid rust. Also littering the battlements were nearly

twenty human skeletons, each still dressed in the frayed remains of wizardly robes, though some

had been obviously killed by spells that had incinerated their bodies ages past. One body was

partially fused into the stone of the exterior wall, either the result of a failed teleportation or an

insidious attack by another while the mage had been hiding within the stone by use of some now

forgotten spell.

Umm... yeah. Lets stop looking at the dead people and make for what used to be the gate

and get inside. The spellhaunts arent going to stop and stare here like we are. Nisha gave a

nervous chuckle and began to move toward the twisted remains of the main gates some twenty

yards distant.

Each of the gates had once stood some twenty feet tall, crafted of glittering greensteel and

embossed with runes of warding. Little was left of them. The once proud gates were both piles

of twisted scrap, partially melted from heat or acid, their hinges barely clinging to the stone of

the defensive walls, blasted loose by the force of the explosion that had rent them asunder.

Theres not even a glimmer of magic left on the gates, even where I can make out some old

warding symbols. Either devoured or discharged years ago. Tristol sighed as they picked their

way through the twisted metal and entered the courtyard.

Florian and Clueless were the first to stride across the courtyard between the gates and the

tower. Thirty feet ahead of them, the silver doors of the tower still stood intact and closed.

Florian stopped and turned back to look at Tristol as Nisha poked and prodded at the lumpy

remains of a clockwork animal that had rusted in place on the grass that covered much of the

courtyard.

Tristol, are the gates warded? Theyre still intact and closed. Theres a pretty stark contrast

between them and the gates we just walked through. I dont think the place is as dead as we

thought.

Tristol recast his spell to detect latent dweomers and gazed at the towers entrance curiously.

After but a moment of concentration his head tilted sideways and he furrowed his eyebrows.

Clueless... dont move.

Huh? What did I... oh... The bladesinger paused on the steps of the tower and looked over
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his shoulder to see that the nimbus of faerie fire that normally washed over his wings had died

except for a glimmer of sparks at their very tip.

Cluelesss sudden concern was broken by the overly enthusiastic laugh of the tiefling as she

walked up to Clueless. Oh wow!

Wow what? Can I move Tristol or is something going to blow up? Tristol shook his head,

Nothings going to blow up at all. Step back though.

Whatever you say... Clueless flicked his wings and fluttered back to the base of the steps.

As he cleared the boundary of the cracked marble portico, the faerie fire on his wings reignited.

As the others noticed and began to understand the exact effect, Nisha was busy with a wand of

light, happily extending and removing the glowing tip from the extinguishing boundary at the

foot of the stairs.

Antimagic... they blanketed the entire tower in antimagic. Thats incredible. Tristols voice

rang with frank astonishment.

Except didnt they eat magic to stay alive? Thatd be a self-imposed death sentence for

them to do that. That doesnt make sense. Toras said as he walked up next to Nisha.

Clueless. Do me a favor and walk to the top of the steps. Youll be fine. Tristol walked to

the fringe of the antimagic and stopped there along with the rest of the party. Clueless looked

back warily and walked up slowly, step by step. As he reached the top of the stairs, a distance

of perhaps ten or fifteen feet the magical fire about his wings flashed back on suddenly.

Thats no death sentence. They sealed themselves in a -shell- of antimagic. The spellhaunts

cant pass it. Whoever did this was trying to protect themselves from the spellhaunts theyd

either created by accident or as a weapon against their fellows. No wonder the entire tower

looked magic-dead from the maze. Tristols eyes glittered with fascination.

Anything magical would be snuffed out like the cover over the light in a bullseye lantern.

Fyrehowl added with equal amazement.

Speaking of which, Im not touching that door. Therere active spells on the front door. Get

up here and take a look for yourselves. Clueless said as he turned around to examine the silver

doors with cautious curiosity.

The doors, while not nearly as large as those upon the blasted exterior fortifications of the

tower, were some twenty feet tall and ten feet across on either side. Embossed runes sparkled

with magic upon the surface of the doors while a flight of dragons cast in silver and onyx soared

along the top and bottom margins of the elaborate, but nonmagical decorations on the faces of

the doors.

As the group gathered around the doors, Tristol sat and concentrated on the patterns of
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magic he saw dancing across their surface. Nisha began to examine the fringes of the doors, the

stone around where the recessed hinges of the doors would be, and the stone blocks immediately

in front of them.

No traps, just spells on the door. And the doors are welded shut. The tiefling pointed with

amusement to the vertical line of fused silver that formed the centerpoint of the two doors.

Oh bloody balls of Tempus... Florian sighed and leaned against the wall to his left.

Any progress on those spells Tristol? Aren asked softly.

Theyre not offensive. Theres a simple mage lock still on the doors. Though not that it

matters since the original caster, or someone else, made sure of the doors never opening by fusing

them together. Theres also another spell on there, also an abjuration, but I cant figure out

what it is. Its cast on the inside of the doors, or just inside the tower on the floor. Either

way itll be sprung by opening the doors or going past them. Tristol mused as he stood up and

dusted off his robes from the dirt and debris that caked the steps.

Well then it begs the question, how do we get in the place? Nisha asked.

I could always just break the door down. Toras said with a smile, seeming just a bit too

eager.

Ive got a spell that can ferry us in, but itll take me a few times of casting it. Who wants

to go first? Tristol smiled, feeling not only useful, but needed.

Aww, I wanted to see Toras break his arms breaking the door down! Nisha faux pouted.

Fyrehowl, Florian, and Clueless raised there hands and were the first of group to be trans-

ported into the tower. They vanished with a blue flash and moments later Tristol reappeared to

do the same for Aren, Toras, and Nisha. Unbeknownst to them all, the moment they breached

the doors, magically or not, a single spell activated, triggering an alarm that sounded in the

mind of its original caster, and any other that might have been watching.

Momentarily disoriented by the effects of Tristols spell, the group stood and regained their

bearings. They stood in the well of a massive chamber that reaching up through the center of the

tower. Twin sets of spiral stairs reached up into the heights of the tower, each of them pausing

at landings at each subsequent floor to link the many levels of the tower. The stairs and the

central chamber climbed up to some point around two thirds of the way up the height of the

tower. Beyond that it was likely that the areas there had been restricted in some way to the

rank and file of the faction.

The chamber was desolate and quiet. Dust rose into the air with each and every footstep the

companions took, filtering through the light that streamed down from overhead from the cracked

but glowing stained glass window high above that had once held some mosaic, perhaps even the
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factions symbol. Now it was ruined, a mute victim of the violence that had scoured the factions

former demesne. All around were similar physical remains of ruined glory that served as sad,

ancient epitaphs to the Incanterium.

Well damn if this place wouldnt have been magnificent during its heyday. Geez. Nisha

gawked at the ruined faction halls interior as the others spread out, slowly investigating the

galleries and chambers that branched off from the central chamber at ground level.

If they had expected to find any evidence of living faction members they found nothing of the

sort. Room after room they found abandoned, cluttered with the debris of former classrooms,

laboratories, scriptoriums and personal chambers. Everywhere it was deathly quiet and utterly

devoid of magic. Slowly climbing the central stairwell towards the higher levels of the tower they

found the same. Rooms cluttered with magical paraphernalia, wands, scrolls, books and random

items, hoarded like the place had been infested by packrats or dragons that had long ago died

and left their stashes behind. But uniformly all of the trappings of a faction of wizards were

drained of their last sparks of magic.

Here and there in the rooms, frequently associated with the magic-dead hoards of drained

and devoured items, the group found the ancient and decayed corpses of former Incantifers. They

had each died in violence where they had stolen themselves away to, each hoping to live as long

as they could before starvation eventually overtook them. Hope against the hopeless inevitability

that had claimed them all.

Aren shed a tear and turned to Fyrehowl, This is horrific. How could someone have thrown

them all together like this and locked them away. The Lady had to have known what they would

have done to each other!

Fyrehowl looked back at the succubus, I think that was Her intention all along...

The lupinals comment seemed to draw a cold pallor over the group as they continued to find

more and more victims of the original cannibalistic war of survival amongst the members of the

faction.

Alright, Im officially getting depressed on behalf of these poor sods as well. Nisha frowned

and her tail drooped sullenly behind her, mirroring the same exact posture on Fyrehowl and

Tristol while Cluelesss wings had assumed a solid violet shade of faerie fire to reflect his own

mood.

Ill agree to that too. I... Clueless paused mid sentence as they ascended the stairs to the

next floor of the tower. Tristol, Aren, Florian, Clueless and Nisha paused immediately as well

and glanced around with concern.

What in the blazes happened? Toras asked with alarm, not privy to whatever had snagged
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the concern of his more magically adept fellows.

We just got hit with a scry. Nisha said, trying in vain to locate the nigh invisible magical

eye that was the telltale sign of the spell.

No, we got hit by -two- of them... Tristol said as his tail bottlebrushed and his ears laid

flat against his head.

As the five of them struggled to locate the source of the scry spells, Fyrehowls ears perked

with alarm. Someones walking this way. The lupinal closed her eyes and tried to discern the

location of the noise that only she as yet could hear. Much higher up, probably at the top of

the stairs. Two sets of footsteps, fairly light on their feet and walking -fast-. Both of them are

coming from opposite directions at the top there.

Well cutters, looks like we found who we came here to find... lets hope that theyre agree-

able... Cluelesss wings shifted from their previous violet hue to a flickering staccato of blue and

yellow.

I just hope that theyre not hungry... Nisha said with a worried tone.

A feminine voice flooded into the minds of each of the six as they ascended the stairs and

into view of the top of the two stairwells. Hurry! The lich approaches! Hurry this way and I

will protect you. Hes insane and will kill you for your magic!

A second voice echoed through their minds in response to the first, male, angry, and carrying

with it an unsavory, but authoritative, taint. The bitch would sooner carve you in half upon a

silver platter! She will protect you only to devour you later. I will deal with you if you will hear

me out.

The group paused and looked up at the top of the stairs where two figures stood upon the

railings having just emerged from doors on opposite sides of the tower. The figure to the left

was little more than bones wrapped in velvet. The mage had once been human, but long since

succumbed to undeath. The ravages of time had stripped his bones of the last traces of flesh and

only a crackling web of spidery silver energy bound them into a humanoid form. Where its eyes

had once been, there were not the pinpricks of light normally associated with liches, but rather

two featureless, glowing orbs of liquid silver.

Opposite the lich, and glaring at him from across the chamber was a blue robed woman,

half-elven by appearance. Unlike the lich however, she was alive but didnt seem a year over

forty. Her blond hair was flecked with gemstones woven into the dozen or so braids that trailed

down to her shoulders and dodged a number of glowing ioun stones that circled in erratic orbits

around her head. While not undead, she shared one trait with the lich opposite her: her eyes

were orbs of glowing liquid silver.

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As the two wizards glared at each other some thirty feet opposite, the air was charged with

a palpable electricity of raw, unbound magic. The lich turned once more to the party and his

voice echoed through their minds like a breeze over an open tomb, She is not as she seems. She

started this war that decimated us. We are the last of our faction and our imprisonment has

cost me my humanity, and she her mind. I am willing to deal with you rationally. She... she is

starving... and you know what we are.

Silence Valdros! Lying corpse! The half-elf archmage snarled in fury and held up one hand

towards the lich, violet energy played along her fingertips. The lich snapped up one skeletal

hand as a bolt of energy lashed out at him to snarl and gnaw at his hastily erected warding. The

woman yelled out again to the group, The corpse lies. He was responsible for our imprisonment

in the first place. He unleashed the spellhaunts upon us! You have to believe me, he will betray

you for his own benefit!

Will I now Areya? Shall I tell them what you did to your own apprentices? The lich asked

mockingly and hurled a half dozen flaming spheres in her direction. Like her spell at him a

moment before, his too was blunted and nullified by her own defenses. A stalemate, one that

had lasted centuries...

The companions glanced at each other nervously. Either of the Incantifers was capable of

incinerating them as an afterthought, and both clearly hated each other with a passion. Given

their opposition, it wasnt at all likely that they would sit down and talk and not launch into a

spellbattle at the drop of a hat. They would need to approach only one of them, and likely come

to some agreement with them for protection from their counterpart. Such were the circumstances.

Quickly now, my portion of the tower is warded against his kind. Hurry! The sorceresss

voice was tinged with urgency that bordered on desperation.

More spells flew between both archmages and again no damage was done to either. Examine

us, two of you are clerics, then decide who you trust... The lichs eyes gleamed silver as his living

counterpart unleashed a flaming hailstorm against his wards and shields.

Aren? Florian? Whos evil and who isnt? Fyrehowl asked as she nervous watched the

exchange of spells between both mages.

Hes lawful, shes... not. We can probably at least deal with him. Even if hes out for himself

hell be honorable. Florian said as he finished a quick prayer and glanced at both Incantifers.

No, theres got to be some way to dealing with them both? If we side with one, theyre going

to demand we help them kill the other... Arens eyes flashed red as she expressed her concerns.

So... who are we more afraid of? The thousands of years old lich? Or the living woman

whos held him at a standstill for all that time?... Clueless flicked his wings and moved slightly
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towards the lichs side of the tower. Come on, we go now or we risk her blowing us to scraps.

No, I cant... Aren sighed and stopped talking as her companions nodded in agreement

with Clueless and began flying or running up the steps in the lichs direction. She stood her

ground and looked up at the half-elven woman. Her companions left her standing there, already

having decided to put their trust in the lich. Clueless yelled back at her once to follow them,

to hurry, but she ignored him and stepped towards the stairs up to the female archmage. As

Aren watched her companions climb the stairs towards the undead archwizard, the woman he

had called Areya shrieked in abject fury. Damn you to the nine hells Valdros! If I cant escape

this powers be damned maze neither will you!

As she screamed, her eyes burning with silvery light and she hurled spell after spells at the

lich who hovered several inches above the ground, counterspelling or absorbing each and every

one of his counterparts curses and invocations. They were too well matched against one another.

Their assaults had to have been repeated thousands of times over the long years, never with a

surprise and never with an end before, nor in sight. They knew each others means and tactics.

Thats the thing Areya... I gave up that hope long ago... The lich that was called Valdros

laughed and cast out both of his hands. His robes fluttered without any breeze below his fleshless

form and a transparent, softly glowing barrier appeared in the center of the chamber, sealing off

his half of the tower from the other. He turned to the five who had climbed to his landing upon

the stairs and nodded at them. Follow me. The Spellbreaker shall destroy my barrier in short

order if she deigns to expend the energy. My section of the tower is too well warded for her to

make an attempt upon us therein. Please, come and we shall discuss terms. I am curious as to

who sent you and why you are here. I expect that you want something...

Clueless looked back to the stairs below and at Aren who was sealed off from them, trapped

on the other side of the lichs defensive wall. Already the succubus had spread her wings and

was slowly and warily approaching the half-elven wizardress. The bladesinger looked to the lich

and pointed towards the cleric, What about Aren? We cant just leave her.

She is dead. My fellow factor will drain her of magic and then slowly consume her soul as a

delicacy. I cannot easily retrieve her from beyond my own barrier without risking your, and my,

safety. She made her choice and must live with it. Just as I have had to live with mine... follow

me. The lichs eyes sparkled with their lustrous metallic sheen as he nodded slightly and began

to silently float towards the open doorway through which he had originally entered.

As the lich walked out of sight with Arens companions, the succubus flew up to the other

Incantifer and paused several yards from her. She smiled and bowed slightly. May we talk? We

came here looking for information this faction once had, we need it to save the lives of several
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people. My companions may have followed your rival but Im willing to strike a deal with you.

The archmage stared at the succubus with those glowing silver eyes, not a fleck of emotion

on her face.

Im sure we can come to some sort of agreement. Arens voice was tinged with hope.

Archmage Areya Fenthillis the Spellbreaker, Factor of the Incanterium, began to whisper the

words of a haste spell.

We... we dont have to fight... Arens voice was pitifully hopeful in the face of impending

obliteration.

The Spellbreaker smiled. Aren smiled back and took a tentative step forwards. The Spell-

breaker looked the succubus up and down, smiled and licked her lips like she was inspecting a

choice cut of meat for a feast. The air hummed with power.

I... Arens voice quivered as she stepped backwards. The redeemed fiend knew fear and

then her world went black.

...

The lich paused as he ushered the group into a small chamber off from the main hallway he

had led them down, higher into the depths of his portion of the Tower Sorcerous. They had

passed by numerous wards and guardians on their way, without the lich to allow them passage

it was unlikely that they could have breached them and lived, not in a hundred years. Your

companion is no more. Archmage Valdros Peralthon, Factor of the Incantrium stood silent for

a moment out of respect for his new allies though his own statement had carried the emotionless

tone of one already well acquainted with death.

There was a long moment of silence among Arens former companions before the lich broke

the unease by gesturing them all towards a set of chairs against one wall as he sat hovering in

midair across from them. Like it or not we are now allies, and as such do not be afraid for your

safety under my watch. This place is sacrosanct. I have had nothing if not time to ward my lairs.

Consider yourselves my guests for the time being, I have never had any since I was condemned

to this place. That said... my former colleague, Areya Fenthellis the Spellbreaker, will not allow

you to leave this tower. So... who sent you and what is it that you came here for? I doubt that

anyone would willingly maze themselves or blunder into one as heavily armed and enspelled as

you appear to be. I am curious.

As the lich sat and hovered his guests looked at each other, considering how to answer him.

Florian softly whispered a spell to detect evil. He was certain the lich was, but in case he wasnt,

the knowledge would be useful. As expected, Valdros glowed a brilliant, telltale glow of evil. But

lawful evil was less prone to random violence and dishonor. His imprisonment had tempered and
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mellowed his outlook on things if nothing else.

Well, were not here willingly. Our employers, we dont really know who they are. Led us

here under false, or at least misleading pretenses. Theyre blackmailing each of us, some with

information, and two of us will die within a short period of time without their aid. Nice people...

Clueless said with a smirk.

The lich nodded. Can I get you anything? Food or drink? I do not require such, but you

appear tired. As I said, I have had no guests nor anyone to speak with for a very long time. This

is a joy.

They looked at each other again, No Im fine, but thank you. Umm... thats alright.

They all politely declined.

What happened here? Toras spoke up.

We sinned against Her Dread Majesty and were punished. Our power waxed too high, too

fast. We dared to brush the steps of the bladed throne and drew the wrath of The Lady. We

were given what we deserved and brought upon ourselves. When we were all mazed, all six

hundred and thirty of us, we spent the first few months searching for an exit from this hell. The

punishments of Her Serenity are not so easily circumvented. Our divinations failed, our mapping

of the maze was fruitless and we slowly came to realize that we had little chance of escape.

The group nodded respectfully and the lich continued.

Within the maze we did not age, and food appeared in the courtyard of the Tower each and

every day. But we do not eat, we consume magic. Slowly we began to realize that we would all

begin to starve in a matter of time. Each of us began to covet any magic we could fine, be they

objects, scrolls, potions, anything with a dweomers. Each of us took precautions to prolong our

own lives against the coming winter, metaphorically speaking, and then the killing began. An

apprentice or a namer killed in the hallways, a lower ranking wizard vanishing without a trace,

it all started there. Full scale conflict broke out soon thereafter and you have seen its effects

outside. The war killed half of us in the space of a week. Something went wrong, or one of us in

spite created the first of the spellhaunts to hunt their enemies. They were drawn to each of us

like flies to a rotting corpse. But then more and more of them appeared and our spells began to

create more and more of them without rhyme or reason. Perhaps The Lady saw a need to slay

us by our own means. I cannot say for certain.

As the threat posed by our own errant, living spells grew and more and more of us died by

their hands we gathered upon the steps of the Tower and sealed it away in a bubble of antimagic

to preserve our own lives. The greatest spell I have ever cast, and I did so with the help of my

greatest rival. We have never worked together since then. Sealed in as we were, we fell upon
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each other more and more to prevent ourselves from starving to death. Over the long years our

numbers thinned till only Areya and myself survived. Before that point I sacrificed my humanity

for undeath to stave away the hunger that flowed in my blood, and still does in hers. I still retain

my powers as one of the Eaters, but I will not starve. She retained her humanity, so to speak,

but is little more than a brilliant but insane fiend of a woman wrapped in the flesh of a half-elf,

slowly dying and consuming the stock of magic she stole from those she killed. You were wise

not to trust her.

Florian glanced down for a moment, feeling pity for the lich and his rival alike, trying hard

not to imagine the horror that they had been through. His divinations of law and evil were

both still active however and he could not help but notice something odd as he stared down

at the floor. A soft glow of evil exuded from Cluelesss ankle, mostly hidden by his trousers.

Florian stopped and stared as the glow was slowly growing in intensity, seeping outwards from its

spot just above the knob in the ankle. As he watched the taint began to flow upwards through

Cluelesss otherwise unmarked body. The half-fey was not evil himself, but with the quickness

of a striking asp his entire body was awash in a pyre of evil that passed the intensity of the lichs

by easily an order of magnitude. Florians eyes went wide and he stared up at Clueless.

But weve thrown in our lot with you now. We came here seeking information. What do

you know of Shekelor? Clueless spoke to the lich, his tone and stance at odds to his normal

behavior. The lich turned and looked at him, paused, and began to answer as the seething glow

that had begun at Cluelesss ankle only increased by the second.

Chapter 15

Shekelor was our factol in the years before our exile to the mazes. The Spellbreaker and myself

were two of his factors and confidants, though our rivalry began during his -prolonged- absence

from Sigil.

Clueless stared at the lich and spoke again, impatiently, Why did he leave Sigil in the first

place. Im well aware of the circumstances surrounding his eventual return and his death, but

refresh us on that matter in case you know the details better then I. Did he say -anything- to

you or anyone else within the Wanters before his public incineration?

Valdros paused and stared at Clueless for a moment. Perhaps something unspoken passed

between the lich and the bladesinger, but regardless, the lich answered.

As you likely know, Shekelor left us at the apex of his and our power. He claimed to have

found the location of a black gem that contained the essence of a wizard who had challenged The

Lady, and nearly won. It was said that She could not kill him, but only imprison him forever,

locked within a gleaming black sapphire prison. That mage was an inspiration to our faction,

and perhaps it was he who laid the framework for our eventual formation. Such is lost to the

past however...

We distanced ourselves from his statements on the matter publicly. In private we hoped

that he might succeed. He claimed that he would return to bring The Lady to Her knees. Such

was not the case however and he descended into the bowels of Pandemonium. We heard nothing

of him for nearly five centuries.

Clueless stared hard at the lich, But you did eventually hear from him?

Valdros paused again, Allow me to continue and you will learn. Youve bought my words,

you may as well listen to them.

The years passed and any of us thought the factol dead. His factors, myself included began a

slow jockeying for position and prepared ourselves for him never returning. Eventually we would

need to elect one our own rank to take Shekelors position. However the factor was supremely

141
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powerful. More so than any of us his seconds, and that by itself prevented us from making

our ambitions too obvious for the first few hundred years. Age was of little consequence to us,

and so we presumed he was out there in the depths of the howling plane itself, wandering and

searching.

All good things come to an end however, and we eventually began to break down the wards

upon his private chamber. One by one each of use would weaken one ward or snuff another, never

more than one at a time for fear of being accused of a crime by our fellow factors. Over the years

we finally broke them all down with no sign of Shekelor having noticed. With the doors open

we tentatively entered and began to plunder the factols personal belongings. The Spellbreaker

took much of his material before the rest of us did the same, though the bulk of the spellbooks

are in my possession currently.

The lich paused again before continuing, There was no sign that the factol had returned to

his chambers in all of the long years since he departed. We were nearly ready to declare him

dead and duel with one another to take his forsaken title for ourselves, but then he contacted

us.

He returned? Clueless asked rapidly as his companions continued to stare at his back with

perplexed expressions.

No, he did not. He contacted us. With us inside Sigil, and he outside of the City of Doors,

he contacted us.

Thats not possible.

Oh but it was, and he did. He told us that he was not successful in finding the Labyrinth

Stone, but that in his wanderings he had found something else there among the screaming winds

and winding tunnels of Pandemonium. Something that had frightened him. He said that he was

certain he had found something that would aid him in his claims and that soon he would return

triumphantly to us from there. What he said exactly...

Valdros floated over to a wooden chest of drawers and removed a small gem from the interior.

A sensory stone of the event. I will project the contents to you.

He touched the gem and a voice flooded into the minds of all within the chamber, a haunting

voice that seemed carried upon a nonexistent breeze that emerged howling from nowhere and

vanishing back to the same. From the depths of the winds of lament it drifted unbidden into

their heads, an eerie echo of the dead from an equally dead and buried past that now lay stillborn

within the mazes.

I call to you, my factors, from the peak of Howlers Crag here within Pandemonium. The

Lady be damned, my words will reach your ears. Of that much I am certain, though the how
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eludes me still.

I have grown weary on crawling through dank, fiend filled tunnels, the winds of this plane

howling through my mind. I have failed in my efforts to find the Labyrinth Gem. But I have

stumbled upon things of perhaps even greater portent yet. I speak of the Harmonica, and I speak

of a path to its center.

... is vast, some fifty miles by .... miles...seven hundred seventy seven cubic miles in volume

exactly. Legends say that somewhere here in the vastness of it all there lays the secret to true

planeswalking without spells, psionics or portals. I nearly wandered to the core of this place

years ago before I realized that it was far more than it was claimed, and not what I sought.

...was horrified to my core at what I found therein. They... filamentous... burning through

the planes...

I fled and spent the next two centuries scouring the dregs of creation in Agathion. My

wandering brought me to the Crag where I now stand and I tell you that I have found something

here that connects some half dozen sites scattered throughout the planes. A bit of writing here

within the crag itself that I marked with my own sigil. Mithardir, Pelion, the plane of white dust

that is Arboreas third layer, said to have been the home of a race of titans, or titan-like beings

of deific might. They are gone, vanished, and little to no trace of them remains. Nothing but a

scattered word, a scattered symbol or phrase...

Patches of writing here match those within the massive steps carved into the pillars and

crags of the Harmonica... those found upon the infinite spire... 25 miles up, hundreds of yards

tall and dozens of yards wide. Not enough to translate, never enough to translate. But they

match those on Pelion and those locked within the ice in Cania, buried beneath the foundations

of those who would call themselves ancients.

...unspeakably ancient, unknown in origin... translate into musical notes? I... my return

shall herald the fall of The Lady, though I shudder in fear with what I will find beyond that door

in... you will see me in the Tower Sorcerous within a tendays time. If not, then I am dead and

for your own lives and souls do not... I shall... the howling winds themselves... I am certain...

seek the divine spiral.

Clueless was perched at the edge of his chair, his knuckles white and his eyes burning with

curiosity as the voice faded away.

Anything else? Anything else at all?

Nothing else to us until he returned... a harbinger of our own fate that it may have been.

In the middle of the Hall of Speakers, Shekelor emerged from a hitherto unknown portal from

Pandemonium that had not existed before that point, nor since then. He was wild eyed, his
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clothing and hair unkempt and disheveled. And he was shedding light through his skin like his

own funeral pyre had been lit and ignited within him. He screamed out a single phrase, THE

SPIDERS!!!! and dropped a handful of gemstones to the floor before the flames erupted from

within and incinerated him to naught but ashes in front of some seventy witnesses.

Would that I could have been granted a quick death... Valdros muttered softly to himself

as he turned from the party. I have a number of those gemstones if you are curious. I made a

point of questioning the witnesses and collecting the gems that were recovered from the scene of

Shekelors death. They are singularly uninteresting. Non-magical, flaws in places, and blank as

far as divinations are concerned. They are most definitely of a type only found within the 2nd

and 3rd layers of Pandemonium however. I am certain of that.

As the lich finished his tale, Clueless nodded and then paused. The bladesinger blinked his

eyes and for a moment appeared confused. Behind him, Florian watched as the glow of evil that

had swirled through her companions form moments before to permeate and dominate the colors

of his own alignment as it normally stood out fade and swirl down towards his ankle before

vanishing. Florian said nothing but glanced nervously at his companions, motioning them to do

the same.

What did I?... nevermind... Clueless muttered and brushed off any concern. Inwardly

though he was frightened by what had just happened. A feeling that he had vanished and been

forced to watch himself perform actions and ask questions not of his making.

Valdros looked at Clueless and answered him, I was just answering your questions. There

was a lingering stress upon the word your and if the lich had any eyebrows remaining on his

withered and stretched flesh, he would surely have arched them at that moment.

So... Archmage Valdros. What can you tell us of the Spellbreaker, and what we need to be

ready for since weve agreed to help you. You told us what we were sent here to find, well hold

to our part of the bargain. Tristol addressed the lich with a mixture of awe and unease.

Those who sent you here... did they give you the location of the exit portal to this maze?

The lich rotated in the air to address the group bluntly. They paused and a chill passed over the

chamber in their minds.

No. No they didnt. Supposedly theyll be sending someone to find us. Supposedly.

Fyrehowl broke the still.

Valdros gave an unbreathing sigh and began to pace the room slowly, I should not allow

my hope to rise unnecessarily. I was placed here for a purpose and I have my doubts that I can

escape till I am the last of us here alive. We shall see shortly what fate is to do with me and

what She would have me do for the rest of my days.

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But as for the Spellbreaker. She and I are roughly equal in skill, though my own talents are

focused towards necromancy and transmutation. She is primarily focused towards abjurations

and conjurations. She has a number of unique abilities and our strengths and weaknesses have

largely blunted each others advances over the long years to a perfect standstill. She is a master

of counterspelling, adept at hurling an opponents spells back at them with the same force or

stronger.

Tristol winced at the Lichs descriptions of the other Incantifers powers. How can we affect

her then?

The lich, was he capable of it, would have smiled like a teacher to a student, She and I will

blunt each others effectiveness as we have always. All of you however will be able to physically

attack her and assault her with additional magics not centered upon her person exactly. She will

eventually be overwhelmed regardless of how well prepared she is. You are all a most wonderful

and unexpected change into she and my conflict.

Valdros continued, Her section of the tower is warded, like mine, against teleportation and

summons of all forms, save that of the owner of that portion of the tower. That is less a worry.

Most of her traps are designed entirely with myself in mind. Spells designed to rupture my

connection to the negative energy plane, to destroy my undead form and then encapsulate my

essence before I begin to reform. There are likely spells intended to undo the dweomers upon

my phylactery, were I stupid enough to physically carry it into her domain.

The lich laughed. Little chance of that...

You should rest for the moment and be at your best before we assault the Spellbreakers

domain. I will leave you and return in a number of hours, then we will make haste. With that,

the lich vanished in a blurred mixture of green light and dancing shadows.

The group exchanged wary looks and settled into the chairs within the room. Florian spoke

first, You know, Im actually getting worried about them sending anyone to get us. Otherwise

we -dont- have a way out.

Hed have found it already... Toras remarked grimly.

Well, maybe not. Hes been sealed away in here with her all this time, and the spellhaunts

out there were enough to make them cooperate to protect themselves from them. Nisha mused.

Tristol shuddered, Dont even say that word. They give me the creeps.

Spellhaunt. She teased.

Stop it. The aasimar protested.

Spellhaunt, spellhaunt spellhaunt! She continued with a grin.

Aaahhhh! He said exaggeratedly with a cry.

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Dont keep poking at the wizard that way. They have a nasty reputation of turning people

into toads and things like that. Clueless warned.

Or incinerating them. Toras mentioned.

Or turning them to stone. Florian said with a smile.

But... but I wouldnt be any fun any of those ways. She smiled and twitched her tail

happily.

The others, Tristol included, chuckled at her antics before getting more and more adjusted

into their chairs for a rest. Tristol had taken out his spellbook to study and was soon followed by

both Clueless and Nisha who made do with the jury-rigged spellbooks they had been given by

the wizard in the first place. Florian began to pray softly while Fyrehowl stared off into space,

unable to sleep, and Toras gradually drifted off and slumped to one side, eventually followed by

the others as well.

Roughly seven hours later the lich reappeared in a sparkle of magic. With their bodies rested

and healed and their spells replenished Valdross newfound allies stood and followed him down

the hallway back towards where they had first encountered him and his counterpart.

I will stand to the rear. As I said before, the vast majority of her wards and traps are

designed to destroy me. Many of them will be unlikely to even harm the rest of you. Those that

will I will dispose of them before they give you much trouble. Otherwise, please proceed.

Alright then... Fyrehowl nodded to the lich, Toras drew his blade and Clueless drifted

forwards with a push from his wings.

Tristol whispered the words of a spell to detect magic and examined the area surrounding

the doorway that the Spellbreaker had first emerged from. Like everything else in the tower they

had seen outside of the Lichs domain, it was devoid of even a glimmer of magic.

She wouldnt have wasted her efforts here. Continue. Valdros intoned as he drifted in the

air over to the door. Tristol nodded and stepped into the room cautiously. Seeing nothing erupt

in flames or any sound of alarm from their companion, the others guardedly entered the chamber

as well.

The room was wide, some thirty feet in diameter with a single staircase starting at its far

end to slowly rise upwards, spiraling along the edges of the chambers white alabaster walls

to a single doorway high above. A pale yellow glow was spread out over the mirror polished

black stone floor, radiating from a small crystal sitting at the center of the room. The crystal

vibrated slightly as a tiny figure within appeared to beat upon the sides before doubling over

and screaming in agony.

Aren... Nisha blanched as she saw the trapped form of their companion. Fyrehowls ears
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perked to the soft sounds of the entrapped souls torment. All of them turned to regard the gem

as one.

We cant just leave her. Nisha protested.

Ware... the room is heavily enspelled. Aasimar, can you see any visible dweomers within

the room? Valdros warned from the doorway, he had yet to enter the room.

No... Tristol replied.

Then leave the gem untouched. We may return for it after killing the Spellbreaker when

we will have the time to deal with any potential traps. She would not have left such an object

sitting here in the open to taunt you with unless it was a lure for a trap that we have neither

the time nor the resources to spend undoing it or blundering into it. The lich gestured them

towards the stairs and they followed his cue, though not without regret at leaving their former

companion entrapped.

Well come back for you Aren... Nisha whispered as they stepped towards the stairs. Clue-

less however, either curious or unwilling to leave the succubus in torment darted towards the

gem. Before the others could react his hand had closed upon the gem which blinked out of

existence to reveal the glimmering lines of a magical rune beneath the illusory image. The center

of the chamber erupted with a concussive wave of force that hurled the half-fey back against the

wall and staggered the others. Still standing in the doorway, Valdros was not amused.

From somewhere overhead a voice rang out to meet the dazed ears of the party, the laughing

voice of the Spellbreaker. With blatant malignancy crawling around her laughs she goaded them,

Oh, but the fun has yet to begin. Climb higher Valdros, Ive been waiting for this for centuries.

The lichs swirling liquid silver eyes glimmered with a flash of light, but otherwise the arch-

mage said nothing as he finally entered the room and ushered his allies up the stairs. As they

climbed and nursed bruises, Nisha looked to Clueless. Not my fault this time. That was entirely

yours. Sodding magical traps.

Several minutes later they emerged at the top of the stairs within a similarly sized chamber.

The floor surrounding them was constructed of panes and stained glass, a mosaic that sprawled

out around them depicting a scene of hellish magnitude. One quarter of the floor was a scene of

infernal dominion and tyranny overlooked by a scaled, whip holding Cornugon taskmaster. The

next showed a trident wielding insectoid fiend standing upon the flaming surface of a great volcano

floating before the backdrop of three other volcanic mounts. The shadow of the Mezzoloth formed

images of a tall, cloaked fiend with burning eyes and a featureless head, and another robed fiend

with the head of a jackal. The next panel of the mosaic showed a disgusting, tar dripping fiend

standing upon a blasted, rocky wasteland radiating red light up towards a black sky. The final
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quarter of the mosaic showed a vulture headed fiend wielding a lightning wreathed spear from a

boat floating upon a sea of scorpions and flies.

Great, vacation spots of the lower planes. Perfect for that getaway with the Maralith that

youve been dating. Nisha quipped as they looked out at the images on the stained glass floor.

And why are you looking at me when you say that? Clueless asked with a bewildered look.

Because youre crazy. Trust me when I call someone nuts, I know what Im talking about.

The tiefling quipped back with a smile.

Says the person who lived in the Hive. Fyrehowl muttered.

Land was cheap. Nisha said with a grin. Squatting can get you some amazingly low rates

on your taxes. So can punching members of the Fated in the face when they walk in your door,

but thats just nostalgia for you...

As the last of them stepped onto the black disk of stone that served as the hub of the lower

planar mosaic there was a throb on the air as a contingent spell took effect.

Oh pike it, what is it now... Nisha muttered.

Not me. Clueless said as he readied his sword.

Valdros looked up at them from below, as a glimmering wall of force appeared over the

stairs, sealing them off from the lich while a second such wall solidified into place above the only

doorway leading out of the room. With a shudder and groan of metal against glass the figures

in the mosaic began to peel themselves up from the floor.

Oh hells... Nisha muttered again as the stained glass figures of the Vrock, Cornugon, Mez-

zoloth, and Kelubar Gehreleth advanced on them with jagged weapons at the ready.

Walking towards them ponderously with erratic movements, the fiends attacked. The stained

glass Cornugon struck at Toras with its whip of jagged glass fragments to draw a line of blood

across the fighters arm and neck. The Mezzoloth jabbed its trident at Fyrehowl as the Vrock

launched itself at Clueless. The Kelubar had barely moved when Tristol struck it with a spell.

A wave rippled the air between him and it and struck the beast with the force of an angry

Goristro. The glass on its chest ruptured into dust and it nearly fell from the first blow before

slowly standing again with a ragged sound of rending metal and glass.

Tristol stepped back with eyes wide, That was the only shatter spell I had guys. These

things are immune to magic otherwise; so dont bother casting at them. Just smash the heck

out of them.

Toras hacked at the Cornugon while Nisha kicked at the kelubar and the others divided their

time between the other two. As the kelubar finally ceased to move and crumbled to powder,

Fyrehowl had nearly dismembered the Mezzoloth on her own though her mouth was cut and
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bloody from an ill-fated, if instinctual, attempt to bite at the constructs legs. The vrock was

hacked to pieces by Clueless and Florian seconds later and the Cornugon was the last the fall,

but not before it had struck at Nisha and Tristol with its whip of broken, jagged glass.

I like this woman less and less the more she tried to kill us you know? Nisha said as she

stared at a random bit of glass and the way the light sparkled through it. She paused and

handed a potion to Tristol and Toras as Florian began to heal Fyrehowl as the lupinal growled

and plucked bits of glass from her gums and tongue.

Minutes later after they had all healed themselves they looked at the exit, still sealed by an

invisible, if solid wall. Valdros rose up through the stairway after he projected a green ray at

the wall that had sealed him off from his allies. A second later he brought down the other wall

of force by the same method. Tristol looked more and more impressed by the moment. Valdros

said nothing but motioned them through the newly opened door.

As they advanced through the doorway they emerged into a long shaft of a chamber that

climbed up into the higher reached of the tower. A crystalline staircase rose up into the darkness

above them. Nisha glared at the group as she strode ahead and began to examine the stairs

one by one for traps, both mundane and magical, all the while muttering under her breath and

chiding the others for their blunderings in the past. Five minutes later she paused her muttering

and turned around with an impish grin, But I still love all you poor sods, dont worry.

The crystal was cold to the touch and seemed to hum slightly, shedding a soft white light.

Inside, though it may have just been a trick of the carving of the structure, there seemed to

be slowly moving and shifting ghostly forms passing through the glassy material. Forced into

touching the railings and trodding upon the stairs, the companions avoided looking into the

surface to avoid the feeling of unease it gave to them. Nisha made faces at the figures, being

Nisha and all.

Some time later they had managed to climb roughly half of the stairs and Nisha had yet to

find any traps. Nisha... I dont think theres any traps on the stairs. I think were just waiting

our time. Florian said with minor irritation.

Nonsense, Im just being careful is all...pike it. Nisha said as Florian pushed past her. Three

seconds later the first trap was triggered.

Well, vindication is vindication. Malign or otherwise. Nisha sighed as magical dweomers

began winking out on members of the part before her own detection spell faded and vanished

from the area dispel that Florian had triggered.

Good job Florian. Wonderful, you first from now on. Tristol muttered as his own lingering

detect magic spell was snuffed. From below at the base of the stairs, Valdros made no response.
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Three steps later, Florian set off the next trap and a wave of glowing energy washed over

the entire party, save the lich far below them. They cringed and braced for the worse when the

blast hit them but paused as the light felt warm, pleasant even and they found themselves feeling

refreshed, invigorated, and their bruises from earlier vanishing.

Hey... wow! I dont mind that last one. Florian said as he smiled.

Thanks evil magic eating woman! We appreciate it! Nisha yelled up the staircase.

Positive energy. As I said, many of the traps are focused towards harming me. While it

healed you, it would have had dire effects on myself I assure you. Proceed. The dry voice of

the lich echoed in the minds of the group as the lich began to ascend the stairs to follow behind

them.

At the top of the stairs the landing opened up into long unlit corridor. It was difficult to make

out any details within from only the dim light shed by the stairs. From the top of the stairs,

Fyrehowl wrinkled her nose and frowned. Who brought their pet fiend? It reeks of brimstone

from in there.

Dont blame the tiefling. Nisha smirked and stepped into the room. A second later she

hurriedly stepped back out of the room. Im not going in there. She said as the entire hall-

way erupted in sheets of flame from wall to wall, illuminating the entire length of the passage.

Somewhere at the passages end a second wave or rolling explosion erupted and raced down the

hallway towards the stairs before withering away and dying a scant few footsteps from the group.

Fyrehowl looked to Valdros, Some help perhaps?

You are perfectly capable of surviving this on your own. You are not perfectly capable of

surviving what comes later. My aid will be given if you are incapable of otherwise surviving.

The lichs response was dry and carried a note of finality.

So... who wants to figure out when those larger explosions happen, and when to time it to

run... Nisha grimaced as Florian began to pray for spells to ward them all against the flames

coursing through the hallway.

Lack of a plan aside, that sounds like a plan. You first Nisha? Tristol chuckled.

Race you all. Nisha said as she bolted into the corridor with a flurry of curses streaming

from her lips as she dove into the raging flames.

Im not getting outdone like that. Toras said as he too jumped into the corridor and ran.

The others stared at each other dumbfounded before they too shrugged and ran.

A minute later, breathing heavily, covered in ash and soot, and nearly cooked from their

dash through the flame filled corridor the group paused and rested. Valdros hovered back at the

entrance to the fire wreathed passage waiting for news of the new chamber before he entered
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into it himself. The room was small, constructed of blank, gray stone walls that seemed pitted

and scarred in placed. Otherwise it was unoccupied and a single door on the far end opened into

another chamber.

Ok, looks all clear in here. You can probably c...wait... oh s***! Clueless shouted back

to the lich, then to himself as the Spellbreaker herself walked into the room with her hands

outstretched and her lips moving in the words of a spell. At once, Clueless and Tristol launched

into spellcasting as the others dashed towards the sorceress.

At once, disaster struck as the mages and bladesingers spells sparked from their minds

and into reality. They knew it as the spells left their minds and crystallized into corporeality.

Something grabbed at their magic and twisted, hard. Something rewove the patterns and altered

the spells polarity as a cone of acid flashed into being to wash over the would be assassins of

the Spellbreaker, fueled by their spells raw energies.

All of them save Toras scrambled for cover as the acid sprayed across armor and flesh alike.

Clatters of metal of stone and cries of pain echoed as Toras cleaved through the Spellbreaker...

and the image vanished. As his companions grimaced from their injuries as the acid evaporated

back into nothingness, Toras of Andros looked up at the doorway the illusory wizardress had

entered from to see the real Spellbreaker standing there and laughing at their misfortune. Her

spell erupted in their midst and she vanished in the telltale flash of a teleportation before his

words of warning reached the ears of his already injured companions.

The spell erupted in a concussive blast of ice and lightning. Of all of them, only Nisha escaped

unscathed as she dove sideways back into the hallway where she nearly collided with the lich.

The next few minutes were spent by all of them nursing their wounds with potions, gritted teeth,

and spells of healing from Florian. Valdros seethed at the delay.

And she will be even more prepared now as you pause to lick your wounds. You may feel

better for the moment but may soon feel nothing if she snuffs your lives as I know she is capable

of. This was not meant to kill you, but to slow you down.

So be it. I cant survive more than one of those that she threw at us. It was either stop and

heal myself now, or next time I wouldnt be getting up to do the same. Florian shrugged to the

lich and cast another spell of healing upon Toras.

Sorry for almost falling into you. Didnt mean it. Nisha smiled at Valdros, trying to inject

at least a moment of light heartedness into the gloomy affair. Valdros made little response but

to float away from the group and say nothing more till they moved on.

Eventually the room opened into a hallway, and from there into a great library. The chamber

was stacked nearly floor to ceiling by cases and shelves of books, sample jars and assorted baubles
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and curiosities. A long golden carpet stretched down the length of the library and into another

room at the far end that glimmered with light.

Valdros hung back, uncertain with the circumstances. Beyond is her bedroom and lab-

oratory. Most of the books here are those on mundane subjects and non magical in and of

themselves. They are warded however.

The words had scarcely left the lichs fleshless jaws when there was a sharp crackle from

one of the bookcases. In front of the books, Nisha was clutching one of her hands and staring

daggers at the inanimate objects on the shelves as the sharp stench of ozone wafted over to her

companions.

Bad Nisha. Loot -after- you kill whats guarding it. Clueless chided the tiefling and Toras

chuckled. Tristols eyes were wide as he looked at the contents of the library. Centuries of

material and knowledge. A soft tearing sound followed by a yelp, another crackle of lightning,

and yet another ozone rich cloud of smoke garnered the groups attention once again.

Stupid bookcases... theyre warded from the back too... Nisha said, sucking on her singed

fingers and once again staring daggers at the warded books.

Anyways, we should get going. And theres a few wardings to the left and right of the

entrance to the room at the far end of the library, so watch out for them. Tristol said to the

others as he stepped onto the carpet and slowly walked closer to the Spellbreakers personal

chambers. He had crossed roughly halfway down the length when the carpet jerked sideways,

sending the mage sprawling on his side with a sharp exhalation of breath. Suddenly sprouting

legs resembling tousles of golden yarn, the carpet furled to half of its normal length and began

to constrict the wizard trapped within its coils.

Oh youve got to be kidding me... Toras said as he held his sword up and moved to flank

the animated rug.

Clueless took to the air and Fyrehowl moved opposite Toras while Nisha dropped her inten-

tions of pilfering the library. Florian began to chant a spell while Valdros once again hung to the

rear and watched the entrance to the Spellbreakers room to the exclusion of the current battle.

Temporary alliances meant little to a being consumed with a centuries old rivalry.

Tristol was struggling to speak but couldnt manage a word as the Rug of Welcoming con-

stricted tighter. Already he was starting to turn blue in the face as Toras and Fyrehowl began

to stab and hack at the constructs sides. Florian threw out his hand to conjure a glimmering,

transparent battleaxe in the air emblazoned with the symbol of Tempus which began to batter

at one of the carpets legs.

Tristol? Crap hes not moving! Clueless shouted as he dove at the animated rug and began
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to slice at the bands of material wrapped around the unconscious mage. Minutes later he was

joined by Nisha who barely avoided the rugs attempts to trip her with a loose coil of carpet

before it lashed the heavy material out like a whip to send Fyrehowl tumbling backwards. The

attack was the carpets last significant struggle though as the combined cuts and slashes of its

attackers took their toll and its coils gave slack and then went limp.

Come on Tristol, wake up for me. Come on. Florian muttered as he cast a spell on the

unmoving mage. Tristol groaned, coughed and inhaled sharply as the spell took effect.

I hate constructs. I really do hate them. He managed to say hoarsely as he stood back up.

Nisha smiled at him, If it makes you feel any better I hate bookcases. These ones anyways.

Clueless landed on the remains of the animated carpet and looked towards Valdros. The lich

pointed towards the room and began to float forwards, finally accompanying his allies side by

side. We finish this now or we all die, one or the other.

The room was part arcane lab and part bedroom, lavishly equipped and lavishly decorated.

The floor was crafted of what appeared to be solid slabs of polished adamantium that glistened

like a giant mirror underfoot. Two large windows graced the walls on two sides, open to the

air of the maze through which a gentle breeze wafted in. An ornate summoning circle, useless

within the maze graced the floor in a third of the chamber and stacks of books and piles of jewels,

magical paraphernalia of all types and larger piles of the same that had been drained of magic

and tossed to the side like rotting food scraps.

The party spread out and look at the Spellbreaker where she stood next to a partially trans-

parent golden globe filled with some manner of liquid. She had not moved an inch but was

staring firmly at her undead counterpart who, like her, was simply hovering there waiting for the

other to make the first move. Then they launched into a flurry of spellcasting.

Bolts of flame leapt out towards the lich as a half dozen or so multicolored beams erupted

simultaneously from the Spellbreakers hands. The flames vanished halfway to their target and

a snarling loop of lightning from Valdros launched from his hand to strike at her. She made

several motions and the lightning snaked back towards the lich to strike him full in the chest to

no apparent effect.

Both of the archmages paid no attention to the party as they took out their vendetta on one

another. Rage pent up over centuries of isolation in the mazes was being loosed by flame, acid,

lightning and energies even more rare yet. Florian threw out his hands to call down a pillar of

divine flames that struck the Spellbreaker to some effect. But it also garnered her attention.

In rapid succession she hurled a bolt of black force at Toras and a hailstorm laced with acid

at Clueless, Florian and Nisha. Toras nearly crumpled from the blow and he was staggered when
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he finally cleared his head and looked for the screaming sorceress as she and the lich traded spell

after devastating spell. She was covered in blood that seemed to seep back to her and heal by

the minute while the lich was scorched and fire blackened but otherwise whole. Then with a

sharp gesture she vanished.

Valdros paused and scanned the room, his hands up and ready to defend himself. He didnt

have to wait long before a pair of orange globes flickered into being across the room from one

another to fly at him. He dispelled one, but the other erupted in flame across his side. Fyrehowl

stopped and eyed one section of the room, her ears perked and her nose testing the air. Toras

edged opposite the lupinal to flank the area as yet more spells erupted against Valdros. Toras

nodded to Clueless who flicked his sword in the direction his companions had moved towards

and a nimbus of flickering faerie fire rushed over an otherwise invisible figure; the Spellbreaker.

Limned by the flickering colors of the bladesingers spell, Fyrehowl and Toras rushed at her.

Still obsessed with her spellbattle with the lich she failed to notice them fully before they had

closed. She took two separate hits from them both before some manner of contingency tripped

and she vanished as a fireball blossomed at her feet. Fyrehowl leapt and rolled out of the area and

Toras dove for cover, escaping much of the flames. A moment later the Spellbreaker reappeared

across the room, a fresh wound still showing on her left shoulder and her gut. She snarled and

gestured towards the enemies she only considered to be gnats.

Suddenly a second Spellbreaker stepped out of nothing and turned to hurl a spell at her

secondary targets. Her hand issued forth a burst of rainbow colored beams that struck at the

group. Clueless narrowly avoided a scorching burst of flames, Fyrehowl was struck by a blue

beam to no ill effect, Nisha was struck by an indigo beam to no apparent effect, and Florian was

hit by a violet beam with again no effect; Toras however was broadsided by a ray of acid and a

cloud of noxious gas. Tristol was untouched by the magic and he quickly took the initiative to

aid the lich as he dispelled the second Spellbreaker.

She seemed on the verge of hurling yet more magic against the party, even as a green beam

from the lich nearly severed her right arm. But then the room shuddered. The lich ignored the

event but his opponents gaze was momentarily distracted by something that had shaken the

permanent semi-permeable walls of force set inside her windows. Out there, deep out into the

maze there had been a massive explosion that her eyes, so well trained in the subtleties of magic,

could at once tell had been the death throes of a spellhaunt created from the warped casting of

a meteor swarm. Over the fading light of the fiery cataclysm there was a flock of winged beings

moving slowly out into the maze.

The distraction was all her opponents needed. Nearly at once the Lich dispelled her physical
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protections as Fyrehowl and Nisha stabbed her in the stomach and the throat. Contingencies

erupted like sparks upon dry wood into flame, and were immediately quenched by the lich as he

floated towards her, snuffing the regenerative and healing spells that would have then otherwise

taken effect.

Areya Fenthellis, factor of the Incanterium, The Spellbreaker, whimpered and shuddering in

pain as her blood washed out over the floor and her magics sparked and died. She looked up

into the emotionless face of the lich, her rival and fellow prisoner for the past nine centuries. A

tear fell from her swirling silvery globes of eyes as the light in them faded and the lich smiled as

she died without a word.

Valdros knelt down and physically picked up the body from the floor, he seemed stunned,

uncertain and shaken with the culmination of nearly a millennia of struggle and hate. And then

he opened his mouth and his eyes flared in their silver intensity as he devoured her essence, her

magic and perhaps even her soul.

Seconds passed on to minutes and Valdros dropped the corpse to the floor and drifted over

to a window. He placed his skeletal hands upon the frame and sighed.

Almost a thousand years. I gave up my mortality to allow this day to come in the blind

hope that after all of us had died but myself, that maybe then the lesson would be learned.

Maybe after all our struggle, pain, and death at each others hands The Bladed Queen might

have mercy upon me for my crimes. A thousand years and it is over.

Valdros seemed to look out onto the maze, looking for answers that seemed as elusive as

catching a star in ones hand or bottling moonlight in a jar. He was given no reply. Had he been

mortal he would have wept.

Freedom is not mine today, nor is death. Perhaps one day the time will come and She will

set me free from this cage of my own making. Just... just not today...

Valdros looked around at the room and its contents. Thank you. Our deal is concluded

then. You may rest within the confines of my tower as long as you wish even if your minders do

not come to reclaim you. I will not act against you so long as I am left alone to my thoughts.

My mind swims with much at the moment.

Thank you for holding to our bargain Archmage. Tristol said with respect.

As for The Spellbreakers possessions I lay claim to only a few items, the rest you may

dispense among yourselves as you wish, provided you can carry it with you. Her more potent

spellbooks are mine, as is her staff and the greenstone amulet around her neck. The rest... do

with as you see fit. Valdros picked up a yellow gemstone from the pockets of his dead rival

and continued as he held it up for the others to see. I suspect in some time however that you
 156

will have company. Another group has entered the maze looking for your now dead companion

Tanarri. Her spells that had cloaked her from detection by her former lord are likely gone and

the Abyss will come to reclaim the essence of that which it holds to be a traitor.
Chapter 16

As the lich took his spoils and drifted back out to peruse his dead rivals library, the group

examined the various items in their fallen foes chambers. Drawing lots they slowly split up

what seemed useful, valuable or simply unique in the lack of any definable use or value. Tristol

selected a metallic quarterstaff that shimmered as if made of quicksilver, Fyrehowl selected a

mantle and belt, Toras a gauntlet and amulet, Nisha a pair of boots and a ring, Florian a number

of divine scrolls and a cloak, while Clueless picked a ring with a single glistening ruby and missing

spots where two other similarly sized stones had once sat. In fact Clueless had picked near to

last among the available items and the ring had inexplicably not been selected before then.

Among the next set of items to be divvied up were the scrolls, wands, and gemstones stashed

around the chamber. Tristol curled up with his newly found spellbooks while Clueless picked

up a set of sending stones and gave the linked pair to Fyrehowl and Toras. Eventually the

overtly magical items and overtly valuable items, including several 100lb blocks of platinum, and

assorted ingots of gold, silver, mithral and adamantine were distributed and stashed away in

bags of holding. The group sat down to fiddle and admire their newfound wealth while Florian

and Clueless picked over a few curious items left over.

Well, if no one else wants this, Ill go ahead and take it, its pretty if nothing else. Clueless

pointed towards a translucent golden org filled with a syrupy liquid. The orb was seamless and

hadnt glowed with any magic under close examination, but the Bladesinger found it interesting

and amusing. Just how amusing, hed find out later.

Florian opened a lead box, carved and decorated with silver etched symbols of masking and a

prominent symbol of Carceri overlaid atop a triangular glyph. Wonder whats in here... might

as well snag it since everyone else seems pretty content with what they have.

Gingerly, Florian opened the box to reveal a single black triangular amulet seemingly made

of obsidian. No mark or flaw graced its surface. Florian picked it up, feeling the surface with his

thumb. And something opened its eyes, looking back at him the moment he touched the glassy

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surface of the charm. What in the 9 Hells?! The cleric dropped the amulet back in the box

and slammed the lid shut. He turned around to see Tristol looking up from a spellbook, eyes

drifting over towards the now shut box.

Was that what I think it was? The mage asked.

What did you think it was? It was a black triangle and something noticed, somewhere,

when I touched it... You recognize anything like that? Florian asked back.

Tristol raised an eyebrow, That was a Gehreleth triangle. An active Gehreleth triangle...

Fyrehowl looked at Tristol then at Florian and gave a long, slow whistle. Umm... leave the

box closed...

I take it its dangerous? Florian asked as he put the box down with a peery look.

Each leth has one of those when its first made, and at least according to legend, it gives

them access to the racial memories of every other Gehreleth, and allows their maker, Apomps,

to see through them. Tristol said.

...when you kill one of them, the triangle stops working. But if you can steal one of those

amulets without killing the leth who had it, the link to their god remains active and the leth

will do anything to get it back. And the Spellbreaker has had one of them... geez... Fyrehowl

added.

Umm... yeah. That stays here. Florian said, putting the box back on its shelf and placing

a heavy paperweight on its lid.

Whats in the other box next to it? The lupinal asked. Florian handed her the other,

similarly warded box.

Probably another triangle, watch yourself. Whatever looked at me, from inside my head,

did not seem healthy... Florian gave a slight shudder.

Fyrehowl opened the lid to reveal a number of papers written on fine parchment in elegant ink

that glittered from flecks of gold dust mixed with the pigment. Well, its not another triangle,

oh my... theres about a dozen true names here. Oh my...

Tristols ears perked and he glanced over. Written on the parchment were the names of

a dozen or more creatures, with their common name and the arcane markings and symbols

associated with their true names. The list encompassed everything from a Green Slaadi named

Xanxost, a cervidal, a Solar, a Pit Fiend, an Arcanaloth named Larsdana Apt Neut, a modron,

an ursinal, a bariaur, and others. The last page however was spattered with blood and charred

in places. Fyrehowl handed the papers to Tristol to examine.

Do you recognize any of these? She asked.

The wizard examined the pages, stopping at the name of the Arcanaloth. Ive seen her
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before. I dont remember where, but Ive seen mention of her name at least once. And... He

trailed off as he examined the last page.

The parchment was written in fine penmanship, detailing wards against detection by the

named creature and protection for the mage who penned its true name. Where the common

name and true name would have been, the parchment was scorched as if from flame or heat and

a second, different hand began to write in a spattering of blood. The clan of Baern has no

names. Now babble and burn... The rest of the page was covered in dried blood.

Tristol inhaled deeply, shuffled the pages, and handed them back to Fyrehowl. Keep good

care of those, they might be useful later. And keep the box shut too.

Another hour or so later, the group had collected what they wished to keep from the Spell-

breakers former possessions. While Tristol wished to keep studying the spellbooks he had been

given by Valdros, they realized that they had the information they needed, and that soon their

contact would enter the maze looking for them. At least, so theyd been told, and that Tanarri

were now wandering the maze, looking for Arens trapped soul that they now possessed. Every

so often they could hear the detonation of a spellhaunt or two as the fiends blundered into one

of them and ripped them to shreds, likely taking heavy losses of their own in the process. They

were also wary of Valdros attempting to follow them when they exited the maze, though they

doubted he would try. The ancient lich seemed resigned to his fate in many ways.

The group gave their thanks to Valdros as they left, finding him waiting at the top of the

stairs in the center of the tower. As they descended down towards the first level of the former

faction hall, the lich drifted past them and back into the Spellbreakers chambers.

Well, hopefully our minder will be here soon, and hopefully theyll actually let us out of

here... Florian said as the group descended to the first floor of the tower.

Thats what Im worried about. Im not so sure that theyll send anyone for us. Toras said.

Why do you say that? Clueless asked.

Whatever theyre after in all of this, were expendable to them from what I can tell.

Fyrehowl said with a sigh.

Yeah, and Tristol and I are still poisoned. Havent felt anything yet though, so hopefully

weve still got time to chase those Mercane down after we leave here. I dont think they have

plans to cure us, unless maybe to make us do other errands for them. Im not willing to keep

doing work for them in the least. Florian banged his hand on the rung of the stairwell as they

reached the bottom.

Clueless looked down at the single ruby in his ring, then at Tristol and Florian in resignation.

If worse came to worse, he could save one of them. But damn if that wasnt a situation he wanted
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to even consider at the moment.

The group exchanged sighs and last glances around the tower, as they looked to Tristol to

teleport them to the other side of the door. The mage chanted the words to his spell and they

vanished. A moment later they stood outside the tower in the slim space between the sealed

doors and the blanket of antimagic that surrounded the last stand of the Incanterium in its

protective grasp.

Ok, this is good. No hordes of spellhaunts waiting for us outside of the shell. Not bad.

Just keep your eyes peeled for Tanarri. Theyre out here somewhere. And... Clueless said as

the rest of the group walked out into the courtyard before the tower. At the same moment the

emerged from the antimagic shell, a shadow crossed over the green.

A ragged shadow, framed by two massive feathered wings rose over the retaining wall sur-

rounding the courtyard. The Tanarri gave a shrieking squawk from its hooked, vulture-like

beak and pointed a brilliantly flashing sword at the companions. It locked its coal black eyes

on its targets like miniature portals to the blackest regions of the Abyss that it called home.

Painted upon its chest and emblazoned on its shield and helmet were the familiar iconography of

a burning red downwards pointing arrow and a yellow infinity symbol; the symbol of the Abyss.

As the vrock rose into prominence, two shadows at the base of the exterior wall, clustered

around the remains of a battered and broken iron golem, opened their eyes and rose to a height

of nearly seven feet tall like holes in the fabric of the maze; shadow fiends. Simultaneously, the

open gates of the courtyard were flooded with a living wave of dretches and manes that began

to scramble over top of one another, all in a maddened rush to devour their targets.

Slay them all in the name of Lord Hethradia! Butcher them! Reclaim the essence of the

traitor! Wallow in their entrails! The Vrock commander squawked above the babble of the least

tanarri flooding into the courtyard and lowered his sword at Fyrehowl.

Oh, s***! Clueless said as he stood at the fringe of the antimagic shell. Tristol flung up his

hand and chanted off a spell in rapid fashion, throwing up a wall of force across the entrance to

the courtyard, hoping to prevent the waves of Tanarri from swamping them.

As the wall went up, Toras smiled happily and grinned, drawing upon his own innate, celestial

granted abilities in a moment of righteous, if sadly unthinking, zeal. The half-celestial fighter

shouted out a single word. A word filled with the holy power of his anscestory to smite those not

of a similarly good nature. Unfortunately, of his companions, only himself, Fyrehowl and Nisha

qualified under that banner of good.

The Holy Word blasted across the courtyard, slamming into the Dretches and Manes with

horrific force. Dozens at a time howled in agony before being banished back to their plane
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of origin. The Vrock grimaced but otherwise was unharmed; the two shadowfiends seemed

untouched as well. Clueless, still inside the antimagic field, could only watch as Florian and

Tristol were struck blind by their own companions spell.

Toras laughed as he watched the lesser Tanarri explode and vanish, but the smile vanished

from his lips as he saw Tristol unconscious and Florian staggering around, clearly unable to see.

The Vrock cackled and spread its festered wings to dive as Clueless stepped forwards. As the

bladesinger cleared the edge of the antimagic shell, something awakened and opened its eyes

inside of him. Somewhere inside, Clueless was distantly aware that his ankle was throbbing, but

he could only watch inside his own body as he lost his look on concern for his comrades and

stepped forwards with an arrogant sneer on his face to throw up his hand at the Vrock and snarl

out a spell in a guttural tongue.

Toras raised his sword to parry the Vrocks first strike as a howling column of whirling,

twisting energy roared into life around the demon. A chaotic tornado of crackling lightning,

studded with what seemed like teeth inside its columnar maw enveloped the fiend. In less than a

second there was a sound not unlike a sausage makers meat grinder as the Vrock erupted in an

explosive spatter of gore and feathers. Rent fragments of the fiends armor and shield scattered

across the courtyard while its sword landed point down to sink into the ground up to the hilt as

it was violently ejected from the dissipating roar of the spell.

Cluelesss conscious mind launched back into control of himself as whatever had held its claws

into his brain vanished back to whence it had come. Clueless looked at his still upraised hand,

surprised and shocked at what he had seen himself do. His three standing companions all looked

in his direction in shock as well. Unable to explain it, and partially not wanting to explain it, he

pointed to the sword in the ground, The sword is mine!

Clueless didnt need to do much more as both shadow fiends hurled themselves at once towards

those members of the group that were still standing. The first of the pair raked its insubstantial

claws across Torass chest and forearm, making him stagger back and grimace as it seemed to

draw the very life from him. The other fiend cackled at the damage its companion had inflicted

on the fighter and lunged towards Clueless. Noticing the effects of its claws on Toras, Clueless

bolted back towards the tower and the antimagic shell that blanketed it.

Still stunned by the ferocity of the fiends shadowy claws, Toras managed only a few glancing

blows to the demon. The shadow fiend grinned as all but one slipped through its umbral form

to no apparent affect. Snarling, Fyrehowl drew her sword and joined Toras in assaulting the

shadow fiend on him. Meanwhile, Clueless ducked inside the antimagic shell around the tower

and smirked at the shadowfiend that flew to attack him.

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Go right ahead and duck inside here. Wont do you any good, or me any good. But... The

bladesinger taunted the fiend as he slashed at its face with his sword, broaching the boundary of

the shell with the sword enough to reignite its magic while remaining sheltered from the worst

of the fiends touch. The fiend was not amused and after taking several slashes from the half-fey,

it was angered enough, and injured enough already to miss its companion fall to Fyrehowl and

Toras.

A moment later the second shadowfiend fell to Clueless and Fyrehowl, but the shadowfiends

had taken their toll on Toras and the lupinal by that point. Both had deep wounds from their

claws, and a cold feeling that lingered along with the more physical cuts and slashes. Still, they

worked to wake Florian and Tristol from their stupor, and get Nisha out of the corner where

shed been hiding from the fiends, unable to truly effect them, but still vulnerable to their claws

just the same.

Next time think, ok? Fyrehowl deadpanned to Toras as she helped Tristol to his feet.

Toras chuckled with humility, Yeah. I rather assumed too many things. Ill keep that in

mind next time. My apologies.

It was then, just as Clueless stepped out of the antimagic field and Florian regained his feet,

that a wave of force slammed into Fyrehowl, sending her flying across the courtyard and digging

a path through the grass. A single figure shimmered and took form at the entrance, standing

amid the torn forms of the dretches as they boiled away into nothingness.

Standing perhaps six feet tall, lanky and thin with rich yellow skin and black eyes, a female

githyanki dressed in fine leather armor and swathed in a crimson fringed black cloak regarded the

group. She held a single hand in front of her, swirling green energy playing along her fingertips.

Our employers appreciate your information gained within the tower. And Im glad that my

maps led you to the proper place. However, I regret to inform you that youve sadly outlived

your usefulness. My condolences.

The githyanki frowned and shrugged her shoulders as a coil of psionic energy played over

her hand. A dozen yards away, Fyrehowl moaned in pain and struggled to stand. The group

was almost entirely depleted in terms of spells, theyd been through too many difficult fights in

the past twenty-four hours, and the Githyanki bristled with innate psionics. A fight with the

Hrakknir would be fatal.

Wait! Why? Why are you doing this? Weve been used as little better than slaves by

whoever is pulling our strings, and yours. What do they have on you thats forcing you into

doing this? Clueless shouted out.

The giths black eyes sparkled but she kept her hand up.
163

Please. We havnt had a choice in this at all. Two of us will die from a slow acting poison

they slipped into our food if we cant find a cure. The rest of us are being blackmailed on

threat of death or torture to ourselves or our loved ones that they have. Who the hell are these

people? What do they have on you too? Clueless continued, Isnt slavery and tyranny what

your own people abhor? Isnt that what your people fought against to gain their freedom from

the Illithids?

The bladesinger struck a nerve and the gith paused. The psionic charge she had been slowly

building up sparked and hissed like an angry serpent. Whats in this for me? I cant simply go

back, say that I killed you, and have nothing to show for letting you live. Ill need something to

make it worth my while, and worth the risk Id take on lying to my employer.

Clueless paused and held up a shimmering, slightly liquid orb that hes taken from the still

cooling corpse of the half-fiend psion when theyd freed Factol Nilesia. Do you know what this

is? I took it off of a psion, a pretty powerful one, and I cant do anything with it.

The giths eyes sparkled with greed, Give it to me. She gestured with her free hand and it

quickly flew across to her.

I have more where that came from. Clueless said as he held up the ectoplasmic dagger hed

scavenged from one of the goblinoids psions back in Acheron.

I never want to see you again. The Gith said as she snatched the item from Cluelesss hand

with a motion of her chin followed by a gesture for him to hand her the other items he held.

The exit portal is twelve blocks past a series of three craters, heading away from the tower.

The portal is a freestanding archway of stone with a blue granite dragon carved into a waterspout

at its keystone. The portal key is a stone from the building rubble, a shed tear and a drop of

blood atop the stone.

DjhekNlarr paused and looked at them again, If you manage to get free of your bonds, all

the better. But I cant and wont help you do so. The moment I leave here is the last time I have

any contact with you so long as Im employed by the same people that youre being wretched

around by. Next time you wont have the chance to pick on my feeling on the matter because

I can only reliably lie once on this without drawing suspicion to myself. And I wont sacrifice

myself for you.

With a motion of her hands and the flaring of a gemstone affixed to her forehead, the githyanki

vanished in a blur of yellow light. The street was empty and silent again as the group sighed in

relief and started their trek back into the maze of streets.

Some time later, within the now silent chambers of the Spellbreaker, Valdros hovered in the

dark and removed a slim, leaden box from the shelves. His luminous silver eyes played over
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the obsidian triangle within. The lich sighed and looked out over the maze as he picked up the

amulet and placed it around his neck, staring at his own reflection in its polished black depths.

If She will not help me, perhaps you will...

Nisha hopped over a fallen pile of bricks as they made their way through the maze towards

the exit portal the Gith had given them to location and portal key for. However, as she jumped,

her ears perked to a sound in the distance. She turned and looked; Fyrehowl was already looking

in the same direction with a worried expression on her face.

In the distance they saw what seemed to be storm clouds bubbling up and rising over the

maze. Flashes of light erupted and the sounds of explosions and discharges of magical energy

reached their ears as in the depths of the maze, Spellhaunts began to unravel and erupt back

into their base components as they were unmade.

Oh gods, the maze, its falling apart. Nishas eyes were huge as another sound reached their

ears, a sound of distantly slashing blades in the heart of the gathering storm.

Run! Mother****ing run! Toras shouted as they bolted, uncaring of anything lurking in the

labyrinth as they dashed for their lives for the exit portal. Scrambling for their lives they found

the set of three craters that the Githyanki had told them about and ran past them, looking for

the archway as the storm clouds built on the horizon above the maze. The slashing noises grew

louder still and portions of the maze in the far distance seemed to fall away into nothingness.

Nisha grabbed a rock from the ground near the portal and nicked her forearm with one of

its sharp edges. She stifled a cry and a tear welled in her eyes. Heres hoping it works. She

touched the bloody stone to the teardrop as it ran down her olive skinned cheek and it sparkled

as it mixed with the blood. The moment the portal key was formed, as the gith had told them,

the gateway erupted into a swirled pinwheel of blue light.

Tristol looked up with dread at the approaching storm as it washed out over the maze; he

could swear that he saw shapes and forms moving within the thunderheads as the ringing sounds

of metal on metal rang out ever more clear, tolling a requiem for the maze.

Fyrehowl turned him around by the shoulder and pushed him through the portal as she too

dove into the swirling depths of the single exit from the maze that had housed the Incanterium.

Florian was the last to jump through the portal before it faded out of existence, but before he

leapt, he turned back towards the Tower Sorcerous as a funnel cloud descended over top of that

monument to faded glory, Hope you got what youd been waiting for. Maybe youve served

your time. Good luck.

And with that, he stepped through the portal and vanished, as the maze was undone just as

it had been made so long, long ago.

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As the group tumbled out into the depths of the trackless sea, adrift and nowhere in sight of

their previous location, they all paused and rested for a moment, realizing just how lucky they

had been to still be alive. And as they all reflected on the past few minutes, something turned

in Cluelesss mind. A tumbler fell and the lock on his memory slipped as a blur of his past came

rushing back unintended.

Clueless stood with his companions, the same ones he recalled from his memories of the

shattered temple and a raucous Sigil tavern. The Bariaur, an elven cleric of Erevan Ilesere,

a moody half-ogre fighter and disgruntled former member of the Pax Harmonium, a tiefling

diviner, and two twin aasimar fighters. After talking with them and dividing a large sum of jink,

something relating to the proceeds of their looting of a storeroom underneath the former site of

the Athar stronghold, they walked into a large inn and gambling hall. A sign outside the door

read in bright gold paint, The Fortunes Wheel. One of the bladesingers companions held a bag

of holding which contained an item recovered from the temple, one which while they had no idea

what it is, they knew to be valuable.

Once inside, they garnished a doorman who ushers them all to a small side room to await

an audience with a potential buyer. And while she had the jink, none of them were enthusiastic

about dealing with Shemeska the Marauder....

All through the meeting, the fiend played around the very issue of the item they were seek-

ing to divest themselves of. She discussed the weather, the state of politics in Sigil, her own

appearance, her own appearance again, and if she should wear the lapis bracelets instead of the

gold and topaz. An hour or more later she gets to the point and demanded to see the item. She

stared at it for several minutes, a claw playing with the fur on her chin idly, before she gave

them something they didnt wish to hear. Im not interested.

The companions faces went ashen. Theyd just paid for the sole ownership of the item

themselves as their only share of their ill-gotten goods, even given away jink on top of their

shares. Clueless gathered some courage and looked at the fiend.

If youre not interested, surely you have enough contacts and influence to know a buyer who

is. Why else would we have come to you, and not say, Estavan or the titan... Clueless knew

the mention of her rivals would gall her to no end, and if for no other reason than to deny them

something they might find of interest, she gave a counter offer of sorts.

But of course I can make a deal, theres never a deal that Shemeska, the king of the

crosstrade, cant make. Just the price is all that it hangs on. She grinned and smoothed

the fur under her razorvine headdress. Of course I can give you a buyer of such items, but I

will of course be wanting a finders fee of sorts, AND a cut of the final price. Theres a price to
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everything.

And the memory faded to black as once again his mind closed tight again like a vice around

his past.
Chapter 17

Time passed as the group made their slow transit back to the border ethereal before finding,

nearly at chance, an ethereal curtain that led to Arcadia. While Nisha complained about the

rigid, full of themselves, lawful busybodies of Arcadia the place was certainly safer. A short

hop onto Arcadia via the shimmering curtain and a Planeshift to the Outlands and they stood

in sight of the Spire, roughly 20 miles outside of Tradegate as best they could tell.

Weary and tired they stumbled into the gatetown and made their way to the gate back to

Sigil, barely stopping to rest at all. At least in Sigil they didnt have to worry about anything

suddenly gating in on top of them to finish the job that the githyanki had failed on purpose to.

Unknowingly though their location was closer in some ways to danger than not.

Florian glanced at the others as Nisha stomped her hooves on the cobblestones of the Market

Ward, to get off the arcadia dust, as they pressed through the throng of merchants and buyers

and pickpockets that fed on both. By the by, Nisha wound up with a tidy sum of extra coin

before they pressed on into the Guildhall ward. She grinned and counted out the contents of a

few purses as they strode towards edge of the Ward.

Its getting late and weve walked an obscene distance today. My feet are killing me, can

we call it an evening and just stop at an inn for the night? I really need to just sleep and collect

my thoughts on what to do next. Tristol asked as they approached a brightly lit inn with a

swinging sign above the door that named it The Barmy Bariuar.

The group looked at each other, each of them weary and tired to say the least. Without

saying much of anything they turned and stepped into the inn to stay the evening.

Alone in his room, Clueless sat and looked over the items that he had chosen from the contents

of the Spellbreakers chamber. He still wasnt sure what to do about the ring of 1 wish, and so

after staring at it for a few minutes he placed it to the side to deal with later as he removed the

translucent golden globe that he had selected as well.

Well, I cant say that I took you because I had a clue what you were. But youre pretty, so

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you can at least be a good decoration.

The bladesinger brushed his hand over the globe and smiled at it. And then globe opened.

What the hells?

Seamlessly the upper half of the sphere had rippled and lifted to one side leaving the liquid

interior open to the air. It reflected back the rooms light dully, but otherwise made neither

sound nor motion. Clueless stared at it, perplexed by it all.

Well damn. I guess theres something to you after all. Lets see whats inside of you.

He carefully dipped a fingertip inside the sphere to touch the golden liquid. It was lukewarm

to the touch and had a syrupy consistency. The drop of liquid rolled with gravity off of his finger

and back into the sphere, leaving not a trace of itself behind, Cluelesss finger was dry in its

passing.

Weird... He said as he took another drop of the golden liquid and rubbed it between his

fingers. He stared at the drop and pondered what indeed it might be, but only random thoughts

came to mind. Then the drop shimmered and something appeared in the room with a sudden

flash.

Clueless dropped the liquid back into the sphere and spun around with his sword drawn and

raised to stare at the squat, green frog-like being that stood in a state of confusion in his room.

Who the hell are you? The half-fey asked it at swordpoint as the Slaadi gave a lopsided grin,

croaked nonsensically and skipped over to the door. Clueless could only stare in confusion as

the chaos exemplar opened the door, waved goodbye and walked out the door.

Ok... what the hell just happened? Summoning doesnt work inside Sigil. Unless that

wasnt a summoning... He stared nervously at the still open sphere and its liquid contents with

a growing sense of wonder. What he had taken as a pretty little knickknack was probably one

of the most valuable items the Spellbreaker had possessed, whatever it was...

Heard through the doorway from down the hall there was a loud Croak! followed by a shrill

scream, a clatter of dishes and several wet crunching noises.

Oh s***! Room service! Clueless winced as he dashed to the door and looked down the

hallway where the Slaadi was finishing off one of the maids while it neatly and elegantly wiped

its mouth with a bed sheet after the fact.

Slamming the door shut and wincing nervously, Clueless thought of how he could explain

what just happened as he heard the Slaadi croak once more and hop down the stairs to the tap

room. Almost as an afterthought he closed the globes top which sealed itself shut with another

ripple through its glassy material and then picked up a blanket and tossed it over the top of the

globe to hide it from sight.

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A minute later there was a knock on his door and he opened it slowly. Tristol was standing

there with bags under his eyes and his ears flat against his head. Yes? The bladesinger asked.

Clueless... why did a Slaadi hop out of your room and just eat one of the inn staff? You

dont really see that every day...

Oh, umm, that, yeah. Umm, a portal just randomly opened in my room and that thing

hopped out of it. Said hi and then hopped out the door. He said, trying to sound honest.

Tristol raised an eyebrow and tried to look past Clueless and into the room. Are you sure

everythings alright in there?

Oh yeah, no problems. The portal sealed itself again so hopefully nothing else hops through.

Sorry if that woke you up. Sorry about the maid too...

Tristol tried again to peer past his companion and into the room but eventually shrugged

and walked off back to his own room looking like he hadnt slept in days, and in truth he hadnt

really for any appreciable amount of time.

Clueless waited for Tristol to close the door and leave before he let his jaw drop while he

stared at the syrupy liquid inside the golden globe. Wow. Just, wow. I just grabbed you

because you looked pretty. I wonder what I can do with you...

Dipping his finger into the liquid and pulling up a single drop, he held it and rubbed it

between his fingers. He thought for a moment and brought a spell to mind that hed seen

cast before, though hed never before learned it himself. In an instant there was something

inside his mind alongside the few spells he had still lingering in his memory. It stuck out like

a sore thumb, seeming far beyond what he would normally have considered himself capable of

casting. Nervously, Clueless dropped the liquid back into the container, not having diminished

any appreciable amount and concentrated on the new spell.

The dweomers inside his mind was glowing potently in his minds eye, it felt crisp and rigid,

and it stunk of necromancy. Only once had he seen a circle of death spell cast upon a battlefield,

back in one of his hazy memories of a Blood War battle, but its effect was devastating to most

of those caught inside its area of effect. And now just such a spell was inside his mind, somehow.

Well damn. Thats interesting...

A thought struck him then, since if he could use the liquid, whatever it was, to insert spells

into his own mind, even ones that he normally couldnt cast, a spell that he knew of but couldnt

cast himself might help him recover his own memories. Hed seen it cast before, a Vision spell

is what he vaguely remembered a cleric calling it, and a Legend Lore was what the same or a

similar spell had been termed by a wizard. Supposedly, the spell allowed one to look into the

past history of an event, a person, or an item. They took time, but if you had some connection
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to the thing in question they took less time. And well, since Clueless was as close to himself as

anything else, it might not take that long.

Another drop of the golden liquid and a moment of thought and the spell was burning inside

his mind. However it felt... odd. With the spells inside his brain, he felt sluggish and mentally

fatigued, like he was trying to fit too much into a space that was only capable of holding so

much. It probably wouldnt be wise to attempt the same before he used what he had in his mind

at the present.

Well, well see how this works...

The spell triggered in his mind as he focused on it and willed the dweomers to tell him about

himself. And then the spell in his mind was snuffed utterly. It was cast, but at the moment it

did the spell simply failed.

Damnit... Clueless sighed and looked over at the globe of liquid. Oh well, that didnt

work and I was hoping that it would. Maybe on another day it will, well have to see. Might be

worth it to ask Tristol just what you are.

Disappointed but intrigued, Clueless closed the globe and watched it seal itself seamlessly

shut before he placed it back within his bag of holding and went to bed. There would be well

enough time later to experiment with the unique material.

Early the next morning they all awoke and assembled in the common room of the inn. Little

was said over a quick breakfast and soon they were out the door and moving off towards the

neighborhood on the edge of the Clerks and Guildhall Wards in which Clueless at least knew a

person they could trust.

You sure we can trust her? Im not exactly trusting at the moment given what weve been

through this past while. Its putting a stain on an otherwise fine city. Florian asked as the

passed a troupe of performers in the center of the street as they turned to avoid directly passing

by the Laz School of Vivid Unpleasantness.

Bleaknicks... ugg. Nisha said and made a sour face as they passed, interrupting Clueless

who only chuckled at the tiefling.

Well, she treated me to food, a tour of the city, new boots, new clothes, and well... you

know. The bladesinger replied.

Know what? Nisha asked, oblivious to his meaning.

She screwed my brains out on impulse. He said, without a drop of shame.

Not having known you even a day at that point? And neither of you were drunk or high?

Florian asked with disbelief.

Nope, she said I was cute and that it was something shed never done before. Clueless said
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with a smile like it was an opportune event that anyone would have accepted.

Never had sex? A sensate said this? Nisha said as she started to walk a silverpiece up her

knuckles.

No no, never picked up someone with amnesia at random and had her way with them. He

replied.

Clueless, youre sodding easy. Nisha said as she stuck her tongue out at him. Toras quietly

laughed at her sentiment as Tristol rolled his eyes.

What? Clueless asked, oblivious to her meaning.

I said youre sodding easy.

No no, I head you. I just never heard the term. The half-fey was being patently honest.

The tiefling snickered and took on a bemused look, And you had no qualms about going to

bed with her after just meeting her?

No, not really, why? She was really nice. Clueless said again with a blank face.

Youre like a bent copper piece in a thieves guild. Nisha said with a wry grin.

Huh? He asked, still not getting it.

A bent copper in a thieves guild. Everyone and their cousin has rubbed it between their

fingers or had it in their pants at one point or another. Nisha said as she stuck a copper piece

between her mildly pointed teeth.

What?! Clueless asked as he finally realized both the meaning of the phrase easy and that

he was being not so subtly jabbed verbally by Nisha.

Whats that light? Its realization dawning... Tristol said as he, Nisha, and Toras exchanged

glances before laughing. Fyrehowl didnt reply, seemingly out of politeness to Clueless.

Dont worry Clueless, I still think youre cute. Easy yes, but still cute. Florian said to

Clueless with a smile that earned him a look from Fyrehowl and a doubletake from Nisha and

Toras.

In any event, Florian was saved from explaining the comment as they arrived at the doorstep

to Tarelias kip. Clueless walked up to the door and knocked while Toras sat down on the steps

and waved to the two children playing on the adjacent stoop. As part of his faiths creed, he was

overly protective and caring towards children, quite an amusing dichotomy for a nearly seven

foot tall man in heavy armor that seemed just at home carving apart fiends.

The door cracked open and Tarelia waved them in, pausing only to kiss Clueless far too

deeply, far too much in public. Florian and Fyrehowl both seemed a tad crestfallen, and both

exchanged glances.

Tarelia welcomed them into her home as she quickly closed the door to her bedroom and
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tossed a few items from her kitchen table in before the door was shut. Its good to finally meet

you. I apologize for the mess, Ive been learning to cook some different things lately and its

been an experience, let me tell you.

Nisha was glancing around the place in a way that nearly screamed out casing the joint before

Fyrehowl whapped her with her tail and gave her a look. Aww...

Clueless and Tarelia babbled and cooed and looked altogether far too uninhibited for polite

society, but the Eladrin tout lectured the group about the city in general, and her thoughts on

what was their wisest course of action. All in all it was a prudent trip for them all considering the

long term resident of the city giving them a tour in words that even Nisha, herself a permanent

resident of Sigil, seemed to appreciate.

Following their discussion, Tarelia managed to procure them several rooms at one of the

inns down the street from her own kip, and none too subtly suggested that Clueless was free to

sleep with her than evening, or any other time. Again, Fyrehowl and Florian seemed put out

by the eladrins enjoyment of the bladesinger. Nisha noted the glance and had far too much

fun suggesting to the lupinal that if she asked the other celestial, shed probably be willing to

share. Fyrehowl swatted at the giggling tiefling and didnt bother dignifying her suggestion with

a reply.

Later, Clueless sat and pondered over the glimmer of a memory that he had experienced as

they left the maze. It hadnt been much, but he knew that hed been with another group before,

one of whom hed seen in a memory that the gith in the Gatehouse had unlocked. However the

rest of it didnt make much sense except to confirm that hed had dealings with the Marauder,

and that she very clearly remembered him. That and her words matched almost exactly the

words whispered in his ear in another of the fragmented memories he had gotten back by the

Bleakers ministrations. It didnt bode well, but it did seem that the process begun by the gith

had at least been slowly unlocking the blocks in his memory, regardless of who or what had

caused them.

Still pondering over it, he considered going back to the Bleakers, but decided against the

idea. He just needed time to sit and think, maybe relax and just stew on what memories he

did have and perhaps in that way gain more details about them. Then an idea hit him, one of

the things relating to the city that his girlfriend had told him during her little tour of the wards

shed given. In the highest stories of the Great Gymnasium, formerly the faction hall of the

Transcendent Order, the Ciphers, there was a chamber in which Ciphers had gone to meditate

and isolate themselves to, as they claimed, listen only to their own hearts, mind and body in

tune with the rhythm of the planes themselves, the Cadence as they called it.
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Clueless considered the idea; certainly the chamber was little known, but it was no longer

exclusive to faction members, though they still congregated in the upper floors of the now fully

public gymnasium to sit, meditate, and train. If possible, he might manage to gain the peace of

mind needed to remember more of his past.

He wrote a short note to the rest of his companions explaining where hed be if they needed

him, said goodbye to his girlfriend and strode off to the adjacent ward. The Gymnasiums white

marble portico was massive, though it was hardly the largest structure in Sigil. The bladesinger

walked up the stairs and entered the interior courtyard with its three pools and areas for the arts

and for physical training in all manners of sports and martial regimens. The current owners and

managers of the hall, two hill giant brothers from Ysgard who seemed to have been cast in bronze

from the sheen on their sculpted muscles, strode among the patrons of the gymnasium, aiding

where needed and directing others to the appropriate areas of the premises. Clueless strode past

them, already knowing where he was going, and faced not a drop of resistance or inquiry as he

ascended the stairs to the upper levels of the former faction hall.

The second level of the gymnasium was a series of empty chambers and galleries where in the

past, and still at times, higher order devotees of the Ciphers met and meditated. The halls were

still well cared for, evidently they returned to keep the chambers in pristine condition, and a

few padded cushions still lay arranged in one of the chambers that still received use from former

ciphers. But the place was solemn and empty in its entirety as Clueless walked up the steps to

the highest level of the halls, to the Cadence chamber.

The door was closed but ajar, and opened into a pitch black chamber that was warmed from

some source. Clueless looked into the oddly comforting gloom, and seeing that it was unoccupied,

stepped into the darkness and dropped a few inches before hovering from some unseen force that

neutralized gravity.

Well damn, thats interesting. Like floating in water in here. He smiled as he then noticed

that the flicker of faerie fire upon his wings had been snuffed when he entered the chamber.

And magic dead too. Interesting... guess they need to seal themselves off from everything

possible. He shrugged with a smile and closed the door to the chamber, floating in the warm

darkness, shut off from everything else except himself and the planes themselves.

Silent and dark he pondered what he knew and tried to remember what he didnt know, all

of his past that was sealed off from him. The chamber was relaxing, very relaxing, and soon

without realizing it he drifted off into a serene sleep, or something akin to sleep. Whatever it

was, trance or slumber, he only heard the beating of his own heart and nothing else. No mystical

rhythm of the planes, if indeed it existed, but he felt utterly at peace, regardless of anything
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else. And then something sparked inside of his mind and he remembered.

But of course I can make a deal, theres never a deal that Shemeska, the king of the

crosstrade, cant make. Just the price is all that it hangs on. She grinned and smoothed

the fur under her razorvine headdress. Of course I can give you a buyer of such items, but I

will of course be wanting a finders fee of sorts, AND a cut of the final price. Theres a price to

everything.

The fiend paused momentarily to adjust her razorvine tiara, staring long and hard into the

full-length mirror carried by one of her ubiquitous tiefling escorts. Looking back at Clueless

and his companions in the mirrors reflection, still fiddling with a strand of razorvine, she spoke

again. A finders fee of no less than five hundred Jinx, and a thirty percent cut of the completed

sale. I want nothing to do with anything associated with the cult of... well, you have one their

items there on the table, you knew full well what you had when you came in here to see me.

Valuable, undoubtedly, but Im neither a sage or a cleric of that religion, and being as how Id

like to not end up mazed, Ill not so much as touch the priceless filth.

Tilting the headdress just so, she spun back around to face the three of them, copper colored

forearms resting on the table, one hand absently playing with an ostentatious ring on one finger,

and elbows pressed in giving them all the uncomfortable position of staring at the fiends very

generous cleavage. While his companions sat rigid in their chairs, wholly uncertain of how to

handle the situation, whether to admire and look, or avoid the sight entirely, not sure which

response might draw her ire, Clueless however leaned across the table as well, giving a sidelong,

but obvious to her, glance, and grinned as he stared right back into her eyes. Certainly we

can understand your reluctance, given the items... nature. We also would find ourselves, and

yourself the richer if the sale was made. Then with extra emphasis, What is there to really

object to on the table, it seems more than ample to me.

The Marauder grinned, a fanged, fiendish smile and her eyes flashed with unhampered vanity

at the half-feys remarks. Well then, that settled, Ill have one of my guards fetch the proper

legal documents to cement our agreement on these formalities. She snapped a taloned finger in

the air and one of her escorts vanished into the rear wall of the room, evidently either illusory

or containing an intangible door of sorts.

But as for a buyer, surely youll want to know their name and kip. She held out a hand

and chanted an incantation, conjuring forth a sheet of parchment, quill and inkbottle, along

with a bubbling pot of warm wax and a large emerald carved into an odd shape, apparently

an expensive seal. She smoothed the paper on the table before her as the pen animated and

began to sketch out a map of sorts as she concentrated, drawing forth the image from her mind,
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literally pouring it out of memory and onto the parchment.

She pushed the paper towards her clients as she affixed her personal sigil onto one of the

corners in red wax with the stopper. The seal was of a stylized arcanoloth head topped with a

razorvine crown.

The seal will vouch for you with the buyer, a titan on the plane of Carceri who goes by

the name of Jorxanis. Specifically, the sphere of Othrys in the Red Prison. See, he doesnt get

out much, in fact he cant get out. Hes the very definition of a prisoner, the very type of berk

the plane exists for. Hes also both fabulously wealthy, and obsessed with escaping the plane.

Your little item wont do that for him, I dare say nothing but the Olympian deities combined

could free him, seeing as how they cast him there in the first place, but your item will do more

than pique his interest. Its... well you know who its from, but anything associated with that

late would-be master of the City of Doors and self professed deity of portals and planewalkers

is certain to command both his attention and purse strings. If a dead, barmy power of portals

could help free him, hes willing to look into it. All said, a prime buyer for you.

The King of the Crosstrade pushed a second sheet of parchment towards the bladesinger,

This map of the layer should get you to his palace. I neednt warn you of the leths on the

layer, she hissed out the slang for the Gehreleths with a distasteful expression on her muzzle,

theyve been out in force recently, though none are certain of why, but its an inconvenience. I

think the jink to be gained more than makes up for that, wouldnt you say so?

Shemeska leaned back in her chair and held up a hand, palm up, which one of her escorts

immediately filled with a brimming crystal goblet of blood red wine. The fiend brought it to her

lips and delicately sipped then gave a belated toast to her three clients and their agreement with

her as she raised the glass towards the three of them.

The portal to Carceri youll find out of Curst, a trivial matter there, then several days

overland on Othrys to Jorxaniss palace. Accept nothing less than seventy-five thousand, highball

him at two hundred fifty thousand, then drop from there. With luck, youll get over a hundred

thousand. And if he proves surly, remind him of the seal on your map and who sent you to him,

who sends ALL of his buyers with interesting artifacts to his doorstep. He wont cross me, I

assure it; no one crosses me. The final phrase was said with utter confidence and nonchalance

before she took another long, self satisfied sip as Clueless and his companions were handed

agreements to sign by her returning escort from earlier who also slid a silver tray towards them,

in expectation of payment of the finders fee.

Both of the bladesingers companions looked towards him as he nodded and placed the five

hundred coins upon the tray, a similar self satisfied grin coming to his face as the fiends words
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and promises sink in, foreshadowing wealth he certainly hadnt quite expected to find so much

of so soon.

Clueless and his companions left the Fortunes Wheel congratulating themselves on their

gamble of buying the Aoskian relic from their original group, and the prospect of its sale on

Carceri for far more than they had originally suspected. A short walk later they returned to the

inn in which theyd been staying in their time in Sigil, the Bounded Space. The Yes! We Have

Portals! sign hung in the still air of the Clerks Ward, the dimming light indicative of nearing

antipeak. The next few hours were a blur, packing their gear, sharpening swords and making

sure armor was cleaned and ready for use. As a parting friendly jab to his other companions not

making the trip to Carceri, nor sharing in the profit of the trip, Clueless left a sealed letter with

the innkeeper, Wilbur Cookenstein. Theyd wander back to find him soon and the letter would

explain things.

Soon enough the three of them had passed through a portal near to the inn to the gate

town to Curst on the Outlands, the portal key being an insult muttered under your breath and a

grudge remembered. The portal swirled and deposited them all in a sprawling town of rusted iron

buildings, filled with the hateful, dispossessed, manipulative and backstabbing human detritus

of the planes. They all moved quickly through the center of the town, narrowly avoiding a fight

between a red Slaadi and three primes, and a potentially lethal fight between two Githyanki

knights and three Githzerai monks on Rrakkma.

Standing before the portal to the Red Prison, Clueless gingerly held his hand tight around

the bag of holding containing the relic, and imagined hatred, then stepped through to the other

side, passing under the archway of bones that formed the portal boundary.

The first layer of Carceri, Othrys stretched out before the three of them, a red litten layer

of salt marshes, swamps, and patches of rocky wasteland. Mosquito swarms filled the air with a

dull buzz and dimly heard were the slithering of larger, more serpentine dwellers in the endless

muck.

Their maps, provided by The Marauder, pointed off to the north, two days travel through the

mire, then rockier territory beyond. The first day was mostly uneventful, save for the bariaur

getting sunk to his hips in the mud on three occasions, much to the elfs mirth. By the second

day, the insects felt almost intolerable, innumerable bites tracing red-blotched patterns across

exposed arms and the bariaurs flanks. Dimly, they also realized that they were being followed.

And in fact, less than a mile from the border of the swamp they were caught from two directions

by a force of Gehreleths, at least ten Farastu and two Kelubar. The fight was long and hard, the

bariaur taking a number of deep claw wounds to his side, and the elf was bashed to the ground by
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a Kelubar, the tar tainting his wounds heavily. Amazingly, Clueless managed to avoid personal

injury, though the Gehreleths seemed to target him in particular. Only after dispatching the

remaining with several deft displays of swordsmanship, and three lightning bolts, did he come

to realize, they could smell the scent of the arcanoloth permeating his clothing and the maps. It

must have drawn them from halfway across the layer, such being their hatred of the neutral evil

fiends...

But after treating his companions as best as possible, and letting the cleric deal with his own

festering wounds with his magic, Clueless ignored the bodies and doubled his pace to higher and

dryer ground. An hour later, the swamps receded to dry, red packed soil, littered and strewn

with broken boulders and sloping craggy hillocks. As the sky dimmed to a blackish red the group

camped at the rear base of a pillar of reddish sandstone, blocking the view from the swamp, and

from the direction of the wind, hopefully hiding their scent as well.

That night, after his watch duties were over and he ceded to the cleric, Cluelesss dreams

were unremembered, and his sleep fitful as the planes dread emotions poured into him: hate,

spite, despair, chaotic rage. But his unremembered nightmares were nothing compared to the

one awaiting him as you woke in the morning. Opening his eyes to the blood red din of the

overhead sunless sky, a familiar scent assailed his nostrils. He jerked awake and reached for his

sword, only to find it missing, and his camp surrounded. Some forty insectoid mezzoloths, two or

three dhergoloths, and a Nycaloth captain stood grinning down at him and his two companions,

one of them frozen still in place, the Nycaloths wand still pointed at him. The bladesingers

weapons were held by one of the bloated mantis-like dhergoloths.

Clueless jerked to his feet and the mezzoloths inched closer, black steel tridents raised and

pointed. His eyes bore into the eight-foot tall, hairless, green skinned and vaguely doglike

Nycaloth. He barked at the fiend in abyssal, What is the meaning of this?! We came here

on the guidance and behalf of the arcanoloth, Shemeska the Marauder! Her seal is on our maps

and confirms our destination!

Cluelesss hand moved instantly down to grab the map only to find them gone, along with

the bag of holding. His mouth went dry and the emotions of the plane suddenly seemed amiable.

The Nycaloth grinned, flashing rows of fangs and held up both the map and the bag. Were

well aware of who sent you here half-blood mortal. On your feet fool!

As he staggered to his feet, still trying to comprehend the turn of events, the Nycaloth hefted

a sword in the air with one hand, easily a two handed sword for any human, aimed it at his troops

and barked an order. Half of you, take the mortals and deliver them to the tower. Tell the watch

captain that the Marauder has sent them. The rest of you, you have petitioners to scour the
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plane for, I suggest you get started now! The tower wont build itself! I will return later, I have

things to deliver. The hulking fiend grinned again in Cluelesss direction, hand clutched around

the bag of holding as he vanished from sight and the cold iron manacles clamped around the

bladesingers wrists and ankles. The Red Prison had claimed another victim of the crosstrade.

Clueless stood in the doorway of the Cadence chamber, the darkness of the room behind

him as he squinted his eyes at the light. He didnt remember floating back over to the door

and opening it, but the shock of the memory returning to him made him wince as much as the

sudden return to the brightly lit hallway.

What the hell? You set me up. You bitch, you set me up...

Back at the inn, perhaps a block from where Tarelia called kip, Tristol sat and nursed a drink.

Nothing bad had happened yet, but lurking at the back of his mind was the fact that eventually,

and at any minute, he was liable to keel over and die. Nisha sat across from him attempting

to hang a spoon on her nose, and Florian sat there as well, amused at the tiefling. Toras was

absent, off to find a chapter of his temple in the spiral cathedral since their presence in Sigil was

small and they had no freestanding temple of their own at the moment.

Some time later, Clueless walked back into the room and sat down at the table. He seemed

preoccupied, and while the others were both concerned and curious, he brushed off the questions

for the moment, uncertain as to what exactly his memories meant, or how they fully involved

one of the more powerful, and evil, persons in Sigil.

So, where did you go? Fyrehowl asked, sitting down with an ale.

Over to the Great Gymnasium, just to gather my thoughts.

Hmm, the old Cipher hall? Ive heard of them before, only because theres a number of

them on one of the layers of Elysium. Nice group of people, but I dont know much about what

it is they believe.

Well, Im not a member, nor am I likely to become one. But from what I know, they believe

in action over thought. Not thoughtless action, but some sort of perfect state when theyre the

same thing. I cant do it justice though, so if you want to learn more from them, youll have to

ask one of them.

Well theyve got something going on. Not chaotic enough mind you, though of course Im

biased, but look at ex-Factol Rhys. She doesnt say much, but when she does, its almost always

the right thing at the right time. Shes had two assassination attempts on her in the past two

years. In one case she stepped out of the way just before a crossbow bolt would have hit her

head, and she never stopped what she was talking about. The second time she turned, looked

at the assassin and -caught- the arrow shot at her. Its like she can tell whats going to happen
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before it does, or feels how to act before she should be able to think of a reaction. Spooky.

Theyve been good for Sigil though, never really had enemies, and never really caused

problems in the city. More than anything they kept the peace between the factions for a long

damn time. Clueless added.

Oh, and I almost forgot. Rhys left Sigil a week before the Faction War. Claimed that she

felt something bad on the horizon and skipped town before all of the other factols got mazed.

Spooky. Nisha said as she thumped a silver piece over Torass head as he walked into the room.

Whoops, sorry. She said as he smirked and raised an eyebrow.

No your not, but youre just being you, so its alright. Toras said as he joined his compan-

ions.

Oh well in that case Ill make a habit of it then, except when I dont. Nisha chirped gleefully.

A minute of random conversation later a lean man in a uniform of the Runners guild walked

into the room and up to the bartender. The barkeep pointed over towards the table the group

was sitting at and the man quickly walked over to them and bowed.

Im looking for a group of cutters going by the names of Clueless, Nisha, Toras, Florian, and

Tristol. If you are them, I have a package to deliver to you.

Umm, yes, that would be us. Whos sending this? Fyrehowl said, tentatively accepting a

sealed scroll case from the man.

Alas I cannot say, the package was delivered anonymously with payment and delivery in-

structions. We did examine the package and made certain it had no malign enchantments upon

it keyed to activate upon being opened. However I cannot tell you who charged us with the

delivery of it. If I knew I would certainly tell you. The runner said and shrugged.

Well thank you. Heres something for your trouble. Toras said as he handed the man a

gold piece that lit up his eyes.

Thank you sir, good day to you all. The now smiling courier said as he trotted out the

door.

The scroll case was well made of a white, fine-grained wood and stoppered on both ends of

red wax. The assembled group looked at the case as it sat on the tabletop with a mix of curiosity

and suspicion.

I wonder if somebody knows that were still alive and back in Sigil? Florian mused.

Gods I hope not...if so its probably trapped. Nisha said, Go ahead and open it Toras.

Anything magical on it Tristol? Toras asked the mage who was already chanting a few

words in draconic while scanning over the case with his eyes.

No, nothing that I can tell. Its probably safe to open. Tristol said as he popped open the
 180

wax stopper on one end and slid a single vellum scroll into his hand. He slid the scroll open and

placed it on the table.

The scroll was written in a fine-handed script and signed with a sigil stamped in blue ink.

The sigil was of an exaggerated, nearly comical, blue grin.

Well, its not Trenevain or Imshenviir, thats for certain. Florian said with relief. If its a

new boss taking over for the others, by the foe hammer there will be heads rolling.

And then, something happened quite unexpected that took the group, Tristol especially, by

surprise. The grinning blue sigil on the paper lifted up off of the scroll and hovered a foot over

the table, turning and smiling at the group.

No, if I was either of those two I wouldnt be smiling at you now would I? The grin said

with a cheerful voice and the flash of illusory teeth.

Lets just say that Im someone from outside of your current plight who is both well aware

of your employers and has no love lost for them. I also know that two of you are poisoned and

have less than a week or so to live. Its a pity that I cant directly offer you the antidote, but I

can offer you something just as good, and perhaps even better.

The group was full of curious stares as they looked at the illusory grin as it wandered around

the fringes of the table while it spoke to them. Ever the curious one, Nisha poked out her finger

at the grin which opened its mouth and nipped at her finger with tiny blue fangs.

Eeep! Nisha said as she jerked her finger back with tiny toothmarks on the tip, Youre

real, sorta.

The grin flashed its fiendish smile once more, Indeed I am.

So what are you offering us? Tristol asked, perplexed still by his having been unable to

detect the dweomers on the grin.

Revenge. Youve been used and tossed the wayside like so much refuse by your so-called

employers and as I said, I have no love lost for them myself. They likely never intended to offer

you a cure for their poison, though they do have a dose of it with them, but only in case they

accidentally ingested some themselves. Mercanes, hmmph!

So how do we know we can trust you? Clueless asked and was elbowed in the side by

Florian.

I cant asked you to trust me, but I can give you the location of the demiplane where the

mercane are bottled up and you can do as you wish from there. It serves both of our ends and

everyone walks away from the table with what they want. The scroll Im currently floating over

has detailed instructions on how to reach the curtain leading into the demiplane. The portal

in the former Portal Schmortal is both too watched and too infrequently present to serve as an
181

appropriate gateway inside their demesne.

And what can we call you, just so weve got a name to attach to a face, or a grin in any

event. Tristol said.

Hmm. You know, names are so often impersonal and have little to do with the person

standing behind them. Youll oftentimes find a man with the surname goodman who is anything

but. They usually dont reflect the person, so call me what I am and what form I take. The

Cheshire Fiend will work well in my particular case.

Oh dont be afraid at the name, Im helping you for mutual benefit and Ive no stake in

harming you whatsoever. In fact Id rather like to see you survive just to spite the very people

Ill be helping you get revenge upon. But also on the paper below where my chin would be, if I

had a chin, is the name and address of someone I think would be of use to you while burrowing

through the ethereal deep to find your former employers. Ive already bought her services for

you, assuming you wish to take revenge.

Toras smiled, Thank you. This is appreciated. Can we contact you again after this is

finished?

Oh dont worry too much about that, Ill get in touch with you. I tend to flit about from

place to place as it is doing all sorts of things. Im involved in a lot of late, most of it involved

in kicking people till they stay down so they dont harm other interests of mine. Your former

employers are just a few that I cant easily handle myself without attracting undue attention to

myself and those around me.

Again, thank you. Tristol smiled and extended a hand to the grin. For its part the grin

took his hand in its semi-solid teeth and shook the wizards hand as much as it could.

Youre welcome, I wish you good luck. Now with that, I must be gone. Wheels within

Wheels. And having said so, the Cheshire Fiend vanished in a glimmer of blue sparks that

faded out leaving an ephemeral afterimage resembling a series of runes arranged in multiple sets

of circles, one within the other.

Upon the paper was listed the name and address within the Market Ward, of one Skalliska,

planar guide and finder of expensive items. Beneath that information were a series of detailed in-

structions on accessing the mercanes demiplane, as well as details on each of the mercane therein:

Patriarch Dalmar Imshenviir, Fartrenz Imshenviir and Kalteris Imshenviir. Three brothers. Also

detailed were some speculations about the defenses within the castle itself, and that any antidote

to the mercane poison was likely to be found with Kalteris, being the one of the three most adept

at herbology and alchemy. As such it was likely he that produced the drug that Dalmar had

placed into the food eaten by Tristol and Florian.

 182

Shortly prior to that event, in the Market Ward, Skalliska sat at her desk looking over a

similar scroll that had arrived for her by courier that morning. The green, scaly kobold looked

at the unmarked scroll case with curiosity before opening it...

*****

Helekanalaith, the Keeper of the Tower of the Arcanaloths sat at his desk, a single massive

block of stone carved from the rock of Shacklers Hill in the Waste. What appeared to be the

fossilized forms of petitioners in various states of agony leered out from the dull gray stone as he

quenched the burning tip of his stylus in the quivering flesh of the flayed petitioner bound and

stretched upon the iron frame in front of him.

The fiend blinked as he finished his work and looked up, startled to look into the reddish-pink

eyes of his co-conspirator, Vorkannis the Ebon, Lord of the Tower of Incarnate Pain. He hadnt

noticed the other fiend enter his room, nor had the wardings in place upon his chamber so much

as registered that they had been breached.

Just how long have you been standing there Vorkannis? The keeper asked with guarded

curiosity.

Since shortly after you began to write; long enough. I do hope Im not disturbing you.

Just how in the Baerns names did you get in here without me being aware of it. The wards

are still in place and its impossible to gate or teleport directly into this chamber anyways.

The reverse albino grinned, the ivory fangs contrasting heavily with his sable coat. Appar-

ently you didnt take the time to properly weave them, otherwise I wouldnt have been able to

directly teleport here from Othrys.

Impossible. These wards have been here since I bottled my darling little Larsdana and

Ive learned them in and out since then as well as reinforce them where I found her original

protections lacking. Helekanalaith said with a scoff as he removed his spectacles and placed

them down beside the twitching petitioner splayed across his desk.

I knew Larsdana. Did I ever tell you that Helekanalaith? You are not her. I suggest you

learn fully what she placed within your own walls before you wonder what is and what isnt

possible. I have a habit of breaking such definitions. The Ebons tone carried with it the weight

of self-assuredness that normally spoke of boastful arrogance, but arrogance was for those who

couldnt back up their claims when they made them.

So what is it you need of me? I assume thats why youre here. The Keeper rose to his feet

and delicately stroked a blue sapphire orb that hovered several feet above his desk.

Not this time, no. Ive only come to inform you on yet another success of ours. Yet another
183

cog in the wheel, and one that both Anthraxus and Mydianchlarus are blissfully ignorant of at

the moment because the status quo has remained perfectly unchanged for now. His eyes flashed

red as he left his compatriot guessing.

How so. Im juggling not only my own normal work as befits my station, but these little

diversions that youve handed to myself and our third wheel.

The Maeldur et Kavurik is ours. The coup was relatively bloodless and the change of

ownership has had no discernable effects elsewhere. But when the time is right... Another

knowing, hungry smirk graced the jackals face.

And how do you suggest we give it back the rightful compliment of names assuming youve

found some way to leave the Tanarri and Baatezu unaffected by this? We no longer have the

Vuulge.

We have no need of the Vuulge. Why is an artifact capable of translating any words into the

language of the Baern necessary when I -speak- the language of the Baern myself. Flawlessly.

The Ebons eyes glittered and something inside Helekanalaith shuddered with awe and fear as

his colleague recited his last statement in that same language that burned the senses with its

ancient potency.

And the other fiends? Helekanalaith asked.

Not a concern, our wayward children wont feel the slightest bit of trouble.

Something inside Helekanalaith was troubled and would be for some time. Something about

the way the Ebon spoke, the way he carried himself, the things he knew, the things he shouldnt

know but did, and the fact that he had simply come walking out of the hinterlands of the Waste

a thousand years ago or so and leapt up the ladder from advisor to Ultroloths to advisor to

Bubonix himself in Carceri. The fact that both Bubonix and Cholerix had vanished abruptly

shortly thereafter to leave Vorkannis holding the formers position did nothing to alleviate the

keepers concern and suspicion, nor to lessen the way that he felt unconsciously drawn to respect

and stand in awe of one who by all rights in the hierarchy of the arcanaloths was his inferior.

Why then did he feel like the Ebon treated him like a curious child to an adult?

I trust your plants inside Anthraxuss growing contingent near the Hill of Bones have been

feeding you accurate information on his troop size? The Ebons question pulled Helekanalaith

out of his thoughts.

Indeed, his troops are swelling quite massively. Just how exactly did you goad him into

taking back what was his to begin with? The keeper replied.

The more pertinent question is what I told Mydianchlarus that made the Oinoloth abdicate

his throne in the first place... Another flash of ivory fangs contrasting with a jet-black coat.
 184

Im not so certain that I believe that boast.

Whether you believe it or not isnt whats important. The seeds are planted in your mind

and theyll occupy your thoughts for days. It places you in the position of holding me in a select

light, and isnt that what a boast is for in the first place? The Ebon said with a grin before

changing the subject, In any event Ive dispatched one of my own to Center where shell be

watching over the buildup of mercenary forces at the hub there. A pity for Dandy Will, she

booted him out of his own castle the day she arrived with her ostensible superior, one of the

Ultroloths under the Oinoloth. You remember Shylara I assume. She served you as a scribe of

no particular note for several centuries before you shipped her off to Khin-Oin, and from there

to Carceri shortly before I arrived there.

The keeper nodded after a moments though, Indeed I do. Did you have a hand in her

current... affliction?

She plays an important part, and those who dont fit the role I need them to fit tend to suffer

some remolding to do so. Shes convinced that I love her; she thinks her condition endears her to

me since she endures it so. Its a powerful motivating force, wouldnt you say so Helekanalaith?

The Ebons eyes darted from the keeper up to the sapphire gem the other loth was absenting

stroking.

Helekanalaith paused and looked at the Ebon, A powerful motivating force? Which do you

mean? Agony or love?

Which indeed. Ponder it and Ill see you again in several days time, there is much to do.

The Ebon replied with a feral grin before vanishing without a word or a gesture to mark his

passing.

And as Helekanalaith, the Keeper of the Tower checked his wards once again and detected

no lingering presence or hung spells where the Ebon had stood, he relaxed and sat down again

before looking up at the sapphire orb that held the essence of his predecessor, Larsdana apt

Neut. Which indeed...

Chapter 18

At the same time, two wards away in the spireward reaches of the Market Ward, a short, green

scaled kobold sat at her desk and opened a small, sealed scroll that had arrived for her that

morning by way of one of the Bellringers messengers. Her feet kicked slowly in the air, nearly

a foot above the floor, as the chair she occupied was oversized for her stature. She was dressed

in a rather flamboyant coat and vest while a wide brimmed and plumed hat perched atop her

head, slightly askance. She was nothing if not fashionable.

Skalliska smiled in curiosity, a reptilian smirk crossing her face as her tiny teeth flashed a

line of white across her snout. Hmm... wonder who sent this, and with advance payment along

with it...

The kobold counted the coins with a practiced eye and spread the parchment out before

herself. My newest employee Skalliska, allow me to introduce myself. Payment should be

included with this letter, unless the Bellringer hires untrustworthy runners, in which case hell

be down a runner by the days end. The funds therein should be double your usual fee for a

weeks time of services. I hope this is recompense for the short notice of employment. But this

would be much easier if we were to speak in person. Please touch the sigil at the end of this

document to do just that...

Skalliska paused and glanced at the twin symbols at the end of the page, one of them a

comical looking symbol that resembled a blue grin, and the other a ring of concentric circles

composed of runes in infernal and abyssal. A quick glance was enough for her to translate their

meaning, Wheels within Wheels.

The kobold tapped the center of the symbol and watched as nothing happened. She tapped

it again and pressed on the symbol, but still to no avail. Then she heard the thin, Mrrpphhm-

mmpphhhh, emanate from under her thumb.

Oh. She said with some amusement as she removed her thumb to see the blue grin symbol

rise up off the paper, sneeze, and hover before her, smiling even more.

185
 186

Very pleased to meet you my scaly employee. Dont you think this is a better way of going

over things? The grin said as Skalliska chuckled and leaned back in her chair.

This works, and its amusing if nothing else. She pointed towards the pile of platinum coins,

Youve certainly bought your time, so do tell.

I thought Id found your favorite color there, guess I wasnt wrong. Good. The grins floated

down towards the kobolds desk and seemed to settle atop the coins like a tiny dragon on its

hoard.

Ive got a group of other employees of mine that are set to track down a demiplane in which

a few people they dont really like are holed up. Ive my own reasons to see those berks get their

comeuppance, but thats rather beside the point. I need you to help my employees find that

demiplane, make sure they dont fall prey to any traps, both magical and mundane, and that

they get out alive and back to Sigil. I dont wish to see them come to harm.

Skalliska nodded and plucked a coin out from under the Cheshire Fiends animated chin.

How long do you think this will take? I dont have a problem taking the job, but if its longer

than a certain period I start to charge more you understand.

The grin gnawed on a coin like a small puppy on a bone before answering her, Heh heh,

I could pay you now, or I could offer you a share of what the mercane in that demiplane have

hoarded with them... it is substantial and I dont personally care what happens to it. Money

isnt an issue for me, suffice to say.

A share in whatever they... well, no... a share in what we recover? Thats really tempting,

it really is. What sort of surprises are these, mercane you said, going to have waiting for us?

Coins danced in the kobolds eyes and the Cheshire Fiend jumped on that glimmer of gold in

her head.

A bevy of mercenaries, likely some traps, their own magics, and for the eldest of the three

brothers a guardian golem and at least two or three stone golems. Beyond that, likely not much

more. All of them are wizards, so judge your expectations accordingly.

Skalliska leaned back in her chair and pushed her hat down over her face as she contemplated

taking the offered job. It was ever so tempting, and her illusory, or seemingly illusory employer

wasnt helping any by warping into a blue dragon and snarling and breathing sparks as it sat on

top of the pile of coins on her desk. While quirky and amusing, the grinning fiend was shrewd

enough to get her hooked on the offer.

Im in. She was fairly blunt as she grinning back at her employer from under the brim of

her hat.

Well, thats good because theyre already on their way over here. A bit of an assumption on
187

my part that youd agree to my terms, but, no problems encountered after all. And with that, I

have other places to be, do take care of them, theyll fill you in on any details.

And with that, the Cheshire Fiend dove into the pile of coins and dissipated into a shower of

sparkling blue fragments that melted away into the air. The parchment displayed no lingering

traces of magic, nor the grins symbol still on the page. But rather than any lingering ques-

tions, only the sound of cascading coins filled the kobolds ears, just as thoughts of revenge and

desperation had filled the thoughts of her soon to be compatriots.

****

A few hours later Nisha stood outside the address in the Market Ward, pointing up towards

the sign above the entrance. In bright gold lettering, the sign read Five Fellows Market of the

Curious and Rare.

Apparently Im doing my Kylie impression today... Nisha said as she continued to point

up at the sign. Her companions chuckled softly behind her as they moved towards the door and

stepped inside.

The interior of the shop was brightly illuminated from a series of skylights in the roof which

appeared magically augmented; the haze outside the shop wasnt half as bright as the inside

light. Tables and shelves scattered about the room, each of them littered with various exotic and

strange baubles from a dozen or more different planes or primes. The desk nearest to the door

had a map of the shop and fliers detailing the additional services the shops proprietors provided

to clients. Clueless was already moving towards the desk, smiling at the elven wizardress who

sat behind it. Tristol rolled his eyes as the half-fey bowed and kissed the elfs hand, inquiring

about their contact at the shop in as flirtatious a way as possible. After his question he paused,

leaned in and whispered something to the woman who immediately blushed.

Im flattered, the wizardress said as Clueless kissed the back of her hand, But I dont

think my husband would approve, even if he is out of Sigil for the next few weeks. The attention

is appreciated though its too bad for you that Im not a sensate. She laughed and Clueless

chuckled, Alas, were if you were.

Fyrehowl chuckled, the tips of her ears growing slightly flushed, as she obviously had overheard

Cluelesss whisper. As she obviously found humor in whatever he had said, she and Florian made

eye contact as they both looked over towards Clueless. A slight consternation passed between

them, not unlike two rag pickers in the hive both looking at the same dropped copper right before

leaping for it.

Florian coughed to interrupt Cluelesss amorous pursuits, Were here to meet a certain
 188

Skalliska that we were told was a partner at your establishment. Is she in at the moment?

I believe so, yes. The elf pointed towards a yellow door on the far end of the display room,

Through that door, end of the hall, and the door on the right is hers. And feel free to browse

anything in the shop while youre here.

Skalliska looked up at the silhouettes in the glass of the door to her office and smiled a

reptilian grin as the door tentatively opened. Were looking for a certain Skalliska, is this the

right place? said Florian as he stepped through into the kobolds office.

Skalliska looked up from her chair, her face mostly hidden by the wide brim of her hat. That

would be me, I take it that youre the folks Im being paid to guide into the Ethereal?

Yep, that would be us. Said Clueless as he walked into the office. I take it that youve

already spoken to our mutual employer?

Very recently actually, he was... rather unique. Smiled a lot. She replied as her hand picked

up her familiar from her shoulder, a small red-orange lizard with tiny tongues of flame licking

up from its snout and seemingly at random from the rest of its body.

Umm... your familiar set itself on fire, you might want to... Nisha began before Tristol

tapped her shoulder and whispered something into her ear and be blushed. Whoops, never-

mind.

So tell me about yourselves and where were going, after that we can be headed off as soon

as youd like. Ive coin in my pocket from our grinning friend and nothing else keeping me here

for the moment. Skalliska lifted up her head to show her smile.

Hes not what I think of when I think of a kobold. Nisha said, opening her mouth too much

for the second time that day.

She, Im female. The very much female kobold snapped back.

Oh, Im sorry. Nisha apologized before whispering in Tristols ear, How do you tell?!

Tristol held back his chuckle but ignored her question. Later.

So what -did- you expect? Skalliska inquired, sitting up straighter in her chair as her fire

lizard munched at a bug she offered it from a small pocket in her brightly colored vest.

Cave dwelling, baby eating, trap setting, pesky elemental? Nisha quipped before sticking

out her tongue sideways. Joking, mostly.

Not me, baby is too piking expensive in Sigil this time of year. Skalliska fired back without

a bit of hesitation and it took the tiefling a moment to realize that the kobold was actually

joking. Clueless and Fyrehowl softly snickered.

The rest of their meeting went well with only a few more random, true to form, statements

from Nisha. They introduced themselves and their abilities to their guide, and in turn Skalliska
189

told them of her specialties including her knack of finding and picking portals. In truth there was

only a very fine overlap in her skills compared to Nisha, and that was in noticing and disarming

traps, not something that anyone involved would lament there being two experts in the group on.

But having made their introductions, the newly assembled group set out to procure last minute

supplies before meeting up back at Skalliskas office before she had them through a portal to the

Ethereal a block or so away from the building and from there into the deep in search of their

targeted demiplane.

****

True to her word, and a fine testament to her professional skill, Skalliska had her new com-

panions hovering in the ethereal mist near to the demiplanes border in the space of around eight

hours. During their trek through the trackless sea, they managed to avoid any ether cyclones

or even encounters with anything that they considered a threat. More than once they had to

comment to the kobold that they were rather happy to have her aid. For her part Skalliska

smiled and tipped her hat as her fire lizard gave a squeaky roar like a miniature toy red dragon

perched on her shoulder.

And here we are as promised. One step through the curtain and well be inside the demiplane,

though normally you cant tell just where youll appear inside. I can get us inside at more or less

where you want to be though, if you prefer anyplace in particular? The kobold smirked happily

and tapped a few implements on her planar compass as she examined the shimmering border of

the demiplane.

Fyrehowl and Clueless exchanged glances with Toras, Tristol, and Florian while Nisha ignored

them all in favor of making faces and noises at Skalliskas fire lizard. Raaaaarrrrr...., the

tiefling was oblivious to anything else, and Skalliska was completely ignoring her as she went

about determining the properties of the demiplanes border.

Somewhere near the gates? I dont recall there being any other way into the keep from the

outside. Fyrehowl mused as the other pondered Skalliskas question.

That works for me too, there wasnt all that much solid ground in there, and honestly Im

not in the mood to find out what happens when you fall in there. Andros only knows how big

that place actually is. Toras suggested, his sword already drawn.

Youd probably hit the border and either slide with gravity around it, or appear out the

other side... Tristol said.

Can I have a familiar? Nishas random question broke the discussion as they all turned to

stare at her. She simply smiled and swished her tail slightly from side to side.
 190

Yeah... we should get moving, Im actually starting to feel a little under the weather.

Tristol said, looking first over towards Florian and then to Skalliska.

Same here, its probably starting to have an effect, so the sooner we find the antitoxin the

better. You ready there Skalliska? Florian said, trying his best to be upbeat.

Skalliska turned back and pushed her hat back, the border was shimmering a soft blue where

it had been largely colorless before. Ready when you all are, well be somewhere from a few

inches to a few feet from the main gates. After you.

The kobold pointed to the colored patch in the demiplane border, motioning for her new

companions to jump through, then she looked over towards her familiar which was breathing

tiny rings of smoke at Nisha. Best for you to stay somewhere safe till this is over with, alright?

The fire lizard snarled grumpily and moved towards a small pocket in Skalliskas vest that

opened up into a bottomless extra dimensional expanse. Ill let you out to wander around when

this is over, and then you can play dragon again on some gold, alright?

Can I play dragon on a pile of gold too? Nisha asked and somewhat startled the kobold.

Oh, youre still here. Skalliska patted the pocket shut and looked a bit oddly at the tiefling.

Play dragon?

Yeah, like your lizard, it sounds kinda fun actually, itll just take more coins for it to work

with me... Nisha chuckled happily.

Umm... yeah. How about we get going before this destabilizes, ok?

Alright. Nisha said as she tumbled through the demiplane boundary, grinning all the way.

The passage through the boundary was brief and warm, like a breeze on a midsummers day.

Once through, they all stood a few dozen feet from the gate of the mercanes keep. Unlike when

they had first ventured that way, the gate was wide open. Clueless was already in the air, his

wings extended, and Tristol was already examining the area for latent dweomers while the others

drew their weapons and scanned for guards.

The entrance was dead silent and unmanned, the mercanes apparently saw little need to

man the front gate of a fortress inside an otherwise uninhabited demiplane. From their money

minded perspective, it apparently made little sense to do so.

No teleportation spells near the entryway, we should be fine to go. Tristol said, glancing in

each direction as he whispered a spell to detect magic.

No guards either, lets go on in before were noticed. Fyrehowl said as she glanced to the

windows high above them and their arrow slit features that promised certain death, if only they

had been manned.

Quickly and quietly the group rushed into the main entry chamber past the gate and slipped
191

down the central hallway, ignoring the branching corridors except to glance down them for guards.

They werent there to sneak in and gain an antidote; they were there for blood as well.

The hallways were largely unadorned and utilitarian, though clean and free of even a speck of

dust or scuffing on the flagstones. As they approached a larger intersection, Fyrehowl sniffed at

the air and perked her ears before pointing to the left and the forwards. Kitchens that way, and

theres someone sharpening a weapon straight ahead... someone snoring too, barracks maybe.

Florian hefted his battleaxe and charged off towards the doorway to the barracks with Fyre-

howl and Toras right beside him as he kicked the door off its hinges and burst into the room to

the utter horror of the six off duty guardsman. The room was spattered in blood in mere seconds

and Torass blade was at the throat of the one sleeping guard as he woke up to find his fellows

dead or unconscious around him.

Who are... he said before the edge of Torass blade silenced his question. Florian stood over

him to ask his own question. How many guards are here? Numbers and layout of the floors.

Tell us and you live.

Twelve. Six of us on duty, and six off at any time... he whimpered as he looked to the left

at the bodies of two of his comrades.

Toras furrowed his eyebrows, Only twelve? This keep is huge. Youve got to be kidding me.

What else do they have guarding this place? What else on this floor?

The sharp stench of urine hit the air as the mercenary wet himself, Fyrehowl wrinkled her

nose and frowned as he replied, Some traps, but those are in the rooms that are off limits to

us. And they dont let us on the floors above this one. Were just here pretty much to make

sure the serving staff doesnt wander and to make sure that any Nathri dont decide to make

this demiplane their next raiding target. Thats it, I dont know anything more... please dont

kill me...

The guard went limp as Nisha knocked him in the back of the head with a sap. Tie him up

and leave him then? We can always dump him through a portal later. She tossed a length of

rope to Clueless and then went body to body snagging purses while chiding the mercanes on the

salary they apparently paid their hired help as she counted out only silvers and coppers.

Hmm... makes me wonder whats on the higher floors. Clueless said as he bound the guards

hands and legs.

Same here. I can see wizards being secretive and cloistered, but that sounds a bit extreme.

Tristol said with a shake of his head.

A muffled cry from outside the barracks gathered the groups sudden attention as Skalliska

poked her head in through the door. Advice? One of the kitchen staff came to deliver lunch
 192

to the guards, and a crossbow pointed at her head is keeping her quiet for the moment... The

kobold grinned.

The others walked out into the hallway to find Skalliska pointing a modified Cho-Ku-No up

at the blanched face of a middle-aged woman dressed in a starched blue and gold uniform with

the symbol of Dalmar Imshenviir promenantly displayed on her smock. She was holding a full

platter of food in her arms and trembling slightly. Her eyes darted to the smirking, crossbow

wielding kobold and then to Toras and finally to Fyrehowl. The sight of the lupinal seemed to

both reassure and confuse her at once.

Well have our kobold lower her crossbow... Florian said before Nisha interrupted to add,

And not cook you and eat your children, they do that sometimes if you dont watch them.

Were not here to hurt you, so dont scream and well lower our weapons, ok? Fyrehowl

said as Skalliska lowered her crossbow, glowered at Florian, and then even more at Nisha who

was snickering, quite pleased with herself.

Ok... the woman said, What do you want?

Your employers tried to have us killed and were here to take revenge on them, and to find

a cure for the poison they slipped into the food for two of us. We dont need to do anything to

you or any of the other people here on the serving staff, but take us there to the kitchens for

us to explain this to them too. We dont need anyone wandering around the halls when theres

going to be bloodshed. Clueless said as his wings retracted.

Oh... ok... follow me... she said, still shocked and a bit confused as she led them back to

the kitchens where shocked silence and a few dropped pots met the group. After around ten

minutes or so they had fully explained the situation and even gained sympathy from the head of

the kitchen staff who introduced herself as Marlene. All of them there had apparently been paid

for a stretch of time, contracted out as a group rather than individually. The same had been

done with the guards as well, and, like the guards, none of the kitchen and serving staff had ever

seen anything above the first floor of the keep.

All of you stay here and youll be fine. If we finish this here well see to it that youre still

paid your full pay and sent on your way to wherever you like. If we dont manage to survive, well,

your employers cant fault you for having been hostages down here, right? Clueless continued

as Tristol and Florian talked to one of the maids about the layout of the first floor and which

rooms were labeled as off limits.

Having settled things with the staff without a drop of blood being spilt, the assembled group

started back down the main hallway, headed towards one of the hallways that was apparently

out of bounds for the guards and serving staff alike. As they moved down the halls, both Nisha
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and Skalliska kept their eyes peeled for any sign of traps, both magical and mundane, but neither

saw much of anything.

As they entered the off limits hallway, the layout and decoration was radically different from

the rest of the first level of the keep, which had been clean but otherwise bland and colorless. As

they stepped out into the hall, the stone floor below their feet was inlaid with several different

colors of stone and woven carpets lay at even spaces down its length. Down the length of the

gallery a number of statues, wall mounted carvings and mounted hunting trophies graced the

periphery. Preserved and stuffed exotic animal heads from Arborea and the Beastlands were in

abundance along with a snarling Gelugon head, an Ocanthan Razorwing, a Hollyphant head,

and a stuffed and mounted Sympathetic.

Oh these guys must be sodding loaded... Nisha said with sparkles in her eyes and her hands

on her cheeks in disbelief as her inner thief did backflips of joy in her head.

Of just a similar nature, but less chaotic in every way, Skalliska looked and mentally cataloged

each and every item in the hallway, appraising their worth and estimating how easily a buyer

might be found. Jink danced a victory jig in the forefront of her mind as she walked to the

oversized raven with glittering red gems for eyes, the sympathetic. She registered that both of

the birds eyes were garnets or rubies just before the eyes flashed red and she turned around.

Hey you guys, come take a look at these three statues over here, I think there might be

a hidden door behind this one here. Skalliska said as she put away her crossbow and walked

over to the group of man sized carvings on the west wall of the hallway that leered like grinning

demons flanking the doorway to another room.

No there isnt... Nisha said, stowing for the moment her running tally of the jink in the

room.

Sure there is, come over here and look. Trust me, I know these sort of things. Was the

kobolds reply as Toras and Florian wandered over to look closer. They walked within a few feet

when the gargoyles sprang to life and attacked the charmed Skalliskas overly curious companions.

A scant few dozen seconds later and Toras and Florian stood over three piles of rubble on the

scarlet carpet as Skalliska shrugged off the charm affect that had been enspelled as a proximity

trap on the stuffed bird.

I think this one belongs to you... Nisha said as she offered the Sympathetic to Skalliska,

impaled on the end of her rapier.

Thanks... but wheres the two rubies it had for eyes? The kobold replied.

What rubies for eyes? Dunno what youre talking about. Haha, it must have charmed you

better than you thought! Nisha bluffed as Skalliska took the bird and snapped its neck to shower
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the tiefling with the downy stuffing inside with a smirk.

As they moved down the hallway, now more fully aware of the potential for traps, they entered

a small room at the end of the gallery. Apparently a waiting chamber or study it was furnished

with a number of comfortable tables and chairs and a small pile of books. Pausing a moment to

glance their titles, Tristol turned up his nose at the volumes; all they contained were details on

the trade routes across several prime worlds, very dry and specialized stuff. At the center of the

room a slim spiral staircase led up while at its base there stood a statue of a slim, white marble,

Erinyes holding a pitcher of water with her other hand behind her back.

Skalliska nodded to Nisha and the two of them flanked the statue as they motioned the others

to stay back. Skalliska chuckled as she noted the hand behind the otherwise slim and demure

stone fiends back held a very real and very sharp dagger.

Florian? If you would take down the statue? Skalliska said as Nisha opened a sack and

dumped it over the top of a large silver candlestick sitting on one of the tables in the room. The

candelabra began to move and wriggle violently for a few seconds before the tiefling swung the

sack around her head twice before smashing the contents against the floor a dozen times till it

stopped moving. Back behind her, Florian decapitated the Erinyes that twitched and jerked as

its animating magic sparked and died.

Toras checked at the two doors leading out of the room as Fyrehowl stood underneath the

stairwell with her ears flat against her head. The same smell she had noticed before when they

had first met the mercanes was back and heavily present on the air wafting down the stairs from

the keeps second level. Mezzoloth if she wasnt mistaken. Yet she hadnt seen any fiends here

at all, or even seen anything that hinted at their presence, except perhaps that the guards and

serving staff had been forbidden to enter the higher levels of the keep. More questions, and it

wasnt fully making sense in her mind...

Something wrong? Clueless said as he broke the lupinal out of her thoughts.

Oh, no, just trying to figure out what the scent on the air was. More than mercanes, but I

cant tell just what exactly just yet. So be careful. She said back as she took a step upwards

and motioned the others to follow.

As they followed the stairs upwards the hallways grew even more posh, except for the one

hallway they followed, away from the thick scent on the air and towards a smell of unwashed

bodies. Fyrehowl was nervous and worried about what they would find, but the alternative was

curious as they followed her towards what she was certain might be a slaves quarters or a prison.

As they approached an iron-reinforced, thick wooden door she suspected the latter.

Go ahead and try and kick this one down Florian? Toras jibed at the cleric and was
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rewarded with a scoff and No no, this one is all yours, please.

Its unlocked, you can just open it, unless you want me to knock, Im sure theyll be happy

to see us. Nisha said as she rapped at the air like knocking on the door.

The rattle of a chain from the other side of the doorway broke the discussion as the door

swung open inwards to a small chamber lit by magelight and holding a corridor of prison cells.

The chamber also held a small desk and large chair in front of which stood a nearly eight foot

tall Minotaur holding the chain it had opened the door with and an spiked club nearly as large

as Skalliska. It laughed at them and rattled the chain, taunting them with a slurred series of

insults in planar common.

Skalliska raised her crossbow and Tristol prepared a small as the gaoler lofted his club over

his massively muscled frame like it weighed nothing. Gorvash kill you quick, come and fight

Gorvash weak little ones.

Toras raised an eyebrow, Gorvash not speak well. Gorvash hit in head as child too many

times.

The Minotaur smiled and replied with a swing of his club in the air that would have splattered

Torass head with a solid blow had it been aimed at him.

Hey Nisha, you need some new clothes? I think we could get some good leather out of this

guy if you needed a new jacket or some pants. Clueless said with a smirk as Nisha giggled and

raised a wand at the Minotaur as it lost its smile and growled.

Clueless turned back to the gaoler again, smiling all the while before he landed another insult,

Moo.

The Minotaur dropped its chain and roared at the top of its lungs before charging at the party,

exactly what it had been hoping they would do, rather than forcing him to do. As physically

impressive as he was, any semblance of tactics was lost in his rage and he was brutally pummeled

with several crossbow bolts, a series of spells, and a dozen sword and axe slashes. While its one

wildly aimed blow did manage to connect solidly with Toras, the Minotaur was dead on the

ground before it had the pleasure of hearing the snap of bone in the fighters shoulder as the

long bone in his arm was dislocated from its socket.

Gorash actually pretty piking strong... Florian, some help please, this hurts like hell...

Toras said with both a grin and pained grimace as he dropped his sword to cradle his wounded

arm. As Florian first set Torass arm back into place with a jarring -pop- and then began to

whisper a prayer of healing, Nisha grabbed the thick ring of keys from the dead gaolers belt.

And now the lunatics are in control of the asylum! Mwahaha! The tiefling cackled with

glee as she jangled the keys and clip clopped down the hall with a bounce in her step before
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turning to look at the first cell and stopping cold.

Oh, oh s***! she said, reaching immediately for her blade as her companions rushed over

next to her.

As Skalliska raised her crossbow towards the interior of the cell, she noticed that the door

was shut and barely hanging upon the hinges recessed into the stone. In fact, beyond the iron

bars was only an empty cell containing a broken set of rusted shackles and leg irons attached to a

ring set into the wall, as well as a fine layer of dust across the floor. For all she could see, the cell

had not been used in some time. But looking around at the reactions of her companions, which

ranged from shock and horror, to anger, to disbelief, they very obviously were seeing something

inside that she did not. At the very least, something magical was about, perhaps similar to the

enspelled sympathetic she had fallen prey to earlier, and either totally hiding something from

her view, or, more likely, not affecting her in the slightest.

Guys... snap out of it. The cell is empty. Listen to me, theres nothing in there. Skalliska

said, looking to each of her companions in turn as they all began to fall to whatever enchantment

or illusion had snagged their attention.

As Fyrehowl looked into the cell, beyond the metal bars she could smell almost before she

could see, a spattered mess of blood splayed across the floor and two walls, extending up and

out from the ragged, torn corpse of a lupinal laying limp on the flagstones. The silvery blue fur

on her ruined body was tattered and shredded from combat or extended torture, and her throat

was mangled. What immediately wrenched into Fyrehowls heart was not that she was a fellow

lupinal, not the bloody hand and footprints of numerous fiends that despoiled and tracked across

her coat, but the pale, unmoving face of her own sister that looked back up at her.

She had been dead for some time. The smell of Tanarri wafted about the prison cell, per-

meating the air, and the lupinals mind leapt unbidden to the thought of her having been at

the mercy of however many of the ... things.... since she knew she had been abducted. Tears

muddied Fyrehowls vision, as the loss struck hard and true and she had to face the fact that

despite how hard she had tried, she wasnt there to save her.

As Tristol approached the closed, and seemingly locked cell door, his keen senses recoiled at

the scent of blood and incense, and a deep, cold crawling sensation that set the fur on the back

of his ears and on his tail bristling. The cell seemed empty at first, but something was simply

WRONG. He could feel it at a most basic level, like some insidious vapor on the air trickling its

way into his lungs and filling him with revulsion reserved for the most debased of fiends. Then,

the air shimmered.

Standing in front of him suddenly at the very center of the cell was a thin, dusky complexioned
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woman dressed in jet wizards robes. The very light dimmed in the cell, seemingly absorbed by

the folds of the sorceresss robes, or even her dusky skin. Beneath her, her shadow twisted and

curled against the floor, rising up in physical form to snake about her side like some twisted

fiendish pet or familiar. She sneered and stroked a hand over the shadow creature at her side.

Very easily now Tristol could make out on the womans robes the prominent symbol of Shar, the

Mistress of Loss, Sorrow, Secrets, and Festering Hatreds.

The woman produced from the folds of her robe a single crystal vial and held it aloft. Some-

thing troubles you, servant of the Lady of Mysteries? Seeking this perhaps? And with that she

hurled it against the ground, shattering the vial and contents into a glittering shower of glass

and spray of pale liquid. Tristol gasped in horror as what he knew to be the cure he needed was

ruined upon the floor of the cell.

Abandon your Mystra little one. You have much potential, but abase yourself to the

Nightweaver and save yourself from the same death as your parents suffered in your absence.

All of you, get a sodding grip, theres nothing in the damned cell but dust. Skalliskas voice

rose as the effect took greater effect on her fellows.

As Florian stepped closer to the cell door, which from the hallway appeared firmly locked

and barred, he smelled the acrid scent of incense mixed with blood. Standing in plain sight in

the center of the cell was a black shrouded priestess of Talona, Faerunian Mistress of Poisons

and Disease. She chuckled as she made eye contact with Florian and the Aasimar, holding a

potion bottle out in front of her. A green speckled quasit upon her shoulders cackled quietly and

snapped its fangs as it regarded them. Looking for this perhaps? she intoned as she hurled

the potion vial against the far wall where it shattered, spraying its contents across the rough

finished stone.

Florian gasped in agony as the Talontar turned back to her, Oh how it must gall you, servant

of the Foehammer. To know your death calls and Jergals pen begins to write your name in his

book in the crystal spire. To know that you will die without glory, without passion, without

heroics. That you will simply waste away and die, huddled by yourself, isolated and alone having

failed in the handiwork of your god with a death as unbefitting and shameful as his creed could

find. And as Florian began to chant one of her most powerful spells, the talontar priestess threw

back her head and laughed, joined in by the tiny fiend sitting upon her shoulder.

Dont make me bite your ankles! Ill live up to the stereotype if I have to! Skalliska grew

more and more desperate to break the spell taking hold of her companions.

As Toras hurriedly approached the cell, the first thing that struck his senses was not that the

door hung partially open, but rather the rank, pungent smell of slowly putrefying flesh that hung
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in the air. As he ignored his comanions and stepped up to open the cell door with trepidation,

the slow, crawling sensation of dread from an unhallow spell scittered across his skin like a shower

of insects, drifting up from the blood spattered unholy symbol of Bane placed in the center of

the floor. And beyond it, slumped against the far wall, slashed, mangled and surrounded by

ritual candles was the body of his former love. The bitter taste of bile rose in his throat, galled

by this desecration of the one he had loved. And, almost as an afterthought, pinned to the body

was a thin scroll case.

Thats it, Im biting here in a few seconds damn you all... Skalliska said with resignation

as she dove for Torass leg .

Clueless looked into the cell, and beyond the metal bars, at first he could only see pitch

darkness, but after a few seconds of staring, the darkness seemed to lift or dissipate and he

began to make out details of the cells interior. In the shadows that still swathed the cell, he

could make out two dim patches of blue glow near the floor, radiating from two figures in the

center of the cell. One of them, as Cluelesss stare lingered, seemed to be standing, while the

other crouched on the floor in front of it. More shadows lifted and he could tell that the standing

one was humanoid, while the other appeared to be either a centaur or bariaur.

Then in that moment a flicker of recognition passed over the bladesinger, clearing the haze of

his memories and the dim light of the cell, and he recognized the figures as his two companions

from Carceri, each with a glowing blue orb embedded in one ankle, just like himself.

The half-elf stood, a glassy look of concentration upon his face as he leveled his sword to the

throat of the bariaur who trembled and struggled versus unseen bonds that shackled his hoofs

and arms to the ground. While he silently pleaded to his glassy eyed friend with a look of terror

and confusion on his face, the elven cleric pressed the blade to his throat, drawing the slimmest of

beaded red lines from the exposed skin. Glancing around quickly as the sword stopped and only

the ragged panting of the bariaur broke the still, a third blue glow pierced the gloom, emanating

from the far wall of the cell, hovering aloft in front of the robed form of a cowled arcanoloth that

seemed to emerge from the shadows themselves like he or they were a part of each other.

The loth looked up, a fiendish smirk playing across his muzzle, and a knowing look flashed in

his gleaming, red tinged eyes, as he met Cluelesss gaze and the light played across his ebon fur.

He clutched the hovering gem protectively, then inclined his head first left, then right, drawing

the half-feys gaze to two other similar gems, hovering in mid air and then clutched by the taloned

hands of a largely shadow obscured second and third loth, before all three clutched their palms

tightly around the gems, snuffing the light and plunging the room into complete darkness once

again.
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All of them were jolted out of their rage, fear or agony in an instant as Skalliska triggered a

scroll to dispel any latent dweomers in the area. It apparently worked as her companions looked

around in confused before regaining their senses. Thankfully none of them watched as the kobold

spit out a bit of leather that had formerly been attached to the cuff of Torass boot.

A sudden crackle of mental static washed over them with a voice that Clueless would later

recognize as the voice that had whispered to him in one of his recovered memories.

Fools. You should be dead, but this is apparently the result of trusting the mercanes to fully

lay wardings instead of making them yourself. But regardless, since youre still alive, please do

tie up loose ends for me here. Youll find one of them at the last cell down the hallway.
Chapter 19

The group glanced at each other as the voice faded from their minds. Something about it was

unsettling, mental impressions of something indescribably foul that was there and then gone in

a fleeting moment. Toras glanced down to the end of the hall and then at the other cells that

lined the passage every fifteen feet.

So shall we start opening cells? Nisha grinned as she held up a set of lockpicks.

Florian nodded, Lets go slow though, some of them might be locked up for a reason. Just

because the mercane are evil doesnt absolutely mean theyre not possessed of some sense.

Umm... you could say that... Skalliska said as she looked into the next cell down the hall.

Inside stood three silver robed Illithids, the pale light of the hallway shimmering dimly against

their rubbery purple flesh. One of them approached the cell door and gestured to the lock but as

its elongated fingers neared the bars and the lock a green field of energy erupted and the mind

flayer withdrew its hand.

Clueless stepped up to the cell doors next to Skalliska as the Illithid gestured to the doors

again. The field is probably suppressing their psionics if I had to guess. Tristol said as the

Illithid nodded in the affirmative.

Fyrehowl glanced nervously at the others before looking at the Illithids. If we release you

will you leave immediately or help use?

We are only here because of greed on the part of the mercane. Business gone sour... We only

wish to cut our losses and depart. You wish to do them harm? The illithid waved its tentacles

as it spoke, seemingly speaking aloud only with some level of distaste.

Nisha looked at the others as they nodded and she began to pick the lock. A minute later

the tumblers clicked into place and the door swung open, dispelling the field. My thanks. The

mental voice of the first Illithid echoed in their ears before all three of them vanished as they

planeshifted out of the cell.

The next cell contained a pair of spider-like Neogi slavers, captives of a deal gone bad, much

200
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like the Illithids, who were released only after agreeing not to attempt to leave the demiplane

with any of the mercanes former employees enslaved. After the slavers had scuttled off down

the hallway the next cell contained a three foot tall, green skinned humanoid with red eyes and

long black hair, dressed in a patchwork suit of armor that seemed to have been cobbled together

from a mixture of various sets of chainmail and leather, none of which fit all that properly, a

Nathri. After some banter with it, the cell was opened and the creature vanished in a swirl of

mist as it dove back into the ethereal. But the last cell before the end of the hall held a person

of note...

Please, I beg of you, let me out of here. Ive been prisoner here for nearly five years, perhaps

more. The man was dressed in brown robes, balding and wearing some sort of faction symbol

that he immediately hid when he saw Florians holy symbol. Unbeknownst to any of his saviors,

it was a symbol of the Athar.

So, who are you? Nisha said as she looked up at him while toyed with the lock on his cell.

My name is Kalidar Marthanion, and the mercane have kept me here and other similar

prison cells for far too long, hoping to sell me to highest bidder. To their regret, and no small

blow to my ego, theyve not had any buyers. Free me and I will gladly help you in whatever it

is you seek to do to them. I cannot claim to be much of a fighter, but I know some measure of

magic and I am rather adept at healing. Kalidar said with a bow, his eyes glittered with hope

verging on begging.

We could definitely use another hand, magic even more actually. Toras said, smiling at

the man as Nisha worked at the lock. Surreptitiously, Florian whispered a detect evil spell and

glanced at the man, seeing as how he had been put at ill ease by his presence. However the cleric

of Tempus found no spark of evil in the man and so made no objection to his release.

Bless you all. I am certain that my superiors will see fit to reward you once I return to Sigil,

the faction will be happy to see me well. Kalidar was giddy as he stepped from the cell and

embraced Nisha.

Eeep! was the tieflings only reply as the newly freed athar hugged her before releasing her.

My apologies, Im just thankful to finally be released and given the chance to seek revenge.

Not a problem, but I think youll find that Sigil has gone through some changes... Nisha

said with some foreboding.

Oh? Kalidar said, a bit of concern on his face.

The Faction War. Darkwood sparked a citywide conflict and most of the factols got mazed

or killed. Some of the factions disintegrated, some of them disbanded, some of them left the city

under threat of death by The Ladys edict. Skalliska said to the horrified Athar.
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Great Unknown... he muttered, clutching the symbol under his shirt.

Ah hah! Pegged as an Athar. Nisha said, Or at least thats my guess. No?

Kalidar nodded, Yes. Kalidar Marthanion, cleric of the Great Unknown... factor of the

Athar.

There were some nearly audible blinks as the man mentioned his rank within the still extant

but exiled faction.

Theyre still around, just in exile at the base of the spire. Most of em packed up and left

after Terrance got mazed. Jaya Forlorn is the new factol if I remember right. Skalliska added,

filling the cleric in on the state of affairs for his faction.

When Im done here I certainly have a trip ahead of me then. Thank you for telling me what

has happened in the years of my absence, I deeply appreciate it. Kalidar said before growing

quiet, deeply in thought over the news that had been dropped on him so suddenly.

One last door remained closed, the last cell at the end of the corridor. Nervously the group

approached the cell doors and looked at the interior. A sharp scream pierced the quiet, issuing

from the bloodied and obviously tortured man huddled in the rear of the cell. His robes now

only rags, and bruises and cuts marring his skin, Bartol Trenevain screamed as he saw his former

employees approach.

No!!! Please dont hurt me! I didnt mean to do anything to you, it was only a job! The

genasi sorcerer pleaded, whimpering slightly as he backed away from the cell door. He seemed

much thinner than the last time the group had seen him, likely from starvation.

Well damn, look who it is. Clueless said, a smug tone in his voice.

Hmm, as I said before, youre awful talkative for a dead man. Toras smiled and patted a

hand on his swords pommel.

So what happened? Outlived your usefulness and the mercane booted you from their em-

ploy? Fyrehowl asked as Nisha held up her lockpicks questioningly.

They made me do all of those things, it was only for money and they were offering land in

Sigil as well, and it was only a few days work for all of it! Trenevain continued to plead.

The mercanes I assume paid you to do all this? Clueless questioned.

Yes, no, I mean... Imshenviire was a middleman. I dont know who was paying him. They

were just using me as a face and him the same way now. The mercane were paying me and

passing on orders, and they sent those two Nycaloths along with me to make sure I played my

part well. Trenevain said, a bit of desperation in his voice.

The poison. Did you have that done to us? Tristol asked with urgency. Trenevain looked

confused by the question.

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What poison? I wasnt paid to do anything to you, or you. The genasi pointed to Tristol

and then to Florian. You either. He added, pointing to Skalliska.

I didnt even have anything on most of you. It was all bluff and illusion and lies. The only

one of you we actually had anything solid on was the bladesinger, and that was handed to me

on a silver platter along with the other scenarios and the illusions and sensory stones to go with

them. And you have to admit that Aren was living on borrowed time anyways, Demogorgons

servants would have caught up with her eventually and drug her screaming back to the Abyss.

But the rest of you it was all a bluff, and you believed it!

Woah, back up there... they dont have my sister and shes not being tortured? Fyrehowl

asked, poking the genasi in the chest.

No, and in fact you could have probably found that it wasnt true all by yourself. All of you

berks just believed it and didnt question it all. I thought theyd handed me a pack of morons

and... Trenevain trailed off with a whimper as Clueless narrowed his eyes and Florian coughed

while the others grew silent and stared at the man.

Please dont kill me, it was only a job! Ill give you everything they paid me! The Ubiquitious

Wayfarer, Ill sign the property over to you in the city courts! Desperation was dripping in his

voice and the genasi was on his knees.

Oh really? Clueless said as behind him, Skalliskas eyes went wide with the implications.

After all, she was getting a share of all of this.

In the bag, we can talk later. Clueless said bluntly and Trenevain looked confused and

worried.

A bag of holding. We dont want to have to worry about you making noise or slowing us

down. Weve got problems enough ourselves as it is, thanks to you... Tristol said to the genasi,

flicking his tail in annoyance behind him.

Get in the bag, come on. Clueless quipped as he held the mouth of the bag open and

trenevain stepped inside, vanishing into stasis as he passed the lip of the extradimensional space

within.

Get in the bag!... Nisha said in a deep voiced parody of Clueless then giggling. Youd

have made a great hardhead with that line you know.

Clueless winced at the thought.

Yep, spiked armor and all. Tristol said.

Hardly, wouldnt happen. Believe me. Clueless shook his head again. Come on, weve got

mercane to kill.

And so with Kalidar in tow, the group made their way out of the prison, Bartol Trenevain
 204

safely stowed in Cluelesss bag of holding. As they walked out of the more starkly furnished area

of the keep, the hallways grew more and more lavish with the trappings of a trio of mercane

merchant lords.

Nisha, you can loot to your hearts content after we gank these guys... youre going to run

out of space to stow stuff if you snatch every loose trinket you see... Toras looked over, as the

tiefling was busy stuffing a small statue into her knapsack.

Im just warming up, hate to warn you. Ive got two bags of holding and a portable hole on

top of it. Mu-ha. Nisha replied with a wink as the statue along with a candlestick disappeared

into the sack, and then she paused and looked alert, signaling the group to halt. Likewise,

Fyrehowl was glancing around nervously, sniffing at the air.

That smell is back and the hallway, she pointed down a passage to their left, that way,

reeks...

Which is probably good because we dont have to go that that; the opposite way actually.

But it smells like fiends you say? Cant be good. Clueless said with a growing feeling of unease.

Several minutes later and they stood outside the door to the brothers scriptorium, the faint

sounds of quill pen on parchment echoing from inside through the open doorway from which issued

a wash of white arcane light. Clueless motioned towards the door and Toras and Fyrehowl burst

through the door, looking into the suddenly ashen faces of two human scribes sitting at their

desks copying contracts in duplicate. Rows of cubbyholes lined both sides of the room, filled

with sheaves of paper and scrolls. Two large benches, dominated by stacks of books, pressing

parchment and scroll paper, and ink pots with extra quills stood in a row at the center of the

room between the two horrified scribes. Behind them a door to a private office sat closed.

No no, no screaming. Screaming would be bad. Florian said, cradling his axe in his arms

as the scribes slowly put down their pens and glanced at the people surrounding them.

Youre not here to pick up the contract copies for that merkhant I take it? One of the

scribes said with a nervous chuckle, running his hand over his bald head and looking at Toras.

No, but you two dont have to be any part of this. Get your stuff and stay out of harm. Can

I assume that one of the mercanes offices is through that door? Toras said, resting his sword

on the scribes desk.

Umm, yes. Yes, Fartrenzs office. Hes in there currently, were just here to make copies of

everything he writes up on their legitimate business.

Dont worry about your job, well pay off your contract when this is over. Your bosses will

be having a very bad day. Florian smiled at the scribe who was currently edging out of the way

to let them through.

205

Kick the door down? You didnt get your chance before, so I figure nows as good a time as

any to practice your style. Toras said over to Florian with a grin. My pleasure sir. Florian

said as he sent the door flying off its hinges, hurtling into the startled face of Fartrenz Imshemviir

whose seven-foot tall form crumpled to the ground from the impact.

Stop them! came the mercanes mental voice as two guardian golems sprung to life from

their flanking position near to his desk. Both of them rushed at Florian who retreated back to

the scriptorium where Fyrehowl and Toras stood to brace for the golems charge.

A bolt of snarling electricity leapt from the office to lash at Toras and Fyrehowl from

Fartrenzs outstretched hand. This is impossible! You were killed in the maze! came the

mercanes mental scream as one of his golems toppled to one side, overturning a table and stack

of bundled scrolls.

Were harder to kill than you thought. Your mistake. Toras said as the mercane loosed a

flurry of magical, arrow shaped bolts from a wand in its hand with a mental scream of fury.

A second volley of magic bolts flashed into being, this time hurtling from a wand in Nishas

hand and unerringly striking at the mercane who grunted and fell backwards against the wall

before it was pegged in the chest by a crossbow bolt from Skalliska.

I did not order you killed! It was my brother Dalmar! The mercanes mental voice was

verging on desperation as a second stream of magic missiles struck home, this time from Tristols

hands. Seconds later the air was split with the sound of rending metal and breaking wood as

Clueless and Florian rent the second guardian golem into a jumble of broken parts.

Than well take it up with your brother after were done here. Torass answer was punc-

tuated by the blade of his sword piercing the Mercanes chest and pinning it, dead, to the wall

behind it.

The next one is mine... Both Tristol and Florian said at nearly the exact moment as the

others began to search the office for any evidence of the antidote to the poison the mercane

had used on two of them, or written hints to its location or composition; they came up empty

handed, though Tristol left with the wizards spellbook and Nisha walked off with his wands.

After several minutes of skulking through the mercanes portion of the keep, and quickly

silencing a pair of well-equipped guards and a hired elven sorcerer along their way, they entered

a large antechamber whose entryway was inscribed three times with the symbol of Dalmar

Imshenviir. Several chairs were arranged around the periphery of the chamber, all of them

seeming to be of the highest quality for those awaiting an audience with the house patriarch

himself. Dominating the room however was an archway of stone that rose up in its center, easily

taking up ten feet of space across at its base.

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They paused to look up at the large freestanding stone archway in the center of the antecham-

ber. Skalliska touched the surface of the stone and tilted her head in curiosity. Well thats a

portal if I ever saw one. Not active from this side though, or locked, Ill have to look at it later.

You can look at it later when Nisha steals stuff from these guys, come on the older brothers

office in this way. Clueless motioned the kobold away from the archway towards the small

hallway leading off from the antechamber.

What do mean later when Nisha steals stuff ? Nishas stealing stuff now, youre just not

seeing me do it... The tiefling gave a guilty-as-charged smile and twitched her scaly tail behind

her. Tristol snickered as he had barely noticed her palming a silver snuffbox from one of the

tables a minute earlier.

Quietly the group continued down the small hallway from the chamber that ended at a large

door of some exotic polished hardwood. The symbol of Dalmar Imshenviir was etched and

glowing on the surface of the door.

Not warded, its just his symbol for vanity. Tristol said with a smirk as he looked at the

doorways magical dweomers. Not half as bad as some of the mages back home. Part of the

reason why I left...

Alright, who wants to go first? Clueless asked, looking from face to face.

A chorus of Me erupted in whispers and ended in smirks.

Ok ok, fine. Whoever gets him thats fine, we go in together and surround him on my mark.

Clueless said, ending the discussion as he abruptly stood up and swung the door inwards.

The interior of Dalmar Imshenviirs study was richly furnished and decorated. Two walls

were dominated by shelves of books and business ledgers while another wall was covered in maps

and diagrams. The room was filled with the white light or arcane magic intended to ease the

eyes when reading. Under the white glow of the light that seemed to spring from the air itself,

Patriarch Dalmar Imshenviir of House Imshenviir sat behind his elaborately carved desk in a

high-backed chair, his back to the door and his hand extended out into the water in the open

top of a water filled glass sphere, feeding a small exotic fish that lazily swum in its interior.

At the noise of the door opening the hand jerked up in surprise and his mental voice echoed

in the room as he turned in the chair to face them. Barzikonius?...Youre early. Err... Im

happy to see you again, I trust all is well?

Your meeting is cancelled. Clueless bluntly replied to the mercane with a smirk as he raised

his sword and begun casting as the others made their own moves.

The mercane stood there for a moment, unbelieving, before triggering a stored spell and

beginning to cast another of his own. A pair of golems emerged from invisibility beside his desk
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and moved to attack as he was enveloped in a column of flames channeled by Florian. Only

slightly singed, the mercane patriarch was still casting as the roaring flames subsided.

Son of a... Florian said as he ducked the punch of one of the golems while Toras swung a

heavy blow at the other that scattered a fist sized chunk of stone across the floor.

You should be dead. Clearly others will suffer for their failure to kill you. The mercanes

telepathic voice was calm and measured as its spells of shielding absorbed a string of magic

missiles and deflected three crossbow bolts from Skalliska. That was, however, before Tristol

dispelled it. Nisha meanwhile was nowhere to be seen.

What is it with you and golems?! Clueless said as he savagely slashed at one of them, draw-

ing its attention as Fyrehowl lopped off its left arm in one smooth swing of her blade. Meanwhile,

Toras and Florian were enveloped in a white burst of ice from the Mercanes outstretched hand.

Florian cried out in pain though it seemed that the half-celestial was unaffected, as was the

golem, which to that point they had been quickly wearing down.

In that moment Dalmar Imshenviir laughed, and then cried out in pain as blood blossomed

across his robes from a series of thrusts as Nisha darted out from under his desk to stab him.

His concentration disrupted and his spells of protection already dispelled he staggered again as

a crossbow bolt thudded into his right shoulder and a bolt of lightning erupted from Tristols

hand to lance into his chest, stopping his heart as his guts boiled from the current.

Their master dead, the remaining golem stopped, the other having been mangled by Clueless

and Fyrehowl. Kalidar rushed into the room towards Florian and knelt next to the cleric of

Tempus with an ironic smirk as he fingered his Athar faction symbol.

I think youre fooled and deluded into worshipping your so called god. But I owe you my

life, so Ill spare you my usual speech. May the Great Unknown heal your wounds and repay

even in part my debt to you. Kalidar smiled as his hands began to glow and Florians wounds

began to heal, the chilled and frostbitten flesh returning to normal and life returning to dead

and frozen flesh.

That felt good. The next will feel better. Tristol said as a crackle of lightning arced from

his hand as the spell discharged its last crackle of energy. You deserved worse you bastard. I

hope you know you had it coming for you.

The others nodded in agreement as they began to clean themselves of rock dust and chips of

stone from the golems. Nisha held up a key and grinned as she headed for the vault door that

had been concealed from their original entry into Dalmars personal study.

Look but dont take, we can always come back and look through everything in detail. Maybe

hes got some notes on where theyll have that antidote though... Clueless said as he started to
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look over the open ledger on Dalmars desk.

The ledger was dotted with drops of the mercanes blood but was fully readable and detailed

current payments made to and by the trio of mercane. Of note, there were records of payment

from an anonymous person for the actions the group had been blackmailed to perform. Payment

to the mercane was contingent upon their entry to the maze at which point payment would be

completed and the deal would be considered complete. Other agents would take over from that

point was noted in the language of the contract.

Other payments were included for the disposal of Bartol Trenevain, and seemingly con-

nected to the same source were details on the seizure of shipments by the Planar Trade Con-

sortium and the delivery of shipments and foodstuffs through a specific portal and designated

delivery point in Carceris first layer of Othrys. Additionally there was payment information

deeper in the logbook regarding certain seized boxes to be immediately transported post haste

to the Tower Arcane on the layer of Chamada in Gehenna, avoiding normal routes and interme-

diaries payment was indicated as being double standard.

Hold on actually, some of this is interesting. Loot the vault Nisha, I want to read some of

this... Clueless said, looking up at his companions. Tristol was already reading the patriarchs

spellbook and the sound of Nishas giggling could be heard from inside the Vault.

Reading further into the ledger, there was a loose sheet of paper pressed into the spine of

the volume seemingly as almost an aside, and written in a different hand than the Mercane

patriarchs was a note regarding transport of goods in exchange for future services rendered, to

be delivered by Imshenviir as proxy to Lord of the Sixth, Malbolge. Time frame on schedule.

Woah... these guys are into some pretty heavy things... you guys need to read this...

Clueless continued reading as he relayed what he learned from the mercanes ledger.

Finding nothing more of current interest besides normal payments for legitimate business,

Clueless picked up the ledger and discovered a second, slimmer volume obscured by it. Flipping

through its pages he found a list of similarly vague payments, most of them either in code or their

meaning well enough known by the mercane to use shorthand names for the contracts. However

many of the payment details were made regarding similar shipments to Othrys and from the

Gray Waste as well as to Belarian, the 3rd layer of Elysium, to alleviate hunger. The payment

sheet was signed by one Barzikonius Ak Palin in Infernal, burned into the page rather than

penned.

What the hells...? Fyrehowls ears swept back in concern as she walked over to motion

Clueless aside to read over the passage referring to shipments made by the mercane to Elysium.

Thats disturbing. Thats my home plane, Elysium, and that layer is barely populated except
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for only a single fortress of Guardinals at Rubicon. These mercane were dealing with shipping

material to the lower planes, and here they have my home plane listed as well? I want to know

what they were shipping and where. This cant be good...

Hmm, theres a map here it looks like, a trade route through the layer from a portal they

list. No portal key though, just Belarian portal, key 5. Well have to see if Skalliska can help

with that, or if they have a portal log around here somewhere all the better. Clueless replied

back to the lupinal.

We need to go to Rubicon and let them know about this if theyre not already aware of

it. After were done here its something we need to look into. I have to do this, its my people

were talking about, and if theres something ill going on in the plane of ultimate good its my

responsibility to stop it. The lupinal was adamant and preoccupied with the information as

Clueless nodded his consent and continued shuffling through the second ledger.

Seems like Dalmar here was expecting a meeting with this Barzikonius chap. Im not sure I

want to be here when he shows up for that meeting. Clueless said with some unease as his eyes

flickered to the doorway, half expecting some pit fiend to come waltzing into the room.

Without knowing who or what he is, Im not sure either. Anything in there on the antidote

to the poison? Tristol said as he joined Fyrehowl and Clueless.

Thats about it though, theres not much else here except a bunch of details on carpet sales

on some prime world and the brothers alchemy sales in the Outlands. So maybe we find the

third brother and keep him alive long enough to find out where the antidote is? Clueless mused

as he closed the volume and placed it to the side when a small scrap of paper that had been

placed into the spine of the book dropped out onto the table.

Hello, what have we got here... The bladesinger said as he unfolded the scrap of parchment,

written in the Mercanes hand. The few lines of script indicated that the troops would be

receiving a visit by one Vorkannis the Ebon, of Othrys and that he and his consort Shylara

AktAtarm, the Manged are to be given full and unquestioned access within the demiplane.

Interesting... not sure what it means, but interesting... Clueless said, pocketing the scrap

of parchment as his mind drifted back to the illusory image in the mercanes prison block and

the voice that had spoken to him there and in tattered fragments of his memories. He suppressed

a shudder at his recollection of the voice.

Tristol looked up smiling from Dalmars spellbook as Nisha walked out from the vault wearing

a garish assortment of jewelry and wearing a nearly audible grin. Im liking these guys more

and more, the more of their stuff I snag the better my opinion gets.

Anyways, we should get going to find the last brother and get what we came here to get
 210

before he finds out that were here or Dalmars expected guest arrives. Toras said, standing up

from atop one of the broken stone golems.

The group collected themselves and Nisha stowed her ill-gotten goods to prevent herself

from sounding like the proverbial chain rattling ghost as she walked, and then made off back

to Dalmars antechamber. As they entered the room there was a soft glow emanating from the

stone archway and Skalliskas eyes went wide. A split second later the others did the same as

the portal opened onto a blasted landscape bleached of color and a single figure stepped into the

room before the portal closed again.

Standing roughly six feet tall and cloaked in gray and black robes and cloak, the fiends

elongated head was featureless save for two oversized eyes that glowed fiercely like open vents

into some forge of hell, swirling with a morass of angry colors. A nearly painful mental static

washed over them as the Ultroloth, Barzikonius Ak Palin turned to regard them as fear struck

in the pits of their souls under its pitiless gaze.

Like a white-hot lance driven into their minds eye, the Ultroloths telepathic voice drive into

their heads a single question, Who are you? Before the room erupted into a sudden flurry of

activity.

Springing into being from the scroll tucked into Cluelesss belt, the floating illusory image

of The Cheshire Fiend emerged as three separate gates, like flaming red rips in the fabric of

the planes, burst into existence surround the Ultroloth and three massive, hulking Nycaloths

emerged, belched forth from whichever hell they led to.

The mental razor that was the Ultroloths telepathy gave voice only to What... before the

Cheshire fiend screamed out, its toothy profile suddenly and truly fiendish looking, KILL HIM!

KILL HIM NOW!!!

The Nycaloths needed little urging as they systematically began to butcher the Ultroloth,

hacking its body to malformed bloody chunks in the space of seconds. The group simply stood

there in shock as they witnessed the intentional assassination of an Ultroloth.

Good. It is done. You are dismissed, I have duties to perform here before I return. The

Cheshire Fiend said with contentment to its servants before it turned back to its pawns.

Perhaps an explanation would be in order? My sincere apologies for using you all, but it

would not have boded well had I told you that I wished you to travel here in order to gain a

point of reference to gate in Barzikoniuss killers. You might have said no, and that wouldnt

have seen to what I needed to do. The fiendish grin said and seemed to shrug, as best it could

using the tiny illusory lines that made up the upper portion of its avatar.

You used us... Fyrehowl said, snarling slightly.

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Unintended mutual benefit I prefer to say. Youve had your revenge on two of the three

brothers Imshenviir, and Ill happily tell you where the third was is since hes the one with the

antidote to what ails you... The grin answered back.

Then tell us. Florian said, looking askance at the fiend while behind it under the portal

arch the remains of the Ultroloth spontaneously erupted into purple flames that consumed the

body quickly and utterly.

Poor old Barzikonius, I almost feel sorry for him. But that would be unbefitting of me

to feel. Oh well, he was in the way of progress. But please, if youll follow me before you go

about assassinations of your own? The image began to float out of the room and the group

unquestioningly followed it.

The Cheshire Fiend floated confidently through the opulent hallways of the upper level of the

keep and down the corridors that Fyrehowl had originally been wary of. The lupinal sniffed at

the air and gave her companions a worried glance. The fiend slowed and looked back at her.

No need to worry. Their master is dead and they owe fealty to a new one. Things change.

Bit by bit, but they change, sometimes faster than others, and the largest changes are usually the

ones you never see coming... The illusion flashed its perpetual grin even wider as it approached

a closed door at the end of the hallway.

Please do open the door to me, and it would be best if I went first... The fiend asked politely

and Toras opened the door outwards to look into a barracks and nearly two dozen Yugoloths

within. Fyrehowls fur bristled as she looked into the faces of over twenty Mezzoloths, half a

dozen blind, snarling Canoloths, and a bloated, mantis-headed Dergholoth.

The Dergholoth sergeant chattered a high pitched command in infernal but was interrupted

by the Cheshire Fiend as it floated into the center of the room and spoke to them in the same

language.

Barzikonius is dead. I, the representative of the tower, bid you welcome to our allegiance.

Proceed back to the Waste as if nothing had happened here, further details will be given to you

once arrived. Wheels Within Wheels.

The Dergholoth nodded slowly and then quickly spun its head backwards 180 degrees to

chatter out a string of commands to those under its commands. With frightening quickness and

coordination the fiends had their weapons in hand and marched in a doublewide column through

a shimmering ethereal curtain in the north end of the chamber marked with the symbol of the

Gray Waste.

We will speak again at some point, of that I am certain. If you havent done so already, I

suggest you look into my dear departed Barzikoniuss dealings with these mercane. Especially
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you, my dear lupinal friend, you will find the details therein disturbing no doubt, I have infor-

mation for you regarding that, but for the moment I have other matters to attend to. We shall

speak later, but for now, Kalteris Imshenviir is most likely within his alchemical laboratory just

past a hidden door off the interior garden on the first level of the keep. As like all of his brothers,

he keeps pet golems, his are clay. Wallow in his blood for me if you would. The Cheshire Fiend

said the last statement with utter innocence and a golden halo of light shimmered over its image

for an ironic split second before it vanished into thin air.

I... no well deal with that later. Lets go find the last mercane and be done with this

place... Fyrehowl twitched her nose in irritation at the reek of fiends that permeated the room

even though all of them had since departed. Despite gaining revenge by way of its information,

part of her rebelled at the idea of dealing with one of them, but that thought was pushed into

the back of her mind as the worry regarding the mercane dealings on her own home plane rushed

to the forefront of her consciousness.

****

Situated against the backdrop of the Hill of Bones, Anthraxus the Wasted, the deposed

Oinoloth and former master of Khin-Oin the Wasting Tower looked across the blasted layer of

Pluton and brooded over the army of fiends that he was amassing minute by minute and the end

to which he would put them.

My master... The voice of one of his attendant Ultroloths brought the Yugoloth lord out

of his introspection and he turned to face the other who had spoken.

Yes? Anthraxuss voice rippled across the air like a carpet of maggots chewing their way

through flesh. An outside observer might have sworn they actually witnessed an Ultroloth flinch,

but it quickly overcame any awe or fear to answer its liege with haste.

I return along with our other envoys sent to Shacklers Hill. The Shackler would not speak

to us. We were turned away and half of my troops dropped dead from no apparent effect and it

was made apparent that He would not give us counsel...

The former Oinoloth snarled his displeasure and gazed up at the Hill of Bone, turning away

from the Ultroloth as his mind ran over the potential meaning of it all. Since his departure

from the Siege Malicious the Baernaloths had only rarely given to him their guiding wisdom,

but never had they turned him away outright from their presence. But there was still time left

before his forces would be fully gathered and they marched upon the Wasting Tower, perhaps

the Baernaloths simply wished to watch their children butcher each other for the learning of

some trivial, or perhaps not so trivial, lesson. They had certainly done worse in the name of
213

strengthening their chosen, and with that thought, that remembrance of things seen, for a solitary

moment Anthraxus shuddered in terror.

You have failed me... The Wasted whispered as he turned around and opened his hand,

snuffing his servants life like a match.

****

In the city of Center, Shylara the Manged smoothed out her robes as she rose from her chair

at the side of the Ultroloth Palinarus. The sandy brown furred Arcanaloth was dressed in robes

of cobalt blue and deep purple, gold and even a few silver rings piercing her ears and other

places a dozen or more times. Her eyes glowed with an emerald green fire as she reached up

to incessantly scratch and itch at one of her ears as she flicked its tip in annoyance. Despite

the layers upon layers of illusion swathing her body and the shapechange spells atop them, her

condition was slowly rising to aggravate her that day and at some point soon she would feel the

need the alleviate the annoyance. Some poor berk would needlessly suffer, and shed enjoy it all

the while. Not that she needed an excuse to do such...

Quickly walking across the floor of the Palace formerly belonging to Dandy Will she hurried

to fetch a new petitioner upon which to write a contract with the next mortal wizard seeking

his audience to gain wealth and power in exchange for their magical support during the coming

war. The fools were actually signing the contracts. Sure enough they offered much and did not

require the mortals soul in exchange for arcane knowledge after the conclusion of the conflict,

but by the end of it all, if things turned out as The Ebon wished, they would not be capable of

reaping any benefit from their dealings. Chattel, all of them.

Returning to the Ultroloths side she placed the steel rack heavily upon the table as the

petitioner, originally dwarven by the look of it, twitched and moaned before she reached into its

mouth and ripped out its tongue by the root.

Umm... oh my...was that really necessary? A middle-aged human sorceress sitting across

the table from the two Yugoloths looked sick as Shylara flicked the appendage across the room

and looked up, smiling, into the mortals face.

That one was too noisy, I dealt with it. If it twitches too much Ill extract his spinal column

through his eye sockets, but it doesnt seem that will be needed. My apologies if Ive made you

ill, perhaps I might add something to the contract to make you feel better? The Manged looked

up to Palinarus who nodded as she burned several more lines and terms into the flesh of the

petitioner. Greed won out over morality, as it usually did if they bothered to descend into the

Waste in the first place, and the contract was signed by the end of the hour.
 214

Palinarus looked out over the city, watching the mercenaries flock to serve under the banner of

Anthraxus while his foe, Mydianchlarus, bottled himself up in the Wasting Tower like a coward.

And as the Ultroloth brooded over an uncertain future, The Manged looked at the severed tongue

she had picked up off the floor and wondered if it would make such a funny sounding pop when

she was able to do the same to the woman who had voiced umbrage at the act. Chattel, all of

them, Palinarus not the least of them...

Chapter 20

Toras glanced into a small, interior garden nested within the confines of the mercanes castle.

The high walls of the keep rose up on all sides while a small pool occupied the center of the

garden, its surface mostly covered by lotus blossoms and more exotic red stalked water lilies.

From behind the half-celestial, Skalliska glanced oddly at the plants.

In case anyone cares to take a minute and sniff the flowers, dont, the lilies are poisonous.

Expensive and theyll fetch a nice price from some herbalists I know, but nasty things... The

kobold said to the others.

An ever better price on the Night Market! Nisha quipped from behind the kobold.

In any event you two go in and find that concealed door, well cover you. Clueless said,

casting a nervous glance behind himself to the empty corridor.

A moment later, and a few whispered threats by the tiefling to the kobold regarding finding

out if she could swim and wondering if they had sharks in the pool later, the two rogues had

opened a hidden panel concealed cleverly behind a piece of finished stone. Yet another giggled

taunt to the kobold by the tiefer later and a door stood open to a short stairwell leading up to

the mercanes alchemy laboratory.

Wait... somethings wro... Tristol said, the moment before a fireball detonated in the center

of the group, leaving only Nisha and Skalliska unharmed by virtue of their near simultaneous

leaps into the center of the pool. As the companions blinked and winced at the burns and smell

of scorched flesh and fur, they watched as the air in the corridor shimmered and three forms

stepped into view, two clay golems in the shape of gargoyles and the third mercane brother.

Son of a b**** was waiting for us out there the whole time! Florian cursed before raising

his axe to deflect a blow from one of the charging golems.

As the golems attacked, the mercane stood safetly away from the heat of combat, hurling

spells to slow and hamper his opponents, nothing so offensive as his fireball from before. At

least, he did so until he had a flurry of magic missiles and crossbow bolts fire in his direction

215
 216

from Nisha and the kobold.

Some help Tristol, please, these damn golems arent taking the damage they should be. And

I dont happen to have a collection of clubs to use instead of a sword. Toras shouted out as he

blocked a punch by one of the clay golems before smacking it to marginal effect with the flat of

his blade.

Working on it... Tristol said as he watched his companions being outclassed by the con-

structs due to their personal choice of weapons; all blades. Already Florian and Toras were

bruised and bleeding from heavy blows, despite their armor, and Clueless, by virtue of his quick-

ness, was the only one to not be hit yet. However, despite that, the bladesinger hadnt done any

damage to the golems, his sword cuts simply cutting deep and leaving no lasting impression in

their bodies.

Ack! Nisha said as she dived out of the way to avoid a lightning bolt sent in her direction

courtesy of the mercane who managed to cast the spell despite one of Skalliskas bolts buried to

the fletches in his side.

But as the battle continued Tristol cast a spell and one of the golems seemed to gain a sudden

consistency, and suddenly the hail of blows landing on its previously resistant surface began to

chop and gouge chunks of semi-soft stone from its body. While the effect was brief, the golem

was hacked to unmoving chunks before its body returned to its normal clay.

Florian backed away from the immediate battle as Tristol prepared to cast again, this time at

the other golem, and the cleric began to cast a spell of his own, at the mercane. As the aasimars

spell took effect and their companions began doing the damage they would have done already

were it normally susceptible to their blows, Florian whispered a prayer to hold and constrain the

mercane wizard.

And you think that my brothers would allow you to simply walk into my laboratory and

take an antidote that doesnt exist? They will be here in moments and you will yearn to... The

mercanes words were silenced as he went still and rigid, held locked in place by the force of

Florians spell.

Nisha and Skalliska sloshed out of the pool as the others walked to the mercane, stepping

over the broken remnants of the clay golem as it returned to its previous consistency. Toras knelt

next to the prone form of the blue skinned wizard, his sword held under its chin; Florian took a

spot next to him, his axe held out for instant use.

Your brothers are already dead and you can join them quickly or we can make it last far

longer than it needs to. Tell us the name of the antidote and where to find it and you can spare

yourself a great deal of suffering. Clueless said in a flat voice that seemed devoid of sympathy.
217

Which is a far better fate than you would have dealt to myself and Tristol here... Tempus

knows you deserve far worse, but were offering you a way out quickly, just tell us what we need

to know when this spell wears off, oh in about a dozen seconds or so. Florian said as he lowered

his axe slightly.

Fyrehowl sighed with resignation at the likelihood of impending torture as the mercane

remained silent for several minutes before finally realizing that his brothers, by not returning

his mental calls for help, were very much dead indeed. Realizing this, the mercane whispered

Gallows Adder, in the locked cabinet in the lab before Florians axe came crashing down,

severing his head from his shoulders quickly and efficiently.

Alright, we know what we need to know, lets go find it now and have this over with finally.

Tristol said as he took the first step up the stairwell to the mercanes lab with the others in tow.

The interior of the alchemy lab was sprawling, with gigantic brass vessels and lines of copper

pipes lining the walls. Shelves of herbs, chemicals, and once living specimens of exotic and rare

animals lines the walls above and between the cauldrons. Tristol was seemingly lost, scouring

the shelves out of both raw intellectual curiosity and a fervent desire, and need, to find the cure

that the mercane had possessed. After all, no fool would create and use a poison if they had no

antidote in case of accidental exposure.

Oh wow, this place is so neat! Nisha said with glee as she watched, mesmerized, a self-

stirring mortar and pestle as it rotated around, grinding away at nothing in particular.

Nisha? Can you come over and... nevermind. Tristol said as Florian broke the door off of

the locked cabinet he had been trying to open.

Inside the cabinet were a series of bottles, each embossed with a glowing symbol representing

a single alchemical poison. The central and smallest bottle was marked with the name of the

poison that had affected them, Gallows Adder.

His hands shaking, Tristol opened the vial and drank a third of its contents before dripping

a similar amount down his familiars throat as it stuck its vulpine snout out of the familiar

pocket it had been hiding within before handing it to Florian who did the same. The effect was

near instantaneous as they shuddered and dropped to the ground. The two of them regained

consciousness and looked up into the concerned faces of Fyrehowl and Nisha.

Good? Bad? Harmonium? What happened? The tiefling asked, her tail nearly curled into

the shape of a question mark behind her.

Florian blinked and Tristol squinted for a moment before they both smiled. Aside from a

bit of a sour taste in my mouth, Im feeling remarkably better. Im still never eating in the

Fortunes Wheel again, but Im doing good. The mage smiled and had it returned peachily by
 218

the tiefling.

Ill be buying drinks on the house for us all in our soon to be owned inn back in Sigil.

Foehammer be praised, Im feeling ten times better. Florian grinned.

And judging by the contents of the mercanes vault and the stock of this lab, youll be

buying a round of Heartsblood wine and not even feeling a dent in your funds. Fyrehowl smiled

as she looked at the rare stock of alchemical reagents and herbs that decorated the shelves.

And on that note, I get to go loot to my hearts content! Nisha said, skipping from the room

like an exuberant child given far too much sugar. The others could only chuckle and follow.

The next six hours were spent fully exploring the rest of the mercanes keep, taking an

exhaustive inventory of the contents of each of the rooms, locating and disarming any remaining

traps both magical and mundane, and discovering some interesting things in the process.

And just what in Baator is this thing? Florian asked as Tristol and Skalliska circled a

large device situated within one of the rooms that was located off of a side passage from Dalmar

Imshenviirs study. Looking like a series of concentric metal rings that rotated around a central

pedestal, each of them embossed with symbols corresponding to certain planes. Opposite the

device was a circular ring upon the wall.

Well as best I can guess this relates to what you said earlier, Clueless, about a portal key 5.

Theres a spot here to place something in the center of this thing, and probably that along with

turning the device to a specific alignment of symbols might open up a portal... Tristol mused.

Thats exactly what it is. Ive heard that the mercane were trying to make something like

this, only problem being that the portals they make are one way and that they appear randomly

on the target plane. Not really that useful unless you have some stiff magic of your own to get

around once you get there. Skalliska added.

So weve got a dial-a-portal now? Thats awesome! Florian said.

Not quite... we dont know the proper alignments to make it activate, and we dont know

the portal keys for them all. Somehow I doubt the mercane actually kept a log of them all, and

from all the clutter of stuff around here I doubt wed know if anything were a spell component,

alchemy component, knickknack, or portal key. Its going to take some time and serious effort

to figure it out. Tristol answered.

Still... from this is looks like they had access to the four cardinal elemental planes, lightning

quasielemental plane, Baator, Gehenna, the Waste, Arborea, and the Outlands. Nice... Skalliska

said as she fiddled with some of the dials on the device.

Hmm. Well weve got time now that we dont have to worry about any of us dropping dead

from poison. Might be worth our while to come back and mess with this at some point. Clueless
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said.

Lets find out what else theyve got. There was a locked supply room down the hall Im

itching to break into! Nisha said, barely constraining her urge to bolt and check it out.

Shortly thereafter the group stood in a dusty series of chambers that were mostly filled wall

to wall with large objects underneath dusty canvas tarps, seemingly packed away for long term

storage. While Nisha was standing beneath one of the loose tarps, waving her arms around and

making, Booooooo.... noises like the proverbial ghost in a white sheet, Toras looked quizzically

at a large metal object that rested underneath.

What is that? He asked, glancing back at the others.

You know, if I had to say something it sorta looks like a hacked up part of a ships keel.

Florian said.

No, not hacked up. More just taken apart and stowed. Fyrehowl added.

Booooo....., Nisha said, obviously having too much fun playing specter.

Actually, it kind of reminds me of a flying ship from my homeland back in Halruaa... Tristol

said.

... we have a spelljammer... Skalliska said, letting the meaning of the statement sink in.

Boooo... huh... we what?! The ghost under the tarp paused and stopped before laughing

and jumping up and down.

Skalliska spent the next few minutes explaining to her fellows just what a Spelljammer was,

what the mercane used them for, and how the ship was lacking a spelljamming helm and thus

any ability to actually fly.

Actually... Ive got an idea for it. But well handle that later once weve had Bartolinthebag

sign over his inn to us when we get back to Sigil. Clueless said with a grin that screamed out

trust me on this one.

The next room of interest that they discovered was just down the hallway from the chamber

in which they had originally met the mercane brothers before being sent to the deep ethereal.

In fact they all stopped dead in their tracks once they saw the door since it was emblazoned in

an ornate symbol of the Mercykillers.

Well damn. They went out of their way to make the barmy feel at home didnt they?

Clueless said.

Nisha looked at Clueless and held up a lockpick curiously. Go right ahead, were just as

rabidly curious as you are. Fyrehowl said as the tiefling started to pop the lock.

...Well crap. Forget what I said before... Clueless said as they opened the door to the room

and looked into its interior. The room had no exits and was empty except for a single chair. A
 220

small amount of blood was spattered on the floor near to the chair and Fyrehowl wrinkled her

nose.

Fiend stench... the lupinal said, turning away in distaste.

So much for a friendly debriefing for the nutcase... Toras said as he glanced at the small

bloodstain on the floor. Definitely not fiend or mercane blood.

Weird, I wonder what they did with her. Florian said as they left the room and finished

their search of the castle.

The last tasks they performed within the keep was finding the kitchen and serving staff, as

well as the two scribes, from where they had been hiding and letting them know that the castle

had new owners. In fact they even offered to continue paying them their normal wages even

in the absence of the mercane. That they had the mercanes more than substantial finances,

courtesy of Dalmar Imshenviirs generous donation according to Nisha, the group could more

than afford to pay the servants to continue upkeep of the castle. The lone remaining guard was

released, apologized to, and sent packing with a bit of jink back to one of the gatetowns.

The trip back to Sigil was uneventful in light of their time spent in the demiplane, and their

hearts were lifted by their success, and their minds curious to tumble to the dark of what they

had discovered in the mercane patriarchs notebooks. Nisha kept asking to play with Tristols

familiar most of the way back, and Skalliska was largely preoccupied with making a mental tally

of just how much, down to the last bent copper, her share of the mercanes vault would come to.

Clueless was mostly preoccupied thinking about the illusion he had seen in the mercane prison,

and of his two former companions, both of whom had appeared to have similar gemstones in

one of their ankles, exactly like him. They had been with him in Carceri, and whatever had

happened to them there had not been pleasant, and it likely wasnt over either.

****

And sir, if you would please sign on the bottom of pages three through twelve, in duplicate

and you sir as well please. The minor functionary in the Hall of Informations Sigil Property

Bureau drolled on and pointed a stubby, ink stained finger at the paperwork spread out on the

counter in front of Clueless, Florian, and Skalliska as a haggard Bartol Trenevain slowly added his

signatures to the documents that would officially cede to them his title to the former Ubiquitous

Wayfarer.

Clueless added his signature alongside Trenevains and the others, and after each time, the

half-fey smiled at the genasi as the aasimar clerk stamped that page of the document with a wax

seal.
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Trenevain looked depressed and resigned as he signed over his ill-gotten gains to the same

people he had first screwed over. Florian patted him on the back and Clueless gave him an ironic

grin as the clerk stamped the final seal into place and made the transfer official.

And just so were clear on this, I really wouldnt think about trying to take any sort of

revenge for this. Its really only fair you know, given what you did to us in the first place. And

we did, after all, save your life in that mercane prison... Florian said with a smile on his face.

And just to make sure here, it probably wouldnt be a good idea to leave Sigil for the next

while... Clueless said, calmly resting his hand on his swords hilt.

Trenevain stopped and looked up at the bladesinger, And where else would I go? Whoever

I was working for is going to kill me sooner or later anyways. Theyre working with fiends and

just that by itself makes Sigil one of the safer places I could be. Im not going to exactly be

welcomed on any of the upper planes to seek shelter there now will I?

Stay in town and if we have any questions later well get in touch with you. Understand?

Clueless said back with a tone of finality. Trenevain sighed and walked off.

Thank you for rescuing me. By the next time we speak though I may be dead, I dont have

any illusions of a long life. The genasi sighed as he stepped out into the street of the Clerks

Ward and vanished into the crowd.

Fyrehowl looked over at Clueless, Do you think that theyll do something to him? Also, for

that matter, that theyll do anything to get back at us? After all, were supposed to be dead if

they had had their way.

Clueless nodded to the lupinal, Its a worry to be sure...

Why go out of their way though? We dont know who they are even, so why risk letting us

find out by sending someone after us? Toras suggested.

True. Lets hope so. Clueless replied as they all walked the thirteen blocks or so between

the Hall of Information and the building that tied all of them together, the bar and inn former

known as the Ubiquitous Wayfairer.

As they reached the building they all looked at one another and at the daylight appearance

of the boarded up former inn. Nisha walked up to the front door and stuck her tongue out at it

before kicking it with her left hoof. At least it wont mouth back like last time now.

I think its going to need some work, Florian said, looking at the graffiti that sprawled

across much of the outside of the building.

Needs paint. Nisha said.

Needs a gimmick if we want to get customers. The place shut down for a reason you know.

It used to have tons of permanent portals and when they largely vanished after the Tempest of
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Doors, so did most of the customers. Skalliska stated then paused to look at Clueless, Why

are you grinning like that Clueless?

We need a gimmick, right? He said to a chorus of nods, We have a spelljammer, yes?

There was another bunch of nods. We have it built right into the inn, use part of it for the bar,

have some rooms be rooms from the ship itself, and have the hull of it sticking out of the side of

the building like it just dropped out of the sky and crashed into the place.

Clueless was all grins and charisma as the others paused and thought about it. They all

seemed to like it and it was decided on that they would indeed have it shipped in pieces back

from the demiplane and constructed into the inn itself. But, as for a name, they werent so

sure. Various ideas were tossed about as they walked into the inn and took seats at one of the

ash-covered tables. Finally however, Nisha came up with one that seemed to get a consensus,

The Portal Jammer.

The rest of the day was spent exploring the inn, evicting a number of rats from the cellar,

and having Tristol wander from room to room detecting for possible portals, which there were

a small number of. Aside from a stable portal back to their mercanes demiplane there was a

portal to elemental fire in the doorway leading from the bar back to the stockroom. There was

also a portal to Limbo in a bedroom, a portal to some unknown layer of the Abyss in the frame

of a broken window on the third floor, and several doors to other rooms that rotated through

destinations at random, though the key was thankfully fixed and obscure on all of them.

The next days were spent speaking to various persons to get the inn back into proper shape

and allow it to be opened back in a functional capacity in short order. They spent a day talking

to their cooks and other servants back in the demiplane and arranging for them to be hired on to

operate their new inn back in Sigil. Another day was spent contracting a builder and their crew

to make the needed repairs and revisions as the spelljammer was brought into Sigil bit by bit.

And a final day was spent buying a steady supply of food and spirits, the absolutely essential

requirement for an establishment as they wished the Portal Jammer to become.

Those first few days they roomed in other inns across the city, but eventually moved into

rooms of their own on the second floor of their own inn once it was cleaned and the rooms were

worthy of living within, unlike the abandoned building it had been before, filled with dust, rats,

and other vermin. Skalliska was an exception however, as she already had a place of her own,

and so while she dropped by the Portal Jammer daily, she spent a large chunk of her time at

her office. Nisha meanwhile was in and out seemingly at random, flitting from place to place

and never seeming to be around till people actually began to wonder if she had fallen through a

portal and gotten lost.

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****

Clueless looked up at the outside of the inn and the Spelljammer that looked like it had

simply dropped out of the sky and crash-landed in the side of the building. And, judging by the

reactions of the people passing by on the street, the gimmick was drawing peoples attention as

well. Already they had had a dozen or more of the people who worked in the area stop by and

ask them what the place was, where they got the jammer from, and when they would be open.

It still needs a little something... Nisha said, walking up behind Clueless. She was carrying

an armload of bright orange pumpkins. Clueless raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

Whats with the pumpkins? And speaking of it, where the heck have you been since we got

back to Sigil?

Places. You know me, all over and back again. Finding rich peo... fiends in the Hive willing

to donate to a young tiefling lass with a pretty smile and quicker hands? Something like that.

She replied with a smile as she walked past him and into the as yet unopened inn.

Tristol laughed as Nisha walked up the stairs to her room carrying the armload of pumpkins

and he walked out to stand and look up at the jammer with the bladesinger. Just how completely

did you have the ship rebuilt? I know its lacking a spelljamming helm, but otherwise was it

complete? The wizard asked curiously.

Pretty much, heck I even had the ballistae and the catapults rigged back up again. Our inn

is armed if we ever tire of the competition. He laughed, joking with the last comment. Joking

about the competition, not about the inn being armed.

Tristol squinted and looked up at the Spelljammer and the roof of the inn. Clueless did the

same as they watched a figure step out a window, scale part of the side of the building and hop

onto the deck of the ship. All done while carrying a satchel of somethings round and heavy...

Did you say they had catapults up there? Tristol asked, slightly nervous.

Yes. Why? Clueless said.

Because Nishas up on the ship and I just watched her walk upstairs a few minutes ago with

an armload of pumpkins...

Oh s***! Clueless said as the air was split by a loud *KACHUNK* and a brilliant orange

missile was flung skyward, going around half a block before splattering across the cobblestones,

barely missing a random collection of sigilians.

Cluelesss wings came out and he hurtled up towards the roof as Tristol ran back inside, both

of their heads suddenly filled with the horrible image of a pumpkin firing off from the top of

their inn to crown a randomly passing by Dabus...

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A chorus of AWWWW...!!!! from a tiefling who had her fun spoiled was the norm for the

next while as Clueless confiscated Nishas pumpkins and had Tristol help him to dismantle the

catapults on the spelljammer that had previously been left in place. Nisha didnt stay unhappy

for long, in fact, ten minutes later she was smiling once more and giggling to herself as she sat

on the cobblestones in front of the inn, gazing up at the spelljammer stuck into the side of the

building.

No good is going to come of that you know? clueless said, looking out the front window

of the inn with Tristol, both of them wary of the next idea that popped up from the seemingly

endless well of otherwise crazy ideas the Xaositect tiefling seemed to possess.

At least shes a giddy, I want to have fun, Xaositect as opposed to one of the Lets go burn

something down and then build a wall around somebodys house while theyre sleeping type of

Xaositect. You have to admit thats probably a plus. Tristol said with amusement as he looked

out at Nisha.

Ive certainly had more fun in my life, or something like that, since Ive been here in Sigil

around you all. Better than being back home. And speaking of that I should probably send word

to my family that I havent married a succubus or gotten eaten by a goristro at some point.

Tristol continued on, taking a periodic sip of one of the new ales they had purchased for the inn.

Several hours passed and it grew close to peak as the smog in the sky seemed to glow a bit

more than its already meager amount of what passed for daylight. Clueless was sitting down

and eating lunch in the taproom that was slowly taking shape day by day as Fyrehowl walked

in through the front door, tired but smiling.

Where you been all day? Clueless asked after swallowing a bite of his dinner.

Oh, actually Ive been at the Great Gymnasium. You mentioned it a little while back and

I went to take a look myself. Theres some pretty interesting people there, and their philosophy

is rather... interesting. Fyrehowl answered, taking a seat next to him.

Really? You buy all of that mysticism? He asked.

Oh dont get me wrong, I havent gone out and joined them or anything, but at the very

least Ive been keeping my swordplay sharp. Theres some skilled people there and theyre more

than willing to teach. She said as she poured herself an ale of her own.

At that point Nisha finally walked back into the inn, carrying an assorted jumble of things

including more pumpkins and a cutlass. Clueless gave her a look like a mother to a naughty

child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Nisha...? Clueless said.

Its not what you think. I was just out with my boyfriend and got a bunch of stuff. I
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already know Im not allowed to toss pumpkins, or any other sort of fruit or vegetable, off the

roof at people. Spoilsport. But this is for something else and you cant forbid what you dont

know about before it happens. The tiefling said as she grinned and walked upstairs to her room,

clipclopping all the way up the stairs.

The girl is going to be the death of us all one of these days. By mazing most likely. Im not

sure I want to know what shes got planned. But keep an eye out for whatever mischief she gets

into, alright? Clueless said as he finished his lunch.

Sure thing. Fyrehowl replied with a smile.

Several more hours passed and Clueless went off to visit his girlfriend, leaving Fyrehowl sitting

alone in the taproom, as Toras was off speaking to a member of his churchs clergy, Tristol was

bottled up in his room reading over the spellbooks he had acquired recently, Skalliska was at her

own office, and Florian was out doing something.

It was at that point that Florian came walking in the front door to sit down next to the

lupinal. We have money now. He said.

Yeah, and? Fyrehowl said slowly.

Shopping. I have the urgent desire to go spend some of it without real concern for anything

else. Care to come with me? Florian asked.

Fyrehowl chuckled and gave Florian a wry grin, Everything considered, yeah theres a reason

why youd ask me to. I figure Nisha might have been on the list, except the powers only know

where shes been since we got back to Sigil, wandering in and out randomly, though I guess

that fits her. That and shed be liable to pilfer half the store before you looked at the first few

shelves.

Yeah, there is that. She mentioned something about her boyfriend the other day though,

so maybe thats where shes been. So, up for it?

Why not, Ive been practicing at the Gymnasium most of the morning so I guess I could

take some time off to have some fun.

And so Florian and Fyrehowl, both of them with two swollen coin pouches, went from shop

to shop, moving through the Clerks Ward to the Grand Bazaar and then to the Lower Ward,

deciding to hit a few stores there before turning back to avoid wandering through the Hive. Near

the end of their planned spending spree they stood outside of a small shop nestled in the heart of

the Lower Ward, the low cloud cover gracing the top of the roof a pale yellow and a fine carpet

of soot dusting their feet from the pyres at the heart of the Great Foundry a dozen blocks away.

The name of the shop was proudly displayed on the carved wooden and hand painted sign that

swung in the breeze over the shops doorway: * Akins * The Friendly Fiend.
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Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow at Florian questioningly, You sure this shop is a good idea?

You know, the whole fiend thing and all?

Oh, but this is different. This is Akins shop, Akin the Friendly Fiend. And true to the

name hes just that, hes friendly. Id heard about the place before but Ive never been inside

to actually meet him. As far as anyone knows, hes never once in anyones memory has he been

mean to anyone. Supposedly hes quite pleasant. But lets find out. Florian replied as he opened

the door and gestured the wary lupinal inside.

The door closed behind them with the pleasant jingle of a silver bell hanging over the inside

surface of the door. The shop was an exercise in controlled clutter, with tables and shelves

sprawling with a wonderfully eclectic mixture of odds, ends, and assorted knickknacks from a

dozen or more planes. A moment after the bell jingled and the door closed, the figure of the

shopkeeper turned from where he was dusting a few items on a shelf. The friendly fiend was

dressed in a wizards robe of speckled gold and teal and the ears framing his jackals head were

decorated by a dozen or more earrings. Akin was all smiles as opposed to a sulfur tinged buyer

and seller of souls like most of his kin.

Greetings and welcome! The arcanaloth smiled a wide grin over his face as he walked over

to the front desk of the small shop and retrieved a small brass dish that he held out to his

customers as he walked over to greet them.

Arcadian mint? The smiling loth asked as he held out the dish. Florian picked one up and

chewed it with a smile. Still wary, Fyrehowl picked one up as well and nibbled at it.

Oh, dont be scared, I wont bite. Believe me, Im not at all like people expect. Akin said.

Fyrehowl tentatively smiled, Youll excuse me from being unused to a smiling fiend. Most

of my experiences have been bad ones.

Then Im pleased to present you with an exception. Rest assured, it usually celestials that

have the oddest expressions on their faces after meeting me for the first time. I like to think its

because of the wonderful things I have for sale in here that they just cant decide on what to get

and they leave all confused; something like that. But please do look around and let me know if

you need help with anything. Akin said with a wink as he walked over to a shelf lined with a

series of dolls. I think that you might like these. I just had them delivered this morning, but I

think that theyre delightful, much like you two.

Oh? What are they? Florian asked as he looked at the dolls before laughing.

And they need no explanation... Akin said as he walked off to dust another shelf.

The dolls, all thirteen of them were representations of the old factols from before the time of

the Faction War. Included was a small Factol Sarin in his Harmonium armor, a straightjacketed
227

Factol Lhar whose jacket was printed with the words, I went to the Grim Retreat and all I got

was this straight jacket. And each of the other dolls down the line detailed the other factols,

including a wemic holding up a Were not a sodding faction sign for the Indeps, and a collection

of smaller dolls for the Anarchists who lacked a true factol.

Oh, and theyre animated. Theyll act like their model, given the chance, but theyll even-

tually return to their original condition. Sarin for instance, routinely falls over with an arrow

stuck in his back, and Factol Karan keeps falling apart, changing colors, and dressing differently,

all sorts of stuff. I like them.

Why is there a glass vase upturned over the top of Factol Darius? Fyrehowl asked, poking

the glass covering over atop the Signer factol.

Oh, you can take it off to see, but after a while I couldnt take her imagining everything

in my shop into being, or so she claimed. Akin said with a chuckle.

Fyrehowl lifted the glass mug and looked into the calm face of the Veyl. I imagine a lupinal

into being! I also imagine a cleric into being! And I imagine an Arcanaloth! The Factol Darius

doll continued listing off things in the shop before Fyrehowl dropped the soundproof vase over

top of the doll once more.

See what I mean? But she is amusing, Ill admit that. Some of them are a righteous

parody of their namesakes. I particularly like Darkwood up there. Akin said from over at his

countertop.

I dont see him up here. Fyrehowl said.

Oh, its a long story, but the big black gem there. Thats him. Akin said, gesturing in

the air and making the little black sapphire hover for a moment where it rattled from something

inside.

How much for the entire lot of them? Florian asked, opening his coin purse.

Florian, are you sure? Fyrehowl asked.

How much for the lot of them Akin? Florian said, waving a hand at Fyrehowl dismissively.

I have my share of the money and theyre amusing.

Akin walked over and looked at them and their lack of price tags. Well, let me tell you

what... theyre unique in that theres only one of each, but I like you both and you didnt walk

out of my shop all weirded out like some celestials do when they meet me, so how about 600gp

for each of them, and Ill even wrap and box each of them individually for you?

Fyrehowl twitched at the price, but Florian would have none of it. Sold. Would you like

that it gold or platinum?

Anything but silver if you dont mind actually. It tends to react poorly with me. The
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smiling fiend said as he took down each of the dolls and slowly wrapped them up, despite the

Indep dolls protests about living free or dying, and handed the boxes one at a time to Florian.

Pardon me for saying so, but youre absolutely adorable in an utterly unexpected way for a

fiend. Can I scratch your ears? Florian asked.

Well... normally I dont humor people like that, but you just bought something so... oh

alright. Akin said.

Fyrehowl twitched again as Akin chuckled like he was enjoying a guilty pleasure of his own,

and indulging the mortal in front of him, probably not the first person to ask him for such. But

Florian laughed as she scratched the Friendly Fiends ears like an overgrown, spellcasting puppy

in a robe; Akin simply sighed contentedly and smiled as Fyrehowl was left with just a confused

and perplexed expression as she left his shop with Florian in tow.

The next morning as Fyrehowl awoke and walked out the front door of the Jammer on her

way to the Great Gymnasium she paused and looked up at the roof of the inn, noticing something

different about the spelljammer stuck in its side. Pumpkins, squash, and melons were lined up

on the deck of the ship, carved and decorated to resemble Githyanki pirates from wildspace...

Yarrrr! came a voice from the prow of the spelljammer as one of the gith pirates wiggled

slightly while an unseen pair of hands made the tinfoil sword at its side brandish menacingly.

Oh powers above... Fyrehowl whispered as several more of the pirates moved about across

the deck, some of them with eye patches, some with peg legs attached, and some with hooks for

hands.

Yarrrr! We be looking to plunder fer gold in this new land of Sigil! Yarrr! Hand over yer

gold! Yarrrr! The pirate waved its sword menacingly.

Good morning Nisha. Fyrehowl said as she noticed a tail bobbing up from behind one of

the pirates on the deck of the ship.

Yarrr! I be not knowing this wench Nisha! Yarrr! The pirate continued, punctuated by a

tieflings giggle.

Capn Nisha, your tail is showing. Fyrehowl said as she laughed and walked off down the

street.

Yarr... sodding Yarrr.... The pirate said, hiding the offending appendage before sticking

it up in the air once again, this time wrapped in a black flag with a skull and crossbones symbol

proudly waving in the breeze.

****

Vorkannis the Ebon sat down on the edge of the river Styx, letting his feet dangle into the
229

water, seemingly uncaring about its memory leaching touch. The fiend looked out across the

bleak expanse of the Waste underneath a gray and uncaring sky. It was all uniformly bleak and

featureless, though on the far off horizon there grew a billowing wake of black clouds, almost as

if the plane itself was offering a harbinger of things to come, for a storm indeed was coming to

the Three Glooms.

The Ebon smiled as he opened his left hand, conjuring forth a pair of gleaming, blood red

rubies the size of his own similarly colored eyes and without a flaw to mar their sparkling interior.

Without a word the fiend idly gestured with one hand and a blasphemy spell swirled through

the air, rippling the waters with its potency; one of the ways to summon the father of the

Marraenoloths, Cerlic the Altraloth, known to some mortals as Charon the boatmaster of the

Styx.

The waters continued to swirl and then appeared to boil like black, molten tar as a low black

skiff emerged from a sudden bank of fog that rose from the fetid waters themselves. A massive

figure, skeletal and wrapped in a hooded black robe stood at the prow of the skiff, guiding the

ship through the water with a simple wooden staff, its eyes like pinpoints of flame in their bony

orbits.

The Ebon smiled at the Altraloth as the skiff drew near and the archfiend regarded him. For

a moment the air was still and quiet before Cerlics telepathic voice rung out like a whispered

dying breath from a drowning soul, I have already given your master Mydianchlarus an answer

to his request. My loyalty remains with the Oinoloth, regardless of who presently holds the title.

Why has he sent you then?

Another smile and the sable furred arcanaloth tossed one of the gems into Cerlics skiff and

spoke aloud, Ive always wondered why you chose that particular method of payment from

your charges. Certainly it wasnt in place before you assumed your position as lord of the

marraenoloths. I always figured it might have been something the hags wrote into your brain

when they made you what you are...

And what would you know of that, arcanaloth? The Altraloths words were riddled with

the contempt of a superior speaking to a lesser being. The Ebon dropped the other gem into the

depths of the Styx.

I would know because I watched them create you; seven of them in all. Shall I name them

each? Not that it matters since all of them have since died, imperfect beings that create imperfect

things. Time has been a harsh mistress to them, their lives snuffed over the course of millennia

since they made you what you are. The flawless ruby in the bottom of Cerlics skiff was incapable

of replicating the knowing gleam that danced in The Ebons eyes as Cerlic looked down on him.
 230

I was not aware that you were that old. Are you implying that you had a hand in their

deaths? Not that I much care. My power is not dependant on them, or my contract with them

terminated upon their death in any event. Cerlics words were tinged now with a shade of

curiosity rarely heard in the thoughts of the immortal.

Not a thing to do with their deaths myself, no. I wouldnt stoop to that level or waste my

words butchering them. No, Im here to speak to you Cerlic. Im here to speak to you as myself,

Vorkannis the Ebon, not as any underling to the Oinoloth Mydianchlarus.

You amuse me arcanaloth. Speak with me then and do not boast or I will leave here with

the Oinoloth minus a servant. Cerlics words were tinged with force.

Vorkannis leaned down to drink deeply from the black waters that swirled about his ankle,

licking the last drops of that liquid corruption from his muzzle like it were a vintage wine before

sitting back up and looking into Cerlics face. And I would welcome you to try Cerlic. But

unlike your brethren, you serve a role and you serve it well regardless of who holds the throne of

Khin-Oin. That alone will spare you the fate of your makers fool.

My brethen? The Altraloth whispered but said nothing of the fact that his attempt to

teleport away and summon forth a dozen of his minions to kill the impudent loth had failed to

function.

You and rest of the hagspawn. Imperfect beings made by imperfect beings. You sully

yourselves for some momentary advantage. You betray your nature for scraps of power, and

limit yourselves at the same time. Were I capable of pity I might actually feel it for you Cerlic.

But my lack of pity is forestalled by pragmatism...

And Cerlic listened, and Cerlic obeyed.

****

Clueless staggered downstairs from his room looking more like he belonged in the Great

Mortuary alongside the rest of the Dead. His hair was disheveled and he had bags under his

eyes; it didnt appear that he had slept much. Toras looked at him as he sat down and poured

himself a mug of ale.

I take it you spent the evening with your sensate girlfriend? The half-celestial asked.

Huh? Why do you say that? Clueless asked in return, looking both tired and confused.

Because you dont look like you slept a wink last night is what I think he means. Fyrehowl

said.

Yeah, didnt see you around at all last night. Figured that was likely where you were so I

didnt bother giving you a call over a sending spell. Tristol said, looking up from a copy of the
231

one of the local ward newspapers.

Nope, I was here all night. In fact I went to bed early last night, dont know why I feel like

crud this morning then. Clueless said before sipping at his drink.

Whered you sleep then, in the gutter? Because you smell worse than some of Skalliskas

so-called food. That or a fiend abducted you and had their way with you all last night. Fyrehowl

said as she wrinkled her nose and moved her chair away from the half-fey. Clueless shrugged in

confusion and sipped more at his ale.

A minute or two later Nisha walked back down the stairs, still dressed in a pirate outfit

complete with a stuffed bird sitting on her shoulder and an eye patch over one eye. Tristol

looked up at her and put down his newspaper. Didnt you just go up there a half hour ago?

Had enough fun for the day up there already with the pirates ?

Nisha shook her head no rapidly and took a seat at the table next to the mage. Two words:

Angry Githzerai.

Angry Githzerai? Werent the pumpkins githyanki though? Tristol asked.

Yeah they were. All I know is that I had a couple angry githzerai shouting out something

about dirty yanki and throwing knives at my crew and me. I hesitate to think whats left of

them after they run out of stuff to toss at them... Nisha said with a resigned frown.

Several more minutes of banter later and Skalliska walked into the inn and Florian had woken

up and joined them all as well. Shortly thereafter the door swung open and a man stepped inside

from the street.

Sorry sir, were not quite open for business just yet! Florian said quickly.

No no no, its not that. I only heard just now for mself but if youve got any way to get to

The Ladys Ward quickly you might want to. Its Factol Nilesia, shes back in Sigil. Just came

barging out of the Prison with a pack of former Mercykillers and shes gone even barmier than

she was before! The man rapidly explained before he ran out the door, heading in the direction

of The Ladys Ward.

Uh oh... Nisha said, looking out the open door as the man retreated down the street. She

glanced over at the others as they all grew nervous and morbidly curious at the same time before

as one they all stood up from the table to find out what was going on.
Chapter 21

The streets of The Ladys Ward were packed with morbidly curious onlookers who watched from

stoops and alleyways as a mob of former Mercykillers, dressed in full faction regalia marched from

the Prison in the rough direction of the City Court, former Factol Alisohn Nilesia at their head.

The ex-factol was screaming at the top of her lungs, a glint of unshuttered madness burning in

her eyes, and extolling her followers with a litany of curses that flowed freely from her mouth.

Where are you? Answer me you bladed harlot! Where is Darkwood?! Where is he? Give

him to me and show yourself! The young tieflings profanity laced tirade against The Lady of

Pain was causing the gathered crowd to nervously back away, though some seemed to edge closer,

eager perhaps to witness the coming bloodshed...

S***! Shes gone completely barmy since the last time we saw her! Sure she was nuts before,

but she was canny about it. Now shes just totally lost it! Clueless said to his companions as

they huddled in the shadow of a building as the fifty or so strong pack of Mercykillers began to

parade past them. One of the Aoskian hounds held by one of Nilesias lieutenants snarled and

snapped in Torass direction, warning him to stay clear of its masters walk, wherever they were

going. It was as if Nilesia was goading The Lady to appear because the movement of her group

had slowed first and then paused to allow the screaming factol to turn around and address the

crowd and city itself.

You have sinned against the planes themselves! You have committed crimes about the

multiverse, this city, and me! Release Rowan Darkwood to me from where you shelter him from

my justice and I shall make your death quick and painless! You know you must answer to me

bitch! Show yourself! Nilesias screaming had begun to turn her voice raw and her mouth was

flecked by bits of spittle at their edges, such was the state of frenzied mania she had worked

herself into. Her words had begun to rattle even her own troops however, and not only the

gathered onlookers.

If you will not face me I will take out your sentence on those I can find! Screaming up to

232
233

the sky, Nilesia drew and brandished a gleaming, red bladed sword covered in glowing symbols

of the Red Death. Turning around, her bloodshot eyes focused on a being that moved down

the street adjacent to the pack of her followers without paying any attention whatsoever to the

crowds, a solitary Dabus.

An instant, paralytic hush fell over the crowd in its entirety as Nilesia leapt forwards at the

Dabus, opening its stomach with a single slice before spinning in a circle and slicing its head

clean from its shoulders. The Dabus dropped to the ground, its head toppling over in a spray of

crimson as Nilesia screamed in frustration while the crowd of onlookers began to panic and flee

the scene.

The crowd didnt move far. Before the eyes of the decapitated Dabus had glazed over in death

a massive figure appeared in the center of the street, some five yards from Nilesia and the head

of her pack of collaborators. Nearly fifteen feet tall, coldly emotionless, unspeaking and serene,

with blades sprouting from its face, head and shoulders, Her Serenity, The Lady of Pain gazed

down upon the factol. The hem of The Ladys robe wavered gently in a nonexistent breeze as

Nilesia paused and seemed to pale ever so slightly, to waver in her composure for a split second

before madness overwhelmed her and galvanized her actions.

You know it! You yourself came to me and admitted your crimes! Bow your head and I

shall serve your sentence! Justice does not sleep! Nilesia screamed up at the Bladed Queen as

the crowds eyes grew to the size of plates almost collectively. Then, she charged at The Lady,

hurling her sword directly at The Bladed Queen.

Screams rose from the onlookers as a the air was split by the sound of breaking, tortured

metal as a shadow leapt from The Lady of Pain to rip Nilesias sword apart, peppering the factol

and her Mercykiller faithful with white hot fragments of steel. The factols eyes quivered and

her knees buckled as The Ladys shadow surged forwards, transfixing the young tiefling like a

skewered hunk of meat. There was a scream from Nilesia to shake the very hells as her skin

erupted into a gushing flurry of slashes, cuts, and gouges where the Bladed Queens shadow fell

upon her.

A red, spattering mist broke from her flesh where they shadow fell and she vainly threw out

a hand, somehow managing to scream for help from her assembled faithful who could only stare

at her, then at The Lady, as their factol began to slowly melt and peal to the bone on left leg,

arm and torso, transfixed by The Ladys razor edged pall. Try as she might to pull herself free,

screaming till her voice croaked and broke from the hellish pain as her body was torn to bloody

shreds, the shadow lanced forwards even more to fully envelop her. In the space of seconds

the screaming ended with the sounds of splitting flesh and bone, and the metallic clatter and
 234

sparking of shattering armor.

The throng of Mercykiller faithful stood in shock, none of them yet fully believing that their

factol was dead, that the factol was wrong, and that she lay there in a pool of her own blood, a

mess of exposed bone and shredded muscle and viscera upon the naked flagstones of The Ladys

Ward. Then The Lady turned to regard them, shifting a few degrees in the air and all hell broke

loose.

Nilesias troops screamed and broke rank as The Ladys shadow moved again, lancing through

their midst, catching several of them with agonizing results. Limbs were sheared off, flesh was

ripped asunder to leave the victims moaning in their own guts upon the ground; but the lancing

shadow did not follow them, nor even seen directed at them. The bladed shadow continued

on, the Mercykillers catharsis only incidental. Like a flowing, ever expanding penumbral river

it speared through the scattering mob of innocents and onlookers that had stood behind the

members of the Red Death to fall directly upon a single figure that had stood, watching, from

the rear of the gathered.

The doomed figure attempted to flee, but try as it might, it could not escape The Ladys

pitiless gaze and it erupted into a spattering torrent of black ichor as it fell to the ground, a

fiendish scream passing from their lips as they shuddered, twisted, and convulsed in dying agony.

Minutes stretched onwards like an eternity till finally the figure ceased its rictus dance and a

wheezing death rattle passed its lips to leave it laying still in a spreading pool of its own sizzling

blood.

The Lady hovered for but a brief several seconds before She turned, not bothering to regard

the stunned and horrified crowd of assembled citizens who averted their eyes and cowered, lest

Her shadow fall upon them as well. She drifted, silently, serene, and utterly unconcerned for

some twenty feet down the avenue before She vanished into nothingness.

As the crowd slowly recovered from their horror, a single Dabus emerged onto the street,

floating to a stop near the factols mangled corpse, projecting a single rebus above its head for

all to read, Are you yourselves free of the strings you so joyously play with? This city will not

tolerate your conflict within its borders.

The remaining Mercykillers had already dispersed to lick their wounds, both physical and

emotional, and to their morale. The crowd as well was now slinking off rapidly away from the

scene of The Ladys slaughtering of the old factol and the other victim, simply wishing to get

away from any action by Her Serenity. And as the minutes passed on the frequent accompaniment

to many of The Ladys appearances made itself known, a horse drawn cart manned by former

Dustmen.
235

Nisha looked over at Toras, I want to go get a look at that body before they cart it off to

the mortuary...

Toras looked at the tiefer like she had a hole in her head, Why? Hes pretty well smeared

across the pavement as it is.

Because I swear I recognized him. But I cant say for certain till Ive seen him up close.

She finished her explanation by sticking her tongue out at the half-celestial.

And so, having made her explanation, Nisha walked over to the body of the 2nd of The Ladys

victims, stepping carefully to avoid stepping in any of the deeper puddles of gore. Clueless, Toras,

and Skalliska, who slinked out of an adjacent alleyway, having apparently been there at the scene

of the crime as well, joined Nisha while the others ran over to chat up, and delay, the two gaunt

looking Dusties as they drew up in their battered cart with even more battered horses to collect

the dead for cremation or burial in an appropriate plane or prime world.

Nishas eyes went wide as she saw the full body of the victim spread out on the cobblestones,

its clothing largely shredded and its outer skin gouged and pitted with an overly large amount

of blood steaming and evaporating in the open air with a smell like acid and burning pitch. The

victim was very clearly not human, nor even mortal.

Well Ill be a Guvner, its Garroth the Blind! Nisha said, poking at its purse from where it

had fallen under a nearly pulped pair of wings.

Who? Clueless asked.

A Nycaloth who hangs out in the Hive and the Lower Ward selling information to people

about the Blood War, and doing recruiting for the War while hes at it. I wouldnt say hes a

permanent resident of the city, like Shemeska the Marauder or Akin the Friendly Fiend, but

hes well enough known by me and the folks I tend to hang around with in my off hours. Nisha

answered.

Ah, like your boyfriend? Toras asked.

Who? I don... ah yeah, my boyfriend, ummhmm yeah, him. Nisha said after a brief look

of confusion.

Damn, looks like they cant delay the collectors anymore... Skalliska said as the dustmen

and their cart came to collect the dead Nycaloths body and heap it atop the butchered remains

of the former Mercykiller factol.

So what the hell was Garroth flayed over I have to ask... Florian said as they watched the

collectors cart the bodies away back in the direction of the Mortuary.

Dunno... but we do know that Trenevain said his bodyguards were more of minders to make

sure he didnt screw up his part, and the Mercane had a pretty hefty contingent of Yugoloth
 236

troops in their little demiplane. Hells, they were dealing with an Ultroloth! An Ultroloth whose

assassination we witnessed! I think thats pretty solid evidence for some sort of link between this

here and the mercane that had us get Nilesia in the first place... Nisha said as she thumbed

through Garroths purse, frowning at the lack of much beyond copper.

And so the group started the long trip back across the city, intentionally going the long way

back to the Clerks Ward so as to avoid the Hive. Their trip was not incidental, as while passing

through the Guildhall Ward they paused when a voice called out to them from a stoop of an

adjacent building.

You! I know you! Came a shrill cry from across the street, spoken by a tiny red imp.

Excuse us? I dont think so; we tend to not party around with fiends. Well kill fiends, but

not party around with them. Except maybe Akin, and hes a sweetheart, evil or not. Florian

said, his hands firmly planted on his hips.

Not you. You, the bladesinger! The imp was pointing directly at Clueless and standing up

with apparent glee.

Umm, can I help you? Clueless asked, stepping forward and not afraid in the slightest over

any given imp.

Oh Avalas the Bloodbathed will want to know that you are still alive! He still remembers

the day that you stabbed him in the back during that Tanarri siege of his encampment! And I

will have you know, that he has since ascended to Pit Fiend rank in Baator... he has power now

fool, and he will not hesitate to send his minions after you once I tell him you are still alive!

Clueless paused and looked suddenly concerned as part of his past came barging back into

the present very suddenly and unexpectedly. The imp was dancing and clapping its hands with

glee.

He thought you dead and gone! But now he can enjoy slowly torturing you to death in

Nessus where he remains stationed! You will regret having betrayed a powerful Baatezu, mortal!

You will... The imps rant was silenced as its features dulled, turned a flat shade of white, and

its body petrified to stone as Tristol waved his hands in the air and whispered a series of words.

I dont think so... The aasimar said as he smiled at the petrified imp, now frozen into a

snarl with its hands raised over its head in a menacing gesture and its scorpion tail raised high

behind it. All in all, nearly comical looking.

Clueless looked over at Tristol, Well thats a new one!

Tristol smiled at Clueless and then chuckled as Nisha walked over to the imp and struck a

similar pose while hissing at it, between bouts of giggling. Yes it is, Ive only learned it since

I got those spellbooks from the Incantifer. And thats just one of the first, half of them I cant
237

even understand or cast yet. But I think this solves your problem of this guy running back to

Baator to snitch on you?

Yeah, it does solve the problem. Thank you. I think hell make a nice inn decoration if we

place him as a hat rack or something. Heck, check his mouth for portals later, we might get

lucky and have it breath fire or something. Clueless said as he hefted the stone imp into the air

and deposited it in one of the bags of holding he carried.

Hey! That was pretty good! How much you want for that puny little s*** of an imp! A

voiced cawed out from across the street where a large vrock stood with an amused expression on

its face, having apparently watched the entire incident.

No, this ones not for sale. Business, not pleasure. However you might ask Tristol here in

the future if hes got any more hed be willing to part with. Clueless said over to the greater

Tanarri.

Hey... yeah, I thought I recognized you! Thats right, from the other night! The Vrock

said, suddenly smiling almost pleasantly to a suddenly very confused Clueless.

Dont think Ive ever met you actually... The bladesinger said with a pause in his voice.

Sure you did! The other evening at the Styx Oarsman, you were there to see Rule-of-Three

to sell something or another. Im certain it was you, same sword and everything. And boy did

you piss off one of the bouncers, spit in his face and asked if he liked licking Cornugon balls,

because after one of them was done with his mother, it might enjoy round two with the son! Ive

never seen him get so flustered and so totally outclassed... The Vrock was laughing as it walked

over and slapped Clueless on the back like an old friend before it waved and snickered at the imp

and walked off.

.... Clueless just stood there thinking as the Vrock walked off into the distance, and he

didnt say much more by the time they got back to the Portal Jammer. All he kept thinking

about was the fact that he had gone to bed early the other night and woken up dead tired the

next morning, almost as if he hadnt slept at all. And that was all on the same night as the

Vrock had thought hed seen him at the Styx Oarsman, a Tanarri bar...

Once they got back to the Jammer, Clueless went to his room and checked on certain things.

He started cursing immediately as he started to look for the papers and maps they had taken

from the mercane. Every single one of them was missing, and he had a pretty decent idea that

he was probably responsible, even if he didnt remember it.

Crap... I need my memory back so I can figure out what the hell is going on with me...

Clueless lamented as he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the water filled globe with its

exotic fish that hed taken from Dalmar Imshenviirs office. A minute later he was out the front
 238

door of the inn and headed in the direction of the Great Gymnasium, hoping that some time

spent in meditation might jolt his memories some like it had the last time.

Once there, he actually happened to see Fyrehowl in the gym, training in swordplay with a

rail thin githzerai monk who was one of Rhyss personal aide de camps, and clearly a better in

swordplay by the looks of it at the moment. But the gith seemed to be toning his style down

somewhat so as to instruct, rather than overwhelm, and the lupinal was clearly enjoying herself

in the process as Clueless walked past and up to the higher levels of the complex.

Originally hed been intending to visit the Cadence chamber, but he didnt get that far. On

the level below the Cadence chamber itself, one of the long meditation halls, he walked up to a

slim tiefling woman dressed in robes, with long flowing black hair and hooves nearly like Nisha;

former Factol Rhys.

No need to bother seeking the Cadence chamber at this time, that will come later. Rhys

spoke to Clueless without opening her eyes, though she was seated to face in his direction as he

entered the meditation hall. The former factol was seated in a lotus position and seemed to be so

lightly touching the ground that it might at first appear as if she was floating in her trance-like

state.

Oh excuse me, my apologies councilwoman Rhys. If Im disturbing you Ill leave. Clueless

backed off slightly before Rhys opened her eyes which seemed distant, glazed over, as if she were

indeed in some level of trance.

No, this was where you were to be and where the Cadence had me be as well. Your memories,

your hidden memories, they trouble you. You walk with a shadow passing over you and it sullies

your waking mind with doubt and fear. Come closer. Rhys smiled and held out one hand to

beckon Clueless.

Yes? Can I... Clueless stopped as the former Factol reached up and gently tapped him in

the center of his forehead with a single finger.

Remember, if only for a moment the details that have been robbed from you. Unlock that

door inside your mind and step within before it shuts once again. Learn and act upon that. Do

not ponder, do not think; act. Rhys said with utter serenity, as Clueless clutched at his forehead

and winced as a flurry of memories flew back into his mind.

***

The Yugoloth slavers, some twenty odd black, chitinous Mezzoloths and two bloated, many-

limbed Dergholoth surrounded Clueless and his two companions as they shackled the three of

them to each other. One of the Dergholoths, larger than the others, its squat bulb shaped body
239

with its three shubby legs and four claw tipped arms shambled forwards to the three of them and

rotated its mantis-like head to face the bladesinger. Its mandibles clacked and chattered, then

a mental prompt of more emotion than words commanded the three of them to start marching

along with the troop column. The bariaur was the first in line, and slow to start moving. The

Dergholoth overseer motioned to one of its soldiers that quickly slammed the butt of its trident

into his flank then parroted the others telepathic command again, this time in infernal.

The next five hours were spent winding through a blasted rocky wasteland, nearer to one

of the mountains on the current orb, the air growing slightly thinner as they ascended. The

sunless, blood red sky, fading to black high above, burned down without mercy, and within the

first several hours their exposed skin ached with each and every movement. The yugoloths were

on constant watch for any attacks by the Gehreleth, all of the Red Prison being the home of that

splinter race of fiends, which from all Clueless had heard, had some sort of racial hatred towards

the loths.

But no attack came, not that it made their march any more comfortable. They were given no

rest, nor water; it seemed the fiends had no use of it themselves and saw no desire, or remained

unaware of their charges own need for it as mortals. Any vocal objections from those in the slave

train were responded with quickly by jabs and slaps by the guards and soon they all gave up

trying to have any meaningful conversation with their captors. Cluelesss own question about

The Marauder brought not a slap, but unease from the Mezzoloths before their overseers barked

several orders to them and glared at the half-fey icily.

At the sixth hour the group stopped at the base of a cliff, a network of cave mouths opening

up to the surface, and were quickly greeted by an armed and armored Piscaloth. The lobster-like

fiend appeared to be debriefing the Dergholoth, and for a short while the three of them, Clueless

and his companions, were able to sit upon the ground and rest their weary limbs. A wooden

container filled with a watery slop was rudely placed into their hands, and despite the smell and

dubious origin of the food they all partook. Lesser Yugoloth cooking was not a wonder of the

planes...

Finally, their well watched solitude was interrupted by the arrival of at least five or six other

similarly sized slave caravans, most bringing with them at least twenty to thirty prisoners each,

ranging from adventurers like themselves, to poor berks who either stepped through a portal to

Carceri by utter blunder, or were sent to the plane on purpose, unknowing or by force. They

were all assembled by their own contingent of lesser Yugoloth shock troops, and all told, there

must have been nearly two hundred Mezzoloths assembled. Far too many for a simple slaving

operation, they must have been near a Yugoloth city or Blood War military outpost; but by any
 240

of their experience, none existed on that layer of Carceri, the Gehreleths being far too numerous,

and wantonly destructive, to safely allow for any large scale loth presence.

But Cluelesss wandering mind was rudely awakened back to the present as the Piscaloth

commander began to bark orders to the assembled troops and what must have been a nearly

equal number of Mezzoloths as they flooded out from the tunnels at the cliff base and fell into

formation. They, along with the others quickly drew Clueless, his companions, and the other

prisoners into a long, single file line of slaves, and started them marching off to the north into a

cleft between two mountain chains that reached high enough overhead to nearly touch the peaks

of the adjacent orb. The Bariaur glanced back at Clueless, a look of worry and dread playing

across his face as he then glanced around at the sheer number of Yugoloths.

The cleft opened to a blasted series of valleys, and in time the caravan reached a solid iron

bridge that crossed over a black, rushing riving that bisected the valley. The scent in the air

from the nearby foaming rapids made Cluelesss head swim, and once they crossed the bridge

and the air cleared of the noxious mist kicked up from the river, he realized that they had likely

crossed over a tributary of the Styx. No map hed ever seen indicated such a tributary anywhere

near that section of the plane.

But the river was the farthest thing from his mind as after another twenty minutes of march-

ing, the caravan passed through some manner of magical screen, like a thin and palpable meniscus

of force, apparently extending from one side of the valley at the base of the mountains to the

other. What was an empty, dead ended valley of strewn boulders and hard packed soil was

anything but empty as they cleared the tingling, almost burning magical field.

Centered in the valley, and rising up to rival the mountain peaks themselves was a solitary

tower, if tower really sufficed to describe the sheer scale of the structure. From their distance it

dominated Cluelesss vantage and field of vision, easily several miles across at the base and rising

yet miles higher. The black, hexagonal structure seemed to erupt from the bedrock and clamber

towards the sky like some towering, infectious parasite breaking free from its host. Twisted

metal, like thorns, erupted from the tower at random points, but the true scope of the horror

the entire scene painted only became apparent as they grow closer to the towers base.

The tower appeared to shift and quiver, like worms and insects scuttling or writhing their

way through rotten meat. The entire tower appeared to be built not from just black steel and

stone, but mainly from the still living bodies of petitioners grafted into one hellish nightmare of

a whole, trying futilely to escape their fate as living masonry for this harrowing monument that

dwarfed any other fiendish structure on the planes, Baatezu and Tanarri included. And, from

the jagged, open spaces at the top of the tower, and flurry of figures clambering from the base to
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gantries and structural bracings, the tower was still being built taller and larger. Cries of panic

and screams of terror echoed across the landscape and bowl of the valley as the prisoners behind

Clueless passed through the illusory barrier and caught sight of the tower. Surely they didnt

mean to place them all as slave labor in building that monstrosity? Or did they mean to use

them as building material?

The troops and slaves made their way to the titanic gates of the tower and were met by the

bright flash of teleports as figures appeared from presumably inside the tower. Several hulking

Nycaloths, each dressed in ornate armor appeared at the head of the line of troops and begin to

approach and converse with the Dergholoth. One of the Nycaloths was pointed in the direction of

Clueless and his two companions and, slowly, purposefully approaches, brandishing a crackling

rod or wand in his hand. As he neared, already the prisoners were being herded off in one

direction or another, and one sub-group was summarily executed on the spot, energy of some

sort being drawn off from the corpses as they expired and bottled in large black gems held by

the Nycaloths. Things did not look good.

***

And then the scene faded and another memory unlocked, a different one, and one that held

more relevance to recent events.

***

Clueless strode into the Styx Oarsman, in his hand he carried a satchel of book and papers, the

very same papers they had recovered from the mercane, Dalmar Imshenviir. Standing beside

him as he entered, either drugged or magically compelled, was the elven cleric who had been

there with him in Carceri. The elfs leg was bleeding heavily, already soaking through a bandage

around his leg in places. The gemstone that had been firmly embedded into his leg, down to the

bone, was wrapped within a pouch at Cluelesss waist.

As they continued into the Tanarri bar, he had an altercation with one of the bouncers and

then walked straight up the stairs and into a small waiting room where he sat down at a table

with an apparent elderly githzerai, Rule-of-Three, and a massive Nycaloth, Garroth the Blind.

Clueless watched as he entered negotiations with Rule-of-Three, selling his former elven

companion into slavery to the wizened Githzerai who was far more than he appeared to be. He

also watched as Garroth the Blind acted with utter respect towards him, though the fiend used

a female pronoun to describe him at one point in the negotiations, and drew and brutal blow to

the center of its face, and a hail of curses in a mixture of infernal and abyssal, as well as another
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language that he didnt seem to recognize. The language seemed to burn the ears and sting the

mind in remembrance though, whatever it was.

But after they sealed the deal for the elf, Clueless watched as he handed over the elfs still

bloody gemstone, and the sack of papers and documents from the mercane into Garroths hands.

The Nycaloth accepted them humbly and made mention of being occupied the next day in

service to an order given him by the 2nd Wheel. Clueless felt himself snicker mentally at the

knowledge that the Nycaloth had been ordered into an event that would lead to his own death

most likely. But such matters had to be done for everything to fall into place as it was and

needed to be, The Ebon had promised them as such, and thus it would be.
Chapter 22

Your world has spikes on his back and he wants to lay down on you

Dont like what I say, you best not go away

Take a look into my bag of wonders

Ill pull out something special just for you

Dont tell anyone

Itll be our secret

A weak and tainted soul I stole from you know who

You want to buy it back, Ill have to charge you for two... -Godhead I Sell Society

Mydianchlarus, the Oinoloth of the Wasting Tower of Khin-Oin strummed his fingers over the

massive arms of the Siege Malicious and looked out over the countless miles of blasted wasteland

that surrounded his tower. His tower was the symbol of his rule and the centerpiece of Yugoloth

accomplishment that rose up out of the forsaken earth like a bloated fungal blight watered by

the Styx and grown fat on the marrow of the dead god whose spine it was carved from entirely,

nearly forty miles in length all said and done. And here he sat upon his throne, Mydianchlarus

the Oinoloth, the Ultroloth Prince, and he was facing a challenge to his supreme rule.

Typhus has already pledged his loyalty to your rule my liege. The Infernal Front marches

now two days hence to the Wasting Tower to await your command. I speak in this matter as the

Altraloths spokesman. We stand at your side, Oinoloth of the Tower. Our allegiance is not in

question.

The Oinoloth glanced at the speaker, a stick thin Ultroloth from Niffleheim wrapped in the

sickly yellow and mottled green livery of the mercenary warlord Typhus. There was no subterfuge

in the envoys mental voice, only confidence and a slight undercurrent of arrogance. But, those

flaws aside, it and its master were loyal at this moment; its life would be forfeited any otherwise.

Of course after the looming conflict it was likely that Typhus would once again become the free

agent that he had always been, selling his services to the highest bidder. But now as a force

243
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threatened the pinnacle of their races hierarchy, the wayward mercenary had come home to

where his true loyalties sat. Ideally anyways. More likely than not the Altraloth was simply

attempting to curry favor with the Oinoloth, so be it.

Mydianchlarus nodded his approval to the Ultroloth and the gathered assembly of advisors,

speakers, scribes and servants shuffled amongst themselves, jockeying for position and turn to

speak to their master. Ultroloths reduced to scrambling like dogs for scraps, hoping to curry

favor and gain but a word to or from the Oinoloth who looked at them all with amusement.

Dozens of Ultroloth lords, barons, generals and tetrarchs from the breadth of the three planes of

conflict offering unasked for advice, seeking to place their rival Ultroloths into a poor light and

their forces into weaker positions of battle so as to personally gain from their dismemberment in

the coming war. Dozens of Ultroloths and their attendant scribes and aides, mostly Arcanaloths

and a scant few Nycaloths as well to comprise that omnipresent but effectively powerless class

of persons that swarmed about and amongst the petulant overclass of the Ultroloths. Except for

one of them.

Otherwise buried in the midst of the others who had flocked to the Oinoloths council, Vorkan-

nis the Ebon, Overlord of Carceri and Master of the Tower of Incarnate Pain stood and gazed

up at the Oinoloth, like a blot against the background of Ultroloths who swirled around, but

never truly paid him heed. Not that the over glorified arcanaloth seemed to mind or pay them

heed either, rather he seemed to stand distant and distinct from their midst without any seeming

attempt on his part to stand out. And for the briefest of moments, the sable coated and cobalt

robed jackal met the gaze of the Oinoloth. The arcanaloths crimson, piercing albino eyes lanced

out into the swirling multicolored orbs of the Ultroloth Prince that gleamed a dozen sickly colors

as they slowly wept blood across its featureless face.

Mydianchlarus beckoned towards The Ebon, his arm leaving a gelatinous trail of partially

congealed blood smeared across the arm of the throne of Khin-Oin. The constant bleeding,

regenerated in seconds only to run like crimson sweat the next moment, was the duality of the

Siege that was at once both a blessing and a curse. The mark of the most ancient of thrones was

indelible.

What have you to offer up to us? I am aware that your armies are yet depleted from your

conflict with your predecessors. Your position is known, but what aide you offer is not. Speak

and show your betters here that you might yet be worthy of promotion after this war is fought

and finished. The Oinoloths voice rippled across the ether like a current in the smoke wafting

up from a field of burning flesh.

The Ebon bowed deeply as the Ultroloths grew quiet and parted to allow the Oinoloth full
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view of the jackal headed fiend, yet his eyes never ceased their lock with those of his superior.

And, when he spoke it was with certainty and respect as befitting the station of those surrounding

him; there was not a hint of arrogance or contempt, though locked within his mind it festered

like a burning, gaping wound filled with salt and poison.

Indeed. My own armies are constrained by two factors, the defense of my own unfinished

tower and that they have not yet regained the numbers they possessed under the joint command

of Bubonix and Cholerix. In the... absence... of my former lords I can nonetheless offer as many

Mezzoloths as possible without risking the tower itself from Gehreleth assault. I leave that to

your discretion my liege as the completion of the tower is not solely my purview, but all of ours.

Mydianchlarus nodded at the nearly hypnotic melody of the jet-furred arcanaloths voice;

smooth as honey blended with adder venom, sweet and pleasant even as it killed. Something

about the lesser fiend struck a dissonant note however, something that the Oinoloth couldnt

place. Something familiar about the face or the voice that was intimately familiar to him but

inexplicably slipped from his thoughts. There would be time later though to ponder those

improbable thoughts when, after killing his predecessor Anthraxus, he planned to drink from his

hollowed out skull.

The Ebon bowed again and backed away as the Oinoloth turned his attention to others.

Questions were raised and advice given and ignored by all of them. The ignorant fools were

drunk with their own power and blind to their flaws and their own feet that would soon set them

stumbling. And, already the noose was wrapped around each and every one of them to break

their fall when they did. It would be a harsh awakening, but one that had been building for far

longer than any of them knew, suspected, or had even existed to contemplate.

The advisors and confidants of the Oinoloth discussed the amassing of troops, the merging

of armies and transport of supplies and devices of war. They discussed who amongst them was

a traitor to the great cause, and who within the camp of the Decayed was still loyal to their

cause. They discussed with uncertainly the pall of silence that had fallen over the Baernaloths

and that envoys to the Gloom Fathers and the Crawling Citadel of The General of Gehenna had

either not returned or been granted no audience. They even discussed the fact that Xenghara

the Fallen had vanished without a trace, his keepers having been skinned alive, fused wrist to

ankle while still breathing, and suspended in the air like an obscene living wheel. The Altraloth

Xenghara had always been unstable, mad even for a fiend, and the implications of his vanishing

were put aside for the moment, as was the symbol that had presaged the event.

The pale corpse light of the Waste reflected off The Ebons fangs as he turned away from the

pack of Ultroloths and their servants, gleaming as he licked his lips to taste the faint scent of
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uncertainty upon the air from the gathered toadies and sycophants of the elite. They werent

convinced that they would win. A good portion of them had already made contingent plans

should their former master re-ascend to his throne and theyd bottled their thoughts so deeply in

their festering minds to convince themselves of victory and Mydianchlarus of their fealty. Their

thoughts were like open books to the fiend who stood in their midst as the conspicuous inferior.

Irony that deserved bloodshed in due time...

***

Clueless sat alone in the darkness of his room and pondered over his memories that had

returned to him at the prodding of the Ciphers former factol. It was getting late but hed

already been sitting there next to his window, staring out into space as the light outside had

first dimmed and then finally died down to be replaced with the glow of lamplight and sorcery

through the haze. Nothing more had sprung to his mind as hed been sitting there, but key parts

of his past were still locked up tightly and before he ran running off to the Styx Oarsman he

wanted to know just who it was that was pulling on his strings, and how.

It was that need to know that now had the bladesinger opening the small golden vessel he had

taken from the dead former factor of the Incantifers and dipping his index finger into the thick,

syrupy liquid inside that fairly hummed with latent magical potential. He rubbed a single drop

of the material between two fingers and concentrated, blindly attempting to call forth some spell

effect that he knew some mages used to search through the past of a place, person, or concept.

The Legend Lore spell sprang forth in his mind, rushed through his body, and burned in his

blood like a potent drug as the magic unleashed itself and violently ripped through the remaining

holds upon his memories. Given the nature of the substance, not that Clueless truly understood

what it was, that there was resistance at all should have been a harrowing thought. But, an

indeterminate time later as he regained consciousness, the spell returned and he slipped into his

own memories.

The chamber was pitch black and cold, but all around was the sense of something that was

alive. The tower in Carceri, built from untold millions of still living petitioners in constant agony.

Clueless was inside it, held motionless and floating in the air by some unseen force while his two

companions hung likewise beside him.

Two figures stepped out of the shadows just out of Cluelesss line of sight, Vorkannis the

Ebon, Lord of the Tower of Incarnate Pain, and walking with him, strolling into the chamber on

his arm was a female arcanaloth, Shemeska the Marauder. She was dressed in a skintight gown

that seemed to have been cut from the still supple hide of an immature silver dragon and she
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might as well have been poured into the dress given its cut. As she stood beside The Ebon, they

were a play of opposites both in gender and with her bright copper fur contrasting readily with

the sable color of his own.

These three should satisfy our needs? All but dropped into our collective laps. This has

been a guilty pleasure to so violently screw them over when they came to me in good faith.

Alas. She smiled demurely and placed a hand over her breast as she laughed and walked over

towards the three captives as they hung suspended and senseless in the air.

Ill admit I find the elf attractive as far as mortals go. I think I shall select him as mine.

Shemeska smiled and ran her fingertips across the clerics chest.

The Ebon turned to her and smirked, The godslave is already spoken for, select from one of

the other two as you wish and Helekanalaith will take the remaining.

She paused and sneered, Feh, dont be so petty as to deny me something simply because

you can. Im not under any pretense of equal partnership here, simply being conspirators, but

why not?

The Ebon gestured in the air to summon forth a trio of gleaming blue gems that hovered

above their intended hosts, then he turned back to The Marauder. I appreciate the irony of

controlling the cleric as my own puppet, and the decision was made far in advance. But besides,

if you find him attractive and youre in such dire need of something to f***, youve always got

the friendly one in Sigil already...

Son of b****... Shemeska spat like shed tasted something vile and glared at The Ebon

who was chuckling at her expense.

Take what youre given, the others are hardly of lesser quality. I could have made insinuations

involving you and a Goristro, but I didnt... shall we begin? Vorkannis sneered as he walked

over towards the Bladesinger, the half-feys body placed between himself and The Marauder.

Very well Vorkannis, this one shall serve well. I gave you an answer to your question; now

prepare me this tool and youll have your results... The fiendess said as she floated over towards

Clueless and waved at his face as she snickered at the conflicting emotions of rage and fright that

surged through his face despite the magical constraints on his body.

The memory blocks will fall into place as soon as the orb is implanted, though certain

portions Ive chosen to simply erase. Lets leave the fool wondering which memories are true and

which are fabricated. Weave those as you wish. The Ebons eyes glowed in the darkness as he

gestured to three Nycaloths who stood in the shadows of the rooms periphery.

The rest of it is set up and should fall into place within the week, though I may procure a

few more patsies in case any of them die or I think it needed. More toys to play with at the very
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least... She said with barely constrained delight before she turned to look at Clueless and run

the back of her hand, painted claws and all, down his cheek like a valued pet.

Didnt I tell you that there was no deal that Shemeska the Marauder couldnt make? That

all that mattered was the price to pay? She smiled and leaned down till her lips nearly graced

the bladesingers face and her whiskers tickled at his throat like lesser versions of the razorvine

tiara curled atop her head.

Payment is due... Came Vorkanniss harsh whisper into the half-feys ear as he released the

magical constraints and the bladesinger screamed as he was hurled and pinned down to a hard

stone surface by a trio of Nycaloths at The Ebons direction. And as the Archfiend implanted

the glowing gemstone into his ankle without concern or care for the blood and pain involved, all

Clueless could hear ringing in his ears was the mocking laughter of The Marauder through it all,

doubly so when she was handed a smaller stone to match the one buried deep within his leg.

Even magically amplified and recreated the rest of the memories were a blur of agony filled

with the screams of his companions as they too underwent the same torture as he. Through it all

were the distant wail of petitioners that made up the tower and the snickering fiendish laughter

of their tormentors. The last remnant of the memory was the voice of The Ebon snarling to

one of the Nycaloths as he pointed to Clueless, Take this and dump it in Hopeless, everything

beyond that is arranged, you know what to do.

The memory of the pain flushed Clueless back to the present and he slumped against his

mattress, exhausted from the recollection of the past. It was not a pleasant thing at all, not with

what it brought to light regarding the jewel deep within his ankle and the personage that lurked

behind it.

B****, youve been playing me for a fool this entire time... Clueless said as he glanced

down warily at the gem...

***

Florian and Toras sat in the tap room of the Portal Jammer watching curiously as Tristol

first set up the pieces and then began to teach them both the rudimentary basics of a game of

wizards chess. The mage was smiling as he set up the board, happy to have two enthusiastic

beginners to teach the game to; that and having more people to play with was an added bonus

he wasnt about to turn down.

At the moment, Fyrehowl was out at the Great Gymnasium and Skalliska was off doing

whatever it was that kobolds did when you yet them out. Probably stealing from gnomes or

something like that. But Tristols attempts at teaching his two new eager students were abruptly
249

put on hold as Nisha waltzed through the front door of the inn towards the stairs to the second

floor. Tristols eyes followed the tiefling as she walked past whistling and her tail swinging, and

jingling with a small silver bell tied to its tip.

Florian commented first, So whats up with the new jewelry and everything? He pointed

to the half a dozen bracelets, necklaces and earrings the rogue was sporting, as well as the fact

that she was dressed in a new suit of overly tight leather armor. The latter was not at all lost on

Tristol who was suddenly smiling much more so than from his chance at teaching wizards chess

which was rapidly slipping from his mind.

Nisha grinned like a fool and pointed down to where her hooves were sparkling with a golden

shine from what seemed to be a pair of golden horseshoes tacked onto her feet. She was also

hovering around an inch off the floor. My boyfriend was really good to me today.

While the tiefling giggled and jangled the bell on the tip of her tail, Florian raised an eyebrow.

Youre boyfriend huh? So when will we get to meet this fellow?

Tristol was trying hard not to gawk, but was failing miserably. He was saved by the fact that

Nishas attention span was probably less than most species of fruit flies, and if shed noticed him

staring it probably simply slipped her mind.

Hmm? Who? Nisha asked, twirling a new ring around her finger.

Your boyfriend? Toras asked with some skepticism.

My what? I dont hav... oh... him! Yeah.... Um... you wouldnt know him. The tiefling

stammered.

No no, not who is he, but when do we get to meet him? Florian asked again.

Uh...at some point in the indefinite future? She asked while her tail, bell and all, curled

into the rough shape of a question mark.

Riiiight. So whod you bob for all the new stuff? Florian asked with a grin.

Nobody! It was my new boyfriend who got it all for me, in a manner of speaking. She was

getting more flustered by the moment.

Ah, a new boyfriend he is now. And a manner of speaking ? Hmm... Florian said as Nisha

stuck out her tongue and darted upstairs to her own room to avoid any further questions.

Tristol youre liable to drool if you dont stop staring. Its cute and all, but shes already

taken I think. And the boys got jink too by the looks of it. Florian said as Toras reached over

to poke the aasimar who still had a goofy smile on his face. Tristol composed himself again and

started going over the opening move of wizards chess, but the whole time Toras and Florian were

glancing at each other then at Tristol, more amused by his apparent fancy to the thief than at

the game.
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***

It was dark when Clueless slunk out of the Portal Jammer towards to Lower Ward and the

Styx Oarsman. In fact he hadnt told any of his companions that he was going there, in his

mind it would have raised too many questions and possibly led to them worrying about his

trustworthiness. After all, he had a bitch of a fiend using him like a puppet, apparently at her

fickle little whim.

It all seemed like a plan and it all seemed to have gone off without a hitch till he was three

blocks from the establishment and a familiar voice whispered into his right ear, and a soft jingle

of bell rung out.

We need to get you to work on this whole sneaking around thing. Youre not quite as good

as you think... Nisha sounded far too chipper.

Clueless paused and sighed, How long have you been following me?

Since I went downstairs to make a snack and saw you slip out the front door? I got curious

and I didnt have anything better to do. Besides, factol Darius was getting on my nerves, and

factol Sarin was threatening to have me arrested if I didnt behave in an orderly fashion. Can

you blame me?

Alright... this is sort of personal though. Promise not to tell anyone else if you stick with

me tonight? Clueless said with some seriousness.

No problem, Xaositects honor. Nisha said with a jingle of the bell on her tail. But, despite

the happy go lucky tone of her voice, she seemed serious enough about keeping Cluelesss trust

on the matter and so he didnt complain as she tailed along with him right up to the door of the

Styx Oarsman.

Ugg... you sure you want to go in there? The beer is nasty and they threaten to eat you

if you steal from them... Nisha frowned as she looked up at the building whose walls were

somewhat yellowed by the persistent smog of the Ward and spattered in a few places with the

stains of old bar fights, magical scorches, and spilt food and alcohol. Otherwise, it seemed well

kept for a fiend bar.

Yeah, Im certain I want to go in there. I was there the other night, just not quite as myself...

and I may have sold one of my old companions into slavery in the process, as well as handing

over all those maps we got from the mercane into the hands of that Nycaloth who got flayed the

other day...

Nishas ears perked at the mention of Garroth the Blind, Yeah... speaking of him... well,

tell you tomorrow, the doorman is looking at us weird.

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True enough the muscular tiefling who stood outside the door of the bar was staring at the

two of them with what appeared to be a silver wrapped club with a flared end. As the two of

them approached the doorman sneered and lowered the club, actually a dwarven or gnomish

blunderbuss, at Clueless and looked at Nisha.

Fiends only. You can head on in honey. Clearly the man was enjoying his job.

Nisha stepped closer up to him, took out a small package from her satchel and pressed it

towards his hand, How about he comes in with me? I promise he wont be too much trouble.

How about it?

Clueless gave the slightest of a head tilt as he watched the doormans response to the idea,

keeping his hands off his sword hilt. Nisha smiled with utter innocence as she then ran her tail

across the underside of his hand as he took the package and examined their contents. Rolling

out into his open hand were what appeared to be a collection of marked silver balls and small

packages of gray powder with a slight acrid smell.

He grinned and pocketed the bribe, stepping to the side, his eyes lingering on Nishas backside

as he opened the door. Clueless nodded to him as he walked past, Thanks... murmured dryly

as he walked in on Nishas heels. For her part she did her best to ignore the rude stares she was

getting from the tiefling with the gun.

As the door opened, the acrid smell of pipe smoke, alcohol, and unwashed fiends assaulted

their nostrils, seeming to permeate the foul air. The bar was dark, save for a few candles on one

or two of the tables that dotted the floor of the taproom. Their eyes quickly adjusted however,

looking out at the glittering irises of a number of fiends, almost uniformly Tanarri, nursing

drinks.

Clueless scanned the place on alert for the person he recognized from his memories of the

event, he was also keenly on alert for any faces that seemed to recognize *him*. While he didnt

immediately see the old githzerai, Rule-Of-Three, he did see a number of persons of note scattered

amongst the forty odd patrons that populated the taproom. The owner of the establishment,

a shriveled looking githzerai Bleaker by the name of Egonz Vlaric who stood behind the bar,

washing glasses, and the bright green quasit sitting next to him on a perch behind the bar who

actually seemed to the be the one running things for its mentally numbed master.

To the rear of the chamber, a hydroloth, a hezrou, and a green slaadi sat at the same table

near the back of the room by the far exit; and, leaning against the stairs up to the second floor, a

cambion dressed in a rainbow colored, garish outfit, and a hulking mezzoloth nearly three times

his size stood next to him keenly watching the patrons. Clueless made mental note of the two

bouncers by the stairs as he took a seat next to Nisha at an empty table.

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Clueless tried to stay calm and relaxed, letting himself slip into that dangerously alert mindset

that presaged the beginning of the bladesong as he stayed alert for any signs of being watched at

that point. He was just as alert for warning signals from his ankle as well, not that if it activated

on him hed have much of a choice in the matter...

Taking note of Clueless, the cambion started to walk over towards him and Nisha, though

the hulking Mezzoloth stayed put near the stairs. Clueless noted him but otherwise tried to act

like he was supposed to be there as Nisha walked back to sit down next to him with two drinks.

So, you little s***licker, what the f*** are you doing back here so soon? The cambion

sauntered over and spoke as he stuck a booted foot up on the table. Clueless could only mentally

think, F***, I pissed off the bouncer here? Damn...

Oh Im just here to see if the scenery improved... Clueless said in that way thats not an

insult, but might be taken as one.

Nisha looked up at him too, I see YOU havent changed a bit, as colorful as ever... She

rolled her eyes at him.

He chuckled but left his foot up on the table, So what did you actually come here for? The

clientele may take a shine to at least one of you eventually, and Id like to keep the peace, if not

any order to the place.

Im interested in talking to some of the folks I was in here last with actually, if youve seen

them around. Clueless said, still trying to act as if he was in exactly the place he was supposed

to be.

The Colorful Cambion took his foot off the table and crossed his arms, Selling her this

time? Busy boy. But lets see, Garroth is dead, Schliphis is over there... He said, pointing to

the table with the slaadi, tanarri and hydroloth, and Rule of Three is upstairs.

Clueless glanced over at the table and took note of them before he nodded back to the

bouncer, Thanks.

The cambion hung around for a few minutes, chattering with Nisha, hitting on her but not

getting anywhere. The tiefling played along but wasnt giving anything away certainly, in any

sense of the word. Eventually the bouncer wandered off as a Vrock several tables down tried to

eat the face off of a rutterkin sitting next to it.

Clueless gave a low chuckle at the vrock then shook his head and looked at Nisha Well,

you up to playing along with this one? He gave the slightest tilt of his chin in the hydroloths

direction.

Nisha looked up at him, Tell you one thing I do know. She leaned in and whispered, Now,

I wouldnt work with them, for a number of reasons, but theyre called the 3 Toads, and they
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run a fencing business, a good one. But theyve got ties to somebody elses purse, and I dont

care to speculate on whose it is. I have my own people and I dont have to worry about them

randomly eating me.

Nisha rose to get up from the table, But Im right behind you if youre going over there.

Clueless gave a low laugh Well, Im curious what I sold them in particular... The statement

was muttered but he nodding to Nisha and stretched for a half moment before getting up and

heading in the direction of the 3 Toads, making it look like a casual stroll as best he could.

The two of them walked over to the rear of the bar as the mezzoloth bouncer walked past

them both abruptly and they heard a dull thud from a few feet behind as something hit the

floor with a pronounced crash. Looking back, the vrock was laying motionless on the floor, the

loth standing over it with the blunt end of a green steel glaive aimed at the other tanarris head

while the cambion began motioning the other patrons to ignore it and go back to their drinks.

Clueless looked sharply over his shoulder since Nisha was right behind him after all, a slight

rise of his eyebrow before he shrugged and turned his attention back to the Toads. As he walked

up to their table, in unison all three of them looked up at him.

The Slaadi looks up and spoke first, Doing you are how? Us with business more? The

hydroloth was eyeing them very warily and the hezrou was looking bored and off in another

direction entirely.

The bladesinger gave a wry smile, not really reassuring but a little creepy, Im doing fine...

I was curious how youd found the deal last time to be?

The loth looked up at him and hushed the Slaadi who promptly started playing with a crack

in the table, pouring ale into it, and muttering in little voices about a big flood washing folks

away...

There was no deal last time. You just.... Schliphis narrowed her eyes and clammed up

abruptly, a look of suspicion crossing her features.

The Hezrou looked over, and while eying Nisha, then Clueless, she spoke up, Talk to my

boy Rule of Three, hes more talkative than Schliphis.

Nisha gave an uncomfortable look at the mention of Rule of Three, but otherwise she didnt

say a word.

I just what? Clueless questioned the loth who only stared back at him, a bit of uncertainly

playing across her face.

Take his advice and talk to Rule of Three, I shouldnt say anything more. I follow what Im

told just like you did. She said, the fiendish stonewall very much falling into place.

Clueless stared hard at the loth for a moment, then nodded, Deals can always be made... I
 254

will let you think on that.

Having said that, he jerked his chin at Nisha to follow him. She panned her eyes back around

the room and then fell into place behind him, Whatever you say...

The two of them headed towards the stairs and neither the Mezzoloth nor the cambion made

any move to block them from walking up to the second story where a single open door faced

the railing around the border of the awning surrounding the taproom. Through the doorway a

single, wizened githzerai sat at a table nursing a trio of drinks.

Nisha stood by the door, letting Clueless enter first, though she let her gaze wander down

to the taproom below and the puzzled, and wary expression that played across the face of the

hydroloth whose gaze lingered on Clueless and her as they entered Rule of Threes office.

The githzerai looked up from his drinks, looking for the most part calm and unsurprised,

Three toads there, three of us, they talk much.

And three of us to the table, if ye will instead of four. Clueless replied.

Rule of Three smiled serenely and gestured for his guests to both sit, What to discuss?

As Clueless sat down he pulling out the three gold ingots from the mercanes treasury and

arranged them in front of the gith in a triangle, lightly tapping them in a circular fashion.

My price paid, I take it, speak with me.

Clueless repeated the circle, making it look idle, twice more, Curiosity runs high. I am

ignorant, of past dealings.

Rule of Three sipped his drink three times, slowly, then looked back up, You arrived here

at this inn, we spoke, but WE did not speak.

Another three sips, Gold, a friend, and betrayal.

The githzerai tapped his index finger on the ingots three times each, But was it betrayal,

or forced upon you both, by gems and others?

Clueless replied, ... forced upon myself and him, there are three of us as such, and *I* do

seek them.

You sold him, but not all, took something too. The gith smiled and continued, Garroth

the Blind, now dead, was here as well. A second smile and he continued once more, Schliphis

the toad, took from you, what you took from the elf. A third smile and a last statement, A

gem, blue, black.

Clueless swallowed slightly and nodded, The elf no longer carries it?

Yes, perhaps, no, Rule of Three shrugged and pointed at the bladesinger, But, that was

not our deal. We discussed only the sale of the elf. He was valuable, in the right places, to the

right buyers.
255

Clueless nodded and the gith continued more, Missing more than a stone you left him,

without freedom, and without memories.

Clueless took a slow breath and queried Rule of Three, ... was he the only I have sold as

such?

Yes for now.

He nodded back, Where is he, for how much, to what fate?

To Tanarri slavers, 30,000 jinx, and to fight the Baatezu on the Waste. The githzerai

smiled as he sipped his drink, displaying rows of yellowed, crooked teeth.

Clueless gritted his teeth almost to a grind before asking another question, Price of return?

That is no longer possible, I serve as only the arranger of deals, not the owner. He tapped

the ingots, I can however tell you where the elf was sent by portal to meet with his new owners.

That is free. Words come cheaply.

Gratitude as well. Clueless responded quickly.

Death of Innocence. The gith replied.

Clueless seemed confused, Hold meaning to you, not to me... to you? He said, looking at

Nisha. The tiefling shrugged three times before the gith answered again.

Niflheim, the second of three glooms, a shelter from the waste..., He smiled with sage-like

wisdom that yet seemed malevolent despite the aid he was providing. And a moment later he

continued, Near the realm of Annwn, it staves off the gray gloom, but none know why.

Know you more? Clueless asked.

Little more, I do not ask questions when yugoloths are at fault, they repulse me. He paused

and drank a draught of firewine, But to their face do I say that? Perhaps. No.

Clueless gave a soft grin as he nodded, I do not like them, find myself bound to them, and

wish free of them... The tone of his voice was one of agreement more so than prodding.

Rule of Three smirked, As all would. He inclined his head and said once more, Ties bind

tight, reigns not loose, contracts upon contracts. He then leaned backwards and whispered,

more to himself, But not forever...

Clueless nodded in agreement - silent for the moment as he took a breath and digested the

information. Nisha had remained largely silent and uneasy the entire time. She knew more about

Rule of Three than Clueless apparently did, prime among her knowledge being that the elderly

githzerai was anything but what he appeared to be, and he frightened her terribly...

Finally, Clueless asked one other question, Words are easy, explanations maybe too, wheels

within wheels?

That means nothing to me. The term is unfamiliar. To you perhaps not. Rule of Three
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shrugged honestly. Portal to the Waste in the Lower Ward, ask the mezzoloth, the yugoloth

traitor.

Clueless and Nisha both blinked slightly and their eyebrows went up at the statement as

Rule of Three continued, He lives for now, they allow him, not forever though if even Garroth

is expendable.

Rule of Three collected his payment off to somewhere behind the table and asked a question

of his own, Garroth was said a traitor or deserter as well. True? False?

Unknown... Clueless said after a brief pause ... traitors may be higher, or none at all. I

know not.

Finished? More to speak? Or no? The githzerai asked, looking to Clueless and then to

Nisha, standing perhaps to leave to other business himself.

For now, none. Later visit perhaps. Meanwhile... thank you. Clueless said as he pondered

his next course of action and he and Nisha stood to leave quickly.

Indeed. Certainly. Farewell. Rule of Three whispered, his eyes vaguely trailing down to

the gem that was lurking hidden behind the bladesingers pant leg and boot.

And, perhaps in a prescient moment of luck, the owner of the other half of the gem in

Cluelesss leg was occupied with other things and, for the moment, unaware of her errant toys

actions. Not that it would have much mattered to her anyways, he was, after all, only a single

cog in the turning of the Wheels and her prize was far more important than any chance of his

gaining his freedom. If nothing else it would only prolong his torment before she ultimately

disposed of him after he lost his utility, but such was an afterthought as she carried out her own

portions of The Ebons vision.

Chapter 23

The next two days were filled with much deep thought on the part of Clueless and Fyrehowl. The

bladesinger was growing more and more convinced that he would need to leave for the Waste,

and soon, if he stood much chance of finding his former adventuring companion. But at the

same time he was worried about the gem in his leg, and the fiendess behind it, taking exception

to any actions he might take.

Similarly, Fyrehowl was slowly managing to convince herself that she needed to go back to

Elysium to either investigate the information they had found on the mercane regarding something

happening on the layer of Belarian, or at least to speak with one of the Guardinal highups in

the fortress of Rubicon on the same layer to inform them of anything untoward that might be

happening unbeknownst to them. However, the fact that the maps and notes they had taken

from the Imshenviir mercane had vanished without a trace had put a hold on her plans for the

moment.

And so, in the time that she was spending overly thinking about such matters, Fyrehowl

had, with a liberal dose of irony, been spending more and more time at the Great Gymnasium,

training with and speaking to a number of adherents of the philosophy of the Transcendent

Order. It was just such a dose of irony, considering their teachings, which reared its ugly head

one morning when she sat down next to Clueless over breakfast with Florian and Tristol.

So has anyone else seen Nisha since yesterday? Tristol asked.

For about thirty seconds. She was in and out just to grab some food and make fun of

the Factol Sarin doll. And speaking of which, the Factol Nilesia doll sprouted blades stuck all

through it yesterday... word travels fast even for animated dolls it seems. Florian remarked.

And some pervert asked if he could rent the doll and a room for an hour. I mentioned

something about, those are sharp and please leave and he wandered off... Clueless said with

a shiver.

Nisha seemed preoccupied with something actually. I swear that she actually looked nervous

257
 258

and paranoid when she was here. I stopped her and asked her if anything was wrong and she

brushed it off as boyfriend troubles and walked out. Florian said.

Fyrehowl edged closer to Clueless, getting a raised eyebrow from Florian as she smiled at the

bladesinger. Speaking of all of that, Ive been meaning to ask you about something for a while,

but I havent been able to get up the courage and wherewithal to actually ask, but ... Florian

looked at Fyrehowl again and the lupinal paused. Actually, nevermind, Ill ask you later.

Clueless looked at her oddly, completely oblivious to any insinuation, and to the fact that

both she and Florian had actually been competing with each other for over a week or more for

his attention. Both of them seemed interested in the bladesinger, and he hadnt so much as

noticed it.

Clueless was still oblivious, and Florian mentally rolled his eyes and was on the verge of

saying to Fyrehowl, Apparently the ciphers havent been teaching you much if this is any clue..

Florian looked at his ale, pushed it forwards, stood up and poured himself four fingers of

Bytopian whiskey, but otherwise didnt say more before Toras walked in carrying a stack of

letters and envelopes, one of them heavily stained with some greasy material that was dripping

on the floor. He dropped them on the table and took a seat with his companions with a single

statement, Junk mail...

Really? Addressed to us even... didnt take them all very long... Clueless said as he and

the others started to look over all of them.

Among the various offers of services ranging from linen cleaning to dishwashing to security,

several places of business stood out from the rest: a letter of appreciation of business from The

Friendly Fiend, a letter of services offered by The Sanitation Guild and their standard rates

for monthly service, a business card from a wizards bar and shop in the Clerks Ward by the

name of The Pentacle, a notice of responsibilities and voting rights for the next Sigil Advisory

Council elections later in the year, and three other amusing bits of mail.

These look to have been there since the day the place was ours officially... Toras said,

holding up two letters that had been nailed to the front of the wooden box that served to hold

their mail. Florian took them from Toras and started to look them over.

Two letters, one from Zadara the Titan, and another from Shemeska the Marauder. Both

of them are offering to buy our inn from us. The Marauders was nailed on top of the titans,

and it looks like someone added in sleeps with Fomorians next to any place Zadara put her

name on that letter. The Titans letter makes mention that we should ignore any offers from

gutter skimming fiends with the temerity to think themselves a king of anything. Yep... pleasant

rivalry there Im sure.

259

Tristol rolled his eyes and Clueless stiffened at the mention of the King of the Crosstrade.

Write a polite letter back to the Titan and ignore the fiend. I dont care that shes offering

double whatever the titan who sleeps with Fomorians is offering. The bladesinger said.

Not a problem, theres no way Im selling this place, not even a fraction of my share. Land

is hard to own in this city, and I wont sell out to either of those two. Though its amusing to

watch the unabashed civility between those two, isnt it? Florian said, balling up both letters

and tossing them to the floor before looking at the final piece of mail.

Toras... why is that letter dripping something? And it smells too... Fyrehowl said, wincing

as Toras opened up the letter and dropped out a moldy, partially liquefied rat corpse onto the

table.

Its a promotional letter and free sample from Parts and Pieces: owned and operated by

Seamusxanthuszemus, merchant most excellent and slayer of fiends, aka that mephit with the

hat. Apparently he put us on his mailing list...

Clueless sighed, Ill go make sure we dont get any more... gifts... from the mephit. Its in

the Market Ward right?

Toras nodded, Sure is, feel free to take the letter too, and the rat, theyre getting pretty

ripe. Threaten to shove him in his hat or something.

Umm... just toss the rat into the trash. Ill handle the mephit, how hard could it be?

No, seriously, threaten to shove him into his own hat! Toras was grinning far, far too much

when Clueless left the inn to handle that tiny chore.

***

The entrance to the shop was a single freestanding archway in a corner of the Great Bazaar

from which a single sign and a tiny, battered tin bucket hung. The sign was battered with age

and covered in graffiti that had accumulated over the years, but still visible on the front of the

wooden sign was the following: Pieces and Parts painted crudely over atop of a much more finely

carved name of Pets and Meat from the shops previous incarnation when it had a different

owner than the dust mephit who held nominal and unchallenged possession at the moment, and

for the foreseeable future.

The tin bucket, which looked like it had seen the abuse of passersby was filled with a motley

collection of small animal bones from birds, mice, rats, and others of more unidentifiable origin,

some still decorated with gristle and sinew as well as their attracted coterie of buzzing flies.

Looking at the bucket and taking one of the more dry and clean bits of bone, Clueless looked

at the small instructions that had been painted on the side of the bucket. In the same paint as

the shops sign, they read: Portal keys, free to paying customers only.
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So what happens if I dont like any of the c*** you sell once I get inside. Maybe Toras

was right... Clueless said with a shrug before tossing the bone through the archway. Almost

immediately the archway swirled with blue light and Clueless emerged into a poorly lit chamber

that stank like a charnel house.

The floor of the shop was piled high with neat stacks of arms, legs, heads and other parts of

a wide and exotic assortment of animals from dogs, to wyverns, to cranium rats and things even

more exotic. Across the room were stacks of bones, fully bereft of flesh unlike the side of the

chamber that Clueless was rapidly stepping away from to escape the stink of putrefying flesh.

Twenty gold pieces! I never bargain! Came a shrill, high pitched, whiny voice from the

shopkeepers desk, hidden behind the form of an angry Night Hag who was holding out a pair

of eyeballs and the leg bone of some other creature while banging her other hand on the hard

surface in front of her.

Ill pay you two or Ill stuff the bones down yer throat and help myself to the entire sodding

shop you morbid little vermin of a mephit! Came the hags voice.

Two gold pieces it is! I always bargain! Came the squeaking voice of the shopkeeper as a

pair of scrawny gray hands scooped up the pair of gold coins and began counting them over and

over as the hag picked up her purchases and brushed Clueless out of the way as she walked to

the portal.

...should feed him to the larvae one of these days n put up with his lip... She muttered as

she stepped through the portal.

Greetings! Welcome to my glorious and most awesome shop you who happen to walk in

on me when Im doing the most important thing of the day, counting out my awesome profits!

Clueless winced as the mephits voice grated on his ears.

Seamusxanthuszemus was dressed in a dingy gray suit and banded gray and white stockings

whose feet dangled a few loose inches off of his toes. Perched on his head was a banded, multi-

colored woolen hat several feet longer than his entire body. The mephit grinned and held up his

two new gold pieces from the hag, removed the hat and tossed the coins in. Clueless assumed it

was magical, some sort of cap of holding like a bag of the same nature. At least he assumed it

until Seamus stood up and the coins fell to the base of the cap and jingled in the floor as they

bounced while he walked over to greet his new customer.

Hi, my names Clueless and...

Huh, looked more Eladrin to me, but all you berks look alike anyways! What can I help

you with today you lousy potential piece of merchandise waiting to die and living on borrowed

time? The mephits voice was grating even more on Clueless as it cut him off.
261

Take us off your mailing list. Were not intereste...

Glad to know you liked your first free sample! Just one of many I assure you from Sea-

musxanthuszemus, Merchant Most Excellent, Purveyor of Death and Slayer of Fiends! Seamus

grinned like a fool as he help up a skull in front of him, moving the jaw up and down as he spoke.

No. I didnt. I was rotting and stank up our other mail. Dont send up anything more or

Ill send one of my friends who has far less tact and patience than I do. Clueless said with his

hand on his sword.

Nonsense! I never bargain! The mephit said as he hopped back onto his desk with a

resounding chink as the coins in his hat clattered on the surface.

But you just told the hag you always bargain.

Ahh... your ears are failing... first thing to go they say...

Clueless tried to explain his position again to the mephit and was nearly ready to stuff the

damn shopkeeper in his own hat without relying on Toras to do so when the shops portal opened

again. Turning around to look, he didnt see anyone and, figuring it person messing with the

portal keys back in the bazaar, he turned back to the mephit. He changed his opinion when a tall

figure slipped out of the shadows without a sound less than a foot from him to drop a stunned

and still living reptile across the mephits desk.

Dressed in little but a loincloth, the Bladeling towered over Clueless by at least two feet and

glanced down at him with violet eyes like amethysts frozen in ice. Her skin was spiked and razor

tipped in places like a living suit of spiked armor and seemed to nearly blend in with the shadows

in the shop. Clueless stepped back from her as she turned to look at him and then to the mephit.

Pay me up front this time Seamus or I bring it back to the Beastlands. She said softly,

whispered almost.

Of course! I never bargain! The mephit said as he rummaged behind the counter for a

moment.

And pay me in something other than copper this time. It would be... appreciated... Her

tone changed almost to a threat for a split second, following which the mephit put down one bag

of coin, smiled and picked up another that he handed to her.

If you have a request for the next time, say it now or Ill gather whats more plentiful and

leave it at that. Adamok said, not looking at the mephit as she sliced open the top of the bag

of coin with a single deft movement, belaying the fact that what Clueless had first presumed

to be part of her own spiked skin were in fact a pair of semi-retractable blades strapped to her

forearms or the top of her hands.

A hydra if you can find one. One of the ones that spits ice at people and freezes em solid!
 262

Always a fun way to watch someone go, theyve got that frozen look on their faces right before

they fall over and bust into a hundred pieces! Seamus clapped his hands together in glee at the

very thought.

Adamok smirked as she picked up the animal she had brought in and began to systematically

butcher it, separating the severed body parts into piles at the mephits discretion. Given the

bladelings cold skill in what she did, and was at the moment doing, Clueless shivered to think

of any poor sod being hunted by her. And then Clueless remembered the story hed heard about

just whom the Bladeling worked for on a permanent retainer of sorts... The Marauder.

On that thought, Clueless smiled and walked back towards the portal leading out of the shop.

As he did he felt uncomfortable and glanced back at the Bladeling, certain that she would be

staring at his back with those merciless violet eyes. But, as he looked back she was concentrating

fully on her work for Seamus and not paying him the slightest bit of attention. Relieved somewhat

by that fact, Clueless hurriedly exited the shop.

Sendings are fun. Anyways, meet me back at the inn at peak. Important. Came Nishas

voice bouncing around inside Cluelesss head the moment he re-emerged back in the Great

Bazaar, and it also sounded inside the minds of every one of her companions wherever in Sigil

they happened to be at the time.

Glancing up at the brightness in the sky, and judging it to be near to peak, Clueless set out

to return to the inn. Elsewhere in Sigil, Skalliska got up from her desk and set out across the

city, on the border of the hive Toras stopped beating muggers and stealing their money, and

Florian waved goodbye to Akin after having spent an hour making small talk with the Friendly

Fiend.

***

Clueless sat down at a corner table in the tap room of the Jammer as Nisha sat next to him,

fiddling with something or another that she had either bought or stolen. She was laughing softly

and ignoring him till he finally reached over and prodded her out of her fascination.

Did you actually pay for that? Or did you steal it? ... And just what in the nine hells is

that anyways?

Nisha held up what appeared to be a scale model of a Blue Slaadi head with large, oversized

googly eyes and a whimsical expression on its face. Clueless only raised an eyebrow.

Do you think Id actually take the risk and steal tacky, yet utterly amusing for knowing my

taste, crap like this? No, this I paid jink for. Besides, I try not to steal too much from Akin

every month. Florian mentioned he saw this in his shop when he was there buying the dolls last

time and I found it amusing.

263

Clueless paused and looked at her weirdly before asking, Wait wait, you steal from Akin?

The fiend?

Hes friendly. Besides, he knows it I think. I eventually bring it all back when I remember

about it, and I think he actually puts out stuff that snags my attention just so I dont make

off with all the stuff he really wants to sell. Nisha smiled and held up the stuffed Slaadi head.

Besides, this is just crazy enough to be worth my gold. Press the symbol on his forehead.

Clueless did just so and the head sprang into motion, with the tongue flapping in and out, the

eyes spinning around and flashing different colors, all before it settled down and spoke, Xanxost

knows lots about mephits. Mmmm... mephits...

The tiefling giggled and Clueless had to laugh along with her. Alright, thats actually rather

cute, in a seriously warped sort of way. It fits you alright.

Nisha just smiled as slowly their other companions gathered to take a seat and stare at her

expectantly, and stare at the speaking Slaadi head with a mixture of amusement and bewilder-

ment.

Florian glanced over at Nisha, Nisha! Did you steal that from Akin?!

No! Not this anyways! She clutched at Xanxost like some sort of chaotic teddy bear.

...what do you mean, not that anyways... Akins a really friendly guy, and you shouldnt

take advantage of him. Florian still had his finger out accusingly at Nisha.

Akin is rather nice and friendly... for a godless abomination... Toras said somewhat bluntly

to Florians scowl.

He oh perfectly hardly, take I what knows well, give and it back always I! Nishas suddenly

foray into a torrent of seamless scramblespeak ended any further discussion of the matter and

finally got her the silence she wanted before explaining why she had asked all of them to join her

there.

Anyways Nisha, what was this all about anyways? Tristol asked as Nisha put away Xanx-

ost.

Nisha smiled again as all eyes turned to her. Well, you know how all the stuff from the

mercane went missing?

Yeah... tell me about it... Clueless said, feeling distinctly guilty and unaware that Tristol

had, for the past day, been looking oddly at the large patch of null magic around Cluelesss legs

whenever he was talking about anything important.

I have it all. Another grin from the tiefling.

... what? How? You stole it from Clueless? Florian asked, growing slightly livid.

No no no. You know the guy who got flayed the other day with Nilesia? He had them... I
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cleaned his place out five minutes after he got penned in the dead book.

The unbelieving silence was deafening.

And a good thing I did, because the place went up in flames a few minutes later... however,

I dont know if anyone noticed me or not, and Id have sworn that I was being trailed once or

twice since then. Thats why I havent been around here much. I didnt want to risk anyone

torching this place too, especially with all of you in it.

Youre nuts, you know that? Youre wonderful, but youre crazy sometimes. Toras said.

What happened to your boyfriend problems and all? Florian asked.

I dont have a boyfriend. What do you mean? ...oh! That boyfriend... heheh yeah... She

gave a guilty grin and jangled the silver bell on the tip of her tail.

Garroths jink went a long ways to buying me some new stuff. Too bad we had to split up

though so soon. Sniff sniff. She winked and tapped her golden horseshoes on the taproom floor.

Oh, but youll meet the other boyfriend soon enough. Ill bring him over for dinner at some

point, though the relationship isnt going well and you probably wont see him all too much

after that. Trust me... another wink and a sly grin from Nisha before the others started asking

questions.

So can we see whatever you found? Clueless asked.

Oh well none of the stuff is actually here. I stuffed it in one of my little places over in the

Hive.

You have places in the Hive? Fyrehowl asked with a measure of disbelief.

Well not the Hive really, technically its the Slags.

Oh so much better there... are you nuts?

Not always! And hey, they land is cheap. And by cheap I mean squatter style cheap. And

when you trap the front door, theres remarkably little competition for the place. And theres

always that whole little cinnamon smelling monster of an urban legend, I think, that keeps most

people away from the area if they have any lick of sense to them.

Is it telling that you keep a safehouse in the same area then Nisha? Fyrehowl asked.

Yeah, but isnt it? Nisha was grinning, and none of them were quite sure if it was on

purpose if she simply hadnt gotten the insinuation from the lupinal. In any event though, she

managed to convince them to follow her from the Clerks Ward into the southwestern border

area between it and the Hive. As they passed from the Sandstone district and out into the Hive

itself, a long and ragged wall stood to their south, covered in cuts and scratches that spelled out

words, names, and abstract symbols.

Nisha pointed to the wall, And thatd be the scratchwall. If anyones curious Ill tell you
265

how to read it at some point. Ive found job offers through it before, oddly enough. Not all the

graffiti is graffiti, some of its code and such. But in any event, weve got to hop over the wall

here at the next block.

Toras was enjoying scaring off any Hive dwellers who so much as looked at them all with

an appraising eye, and Clueless was walking with his sword openly slung over his shoulder.

Fyrehowl was nervous on the other hand, having the feeling that they were being watched, and

not just from the impoverished citizens that watched them with sullen and avaricious eyes from

the broken stoops and doorsteps of the ramshackle buildings that jutted up against the wall

separating the Hive from the Slags.

Once over the wall itself the contrast was overwhelming. Whereas the Hive had been a tattered

collection of crumbling buildings, criminals, the forsaken, the forgotten, and the starving, the

Slags were worse. Existing as the remnants of a Blood War spillover into Sigil hundreds of years

before, the wasteland that stretched out miles in each direction beyond the wall was a harrowing

sight. Steam and smoke rose up from cracks in the earth and ruins of formerly proud buildings

dotted the landscape that seemed to have been plucked from Oinos and deposited in the heart

of urbanized Sigil.

And you live here Nisha? Is this wise? Florian asked incredulously.

Only when Im hiding something, or myself from somebody. And wise? Think about it, the

only people that come in here wont mess with me, theyre all on the run from somebody else or

theyre completely crazy.

My point exactly... The cleric replied, taking his axe out and cradling it in his arms.

Oh, and if you see any minor fiends, vargouilles, shambling undead, or anything worse, do

tell the rest of us. Theyre a problem sometimes. Nisha was whistling as they walked through

the war torn and forgotten sprawl, the bell on the end of her tail jingling a cheery tone that

seemed bizarre given the surroundings.

They continued at a brisk pace, and several times Fyrehowl stopped and looked around, once

again swearing that she felt someone nearby watching them. However despite that, she never

noticed any concrete evidence of her suspicions being true, and none of the others picked up on,

or shared, her feelings by the time Nisha had stopped them all at the rubble of a ruined building.

The ruin seemed to have once been a shop, though its windows had long since been broken with

only the jagged remnants of them sticking out around the rotting frames.

Well, here we are. Whatcha think? The tiefling asked as she started disarming a series of

traps around the edges of what turned out to be a trapdoor leading down underneath the shell

of the building.
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Its rather out of the way. Clueless said.

I approve. Skalliska said, poking at the dried blood around one of the traps areas of effect

from some unfortunate who had tried in the past to get around them.

The neighborhood really has gone downhill I think. Toras said with a smirk.

Nisha chuckled and jingled the bell on her tail with each trap she disarmed. Anyways, just

follow me, shouldnt take more than a few minutes more to disarm these all on the way down.

You trapped the way down from the trapdoor? Clueless asked as they all followed Nisha

down a thin iron rung ladder into the darkness below.

Overkill, huh? She said as they eventually worked their way down to the bottom and past

an iron door into a cozy chamber whose magical lights sprung into effect almost instantly with

a rosy glow.

They all followed in and took to looking at the various items Nisha had stashed throughout the

room on shelves, tables, the floor, hung from the ceiling and generally arranged in some madcap

method that only she likely really understood; and that by itself was probably in question. In

one corner enough vegetables to make up a small grocers cart were stacked haphazardly along

with several jars of paint and what almost seemed to be several bags of plucked feathers; none

of them bothered asking what might rationally explain it all.

Anyways, heres all the stuff that I bobbed from Garroth the Blinds kip the other day.

Well, what I didnt pawn off for jink that is. Theres the stuff that vanished... She glanced at

Clueless out of the corner of her eyes, and theres a bunch of other stuff he had too.

Clustered around a table that was arranged in nearly perfect and pristine order, in stark

contrast to the rest of the room, just to be random apparently, were a number of curious items:

several mimirs, several maps, a letter or two, and a few gems that glowed a soft light across the

table.

Florian unfurled one of the maps while Toras picked up one of the mimirs and began to

sift through its recorded information while Clueless picked up the letter on the table. The first

map was of Sigil itself, with notations over the Prison, the Gatehouse, and Portal Schmortal,

apparently still using the old name of the inn. Other than marking locations, it held no other

useful information.

The other maps were more confusing; one of them mapped out the city of Skeinheim on

Ysgard, another the city known as The Madhouse on Pandemonium, and the last was a map of

the Shattered Temple.

Odd taste in vacation spots for a dead Yugoloth Id say... Florian said as he furled the maps

and glanced over to Toras as the warrior activated the first mimir. Without any introduction it
267

began to play back a recorded speech in the voice of a man who was instantly recognizable, even

five years after his death at the hands of The Lady:

I reckon Sigil is the Ladys Cage. The Powers really dont want to get in. Theyve trapped

her here so they can watch her like a monkey in a zoo. Course, it could be the other way around;

maybe the universe is a cage for all the other powers, and only Sigil is free. From Sigil the Lady

looks in at the Powers like theyre the zoo animals. Thatll all change when Im in charge...

Spoken by Duke Rowan Darkwood, Factol of the Fated before the Hall of Speakers five years,

thirty two days before present. The mimir intoned before it began to replay more in a series

of recorded speeches by the late Factol. As the mimir droned on in Rowan Darkwoods voice,

bubbling with confidence and arrogance at once, the recordings all harkened on one subject,

the Dukes ambitions and collected information in his quest to hunt down information on Sigils

murky past. Specifically it focused on the past history of The Lady, the mage Shekelor and

the unknown mage who preceded him and legends claimed had nearly struck down The Bladed

Queen before, unable to kill him, She bottled him within an artifact known as The Labyrinth

Gem.

The companions listened spellbound as the mimir began to recount further information re-

garding the actual fate of the Duke, something which was not fully public knowledge. That

the Duke had been hurled backwards in time, that bereft of his memories he had become that

ancient wizard and been bottled in the Labyrinth Gem only to killed by himself when the future

happened again as it had before. For all legend claimed for him, The Lady had played with him

like a toy. He had never been a threat.

The mimir ended and the last continued on regarding the contents of the Dukes library of

collected information into Sigils past and his mad search for clues, anything really, that might

have helped him gain power or some insight into The Lady. The listing was without real rhyme

or reason, but if someone were looking for information on a specific part of Sigils past it would

have been invaluable.

Well damn. We might not have to do anything at all. Just let them end up getting themselves

mazed or flayed if they follow up on anything Darkwood was looking into. Toras said with a

grin as he put down the mimirs.

I dont know. I doubt it really, its almost like Garroth was just digging up dirt on Sigils

past in general and Darkwood just ended up doing a lot of that work for him so its natural that

theres lots of stuff from him here. Florian said, responding to Toras.

Clueless was reading the letters in the meantime, all of them written to Garroth and all of

them unsigned and written in the same elegant hand with ink that was doped with gold dust.
 268

Once he arrives from the ethereal, take custody of the elf and deliver him to the Styx

Oarsman. I will handle the rest from there as it concerns him. Additionally I will be handing

you a sheaf of papers from our late patsy mercane, I trust you to memorize the material and

dispose of them as you see fit. Secondly, the elf will be giving you a gem shortly before he

regains control over himself. Be prepared to gag him once he does so to prevent his screams from

attracting attention, and if it appears he may bleed to death, staunch the wound or hack the leg

off and cauterize the stump. Finally, hand the gem over to Schliphis after you meet with me in

the Oarsman. Shell handle that matter from there and your hands will be washed clean of the

matter. The others directives will concern you from that point onwards.

The second letter was even more interesting to the bladesinger as he read over its words and

his blood rose a few degrees in anger at the hand that had written them.

Garroth, find Djekk Nlarr wherever the hell she is and find out what the hell went wrong

in the mazes. When I say I want people dead, I want them incinerated, hacked to pieces, their

killer holding their hearts in his hand, and the like; I dont want some halfassed s*** like oh I

thought they were dead so I didnt waste any more spells. Shes still useful, so at most beat

the ever living c*** out of her, rape her bloody, do what you like, but make sure she stays alive.

Find me that information or else the bitchll be seeing me and Ill find it out myself. You at least

are competent. Ive passed along my opinion as such to Helekanalaith, youll be keen to note his

opinion on the matter.

B****... Clueless whispered as he pocketed the letters while the others examined and then

activated the first in a series of sensory stones containing illusory images of the events they had

recorded. Nisha poked Clueless after he pocketed the notes, but otherwise she said nothing and

it seemed as if the others hadnt noticed.

Holding up the first gem, Tristol activated it after having examined it for any malevolent

dweomers. Springing into the air over the gem was an image, from Garroths perspective of a red

and gold robed Arcanaloth with rich, chocolate brown fur and a pair of copper rimmed spectacles

looking out over a landscape of erupting volcanoes and rivers of lava underneath a black void of

a sky; Gehenna. The arcanaloth turned to smile at Garroth and spoke to him less as a superior

than as a teacher to a promising student of many ranks lower than their own education. The

arcanaloth also held a brightly glowing blue gem in his hand, roughly the size of a hens egg;

Clueless noted it almost immediately and narrowed his eyes as he watched the image speak.

I am well aware that you have long awaited the opportunity to advance in caste, to finally

be promoted to Arcanaloth. You have done well and I have followed the Marauders reports on

your progress. To that end, she or I are willing to sponsor you for promotion, so confident are
269

we in your potential.

Once you have returned Nilesia to Sigil, allow her to do as she wishes and only observe and

take note of what comes to pass. I remain curious on the outcome of it all. Trust me when I

tell you that your current assignment in Sigil shall be your last; your days as a Nycaloth are

numbered few.

And with that, the image paused and withdrew back into the gem. The irony of the final

statement was not lost on its audience as Toras, Florian and Fyrehowl chuckled openly.

Wow, theres some dramatic irony if Ive ever seen it. Talk about breaking a few eggs to

make an omelet... theres some loyalty for you... Toras said as Tristol activated the last gem.

The light in the room seemed to dim slightly as the cobalt-robed arcanaloths image appeared

in the air, its reddish pink eyes piercing in their intensity. As it spoke, the voice was instantly

recognizable as the same voice that had spoken to all of them in the mercanes demiplane,

telling them to clean up loose ends for him. As the image played, Garroths voice spoke to the

arcanaloth with reverence that seemed almost odd to hear from a yugoloths lips. The Ebon

was all that the Nycaloth referred to the arcanaloth as, but the name or title sunk into the

memory of the companions as they watched the scene unfold. Clueless was fixated more than

anything else on the blue gem, identical to that carried by Helekanalaith, which hovered above

The Ebons open hand.

Helekanalith and I have spoken Garroth, and I concur with his and The Marauders opinions

both. Following this last series of assignments in Sigil we feel it appropriate to test you for

advancement. So keep that in mind in the next few weeks, your rebirth in the furnaces of

Gehenna to emerge in a new, glorified form. Your time as a Nycaloth is short indeed, the days

are limited and fast approaching an end.

But, you came here for a bit of knowledge and Ive given you that, but let me leave you with

a few words of wisdom as well to ponder over. I once had a very wise prime say to me, This

is what we do. We appease their conscience. Anyone who can appease a mans conscience can

take his freedom away from him. And in the end they will lay their freedom at our feet and say

Make us your slaves, but feed us.

I would add further that there is no greater fault and liability than tarnished pride. Soothe a

mans sullied pride and he will lay his soul at your feet, forsaking everything that you returned

to him.

With that, the image faded with a smile upon The Ebons lips that left the air feeling chill

even after the gem went still and silent. Nisha however was paying little attention to the gem,

but rather was at the door out of the room, listening intently at something outside and above.
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Guys... I think someone was outside and just left. Im positive I heard someone on the

ladder going back up...

And none of you believed me when I said we were being followed... Fyrehowl sighed and

drew her sword as Nisha grabbed a wand and kicked open the door with the others in fast, but

cautious, pursuit.

Not a problem, we just kill them and they wont do it again. Hard lesson, but Ive found

that it usually works. Toras said as he followed.

Why did you have to pawn all of Garroths stuff within days of stealing it all? If youd

waited they might have assumed it all went up in flames! What sort of thief worth their salt

does that? Skalliska was incredulous as she scampered up after Nisha.

Seconds later, as they clambered quickly back to the surface, Fyrehowl could just barely detect

a scent that smelled almost like steel and oil. However, the thought was lost as they gathered

outside the ruins atop Nishas safehouse and a half-dozen crossbow bolts buried themselves inches

from each of them.

Chapter 24

Clueless, Skalliska and Nisha dove for cover behind bits of rubble while Toras and Florian raised

their weapons and stood their ground. Tristol was cringing in anticipation of a second flurry of

bolts even as he whispered the words to a spell of shielding. Had any of them been watching

Fyrehowl they would have seen the lupinal seemingly step out of the way a split second before

the bolts hit their intended target, a staggering amount of either luck or cadence guided instinct.

Long seconds passed and no more bolts cut the air with their passing and all around there

was silence and nothing more. Skalliskas reptilian snout poked out from behind a collapsed

waterspout, ...thought you were being followed? Only thought?! I think rather settles it!

...oops? Came the tieflings reply.

Umm... if youre trying to kill us, youre a really piss poor shot you know... Toras said as

he glared out into the surrounding rubble. No reply was forthcoming however.

I dont think that was intended to kill us. I think that was a warning and nothing else.

Someone doesnt like us looking into certain things. Clueless said as he glanced over to Nisha

who was bantering over the definition of safe in safehouse with Skalliska.

Slowly they all spread out into the surrounding rubble and found no evidence of anyone still

remaining in the area, not that they could find anyways. Fyrehowl nearly swore that she could

smell a faint lingering scent of raw steel and oil, but nothing else to betray the evidence of their

assailant; then Nisha found one thing.

Laying partially concealed in line of sight of the entrance to Nishas safehouse were a springloaded

series of crossbows that seemed primed to fire in unison when keyed from some distance away,

likely from a magical charm that had since been exhausted. Lying next to the mechanism was a

single sensory stone.

Cute... they left us a message. Florian said as he picked it up.

As the cleric did so, both Nisha and Skalliska winced and blurted out at once, Let me check

it for traps!!

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 272

Its not trapped. Not unless you count a clichA c as a trap. Florian said as he handed over

the stone to his companions who listened to the message stored within the gem each in turn.

The stones message was simple and short, Were I hunting you, you would already be dead.

Desist in your current line of investigation or I may change from watching to otherwise.

Only Clueless recognized the voice as that of Adamok Ebon, the Bladeling he had just seen

in Seamusxanthuszemuss shop in the Market Ward who was rumored to be the pet assassin of

Shemeska the Marauder. Except she had supposedly been in the beastlands for the past few

days... unless seeing her in the mephits shop had simply been part of her watch over Clueless

or his companions. It was troublesome to say the least, but the bladesinger said nothing of the

matter to his companions as the walked back towards the Clerks Ward, though later on he would

privately talk to Nisha regarding it all.

Over the next hour or so they collectively sat and discussed their next course of action on a

number of topics. Clueless and Nisha put forward their intention to hunt down one of Cluelesss

former companions that they had reason to believe was currently in slavery in or around the city

of Death of Innocence on 2nd layer of the Gray Waste. Meanwhile Fyrehowl mentioned that she

felt it prudent to speak with Chairwoman Rhys of the Sigil Advisory Council, and former Factol

of the Transcendent Order, about what they had discovered about Garroth the Blind, and in a

roundabout way rumored happenings in Elysium.

Why Rhys? What connection does she have with Elysium? Tristol asked, curious about

the lupinals line of reasoning.

Shes the former factol of the ciphers you know, and her faction has a fairly large number of

members, or former members at least, on Elysium. Outside of Sigil you wont find more ciphers

than in Elysium, despite their tendency to be of a fully neutral alignment. Their particular

aspect of neutrality is internal harmony, and it fits very well with the outward benevolence of

Elysium.

True... I guess you have a point there.

And in any event she might be able to help us in getting an audience with one of the highups

in Rubicon, the guardinal fortress on Belarian.

The others nodded in unison, more or less. Skalliska seemed hesitant on the matter.

Is there gold involved? She asked without a drop of shame.

... Was the common response to the question and there was an awkward silence for several

seconds before Clueless responded, Yes theres gold involved. Dont worry, youll get a share of

anything we find.

Im sure well find plenty of gnomes for you to kill and steal their stuff and act out stereotypes
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Im sure. And if not, well drop you off in Tradegate and let you work your magic. Toras muttered

under his breath and was elbowed by Florian to tell him to shutup before the kobold heard him.

***

And so, after a shared meal, they split and went their separate ways. Clueless and Nisha

slunk towards the lower Ward and the Styx Oarsman to find a bit more information before they

went to the Gray Waste, and the rest of the party gathered there things in preparation for an

early trip the next morning towards ex-Factol Rhyss office.

So... why exactly are we going back to a fiend bar where the patrons are likely to eat you

as much as they are to laugh with you over a drink? Nisha asked Clueless as they approached

the Styx Oarsman.

Id like to ask the Mezzoloth in there a few questions. Rule-of-Three mentioned he knew

of a portal to the Waste fairly close to where we need to be. Whether hell tell us anything is

another matter, but I guess well find out. Clueless said as he walked up to the doorman and

handed him a bag of coin. Nisha smiled and swished her tail happily as they were both motioned

in without comment.

Inside, little had changed in the mood and demenour of the establishment since their last

visit. Clueless scanned the rear of the room for the Three Toads and found the Slaadi attempting

to juggle two empty mugs while the quasit behind the bar yelled at her.

Stupid Slaadi! Youve broken two today already! You dont pay me enough to break

everything in here!

Meanwhile the githzerai behind the bar was still washing the same mugs repetitively as

Clueless and Nisha sat down at a table across from the stairs. Clueless noted that the Mezzoloth

was near the stairs and the other bouncer was by the front door; Rule of Three was presumably

upstairs doing something in a set of three, as he was wont to do.

The bladesinger was about to approach the Mezzoloth when the cambion near the door

straightened abruptly as the door swung open suddenly, surprising him as a tall, extremely thin

woman walked into the bar wearing elaborate armor and a large sword at her waist. None of

the other patrons looked disturbed at the githyanki as she entered, but Nisha nearly spit her ale

and Clueless immediately looked away.

Talk about people you dont want to see in places you dont want to be. Nisha said as she

wiped the ale from her face.

Yeah, tell me about it.

Djek Nlarrs skin glimmered a faint metallic blue, the same color as the blob of psionic

ectoplasm that Clueless had partially bribed her with when they had last seen her in the mazes.
 274

I dont know her and she doesnt know me... Clueless said as he did his best act of completely

ignoring her.

The githyanki simply waltzed into the bar, supremely confidant and looking like she had a

second lease on life. That Garroth the Blind was dead, and no longer harrowing her regarding

her having not killed Clueless and his fellows, probably had something to do with it. But she

took a seat at the bar and struck up a conversation with the quasit before she hurled a full mug

of ale into the face of the githzerai bartended who barely registered the action as the alcohol

splattered on him, the bar, and the floor.

Tell me he aint a piking Bleaker... Nisha whispered into Cluelesss ear.

...yeah. He murmured back.

The rest of the bar however was not as resigned and uncaring as the Bleaker and the room

erupted into a chorus of laugher, snickers and jeers. Clueless ignored it all and tapped a bit

of jewelry he was wearing, a small silver choker. Hes had the collar crafter for himself a day

previous in the market ward by a gnomish jeweler. The only feature the choker had was a

small glass sphere that held a minute drop of the golden liquid he had recovered from the Tower

Sorcerous in the mazes, and while he still had little idea of what exactly it was, he had some

small knowledge of what it was capable of. When he tapped the glass bubble a small catch was

sprung and for a moment it opened and exposed the drop of liquid into contact with his skin.

When he felt it contact he pictured in his mind a clairaudience spell and felt it form and burn

within his mind before he activated it and removed his finger from the choker.

Nisha simply kept sipping her drink and eavesdropping as Clueless did likewise with the aid

of the spell. Over at the rear of the room he heard the Hydroloth Schliphis chuckle under her

breath and say something to her fellow fences, Pollixen and the Insufferable Massix.

What did I tell you? Just like it was supposed to be. Our hands are washed of this now,

and weve already been paid, so nothing to worry about at all. Let whoevers game this is, let

them play. Not like it has anything to do with us anyways.

Well they get of our business now but... the Slaad muttered.

And you got us into that... The Hezrou grumbled to the loth.

And its only helped us since then hasnt it? Shes gotten us twice the amount of buyers for

the stuff that comes in here, and we barely do half the work anymore. Suits me just fine. We

just need to make a delivery on that other bit down the Styx a week from now, but thats for

later. Schliphis said before she glanced over to the bar where Djek Nlarr was still taunting the

nominal owner of the bar.

Im just waiting for those Gith to go at it, gonna happen one of these times, Bleaker or
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not.... Unless the Quasit has him under his thumb more than I know. She snorted and quaffed

a shot of some vile fiendish alcohol the color of tar and nearly the same consistency.

Nisha kicked Clueless under the table suddenly and he glanced up at her. In between two

sips of her drink she mouthed to him, The Toads are looking at us... I think we need to go,

talking o the Mezzoloth or not...

Clueless sighed and nodded then got up and quickly but calmly walked to the door, Schliphiss

eyes burning into his back the entire time. However the bladesinger never let up on his spell even

as they walked out of the bar and strolled down the street. When they neared the edge of the

spells range, Clueless motioned for Nisha to pause and wait for a moment while he continued to

eavesdrop magically.

About five minutes later he heard Rule o Threes upstairs Colcook. in the voice of the

Colorful Cambion. And then his spell was snuffed, deliberately by someone on the other end.

Oh son of a... he whispered as Nisha raised an eyebrow. Someone noticed the spell and

countered it. One of the Marauders guys just walked in there and was going upstairs to talk to

your favorite githzerai.

Favorite? He gives me the creeps...

Half the people in there give me the creeps, the other half scare me. But Ill be damned if

Im not trying to listen in one that meeting... Clueless ducked out of the street and into an alley

before he repeated his previous trick and called a clairaudience spell into his mind once more.

The second time he tried it though it felt somewhat taxing, but he ignored the effect and tried

the spell once more.

The banter of fiends filled his ears once again and he managed to center the spells area of

effect on the tap room and then manipulate it from there. However, around halfway up the stairs

it simply faded out, and while he could move it around further the area around Rule of Three

and Colcook was a dead zone where the spell seemed to be actively suppressed.

...Nisha? You know a way to eavesdrop on a room covered in an antimagic field or a where

the folks have antiscry magic on them? Clueless asked while still concentrating on the spell.

Hang outside the window? She said rather too honestly, grinning sheepingly like shed tried

the trick before on someone.

...he- I dont think Rule of Three would appreciate that...

Clueless moved the spell around and tried to approach from the outside window of the cham-

ber on the other side of the building and ran into a zone of complete and utter silence that hadnt

been there a moment before. Clearly someone was both aware of his efforts in some fashion and

didnt wish for him to listening in on their conversation.

 276

Damn... no luck. He said as he ended the spell.

So.... what now? You done snooping? Neat spell, Ill have to learn it sometime. Nisha

quipped as she tossed a copper at a rat further down the alley.

Anyways, yeah Im done for now. Convenient portal of not, we need to go rescue an old

friend from some slavers.

You been to the Waste before? Nisha glanced at Clueless with a suddenly critical eye.

...yeah, but I dont exactly have very clear memories of it though.

Then its a good thing that Im tagging along. Besides, the others should be fine without

me for a little while. Theyve got Skalliska, and in any event there arent exactly going to be

many traps or stuff they need to watch out for in Elysium, to say the very least. Nisha said

with a chuckle as they walked.

Heck I could use the backup certainly, and the rest of the group... they have things they

need to be doing. Aside from probably getting us *killed* if they came along. All that Toras

has to do is open his mouth...

Nisha snickered lightly, So very true. And all Fyrehowl has to do is just to be there...

That too. Wouldnt that be a hoot?

Considering that her kind make raids into the Waste clear across from the other side of the

Great Wheel, she wouldnt exactly be a welcome guest.

Clueless nodded, Tristol might be fine except for his own bloodline is rather obvious.

Yeah, of anyone, Florian wouldnt be a problem since shes a cleric of a war diety. Even if

its a war deity confined to a single prime world, itd fit given the battles on the first layer of the

plane.

...she? Clueless said as he shot Nisha a baffled look ...whatdya mean she?

Nisha paused a moment and coughed, Excuse me, him. Tongue slipped.

...um. Ok then. Clueless said and shrugged as Nisha brushed it off and pointed up towards

Akins shop as they approached it on their path back to the Jammer.

Despite being fairly late in the evening there was a single light burning in the window above

the Friendly Fiend. Nisha looked up at the window and remarked, Typical.

Typical? Clueless glanced at her, then up towards the single candle in the window.

Local chant is he never sleeps, that hes there running the shop all day, and most always

theres lights burning upstairs. Fiends dont need much sleep at all I know, but still. I cant read

him, despite him being patient with me and never being mean to anyone.

Yeah... Any idea what hed be doing up there? Anyone ever try to look?

Nisha shook her head before giving an answer, Again, the chant is more screed than dark on
277

this, but I hear tell he goes up there and screams his head off, hurls himself against the walls in

hour long fits, all to get the frustration of being nice out of his system. Or that theres a portal

to Gehenna up there, or he keeps stuff up there to torture, or he just has an everburning lamp

and doesnt bother to turn it off. Whos ever been up there to spread the supposed dark of it,

thats what I want to know. All speculation. I dont believe most anything said about him. Hes

just friendly and Im pretty content to leave it at that.

Clueless laughed, Ive got my own doubts on things... The bladesinger gave a glance up at

the grin on the painted sign hanging above the shops door as they passed it.

Their trip back to the Portal Jammer passed without incident and the others seemed to have

already gone to sleep when they got back, likely in preparation for their own activity the next

day. Factol Darius announced their return, as always, in her own uniquely annoying way, I have

imagined two mortals returning home late!

Factol Darius, have you imagined a curfew for us to return home late by? Clueless asked

the doll.

Yes! The doll chirped before factol Sarin announced that theyd broken curfew and Factol

Nilesia began muttering about punishing dire infractions of the law.

What was the hour? Clueless asked, knowing that it was close to antipeak at that moment

but had not yet passed.

Antipeak The doll of the Signer factol quipped.

Why, it *is* antipeak, and we are not in fact late Factol Darius. Clueless said back to the

doll.

Now that Ive imagined you, you talk back to me. Why must my own imagination mock

me...? Darius lamented.

Clueless leaned over and whispered to her, Perhaps youre trying to tell yourself something?

The doll said nothing else before Clueless put her underneath an empty mug.

Be back in a minute or so... Nisha said as she walked up the stairs towards her own room.

Clueless nodded back to her and headed up towards his own to grab a few things of his own.

Once the half-fey walked into his own bedroom he noticed, almost immediately, that some-

thing was laying atop his dresser that hadnt been there before hed left to the Styx Oarsman.

He glanced at the stack of scrolls and letter beneath them that were all embossed with a familiar

blue grin insignia on the letterhead.

Well now. He murmured ...youve been busy my grinning friend.

Clueless whispered the words to a simple cantrip to detect any latent dweomers and was

surprised to see that the entire stack of papers glowed with a soft, and fairly strong telltale hue,
 278

not only the sealed letter. Glancing around the room curiously to perhaps tell how the intruder

had actually entered his room, or if they might be still lurking, Clueless saw nothing else out of

the ordinary.

Well, lets see what you have to say... He said as he opened the letter and began to read.

The friend of a friend of a friend of a fiend let it be known your ankle has been bothering

you a bit more lately. These should help alleviate your problem for the time being. Each will

last roughly 18 hours each, triggered by command word, rather than completing the spell.

Very busy indeed... Clueless said with a low smile to himself.

The letter was signed by the ubiquitous blue Cheshire grin, and the swirling symbol for the

Wheels Within Wheels. In the margin of the letter, next to the symbol for the fiendish cabal

was written a command word. Once Clueless made a mental note of the word the entire letter

began to glow slightly with a pale green phosphorescent light.

As the letter began to glow brighter, Clueless raised an eyebrow and tossed the paper into the

air as it rapidly disintegrated into nothing. The paper of the letter simply aged to dust rather

than dissolving or burning and was gone before it hit the floor while the scrolls, all twelve of

them, still sat upon the dresser welcomingly.

Very nice... Clueless said as there was a knock at the door.

Come in. He said without a glance as Nisha walked in tentatively.

Ive got my stuff, and Garroths portal keys, though if you want to wait till the morning,

thats fine, hes your friend. Im just coming along to help if you need it.

Let me just grab some jink and well be off. Clueless said before turning and tucking the

scrolls into his backpack with a grin.

Sounds good to me, Im gonna go play with the Factols. Come get me when youre ready.

Nisha said with a chuckle as she walked off.

A minute later and Clueless was downstairs with several bags of jink, hopefully more than

enough to buy back his former elven companion twice over. As he entered the taproom, Nisha

was giggling at Darius.

What? Clueless asked.

Nisha didnt say a word, but simply pointed over towards the Darius Doll.

Clueless glanced over to look at the Signer factol who was smiling humbly and had the Factol

Rhys doll standing next to her with a hand on her shoulder.

Rhys? Clueless asked the doll.

Rhys said nothing, but Darius looked up at Clueless I have imagined a less annoying me...

with some help.

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Clueless laughed. And then burst out laughing as he heard exaggerated kissing noises coming

from Nisha.

Nisha was sitting over to one side of the bar with the Factol Karan doll and the Factol

Hashkar doll, making kissy noises and pressing them together with mock passion.

The others will never understand! We cant keep our love secret forever! We have to stop

seeing each other... I know it hurts... but Ill always love you! Nisha was saying in a mock

Hashkar voice as Clueless glanced over at her. She looked up at him, a puckish grin on her face

and blushing heavily.

...oh. Thats bad... Clueless said once he recovered his composure.

Nisha grinned wryly for a moment and put the dolls back up on the mantle.

Ready to go? Clueless asked her.

About as ready as I can be. Got everything I need right here. The tiefling replied, hoisting

her ubiquitous satchel.

Clueless nodded, One of these days you know, Ill ask.

About what? She asked as she silently clip clipped up next to him.

Oh, what alls in there. He grinned a pulled out one of the scrolls hed been given by the

Cheshire Fiend. Whispering the command word the scroll vanished in a flash of light to leave

nothing behind, not even dust. There was however, a soft light glowing around his ankle in its

passing, and immediately before the globe faded slightly and began to give a soft hum, Clueless

could have sworn that he felt something stir inside his head; and it was NOT happy.

Clueless grinned, I think I pissed someone off.

If you say so. Nisha said, giving a curious look down at the bladesingers glowing ankle.

Well, Garroths portal keys, they work from the gatetowns, or, best as I can tell, from the portal

that Rule of Three mentioned. Id suggest that we hit that one, not that I really trust him, but

that info seems to be legit.

The half-fey looked over at the tiefer, Well - on with the rescue. While we have the time.

Nothing happened on the way to the Lower Ward, but as the air turned foul and hazy, Nisha

looked up at you her companion, You know, we never did ask the Mezzoloth about the portal

and where it actually was you know...

Clueless groaned as he realized that theyd left the Styx Oarsman before being able to ask

the rogue loth.

Probably a tout around here, or we could just throw rocks at Akins window and see if he

answers... Nisha said, sticking out her tongue.

Clueless snickered, I dont think so.

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Nisha stomped her hooves on the pavement playfully like a small child begging its parents

for a sweet it was told it couldnt have, Aww...its late, we might have been able to make him

have to rename himself as Akin the usually friendly fiend!

Oh - why ruin a good reputation - he works hard for it. Clueless said with a glance up

toward Akins shop and its perpetually lit window, knowing full well Akin probably could hear

him.

So. A tout - after anti-peak... yeah. Clueless turned his head to one side at the very idea

of trying to find one of Kylies guildsmen in the Lower Ward after antipeak, a daunting task if

there ever was one.

Despite Cluelesss discouragement, Nisha walked to a few alleyways, looking down each one,

seemingly for something specific, I got an idea...

As Nisha glanced into various alleyways, Clueless followed after her with a perplexed look on

his face before she finally stopped at an alleyway by a building covered in Razorvine and let out

a triumphant, Ah ha! as she darted behind the corner.

... huh? Clueless asked as he ran to catch up with her.

Turning the corner, the half-fey found her standing next to a Dabus that was floating next

to the wall of razorvine, holding a small sickle and a stack of razorvine cuttings. Nisha looked

up to the silent caretaker of Sigil and politely asked, Excuse me... Im looking for a portal to

the Grey Waste and I was told it was around here. I figure if anyone would, youd know...

...Hi. Clueless said with a smile to the Dabus.

The Dabus turned to regard them both, and a string of symbols appeared floating over its

head: the symbol of the Gray Waste, followed by an archway, then two hatchmarks, a cube,

an arrow pointing right, one hatchmark, a cube, and an arrow pointing straight, and finally an

image of a small, pagoda like building and a craggy, gray and black spotted marble arch; 2 blocks

right, 1 block forward.

Having answered their question, the dabus then simply turned around and began to cut at

the still growing razorvine, unperturbed in the slightest.

...Thank you. Clueless said, looking at Nisha, ...that worked.

Wow, that was surprisingly easy. Nisha said with a grin and with her tail flicking in delight

from side to side.

...Well, She was ticked off earlier. Maybe things are working out...? Lets.... Go. Now.

Umm... Nisha looked at the Dabus as Clueless referred to Her Serenity in an offhand

manner. The Dabus didnt so much as pay them the slightest glance but kept on at its laborious

task of trimming back the razorvine.

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Clueless smiled innocently at the Dabus and started walking after Nisha who was moving

in the direction of the silent caretakers directions quickly. Minutes later, true to its word the

Dabuss directions led two blocks to the right, and one block forward. At the end of the path,

nestled between two run down buildings and through a short, and deathly silent alleyway stood

a small, crumbling, and clearly abandoned shrine of sorts. There wasnt a bit of trash in the

street, nor any beggars, squatters or rats; nothing to break the eerie silence and sterility of the

venue.

Nisha and Clueless cautiously moved down the street, both of them drawing their swords in

case the silence was due to a larger predator or group of thugs hiding in the shadows. However

there was nothing in the alleyway but a dull sense of dread that seemed to emanate from the

dilapidated shrine at the end terminus of the street.

The shrine or small temple was shaped like a small pagoda, though the roof had sagged and

collapsed with time and the acid tinged drizzle of the atmosphere of the Lower Ward. The walls

of the building were a gray marble or granite, unmarked by symbols, paint or decorations in

any way. All told, there were no markings on the small building whatsoever, and the only non

worn-down part of the place was the archway in front of it.

Clueless glanced up at the archway where there might have once been a symbol that graced its

capstone, but it had been long ago worn away from time or by blatant vandalism or deliberate

defacement. Whatever power it once heralded was long ago forgotten except perhaps to the

graveyard of the Astral.

Nisha was looking around and she was nervous for some reason. Looking unnerved by the

place, she clutched her arms around herself as if trying to stave off some preternatural chill.

Weird... The tiefling said.

I have a bad feeling about this place too... Clueless said to her as he glanced into the bleak

interior of the fallen temple.

Youre not the only one, this place is definitely creepy. She replied as she took out the

portal key to the Waste. That particular key was a black pebble, a gray pebble, and a drop of

tar. Taking all three components, she dropped them all collectively into a small vial of dirty

water and approached the archway with Clueless at her back.

As Nisha approached the archway it began to hum slightly. Looking past the softly glowing

portal to the inside of the building, it appeared to be an arched sanctuary of sorts, not unlike

a temple, but covered in dust and clearly long abandoned, not even marked by the tracks of

vermin. Several dead rats and insects were piled at the door, all of them facing away from the

entrance as if they died fleeing out of the interior.

 282

Well - I dont think thats a safe place to go into. Clueless said as he followed her to the

portal.

Giving a glance back to the bladesinger, she stepped through as the portal flashed a churning

and morbid gray to herald the way to the three glooms. Clueless followed immediately after her,

his wings springing forth almost immediately as he passed through the archway and into the

vortex.

***

There was a sensation of falling for a brief instant before they both reappeared after a flash

of utter chill that left them shivering. The two of them emerged, standing upon a rocky outcrop

rising out of a soil that was half ash or dust and rock. The ground was muted gray and black,

the sky was dark gray and cloudless. There was no sun but a dull and sapping grayish light all

around.

Looking out onto the vast layer of Oinos, the desolate plane stretched out to the flat horizon

in all directions, largely featureless, with only some small hills breaking the bleak monotony, save

for one feature that demanded their attention.

Perhaps some fifty miles off in the distance, breaking up from the ground and rising out of

sight was the Wasting Tower of Khin-Oin, like the spine of a dead power sticking up from its

tomb in the rocky depths of the Grey Waste underfoot. A dim glimmer from the ground in that

direction traced the course of a tributary of the Styx that dove into the earth perhaps a few

miles from their current position.

They stood upon the first layer of the Waste, Oinos, one of the primary battlefields of the

Blood War. Normally the blasted expanse of the first layer should have been literally crawling

with Baatezu and Tanarri armies fighting each other in bloody and merciless battles of genocidal

attrition, perhaps only clearing away from Khin-Oin by fifty or so miles at the least. But, in

every direction, there was no fighting. Squinting to see out further in the dim light, on the

horizons Clueless and Nisha could make out armies moving across the plane and some fighting

even, but they were all over 400 to 500 miles away. As best as they could judge, none of them

were getting near the Wasting Tower and giving it much wider berth than usual. It was odd to

say the least.

Clueless peered towards the tower, looking for magic, and noticed that the earth and sky for

nearly a hundred miles out from that edifice of Yugoloth domination literally boiled with magic,

illusion magic. Whatever was there in the shadow of Khin-Oin was of substance enough to put

a pause in the wars of the other fiends, enough to make them avoid the tower for a massive

distance by any stretch of the imagination, and whatever was there was intended to be hidden
283

from sight, whatever it was.

Nisha scuffed a hoof in the dirt. The kicked up soil was an ash gray and streaked in places

with blood, all slowly being bleached of their rusted brown color by the omnipresent leaching of

the Waste, Well... no Baatezu, no Tanarri, no problems. Right?

Its not normal though. Theyre supposed to be around here. *All* the time around here...

why are they giving this place so much room? Clueless said with uncertainty as he looked out

towards the single largest structure in the planes and whatever was lurking in its shadow.
Chapter 25

The next morning, the entire group, excepting Nisha and Clueless were awake early and ready

in anticipation of leaving for Elysium after they spoke to Council Chairwoman, and ex-factol,

Rhys. They all said little over a quick breakfast before they ventured out into the Clerks Ward

in a trip nearly around the city towards Rhyss office in The Ladys Ward.

The council met infrequently and usually in different places and different wards around Sigil,

but for the time being, Rhyss office was housed within a former temple whose clergy had relocated

shortly after the Tempest of Doors nearly five years prior. The old holy symbols had been

removed and replaced with a stylized seal of sorts with Sigils ring surrounding a stylized image

in silhouette of Her Serenity.

Fyrehowl led the way as they entered the building that also housed several branch offices of the

Hall of Information, given its recent expansion following its takeover of most of the functions of

the old Hall of Records before that building had been abandoned, looted, and finally condemned

and demolished of late. The cipher in training seemed to unerringly know where to go within

the otherwise complex building, and as they turned a corner they realized that it was perhaps

less due to any mystical ability she had gained in her sparse time learning about the philosophy

of the Transcendent Order, than in her ability to smell as a lupinal.

Halfway down the hall they spotted a githzerai wielding a sword of flowing liquid metal that

extended out from his hand like a living thing on its own. He was dressed in the familiar robes

of a factor of the Ciphers, and also wearing a badge of office that marked him as the personal

assistant and aide de camp of Chairwoman Rhys. Fyrehowl had often trained with the githzerai

at the Great Gymnasium, and more likely than not, she had simply tracked him down, knowing

that hed be near to Rhys.

Kelshretar, as the githzerai was called, was going through a series of katas with his karach

blade when he turned to face the party. He bowed first to Fyrehowl and then turned to bow to

the others in turn.

284
285

You wish to speak with the factol? He asked, less a question than a statement.

Fyrehowl nodded, Yes please. I have several questions for her, and I believe that her knowl-

edge and her links to persons in Elysium might aid us. If she is not busy that is, I know she has

many things that take up her time. Is she in?

The gith nodded, Indeed. You will find her waiting for you within her office.

Florian raised an eyebrow at the suggestion that Rhys was already aware that they were

coming to see her, and was expecting them. But as the githzerai pointed down to the end of the

hallway and the open door that welcomed them, the sword that had been held in the giths hand

snapped back into a series of rings upon his fingers, shuffling itself out of sight as he walked with

them.

Please enter, you are expected. Came Rhyss melodic and somewhat distant voice from just

inside the room.

Rhys was dressed in a simple white robe and a wrap of dull green that circled her waist

and passed over one shoulder to drape down her back. For a woman of her level of power and

influence she was dressed as simply as a clerk. Her long, raven black hair seemed to rustle and

flow like that of an air genasi, like there was a constant breeze flowing through the chamber when

in truth there was none. Finally, the ex-factols eyes were glazed over like she was in a trance,

her eyes seemingly focused on some distant sight rather than the present moment; all in all it

was surreal and compelling.

Greetings Factol, Fyrehowl said with a bow before Rhys waved the formality away.

You have questions for me regarding Elysium. Ask me and I will tell you what I know, and

remember that I no longer hold a formal title of factol, the reverence is not needed. Rhys said

as she stepped out from behind her desk to approach the group and bid them to sit. Her feet

ended in hooves, much like Nishas, betraying the former factols tiefling heritage.

Skalliska blinked at the uncanny, and somewhat disturbing level of prescience the factol

seemed to possess. The woman seemed to anticipate events, or likely events, before they even

happened, acting moments before they would to perform any action in the best possible manner

given the situation. Toras had the same thought, though his mind was pondering over what poor

fool might ever attempt to kill her and how poorly it would likely end for them consider that the

factol moved with the grace of an expert swordsman and was reputedly a sorceress of no small

ability either.

Fac... councilwoman Rhys, without going fully into where we recovered this information, we

have reason to believe that something is happening on Elysiums 3rd layer without the knowledge

of the Guardinals of Rubicon. We found maps and records of mercanes shipping goods and
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materials to a point on that largely sealed layer and we have reason to believe that fiends are

involved at the core of whatever this may turn out to be. Fyrehowl explained to Rhys.

Rhys looked away but didnt hesitate in her answer, not for a second, picking up immediately

when the lupinal ended her own statements. And I have reason to believe that one of my own

is involved as well, though the full meaning of his involvement was not fully apparent till now.

The group looked at Rhys curiously as she continued, A former Factor of mine, a lupinal by

the name of Tarnsilver. Following the Faction War he became disillusioned with the actions of

his race. He came to feel that they were too quiescent, not proactive enough, and that drastic

actions were needed to prompt them out of this. He did not tell me his plans, or of his mode

of action, only that he would likely be reviled for doing what he perceived was the needed and

correct method of action towards what he perceived as a greater good.

Fyrehowl furrowed her brow, It seems very likely that he would be involved with this then.

Whatever is happening, he would likely know how to keep any activity on the layer covert and

hidden from our eyes...

Again, the ex-factol picked up immediately upon the lupinal stopping. Indeed, and I would

ask that you investigate this matter, both for myself and a former member of the order, and for

your own sake and that of your people in Elysium. Ask to speak with the leonal, Duke Jalinon,

at Rubicon, he will explain certain things to you that I am not fully privy towards.

I will. Thank you Rhys. Fyrehowl bowed and was very nearly ready to leave as Rhys had

already sat down again. But then the former factol spoke to her one more time.

And when you find Tarnsilver, tell him that he no longer listens to the cadence in his heart

and his actions. The only voice he hears within his mind and soul is his own. The planes no

longer speak to him...

***

The plane was bleak and chill, though neither Nisha nor Clueless had yet been exposed to its

malign presence long enough for its omnipresent effects to wash over them like a leaching wave

of apathy, regret and misery. For the moment they stood unharmed by its sapping touch, but

as the moments passed they felt a chill run through themselves that was not from fear, nor from

any demonstrable breeze that graced their body. However, they were more concerned with other

things to notice its dire effects at that time.

Clueless glanced out at the armies that were barely visible on the horizon as they moved to

clash with each other or to forge ahead to one of the planes bordering the Waste, either Gehenna

or Carceri.

...Hmm, looks like theyre avoiding the loths...

287

Theyve gotten smart then... Nisha said as she rolled her eyes.

Weve got a problem though. Were one layer of the plane too high. The city were looking

for is in Nifleheim. Clueless said as he glanced down towards the winding gash in the blasted

earth that was the Styx, glimmering seductively like slowly congealing blood on black glass.

Well, the Styx is that way... Clueless muttered as he continued to glance towards the River

Infernal, Trying to really recall how to get to the next layer down.

Well, the Styx hits the first layer of the Waste and not any of the lower ones, though

supposedly the ferrymen can navigate the river and dump you through portals to the other

layers, but more often than not you end up drowned and dead, or stuck with no memories and

in a position where you might as well be dead. Nisha said with a frown.

I dont really want to deal with anymore Marraenoloths. The less loths the better at this

point.

Well... theres the friendly trip down the memory sucking river with the every so trustworthy

Yugoloths or theres another way, maybe, but Ive never tried it before... Nisha said tentatively.

Clueless looked at her oddly as she reached into her satchel and removed a dusky glass

bottle with two glittering fleshy orbs suspending in a thin layer of liquid inside. The bladesinger

wrinkled his nose at the bottle.

Looks disgusting actually. What is it? He asked.

Bebelith eyes, or at least part of one. Ive never been too keen on looking a Bebelith in

the face up close to get a good look. However if you swallow one you can slide up or down one

layer of a plane, supposedly. Ive never tried it myself, it was always sort of a last resort if I ever

got myself into a jam on the lower planes and needed a speedy way out. The bottle keeps them

fresh, I guess, but... your call.

Lets go with the eyes, especially after your last experience with one of the ferrymen...

Clueless said.

Nisha looked at him a bit askance, And whatd I do wrong last time with the ferryman?

Clueless smirked, ...you didnt pay him the deal, and they have memories... lets try the

eyeballs. It should be an interesting new experience.

Pike it, you sound like a sensate... Nisha said as she popped the cork on the bottle to let

out a strong, vaguely acidic smell, like strong vinegar or spoiled wine.

Ive been hanging around the dolls too much, Erin Montgomery is a hot little thing...

Nisha simply rolled her eyes, smacking Clueless on the leg with her tail and handed him

one of the eyes from the bottle. It was hard and roughly the size of a large kernel of corn. It

was glittery and shifted colors when it was moved around, a black iridescent tone, not unlike
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Cluelesss own wings.

So... we just down them? The half-fey asked as he fluttered his wings a bit.

Yep, thats what I heard from the merchant when I bought them. Nisha said before she

grimaced slightly and swallowed it hole.

Clueless likewise did the same, popping it into the back of his throat like a pill so he wouldnt

taste it as much as it went down. The taste was nearly beyond words and probably unhealthy to

say the least. If Clueless wasnt already immune to poison, and if Nisha, being a tiefling, wasnt

the sort of person who could survive on a diet of ash and arsenic, they both would have been in

pain or worse.

Nisha looked over to Clueless, grimacing still from the aftertaste of the Bebelith organ, and

then pointed downwards as both she and the bladesinger felt a wrenching feeling assail them

from their guts outward and a persistent tug that seemed to drawn them closer to the earth. A

moment later there was a much more violent wrenching feeling, even more abrupt than that of

a portal, and after several seconds their vision went black.

Nisha opened her eyes and noticed Clueless standing next to her in the middle of a forest of

dark gray and black trees, evergreens, but like the most verdant of their colors had been leached

from them entirely. A malign chill spread throughout the air, carried along by a cold, dense mist

that swirled around their ankles and clung to the trees everywhere.

Well, that seemed to have worked. I think I prefer portal or spells though... Clueless said

as he snapped out his sword in a defensive motion and panned around to glance among the trees.

But, as Clueless did so, there was a cold feeling in both his and Nishas hearts, like emotion

was subtly being drained and funneled off by the plane around them. Clueless shrugged off the

effects of the Waste with little pause, he had far too much determination in his heart to allow

the plane to stop him, but Nisha was not so lucky. The tiefling started looking around with a

mildly unhappy, forlorn look upon her face as she curled her arms around herself like she was

warding away a cold breeze.

Nisha, hon? You ok? Clueless asked with some concern.

The plane is starting to get to me Clueless... theres not much I can do to stop that. She

said as she looked to the bladesinger and pulled out a large map of the Waste and flipped to

the 2nd layer. ...gotta get out of this wood and out where we sodding are, the maps useless

otherwise...

Rightio - easy solution. Hold on. Clueless said as he reached over and tucked her under

one arm.

Nisha gave a chuckle that broke her sullen expression for a moment, Lead on prettyboy.
289

A moment later and a flurry of motion from the half-feys shimmering black wings and

they were both flying high above the current patch of forest that they had both stood within,

overlooking the surrounding woods and trying to gain an idea of just where on the layer they

were. Taking a glance at the surrounding lay of the land, Clueless and Nisha were somewhere

near the edge of a forest, maybe a mile or two inside of it. A river, perhaps the Styx, or perhaps

a minor tributary, ran its course just outside the forest, roughly near to where a single white

stone tower rose up. In the opposite direction they could see the forest appear to melt away into

a black haze in one direction, clearly the beginning of the domain of some power or another,

and in another direction, the forest rose up the side of a mountain that was capped by a ring of

stones and a plume of smoke that lazily drifted up into the bleak and colorless sky.

Nisha looked over at Clueless, looking slightly relieved. Well, this is one way to get a

landmark to look at. Dont know what the other stuff is, but that tower, its the border marking

for Arawns domain on Annwn.

So where do you want to go? That tower? Clueless asked as they bobbed up and down

slightly above the wood. I dont want to stay up here much longer or something might see us

and take offense.

Nisha nodded, Death of Innocence is located just outside of the border of Arawns domain,

so one direction or another down the Styx would probably get us there.

Right... Clueless said as he flew off in that direction, skimming the treetops to avoid any

major notice by anything lurking below.

As they flew over the river towards the near shore by the watchtower, the forest faded away

under them, though as they flew, there was a caw from the forest beneath them and a flock of

birds rose up from the trees to trails behind them, about a half dozen or so jet black birds, like

large ravens. As the flock of birds trailed them both, Clueless and Nisha alighted near the tower

on the shore of the Styx.

Clueless glanced up at the flocks of circling birds and called out to them, invoking his own

innate fey ability to speak with animals, ...hello...

The birds however ignored him completely and kept their distance. They only circled over-

head, slowly and lazily. As they did so and Clueless surveyed the area, Nisha touched a small

speck of blood on her arm that welled up from a minor scrape on her shoulder. Almost unnoticed,

one of the Wastrels had drawn blood from her as she and Clueless had slowed their flight and

descended to the ground.

F***... Nisha muttered as she glanced up at the birds as they circled mockingly overhead.

The slope of the riverbank leading down to the river was fairly sandy and unnaturally white,
 290

almost like the sand was in fact ground down bleached bone. And, upon closer inspection, the

white tower across the river was made not of stone, but of thousands of bones of all sizes and

shapes, all plastered and cemented together into a roughly conical shape.

...how inspiring. Clueless muttered as he glanced at the map again, noting that the city

was off on the edge of Arawns domain, though he wasnt certain if it would be to the left or the

right of the tower of bone that sat across the river from them. However, his train of thought

was suddenly derailed as Nisha drew a wand and aimed it up into the sky to throw a cluster of

purple magical bolts up at one of the birds.

Whoa! Whoa! Whats that for?! Clueless said, startled. Nisha?!

Overhead the birds circled and started cawing again in unison. The sound was almost like

laughter as it carried on the air and echoed off the trees. Nisha began to look more and more

depressed and downtrodden as she threw another cluster of missiles up into the air. Another

of the birds fell and crashed down into the Styx with a dull and muted splash, but Nisha was

beginning to cry slightly and pale.

Clueless reached out and gently caught her hand, ...hon, dont waste em. Its going to be

ok...

And then Clueless felt a breeze against his face and a flutter of wings as one of the birds

bolted out of the sky and slashed a talon across his face when he turned to look at Nisha. He

cursed and immediately felt something wash over him as the birds continued their mocking call.

The birds called out like black winged and circling hyenas around a wounded savanna animal

and Clueless then felt an insidious cold reaching out to drain his emotions and sap his vitality.

It was just like the chill of the plane itself, but it was as if the birds were chuckling at his pain,

as if the Wastrels were enjoying his misery as they fed off of him.

Clueless watched as Nisha began to weep as she dropped her wand and looked up with

hopelessness in her eyes and fell to her knees. A surge of anger filled him and the bladesinger

reached into the interior of his mind and latched onto a burning point of magic that by all means

should not have been there, the spell that he didnt know but that he had nonetheless imagined

and forced into his memory back in Sigil when he had been toying with the golden liquid from

the Incantifers maze. And with but a thought he hurled it at the flock of Wastrels.

Five of the seven shuddered in mid air as a black circle rolled through their midst, expanding

outwards like a smoke ring, rippling the space around it as it traveled and dissipated. They

dropped like stones with three splashing into the river and another two of them falling onto the

riverbank where they stared up at the sky cold and unmoving.

The flock of Wastrels burst into motion to scatter and reform their ranks, and as one they
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called out again with their vitality sapping caws. Clueless shrugged it off with another surge of

anger as Nisha began to stagger and weep while she began to dig around in her satchel, looking

for something.

You little b*******. Clueless cursed at the birds as he brandished a copper gilt wand of

fireballs from his belt and aimed it at the remaining birds.

A pinpoint of orange flew towards the birds and blossomed with a deafening roar of flame

and smoke. One of the birds dropped to the earth, scorched and black, with tongues of flame

still licking from its corpse, and another squawked in pain and cawed back as it attempted to

flee back into the depths of the forest to escape.

Nisha was pulling something out of her pack when Clueless sent another fireball into the

heart of the fleeing pack of birds. The second sphere of flames erupted, sending a crashing roar

out over the forest to rattle the trees and incinerate several of the remaining birds. If any of the

Wastrels had survived the flurry of spells they had fled far into the forest and seemed not the

least intent on returning.

...a little bit of everkill perhaps, but satisfying. Clueless said as he looked over to Nisha

with concern. Whats that...

Nisha had taken out her stuffed blue slaadi head and was poking its nose. An instant later

the bauble was babbling in Xaosspeak, drifting to normal speech, losing its train of thought, and

then sticking out its tongue, puffing its cheeks, grinning goofily, and lighting up its eyes. It was...

silly.

Whether it was some magical effect from the slaadi head or simply its mundane comedic effect,

Xanxost nonetheless was making Nisha smile and slowly recover from her draining melancholy

that the Wastrels had inflicted upon her. A few more lines and actions from the Slaadi head and

she was softly giggling, wiping her eyes and looking genuinely happy.

Feeling better? Clueless asked as he extended to hand to the tiefling to help her back to

her feet.

To tell the truth, Nisha said, I think Akin was genuinely glad to move this thing out of

his shop. I used to come in and poke the nose and run off, he had to have been getting tired of

it after a while.

Akin selling toys... what is this world coming to? The bladesinger laughed.

Yeah, I would spend my own jink on goofy dust collectors like this, and Garroths jink on

useful stuff. I might have been wrong in my first thoughts though, since this does seem to have

a use. Bless Akins heart... unless that might hurt him... hmm... Nisha said with a thoughtful

smile as she put away Xanxost.

 292

...Now then. Clueless said as he looked up the river, ...I suppose we hitch a ride...

The river bubbled randomly and was running rather swiftly at that point. It seemed deep

and neither Nisha nor Clueless could see down beyond the first inch or so. However, Nishas

quick inhalation and exclamation of Pike it! drew their gaze up from the river and towards the

opposite shore.

Standing on the opposite bank, silent and unmoving, where, five minutes ago there had been

nothing, stood a score or more of skeletal figures dressed in elaborate armor and holding weapons.

The skeletal figures just... stared... at them both from the opposite bank, silent.

...Umm. Whose attention did we just get? Clueless openly mused.

Arawn?...

You know this place a little better than me Nisha...

Whatever you say. But wheres a sodding cleric when you need one... The tiefling replied.

I do swords and spells. Not turning the undead. Clueless replied, But theyre on the other

side of the river, so its not that much of a bitch. Right?

The skeletal warriors simply stood there, completely motionless, and completely silent. They

all appeared to have mortal eyes within their bony sockets however, petitioners more likely than

not.

...Hi guys. Just passin through... Clueless murmured as he glanced around their own side

of the river to scan for a ferry or a sign.

Oh hellfires. Why not. Clueless said with a chuckle to himself before he shouted across the

river to the petitioners, Which way to Death of Innocence!?

One by one the skeletal petitioners turned and began to slowly walk back into the forest behind

them, melting back into the woods at the border of their gods domain, except for one. One of

the petitioners lingered for but a moment and pointed a glittering silver-tipped spear towards one

end of the river, not in the direction, but at a small skiff floating from that direction. Moments

later, as the skiff drew nearer, so too did the last petitioner of Arawn vanish back into the woods

without a sound and without a word.

Um. Thanks! Clueless called out to the empty riverbank across the river.

Nisha glanced over to the half-fey, And that was officially creepy...

Both of them then turned to look at the skiff as it approached. The small, flat-bottomed

boat drifted silently forwards with a single robed figure at the helm holding a long pole or an

oar to steer the craft down the Styx.

Wonderful... Nisha muttered.

Yep. And we pay him well... Clueless muttered back, We dont need more loths after our
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necks.

As the Maernnoloth approached, Nisha hurriedly poked Xanxosts nose and then just as

quickly hushed it in the folds of her cloak. Dimly, Clueless could hear a muffled, The Maern-

noloth says, ...

The bladesinger glanced down, very nearly not able to keep a straight face at Nishas joking.

His wings fluttered sideways briefly in an oh powers above... pose, a light blue lingering on

their edges before he flipped them back to rest against his spine, pointing downwards.

Bless your blighted black twisted heart Akin Nisha muttered as she stuffed Xanxost back

into her satchel and pulled out a bag of coins to begin counting out a rough handful of gold.

As the ferryman stopped the boat on the shore and stepped to one side, it held out its hand

and Nisha added several platinum pieces to the gold she handed it. To cover my last trip. I

didnt have the jink to pay then. My apologies.

The Marraenoloth said nothing as it accepted her payment and allowed her to enter the skiff.

Clueless handed it a stack of twenty-five platinum pieces as he stepped up to the boat, but he

then paused instead of fully entering.

...Death of Innocence. Ill match this amount on a safe arrival there. He said as the loth

nodded its hooded head and accepted his jink.

As the skiff launched from the riverbank, Clueless looked over to Nisha and smiled slightly,

...I actually decided to pay ahead for the next time Im broke.

As they floated down the Styx, the forest around the river grew steadily darker as they

passed through, and glittering, glowing eyes glimmered from the rivers edge in a number of

places. Steadily, the mood grew darker and more repressed as the plane sought, as always, to

exert its deleterious influence upon both of the loths passengers.

Nisha and Clueless both shrugged off the chill mood and Clueless was fluttering his wings

constantly, appearing to be shivering almost, but it gave off a constant light over the boat and

the waters surface near to them.

So... much traffic on the river lately? Clueless asked abruptly up to the Marraenoloth.

The loth said nothing, nor did it seem to acknowledge that it had been asked a question.

...so whos winning? Clueless asked once more.

The loth immediately paused and seemed almost taken back by the question as it turned to

glance at the half-fey. The skiff never changed its course by an inch, but Clueless watched as

the loths gaze flew immediately to the gemstone embedded in his ankle. Seconds passed and

Clueless looked back up and into the Marraenoloths emotionless gaze.

A voice echoed in his mind, soft and chill, Cerlic and his servants take no side. We fulfill
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our purpose, regardless of the outcome. Yes, much traffic.

Rattled or not, the Marraenoloth remained silent and simply steered its craft the rest of the

trip and for the next ten minutes the boatmans silence seemed nearly palpable as the trees

melted away to scrub land on one side of the river. As they floated onwards, coming into view

on that same side, the forest seemingly cut back away from it, stood a large, walled, fortified

town sitting upon the bank of the Styx.

The skiff stopped softly upon the riverbank near the palisade of the city and the loth stepped

aside and took Cluelesss payment promised and pointed a hand at the city. Death of Inno-

cence, rattled through the bladesingers mind.

As Nisha clambered out of the boat, Clueless turned back to the Marraenoloth, Thank you.

Your purpose is appreciated.

The loth said nothing more and moved the skiff swiftly downstream without a glance back.

Clueless turned towards Nisha, Well. I think you spooked him. Must be the tail.

Nisha swished her tail with a grin and poked Xanxosts nose once again. The Vrock says,

Cockadoodle doo!

Clueless was fully grinning as he and Nisha walked up towards the city, trying desperately

not to laugh, That it most certainly does!

Hey, it keeps the grays away, you have to give it that! She said with a chuckle, still swishing

her tail.

The city walls were roughly thirty feet high and made of thick, rough-hewn timber that

seemed freshly cut. Very freshly cut, and a steady ooze of sap ran from the exposed wood to

pool along cracks, breaks in the wood, and finally to drip down upon the ground. A single gate

faced the scrublands, and while it was open at the moment, there were a large number of bloods

moving into and out of the city by the moment.

As Nisha and Clueless approached the main gate, they noticed something else: The city, as

opposed to nearly everything else in the Waste, had color...

Nisha glanced over at Clueless as they both noted the presence of color on and within Death

of Innocence. Lots of people waiting to get in, and not many leaving... wonder whats going

on... She said.

Most of those entering the city seemed to be of two types: refugees that were loaded down

with packs and carts of goods and belongings, and heavily armed soldiers and mercenaries. All

together they were a ragtag lot, the largest group seemed to be ten hobgoblins. There were not

that many fiends at all, most non-fiendish primes and planers.

Clueless and Nisha waiting in line for nearly an hour before the line had advanced enough
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for them to stand in front of the open gate. All the while Nisha had been ignoring the crowd

and playing with the Slaadi head with glee and abandon. At the open gate, watching carefully

over the entire waiting collection of mortals stood three guards, two tieflings and one human who

were questioning each and every person seeking admission into the city. They had yet to turn

anyone away from the city, but they were carefully noting weapons and anything that might be

considered a danger to the population within the sticky, sap dripping walls of their town.

As Clueless stepped up to the front of the line with Nisha still giggling and playing with Xanx-

ost behind him, one of the tiefling guards signaled for him to halt by holding up a gauntleted

hand.

Reason for entry? The guard asked.

Hoping to buy something back that belongs to me. Clueless answered.

The guard looked at him and then at Nisha, Watch those swords, I wont make you peace

tie them, but we dont need any more trouble here than we already have.

Something going on around here? The bladesinger asked the guard.

The armored tiefling regarded Clueless somewhat incredulously at that point. Something is

the reason everyones here and the city is packed twice its usual population. The whole of the

Waste is waiting for war to break out from one layer down and work its way up.

I just got here. Long trip, very isolated. Clueless remarked.

The tiefling sighed, Half of them fleeing it, half of them rushing head first into it, all of them

hoping to make some jink off it. Id take you to be the latter?

Clueless and Nisha looked around and noticed that everyone there in and around the city,

whatever expression they had, be it eagerness, anticipation, or fear; they actually expressed it.

The Waste, for whatever reason, didnt seem to be draining all of their feelings or their will to

live. An oasis in the middle of a black desert of apathy.

Nope. Im staying out of it as best I can. Clueless answered up to the tiefling.

Youre the smarter crowed then... head on in.

Clueless nodded and proceeded on into the city with Nisha in tow. As they walked in, the

city streets and even the buildings resembled nothing so much as the streets and kips of a prime

world: neat, orderly, blocky, simple architecture.

This place doesnt exactly fit in... Clueless murmured to Nisha.

Everything seemed new. All of the wood looked freshly cut. And all of the wood seemed to

be bleeding sap, all except for one building off to their right that seemed to be actively bleeding.

There was a thin trickle of dark red liquid pooling from a crack in one of the timbers that ran

the length of the roof.

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Clueless lightly reached out and touched the dripping liquid out of curiousity. The sap was

sticky and slightly warm and the blood had the consistency of actual blood, even to the point of

having a light coppery smell.

Nisha glanced at the bleeding building, Suddenly I prefer the spikes and blades and bars of

Sigil, the razorvine even.

Im curious what sort of wood it is actually... Clueless said as he paused to look again in

closer detail.

Are you so sure that its actually wood? Id put jink on there being petitioners in there...

Maybe, Clueless said with a shake of his head Lets move.

Ask your cleric friend when we find him.

Actually, Im more worried that hes going to try and take my head off. He said as he self-

consciously looked down at his ankle. The spell had begun to slightly fade, but the consistency

of the glowing shell around the gem was still there. It had roughly five or so hours left by his

measure.

Rubbing the blood-like liquid between his fingers with a raised eyebrow, the bladesinger

looked to Nisha, Well, lets go find a guy to talk to him about an elf.

As the pair continued into the heart of Death of Innocence the street was fairly wide as

they approached an intersection, glancing down the streets and looking for either the Tanarri

slavers themselves, or for the slave pens that they would likely need to pen up their captives

before likely selling them.

Worse comes to worse I can always try to scry on the slavers... Clueless muttered as they

continued walking.

Around thirty minutes later of walking the streets they wandered into a large square that

contained both a large crowd and a large amount of noise. The center of the square was dominated

by a wooden stage, newly constructed like everything else. Standing atop the stage were a score

or more of nearly naked prisoners, each chained to one another and being watched over by a pair

of Vrocks. Next to the stage was a series of cages that held more prisoners, themselves watched

over by another pair of Vrocks.

This looks like what were looking for. And if it isnt, theyll know where the competition

is or was... Clueless said as he and Nisha approached.

Prancing across the stage doing the bargaining and promotion of their mortal stock was a

scantily clad Alu-Fiend, and watching her, either as a bodyguard or an actual owner, was an

armored Babau. All Tanarri.

Forty seven jink and a trio of stingers!? Is that all I can get for this little c*nt of a celestials
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mortal dalliances?! Please... for that price Id keep her myself and have her lick my toes each

night simply because I could! The Alu-Fiend listened to the jeers and taunts of the audience

and was playing to them quite heartily to drive up the prices.

Make it fifty jink even and Ill have her perform on stage for your pleasure if you like, or

for mine if thats your fancy! 50 jink? Can I have one of you sods offer me 50 jink?... The

Alu-fiend promptly had two higher calls for the miserable looking and obviously malnourished

aasimar. All in all, it was like a meat market.

Nisha glanced at the approaches to the stage and at the locks on the cages and on the chains

on the prisoners while Clueless scanned the crowd and the prisoners for his former companion.

The crowd was filled with a mix of onlookers, hecklers, protesters, and buyers. The buyers tended

to be other fiends, or planars of mixed and bastardized blood.

Clueless considered two Vrocks at once a task he could accomplish, though it would be

difficult. The Babau was less dangerous physically, but it might be able to take him down from

a distance. The Alu-Fiend, for all her lack of armor or visible weapons, like a Cambion, was

hard to read. She might have been the easiest of them all, or quite possibly the hardest. And

Clueless did not see an elf matching his description.

As Nisha and Clueless continued to scan the crowd and the area at large, there was an

argument starting near the front of the crowd over who had the winning bid on the nude aasimar

woman on the stage. Two mercenary group leaders claimed it was they, and swords were being

drawn as the Alu-Fiend stepped back.

... F***ing hell... literally. Where is he...? Clueless muttered as he flicked his wings for a

moment to gain a few feet over the crowd and glance down the side streets in the event that his

former comrade had already been sold and was yet in view.

The fight that was breaking out near the stage began to get more and more heated till the

babau, who so far had been fairly reclusive up on the stage, walked forward, and at about a thirty

foot distance simply stared at the two soldiers trading sword blows. Both soldiers immediately

went rigid, clutched their heads and screamed. There was a clatter of steel on cobblestones and

the crowd went silent and subdued very suddenly as the men writhed in agony on the ground.

Well then... Ill restart the bidding at 45 jink and see if any of you have the gold and the

brains this time around to be reasonable... The Alu-Fiend said as the men continued to moan.

Well, thats got to hurt... Clueless said as he continued scanning the area, squirming for-

wards to see if he couldnt find, and catch by the elbow, a less armored person who looked like

they may have been here for a bit before himself.

Leaving Nisha to practice pickpocketing, Clueless found one man near the front of the crowd
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who appeared to be a merchant, or at least employed by one. A human, he appeared to be

taking notes of the people sold, but hadnt appeared to be buying, or placing bids at all.

Hey... may I ask you a question? Clueless asked the man.

He turned around and raised an eyebrow before putting away his notebooks and extending a

hand, Forthran Darbus, planar trading consortium. How can I be of service cutter?

Clueless nodded shook the mans hand, Clueless... Im actually here looking for a particular

elf, he got sold out in this direction by mistake.

Forthran jerked his head back towards the stage, Not so much mistakes involved with these

Im afraid to say. Most of them just picked up for lack of an armed escort, wherever they got

taken. The consortium disapproves of the practice, but regardless, they like to keep tabs on who

or what the market is supporting.

Clueless nodded before he asked, ...Have there been elves already sold this day? Or yesterday

perhaps...

Darbus considered the question as he started flipping through his notebook. A number of

pages later he looked back up and shook his head, No... not today. However, mid morning

yesterday, yes. At that time there was one elven female and one elven male sold, each of them

in different lots.

Do you have a description of the male?

Darbus chuckled, I take my job seriously, they dont pay me for nothing. Estavan picks

bloods for a purpose. And so yes, I do. Tall, thin, most elves are. Dressed in tattered blue and

silver clothing, looks like hed been stripped of armor but he still had a sword belt on him, empty

of course. Mangled holy symbol, and had embroidered ones ripped from his clothing.

Clueless nodded at the matching details of the description, Could the holy symbol have at

one time been Erevan Illsere?

The planar trade consortium member pondered on it for a bit, The colors fit, but its one

heck of a trick to play on his own clergy... pardon my joke.

It wasnt his trick. Clueless said back darkly. And may I inquire as to who picked him up

and where I might find them?

Well, I did take note of several things: he went cheaper than expected despite his obvious

martial training; something about a leg injury. He was sold to a group led by a Night Hag, she

had a few Baatezu with her, they looked rogue, but I couldnt tell. My best guess is with the

others they bought that morning, theyre heading for the brewing conflict, what everyone else

with a brain thats not addled, is trying to avoid. Probably heading towards Center.

Clueless frowned with some concern and then nodded a little, Alright... ok. Now the trick
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is whether or not theyve already left town or not...

Darbus humored him with a quick answer, Well, if a teleport answers that question...

They... teleported out? Clueless have a low sigh as he ran a hand back through his hair.

Right after payment. Eager to leave it looked like. Id put jink on where they were going

though, precisely where Im not.

... alright. Where? Clueless asked.

How much is it worth to you? Darbus smiled like a shark in Porphatys.

Nisha walked up next to the two of them and held out a handful of coin to the merchant with

a smile. At the same time she dropped two empty purses with cut purse strings to the ground

behind her back.

Like I said, Center. Couple different names, Center of Woe, Center of Misery, Dandy Wills

City, the big mercenary camp at the center of the Grey Waste. See, quirk of the plane, all three

layers converge at the one spot that the city is on. With rumors, or not rumors, flooding up

from Pluton, the place is the rallying point for all of the soldiers of fortune this side of the great

wheel.

Clueless nodded back, ...alright. His wings stiffened a little in the Sidhe equivalent of a sigh

before relaxing again, Alright.... how much did he go for?

8000 jink.

Garroth made around thirty thousand jink from the original sale... those slavers probably got

him for some unknown price from our triple ruled friend, and they sold him for eight thousand?

Nisha said with a perplexed look on her face.

Odd... was there a name for the buyer so I know who to ask for there? Or is she anonymous?

Clueless asked as Nisha handed Darbus some more coin, and surreptitiously dropped another

empty coin purse behind her back.

Hmm...let me look... He said as he scanned the page of notes. Ah, here it is. Marian

Ravelsdotter.

Thank you. Clueless said as he noticed that Nisha had once again slinked off into the crowd.

Good luck finding him. Now, if youll excuse me, I need to get back to work. Darbus

tipped his hat at the bladesinger and started jotting down notations to keep up with the last

auction that was well underway

Clueless found Nisha sitting down on a rock next to one of the support timbers of a building

adjacent to the cages. You up for coming to Center with me?

Mmm hmm. She smiled up at him. Well Ive never been to Center, so this is like a vacation

for me. Of sorts. If you consider the plane of pure evil to be a vacation. Lets just say that Im
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playing sensate for a day just because, or something like that. Who says Im supposed to ever

really make perfect sense.

Nisha stood up, So how you want to travel? From the map, Center is about a three day

journey overland from here, no Styx access.

Nisha paused and waited for Cluelesss reaction, But, I try to be prepared for stuff like

this... She grinned and reached into her satchel.

And I am rapidly becoming less and less surprised by this.

Hold this... She said as she handed Clueless Xanxost.

Clueless took the Slaadi head and poked the nose in a bit of random curiosity. Tanarri

resist weapons, cold, fire, and acid. Even acid caught on fire. Xanxost has tried that once, it

didnt work either.

Clueless snickered softly as Nisha dug around some more and took out a long copper scroll

tube. She slipped out a single vellum scroll before putting back the scroll case and stuffing

Xanxost back into her bag. Alright, theres only one use here, so lets hope that we wont need

to leave immediately when we get there. And its a little... ok a lot... beyond my normal ability

to trigger, so cross your fingers.

Ill cross every appendage that I can... Clueless said as he flipped his wings up and crossed

them across one another with a grin.

Unfurling the scroll, Nisha muttered a few words, correcting her pronunciation once or twice,

before tapping the page and uttering a command word. The town faded from view instantly and

there was a sense of cold as they were both temporarily superimposed upon the Astral, but then

something odd happened. There was a gut-wrenching feeling, like the pull of a magnet, and they

both could mentally and physically feel the spell snag on something.

The spell abruptly ended and they both reappeared standing in the middle of a gray plane

dotted with scrub and a few stunted trees. Off near the horizon they could see a large, walled

city. But maybe a mile from them, a large wide hill broke the gray monotony with a glassy

black obsidian monolith rising from its surface, perhaps a fifth of a mile or more into the sky.

Symbols larger than both Clueless and Nisha were tall dotted the surface and glowed with a pale

red light. There was a sense of both attraction and dread simultaneously emanating from the

colossal block of glassy stone.

Sodding hells... Nisha muttered before she turned around and went deathly silent as she

noticed the monolith.

Nisha, where are we? Clueless asked the tiefling.

Chapter 26

This letter was left for you, though Im afraid I didnt see who brought it in. There isnt a

name on the envelope either. The head of the serving staff said as she handed Florian a sealed

envelope.

Oh? Addressed to me? The cleric asked.

Oh, no sir, it was addressed to all of you.

Really? Florian raised an eyebrow as he walked into the back room with the others.

Just as long as its not a ransom note for Nisha and Clueless Ill be fine with it. Bills, less

so. And another offer to buy the inn, that goes right to the fire portal... Toras said.

The envelope was simply marked to The Owners of the Portal Jammer and contained a

single short letter and a map. Fyrehowl sniffed at the air as the letter was unfolded and placed

on the tabletop for all to read.

Him again. The lupinal said before the letter was fully laid out.

The letter read: Greetings my past collaborators and may I once again congratulate you on

a job well done from when last we saw fit to work with each other. While two of your companions

are off rushing headlong into the Gray Waste on errands of their own, I have information for you

that should perk your interest severely. I am aware that you wish to investigate certain... trade

routes... mentioned by the Imshenviir mercane, as well as their shipments to alleviate hunger

there in Elysiums layer of Belarian. I have information relating to this that may be vital to you,

and once again this appears to be a case of mutual interest. Meet me in the ruins of the Temple

of Eternal Darkness in UnderSigil at antipeak this evening.

The letter was signed The Cheshire Fiend and emblazoned with the triple circled symbol

of the Wheels Within Wheels. The map gave a rough route down into the sewers, tunnels, and

warrens below the streets of Sigil to a point and instructions to follow the trail of silver.

Fyrehowl looked up at the group, As much as I know I really shouldnt trust a self admitted

fiend who arguably used us once already to set up an assassination, Im worried about what may

301
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or may not be going on in my home plane. If he has information that I can pass on to the lord

of Rubicon, I need to find out at least what he has to say and then judge it from there.

Ill have to agree with you, as much as I dont trust him as far as I could throw him. Toras

said.

...you could probably throw him halfway across the room without really trying. That

clichA c really doesnt work for someone built like you Toras... Skalliska said with a smirk.

Toras smiled, But I really trust you Skalliska. Shall we find out just how much?

Skalliska huffed slightly as the half celestial flexed a bicep for a moment before Tristol inter-

jected. Has anyone here ever actually heard of the place hes asking us to meet him at?

There was silence all around before the kobold answered, if tentatively and with a pause in

her voice. Ive never been there, its too close for my comfort to some rumored cranium rat

hives and a few unmapped catacombs of unknown origin, definitely not Dustie. However, it was

supposed to have been a Yugoloth stronghold within Sigil itself that they used to spy on the

dreams of Sigils residents.

Florian was about to ask a question before Skalliska cut her off, And no, I dont have a clue

how they could do that. Some artifact or some such they were said to have. However the whole

place was nearly demolished and then abandoned in the final days of the Faction War. At least

thats what I heard.

From this letter I wouldnt be so sure that it was ever abandoned. Tristol mused.

****

Clueless and Nisha hovered and looked at the massive monolith that dominated their view

of the plane around them. Nisha glanced off at the horizon and pointed towards the walled city

that lay several miles away.

Well... were close enough to see Center..., she said before motioning back at the monolith,

But whatever that thing is, it scragged my teleport.

Clueless nodded, ...good enough then I guess. Maybe its some form of protection for the

city?

Well, thats no form of infernal that Ive ever seen. Nisha said as she pointed to the bizarre

and glowing runes carved into its surface. In fact, Ive never seen any language even close to

that, and I speak 6...

Clueless peered at the runes on the obelisk closely, Youre right, Ive never seen it either....

Im thinking we just shouldnt mess with it huh?

Sounds good to me, its something to ask Tristol or Skalliska about certainly.

Clueless nodded, Definitely.

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Nisha took out a pen and started modifying her map of the Waste. As she concentrated

on the map, Clueless watched with concern as the monolith began to hum just below audible

range. But, while not hearing anything, he felt it vibrate through the thin membranes of his

wings and he could feel the ground shaking, sending little trails running through the dust. As

that occurred, the runes on the stone began to shift from red to blue and Clueless felt a wave

of negative emotions rushing outwards from them like a tidal wave of crushing despair orders of

magnitude worse than the normal misery of the Gray Waste.

Um... Nisha? Uh oh... He hastily blurted out as he reached over to grab hold of the tiefling,

...fly time.

Eeeep! Nisha said with a squeal as Clueless burst into the air with her at his side while he

tried to gain distance between themselves and the monolith.

Looking back at the stone spike rising up from the Waste like a headstone in the multiverses

graveyard of morality, the runes seemed to be pulsing, almost like they were written upon a living

beings heart. The emotional agony melted away as the two grew further and further away from

the stone, the emotional draining of the Waste seeming to retreat as the monolith grew more

and more distant. Eventually, when they were approximately a mile away from the obelisk, it

vanished, like desert mirage into a haze, and then was gone without a trace, swallowed up by

the Waste.

Disappearing monolith... fun fun... Clueless said. Whatever the stone spire was, he felt a

lingering dread at having seen it, and also that in some way it was something that was best left

unseen and untouched.

Over the next few hours Clueless and Nisha approached to within twenty or so miles of the city

of Center, making good time on a combination of the half-feys wings and a spell of expeditious

retreat. Growing closer to the city they noticed a great flurry of activity on the ground that

surrounded the city, though Center was more properly a fortified, iron walled citadel than it was

a city. Death of Innocence was a city full of refugees; Center was, in great contrast to that safe

haven, a gigantic mercenary camp.

While it was likely more of a trade city proper months or weeks prior, Center was currently

surrounded by a sprawling mass of tent cities still popping up around the walls with masses of

figures from dozens of races going through combat training. Scattered about they could also see

mages here and there practicing spells and fiends marching about between the mercenary camps

and the city itself which seemed as if it could barely hold the numbers straining to fit within its

steel shod walls.

While Clueless and Nisha approached Center from its Niffleheim side, as the city had one side
 304

bordering on each of the three layers of the Waste, there was a massive contingent of Yugoloths

camped outside the Pluton approach of the walls. They seemed to be keeping a safe distance

from Center, however there was a large amount of foot traffic between their camp and many of

the mercenary camps sprawling for miles around; recruiting...

Clueless hissed through his teeth briefly at the sight of the loths as he looked for any visible

night hags. Looking down the bladesinger noticed a few figures that might have been hags, each

of them herding larvae and looking like they were selling them to the fiendish mercenaries, but

having no luck selling them to the loths.

Continuing to fly towards the city, they were within two miles of the gates, and they were

not the only persons flying towards or around the city. A good number of Alu-Fiends and some

cambions were flying above the ground clutter simply to avoid it and expedite their own travels,

and near the Pluton gate there was a wizard or sorcerer with wings of flame, but they appeared

to be the result of a spell and not a natural gift.

Well, Clueless said as he and Nisha looked for a spot to land, preferably a spot where

people seemed to be registering or entering the city proper.

Not the Pluton side please... Nisha pleaded, Fewer Yugoloth the better...

Slowing his speed to a milling hover, they looked down at the city itself. The Yugoloths did

have a large amount of traffic and there was a grandiose palace at the center of the city. The

town was split into three distinct, separate sections, one of them being fully walled off from the

other two, the Oinos bordering section of the city, likely to quarantine that portion of Center to

avoid spreading the occasional plague from the Wastes first layer into the other two sections of

the populace.

After some deliberation between Nisha and himself, Clueless landed within one of the few

open areas leading up to the Niffleheim bordering gate of the city. Mercenaries of nearly every

lower planar race were passing by, to and from the city and their own contingents and companies

surrounding the city. Nisha looked distinctly uncomfortable but followed along after Clueless,

one hand on her sword. The bladesinger as well had loosened the wrappings on his own blade,

Razor, so that in the event of a confrontation he could draw it easily.

While it took some time to work their way up to the gates, there were really no guards

to speak of, no tax to enter the city, and no carts or wagons being checked. There was no

security whatsoever, the encamped armies of Yugoloth allied mercenaries and the Pluton based

loth army that numbered well over a few hundred thousand was likely enough to dissuade any

but the insane from causing anything above a drunken knife fight. However as the two walked

through the open gates and into Centers Niffleheim district, a man was shouting out that travel
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to the Oinos side of the town was restricted, requiring teleportation in, and a two day enforced

quarantine to exit back to the rest of the city. Likely it was both for plague prevention, and that

one half of the Yugoloth conflict was based on Oinos while the other side was firmly entrenched

in Pluton; being that Mydianchlarus had personal command over the plagues of Oinos, it was

likely that both precautions were tied together intimately...

Once they had passed by the gates it seemed that on each street corner there were posted

signs directing new mercenaries to register for employment with the Yugoloth recruiters at the

palace at the center of Center. Clueless kept his eyes peeled for anyone who might look like theyd

be good and open to ask directions or locations. The half-fey also retracted his wings since he

didnt want to risk some clueless yelling Eladrin!, pointing at him, and starting a massive riot.

And wheres Kylies folks when you need them? Nisha quipped as they passed a group of

hooded Reaves and a cluster of fiend-touched lizardmen marching opposite them.

Somehow I doubt that they have touts here Nisha. Clueless replied as they walked further

into the city.

The city streets rapidly branched out in a multitude of directions, all of them packed with

people of every stripe, prime or lower planar, all of them. On some streets they passed the

occasional random fight or brawl, all of them seeming to be on the law/chaos axis between

Tanarri spawn and Baatezu spawned mortals. On the side of the street they passed a wild

haired man in black robes who was alternately chanting and shouting out to passersby.

The glory of the lower planes be unto Anthraxus! He shall reclaim his seat upon the Wasting

Tower and the false lord shall be cast down to true death and so too to all those who support

him!

Of those who filled the streets along with Clueless and Nisha, no one seemed to be blinking

at the crazed mans statements, in fact the crowd actually seemed to support him, as he received

cheers of approval from a large number of the mercenaries passing by. Clueless inhaled deeply

at the whole matter and thought to himself that yes indeed, he certainly knew which side of the

conflict Center and its inhabitants were on...

Some fifteen blocks away from the center of the city the area was filled with mostly inns,

buildings converted to armor and weapons repair and making shops, wizards hawking their

services, and everything else a sellsword might want, including the omnipresent brothels and

whorehouses that were catering to persuasion and species one might imagine possible.

Nisha poked Clueless in the ribs, Why do I have the wonderful feeling well eventually need

to talk to a loth...

Cause we probably will... He replied darkly, Typical.

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Lead on, Im following, and I really dont want to be alone in this crowd. It could be ugly if

I run into any of these mercenaries drunk... though ten pounds of smokepowder will do wonders

to clear a space in a crowd.... Nisha said as she patted her satchel with a loving smile.

Ill have to... you have!? Clueless gave a startled look at her before shaking his head.

The tiefling just grinned and patted her satchel again, Antimagic field? What antimagic

field?

Riiight. Clueless said as he smirked. Well, lets go find us this Hag.

Several blocks more of wandering drew them closer to the palace and Clueless and Nisha

continued looking for either any night hags or anyone who looked like they might be able to help

them find her. While they didnt find any hags, they did notice a number of tieflings wandering

about who seemed like wandering recruiters. All of them wore a green and black uniform and

they all seemed to be canvassing the people newly arrived to the city.

One of the tieflings approached the pair as they headed in his direction. The male tiefling,

spiky hair and all, looked at the pair and smiled as he addressed them, Looking for employment

in the coming war? I can direct you to the right place.

Clueless smiled back while Nisha tried to look normal, ...actually were looking for someone.

A night hag by the name of Marian Ravelsdotter.

The recruiter furrowed his brow and thought about the name for a moment. I wouldnt know,

but if shes signed up, shed be on record with the scribes at the palace. Thats where Palinarus

is handling the entire recruitment effort before shipping out troops to Pluton to meet up with

the larger force. One of his Lordships assistants might know. Theyre available if you have good

reason, He... The tiefling paused and seemed to pale slightly, He isnt. Understandably, you

dont just ask for a meeting with an Ultraloth.

Clueless nodded back and added quietly, Alright, and yeah, you dont.

Nisha smiled, and thanked him along with Clueless, before the recruiter pointed them to-

wards the palace and walked away to accost a wizard and begin extolling to him the benefits of

registering for the war with the Arcanoloths, they being in charge of any wizards recruited, pay

being in jink and spells. The tiefling recruiter had spoken softer whenever he had referred to the

Ultroloth Palinarus.

The pair slowly walked towards the center of the city, the crowd rushing around them, pressing

in, fairly tight packed as they drew closer. Thirty minutes later they neared the palace that was

built of black marble rather than the iron that was used to build most of the buildings in the

Nifleheim portion of Center. In the blocks immediately surrounding the palace, traffic thinned

out considerably, with most of the rank and file recruits not entering, but rather allowing their
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group leaders to sign them. As they looked up at the heights of the palace as it rose above the

surrounding portions of the city Nisha made a disparaging comment regarding those who walked

into the palace being the ones who could read and write, the rest being those who just did as

they were told.

The palace was roughly four stories high, with three towers situated at the sides bordering

the three layer specific portions of the city. A vaulted dome stood at the palaces center, it

having a single spire rising up, overlooking the entire city and dwarfing the rest of the buildings

in the entire city. Standing at the massive gates into the palace were posted five Mezzoloths in

glimmering, rune scribed platemail and a Piscaloth dressed in the same; all of them carried black

iron tridents scribed with golden sigils and swirling patterns. The guards seemed to be giving

all those who entered the palace a cursory glance, though every so often they asked an entrant

for their reasons for being there, perhaps using some form of magical thought detection.

Of those entering the palace it was mostly mercenary leaders along with individual warriors

not aligned with a group, but the larger group was a mixture of wizards, sorcerers, and clerics.

The clerics all seemed a dour or fanatical lot, all of them wearing the holy symbols of evil

deities, mostly those associated with domains of death, disease, war, and conquest. Some of

those entering the palace were of neutral aligned deities, but all of them being powers of war

who, regardless of the exact nature of the conflict, the war furthered the powers portfolio.

Clueless glanced at Nisha, Under any other circumstance Id say ladies first, but I was the

one who dragged you into this, so Ill be the brave one.

And with that the bladesinger walked towards the gates. As he walked past one of the guards,

the Piscaloth held up a ruby topped rod at him and Nisha, waving it slowly over them both.

Neither Clueless nor Nisha felt anything, and it turned away from them both and did the same to

the next group passing by behind them. Having cleared them apparently, one of the Mezzoloths

waved its Oinian steel glaive at them and motioned for them to continue on inside.

Past the gates, a long marble hallway led to vaulted chamber near to the center of the palace,

the first portions of the palaces solid dome rising overhead, apparently freestanding. A large

gateway on the opposite side of the chamber that likely led to the very center of the palace was

closed and blocked by another group of Mezzoloths. In the center of the room was an armed

tiefling who was directing new entries towards one doorway or another, or one of two staircases

leading up into the palaces central tower.

Greetings cutter, how might I direct you? The tiefling said in a courteous, businesslike

manner as he approached Nisha and Clueless.

Im looking for someone, and I was told that they may have registered here. Marian Rav-
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elsdotter? A night hag.

He nodded, Soldier, spellcaster, fiend, prime, what sort? Ah yes, spellcaster and fiendish...

youll need to head straight and give this to the guards by the stairs, theyll admit you.

Clueless was handed a single black stone bearing a glowing arcane mark, and he swore that

the tiefling had smirked as he handed it to him. The guards at the staircase the tiefling had

indicated were two heavily armed and armored Nycaloths, not simply Mezzoloths. As Clueless

and Nisha approached, one of the fiends simply held out his hand, the other had its hands on a

sword on each hip.

Here you go... Clueless said as he handed the stone to the Nycaloth.

The Nycaloth said nothing as it took the stone, fingered a ring on its other hand, looked

closely at both Clueless and Nisha and finally stood to the side and allowed them to pass.

Clueless inwardly swallowed nervously, realizing just how deeply into things he and Nisha were

getting, given that whoever they were being sent up to was guarded by a pair of Nycaloths,

greater Yugoloths themselves.

Clueless and Nisha ascended the stairwell which led up and forwards and that eventually

curved around in a long spiral, leading most likely to the top tower of the castle atop the central

dome. Both of the pair looked nervously at one another as they ascended. Finally, winded from

the climbing, the stairs eventually reached a single room, all of the other doors off from the stairs

being locked or magically sealed.

The room they looked into was more a long gallery that had been converted into an office

more than anything else. Two more Nycaloth guards flanked the open doorway but make no

move to stop the pair, they only glanced at them but made no comment.

Past the door they could see in front of a large window overlooking the city a large stone

desk stacked with maps and papers, and two figures. One, clearly the larger one, had its back

turned to the pair, silently overlooking the city. The other was holding a long scroll and taking

notes dictated from the other, though neither of them appeared to be saying anything.

Nishas tail quivered in time with her lower lip as she looked at the one turned away from

them which stood some nine feet tall, dressed in a plain black robe, bald and sporting a dispro-

portionately long cranium.

Clueless looked at the Ultroloth and whispered with incredulity, ...F*** me... and bend me

over too.

The one taking notes from the Ultroloth was, as was typical, an Arcanaloth. She was female

and dressed in pale blue and purple wizards robes, looking much like a cut-rate Marauder, almost

like she was trying to actually affect that ones style of dress and mannerisms.
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...and here I was just looking for a night hag... Clueless muttered under his breath as the

arcanaloth held up her hand and gestured for him and Nisha to remain there for a moment as

she finished scribing something.

Finally, she blotted her pen, in reality extinguishing the glowing red tip of the iron stylus in

a pot of water next to the slowly wriggling Gehennan petitioner laid flat on an iron frame.

Yes? She asked impatiently.

...I was looking for a certain Marian Ravelsdotter. I was told that if she had registered she

would have done so here? Clueless said nervously as Nisha tried to be as unnoticed as possible.

The Arcanaloth replied almost immediately, A night hag, yes. She had a number of assorted

sellswords and persuaded help with her as well.

Do you know where I might find her, or more specifically, the persuaded help? I have

business with them.

Behind them, the Ultroloth began to turn around. Clueless blanched and immediately worried

that somehow the fiend had recognized his voice from some portion of his past that he himself

still didnt remember. And for that brief moment he entertained the suicidal notion of drawing

his blade and trying to kill it and its servitors, all of them.

As it turned around, its gray skin reflected ambient light, its luminous eyes glowing a pale

orange and scarlet, unblinking. There was suddenly a voice ringing inside their heads with a

sound like shattering glass and twisted iron nails being ground together, but otherwise it was

merely uncomfortable.

I have fools for guards, they know not to bother me with trivial matters. Theyre to send

me wizards, not people looking for them. Do not waste my time idiot mortals.

Clueless snapped his attention to the Ultroloth feeling cowed and intimidated. Nisha was on

the floor, clutching her head. Clearly the Ultroloths displeasure was affecting the tiefling more

so than Clueless.

Clueless bowed his head, ...my apologies. However he looked up at the Arcanaloth since

his question was still there to be answered.

The Arcanaloth was looking at the bladesinger, then at Nisha, raising one furred eyebrow

like she had seen it before and was still amused by it even after all of her time serving Palinarus.

The Ultroloths voice crashed through Nisha and Cluelesss brains again, Shylara will answer

your questions, but I have more important things to do. Leave before I flay you alive.

Cluelesss mind immediately paused at the Ultroloths mention of his scribes name. Hed seen

the name before, and recently even. She had been mentioned in the notes of Dalmar Imshenviir,

listed as having accompanied Vorkannis the Ebon to the mercanes demiplane. Then what the
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hell was she doing there in Center, serving an Ultroloth as a recruiter for Anthraxus?

Clueless remained locked to the notion as Shylara nodded and walked towards the door,

snapping a finger and having one of the Nycaloth guards bodily pick Nisha up from the floor to

haul her out of the chamber as well. As the three of them exited the chamber, the Arcanaloth

motioned at the door and it slammed shut with a resounding crash.

Clueless was tensed and his hand once more nearly reached for his sword as he would have

sworn that the loth seemed at once, both surprised and dreadfully amused to see him. But yet

he couldnt fully tell if she did in fact recognize him at all, and he wasnt willing to ask in case

she didnt...

Nisha rose her feet, rubbing her temples, from where the Nycaloth had unceremoniously

dumped her. She remained silent as the loth looked to Clueless, Now, as to your question?

Clueless reached out a hand to stabilize Nisha as the loth continued. Ravelsdotter is likely

near the Oinos side of town. If not actually outside the walls, then wandering the Pluton side,

selling larvae, or a number of slaves she had with her. If I might ask, why the interest in the

hag?

Cautiously Clueless responded, It was more one of the slaves she had. I had some personal

business with him that needs to be resolved.

Shylara nodded, scratching at some terribly persistent itch on one of her ears. Slave or free,

we all have a place in the war to come, and it likely wont be long now. I hear tell that Anthraxus

grows impatient, among other rumors.

Something in the loths tone sounded haughty, vain, belligerent even if one suspected her to

be anything but utterly and completely loyal. Or perhaps Clueless was only reading too much

into her tone considering who he had seen her name in connection with before.

Clueless looked to where Shylara was urgently scratching at some perceived itch with bared

claws, Um, excuse me, if I may? That seems... an awkward position for you to get at. Would

you like help...?

She stopped itching and chuckled, No. The answer was rather firm and Nisha noticed that

where the loth had been itching the fur wasnt displaced or even tousled despite the almost

frantic scratching with bared claws that she had been engaged in.

Clueless nodded, Very well, I felt the offer would be appropriate at the least. Ive actually

heard of you... outside of this city...

She snapped back, I would doubt you have, I keep busy. In the coming days however, that

is apt to change.

Nisha jabbed Clueless in the ribs, sharply, as he said again, No. Truly, I have.
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And again Shylara answered in measured, forceful tones, The hag likely wont remain in the

city much longer, shes apt to travel to Anthraxuss camp in the next day at most. Allies flock

to us like flies. Xenghara the reaper has allied himself with Lord Anthraxus even. What more

can I say when the Lords of the Grey Waste increasingly choose sides, and ours at that. Now go

and find your hag.

As she turned to leave, Clueless said to her, Good day... well wishes to your plans madam.

Dismissing Cluelesss last statement the Arcanaloth turned and walked back into the office,

immediately appearing to grovel as she opened the doors and stepped back into the Ultroloths

presence. Her tone was abruptly different with Palinarus than it had been with Clueless.

Clueless bit his tongue and held back from adding, And tell the Ebon hello for me! as Nisha

kicked him in the leg and tried to drag him back down the stairs.

Nisha stared heavily at Clueless on the way down the stairs, looking like she was on the verge

of flipping out on him. Still, the tiefling winced and held the side of her head on occasion as

they quickly descended the stairs.

Berk was doing his best mind flayer impression in there... She complained with another

wince.

Yep... thats what they do... Listen Nisha, Im sorry, - that - was unexpected. Clueless

said to her.

As the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, Nisha groaned and held the side of her head again.

One of the Nycaloth guards took back the black stone they carried and the other chuckled at

Nishas plight. Clearly they had seen it happen before and clearly they found it to be a veritable

riot. Without a word to the fiends, Clueless and Nisha quickly left the palace.

Once outside Nisha looked Clueless, You know, I dont think she wanted us to be there.

Probably not. In fact, Im sure that shes not a happy camper right now on multiple levels.

Clueless replied.

Good for her, overgrown puppy... Nisha said with a smirk.

Clueless leaned over to whisper in Nishas ear, ...fleas.

Or something... Nisha said as she looked to Clueless, So, where to now? I didnt exactly

hear most of what all went on in there. I had a damned gray noodle with eyes trying to screw

my brain through my nose...

****

They had spent two hours walking within the pitch black tunnels of The Great Below and

had seen little alive or moving, though the signs of frequent passage or habitation littered the

forgotten vaults and passages that wormed their way like the midnight exploits of drunken
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dwarven miners. While they never saw any cranium rats alive, they did find their corpses, most

of them dead without any exterior signs of damage that Tristol made mention of appearing to

be due to magic of an unusual nature that he wasnt familiar with.

So, Fyrehowl, any luck on smelling anything? Toras asked the lupinal.

Why do you ask? She replied.

I figured that an underground fortress of Yugoloths must be permeated with whatever smell

they give off. Shouldnt you be able to smell it before the rest of us?

Its pretty nasty down here anyways, and theres not much air movement to help me tell

where anything was coming from, even if I did smell the place. Plus, like Skalliska said, the place

has supposedly been abandoned for onwards of five years. Smells linger, but not that strong

after so many years. Fyrehowl shrugged as they continued walking.

Anyways, were almost at the end of the map here, so start looking for a trail of silver,

whatever they meant by that. The kobold glanced down each of the side passages they passed

while she kept the map levitating out a foot or so above and in front of her snout for easy

reference.

Well hello... Fyrehowl said as the architecture of the hallways changed abruptly over the

next fifty yards of the tunnel. The rough hewn stone of the passage melted away first into

smoother and almost finished stonework before transitioning into walls of fitted and polished

black marble that gave the look of a mirrored ocean of darkness whose waves lapped at the light

of their torches as they approached.

Skalliska hastily put away the map and looked down at the floor of the passage where their

current hallway intersected another at right angles perhaps thirty feet ahead, Nobody step into

the center of the intersection up ahead.

They all paused at the periphery of the junction and glanced at the circular seal that was

cut and molded into the floor. Decorated in a mixture of precious metals and covered in glyphs

and symbols in a mixture of Infernal and Abyssal, each of them carved and decorated in some

meticulous pattern or symbology, the seal resembled nothing so much as one of the oddly beautiful

manadalas of certain religious sects in Sigils Lotus Blossom District. However where they gave

off an aura of peace and tranquility, the seal set within the mirror polished black marble gave

off an aura of despair and malice.

And damn if that thing isnt magical... Tristol said, a moment after he jerked backwards,

following the completion of a cantrip to detect magic.

Any idea of what it is, or if its trapped? Fyrehowl asked the wizard.

Nothing that seems malign actually, unless you count a series of forbiddance spells worked
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into in. Undead, cranium rats... and Dabus... are warded against entry down three of these

corridors, just not the one we came here from. There look like there are a few remnants of alarm

spells, and a few already triggered contingencies that looked... pretty ugly.

And theres our trail of silver. Fyrehowl said, pointing at a twisted symbol that emerged

from the edge of the seal and protruded several inches into the corridor to their right. The silver

etched into the marble called into mind that of the Gray Waste, while a gold and an iron symbol

that were similar to the sigils of Carceri and Gehenna protruded down two of the other corridors.

Glancing at each other, they proceeded down the marked corridor with unease. The corri-

dor retained its mirror bright polish as they continued past a number of equally decadent side

passages, turning to follow the direction of the silver symbol at each of the intersections they

came to. The corridor gradually expanded in breadth and they passed a number of fragmented

and long expanded wards and spelltraps intended to obliterate intruders, all of them growing in

power as they approached the final destination of the passage.

A single, cavern-like chamber stretched out around them as they emerged from the hallway.

Fyrehowl, Toras, and Florian immediately winced from the nearly palpable weight of the un-

hallowed air that swirled around them. At the center of the vault was a massive cylindrical

shaft of cracked, blood colored crystal that swirled with motes of darkness frozen into its matrix.

However, the shaft was scorched by flames and broken halfway up its height and the rest of its

bulk above there lay dashed across the floor of the sanctuary, broken and forgotten.

Several chambers lay at the periphery of the vault and those of the companions who had hair

on the back of the necks felt it rise in the telltale, uncomfortable sign of being observed. Torass

hand gripped his sword and Fyrehowl tensed as they and the others looked across the abandoned

temples expanse at the abandoned and broken fiendish weapons and armor that littered the

ground where their owners had fallen in battle. But despite the signs of abandonment, the

temple was by no means forgotten or wholly abandoned by all of its former kin.

The smell of fiend was oppressive to Fyrehowl, and it surrounded them on almost all sides

from the ruined chambers of the abandoned temple. The lupinals nose detected the heavy scent

of Mezzoloths, as many or more than in the mercanes demiplanar castle, and a large number of

Dergholoths, Piscaloths, and Canoloths; though none of them showed themselves openly.

Well, a cultured and mellifluous voice said as it rippled across the chamber like poisoned

honey, My appreciation and thanks for answering my summons, I will endeavor to make this

worth your time.

The voice came from a figure that hovered slightly off of the mirror polished black marble of

the sanctuary floor, dressed in, or rather composed of, a black robe that was trimmed in gold,
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a pair of black gloves that hung in place at the cuffs of the robe, and a brilliant blue smile that

hovered where a normal beings head would have been. The illusory projection of the Cheshire

Fiend smiled, as always, as the group approached.

Your letter was interesting, and you certainly have our attention, if not absolutely our trust

at the moment. Fyrehowl said to the illusionary avatar of their would-be benefactor.

Indeed, such is to be expected I figure, being what I am and all, I dont have the most

sterling reputation of being honest or being straightforward. However, be that as it may, this

is very much a case of mutual interest as it was last time. The fiend smiled wider and paced

across the chamber, as best it could without having feet.

Fyrehowl glanced warily at the adjacent chambers of the sanctuary as she questioned the

fiend, So what can you tell us about the mercane and Belarian?

And what exactly is it you want from us for that information? Florian added.

The blue grin chuckled, Trust me on this...

Tristol scoffed.

Let us simply say that I exist as part of a specific faction within the Yugoloth hierarchy.

The Cheshire Fiend held up one hand and a shimmering illusion appeared in the air of the

triple circle symbol of the Wheels Within Wheels. War is brewing on the Waste between those

of my race loyal to the former Oinoloth, Anthraxus the Decayed, and the current Oinoloth,

Mydianchlarus. Within the conflict that is coming there exists opportunity to conveniently

dispose of ones rivals within the haze of events before, during, and immediately after both sides

erupt into open conflict. Suffice to say, I wish to see certain groups rise while others fall.

The fiend paused and allowed his words to sink in before he continued. A small group of my

kind has taken refuge in Elysium, of all places, working with a nearly fallen lupinal for mutual

benefit. They seek to obtain a certain prize that exists upon the plane, and the guardinal seeks,

in his own way, to atone for a stain upon his home plane and upon his race. Ask Duke Jalinon,

the Leonal commander of Rubicon to explain what I mean by taint. Its your races secret after

all, I shouldnt go and spoil it.

Fyrehowl looked at the Cheshire Fiend with suspicion as it continued to speak.

They arent making as much progress as they would like, but thats where the mercane came

into play. They were delivering living mortal slaves and a number of other supplies to the fiends

in Belarian. To alleviate hunger most certainly... Suffice to say I wish to see the inhabitants

within their hidden tower in Belarian to perish to the last, butcher them all. Those upon Belarian

are loyal to Mydianchlarus, though they only recently they came into power in a coup over the

former faction that was loyal to Anthraxus. The Wheels would have those currently in power
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removed utterly.

So youre willing to help Elysium, even going so far as to do something good just to score

political points in the civil war that you have brewing, so you say? Toras asked bluntly.

The Cheshire Fiend responded to the question with a fervor that dripped with hatred, Very

much so. You rid yourself of fiends in the heart of the plane of pure good and we rid ourselves

of a bothersome element of our enemies. Our plans are not petty little machinations. The death

of Mydianchlarus was foreordained. Wheels Within Wheels.

Chapter 27

Nisha and Clueless pressed through the crowd of mercenaries and merchants as they headed

towards the Pluton district of Center. The bladesinger glanced over to the tiefling, Well since

shes about to head off to another camp tomorrow or so I figure we should start looking right

now. For the moment shes likely near the Oinos side - outside the walls, or wandering the Pluton

side, selling larvae. Well try Pluton first since theres no quarantine on the way back.

Nisha chuckled, Thank you... disease is bad.

That too... Im not in the mood to rescue the cleric, turn around and go oh and by the

way....

As the two of them approached the entrance to the Pluton side of the city after a few more

blocks of walking they found the streets less crowded, though it seemed that there were a larger

number of spellcasters and highups wandering the streets. Rather than iron, the buildings all

seemed to have been cut from one huge block of marble.

Strolling through the black marble gateway that marked the boundary of the Pluton sector of

Center they passed a group of possibly drunk half-orc and tiefling mercenaries. They red-faced,

laughing and staggering men were also pulling along a shabbily dressed woman along with them

and one of them audibly boasted about the price that That withered old hag charged us for a

nights worth of free whoring!

Clueless stopped in midstep and turned to approach the gang of sellswords, Hold! Which

hag was this?

The men stopped and two of them drew swords before their leader held his hand up to stop

them.

Clueless smirked a little, falling into the mood of things, I already got one of those - she

needs a birthday present.

The mercenary leader chuckled, Sorry berk, but we got the last fairer sex from her. But if

youre into anything else, shes got a cripple left. Down the street and past the potion peddler.

316
317

Clueless nodded while Nisha stared daggers into his back before the merc captain laughed at

them both, goosed his new property and walked off down the street with his gang in tow. As a

few of the drunkards moved off they tossed a couple insults after them as the group moved away

to enjoy their purchase.

Which one of you twos the woman?

Hope you didnt pay much for him sweety!

He aint interested in you honey, not by the looks of him. Prissy elf.

Clueless muttered, Thanks. As the band moved off and then he turned to face Nisha who

looked none too happy.

You couldnt come up with a better story than youd bought me and wanted to get me a

present ? Oh please. Id love for anyone to try. Theyd be missing more than their purse by

the end of it. Nisha said pointedly, I grew up in the Hive, believe me that could have been a

career option. Same if youd grown up there too... prissy elf boy.

Nisha winked at the last comment, obviously enjoying passing along one of the drunkards

insults to Clueless who didnt have a drop of actual elven blood in him at all. Most simply had

never seen one of his kind.

Anyways, a bit of words aside, lets go and well yammer more about that later? Come on.

Sorry about that, I was looking for some way to find exactly where theyd seen that hag.

Truly Im sorry Nisha... Clueless said as he walked alongside the tiefling who had dropped any

irritation and was then simply verbally jabbing her companion for the sake of jabbing.

Lets scoot before someone buys him up. That cripple sounds like our target. The bladesinger

said as he and Nisha quickly walked to the end of the street. There they could see a cluster of

fiends and a single tall and crooked night hag standing in front of a number of larvae, and a

bound, hobbling elf.

One of the five imps hanging around the hag turned around and took notice of the pair as they

approached, In the market for a slave sir? Good eating, good killing, and claims to be trained

in healing. Buy em and fight off the diseases of Oinos for you and your fellow swordsman.

Clueless looked at the crippled elf dispassionately, Oddly enough - yes I am in the market.

Nisha noted that the elfs leg was heavily bandaged and soaked through with blood. As well,

the man was dressed in tattered clerical vestments and seemed to favor his other leg heavily. In

truth it seemed like the man they had come to find.

All five imps turned around then along with a robed Amnizu and the Night Hag who had a

Wastrel familiar perched on her shoulder, its reddish eyes glowing dimly.

The Hag smiled a grin of broken, crooked and yellowed teeth at her two potential customers,
 318

Now just what can Marian do for you today child?

Clueless pointed down at the elf, That one... hes injured... but elves live long, if theyre in

the right spot. Whats your asking price for him?

The elf was shoved by one of the imps and he slowly began to turn around, a wretched and

despondent look on his face while the hag continued to grace the world with her own grimy

yellow and mottled brown grin.

As the elf saw Clueless, at first he didnt make much of a response, then he wrinkled his face

and just seemed to be confused or thinking heavily. Clueless noticed and muttered to himself

and the elf in elven, Stillness an old codeword they had used in the past that they had used

to mean that one of them had a plan and to run with it.

The Hag looked over both Clueless and then Nisha. You can use him, so twenty thousand.

Both of them winced at the highball cost but gathered that she was simply tossing out an

obscene sum to see if he would bite. Nisha continued to scoff at the cost and looked at the hag

while she pointed down at the elfs bundled leg, Whats wrong with his leg? And can I at least

take a look at it?

Clueless nodded to the tiefling, ... see if it can be fixed...

Marian nodded and grumbled, Go ahead. It festered, but itll heal, he can walk.

Nisha wandered over and looked at the clerics bad leg. Looking under the bandages she got

a wide-eyed look and almost touched the gaping wound in his ankle. Her expression of shock

wasnt put on for dramatic purpose.

Bad is hardly a word for it. Nisha said as she looked to Clueless and then to the hag. Itll

end up costing us a cleric to heal it properly.

Marian chuckled and as she grinned again so did all the imps, almost on cue. The Amnizu

rolled his eyes.

Clueless nodded to Nisha then looked at the hag with a raised eyebrow, Ive got the feeling

theres a reason hes the last of your merchandise. Would you like to make a different offer,

maam?

10,000 then dear... The hag said.

Clueless nodded, Thats doable.

At the bladesingers acceptance of the price, Marians smile actually became legit. How

about I throw in a larvae too, tell your friends who you bought him from?

Um, sure... Im sure theyll ask. Clueless said, taken back and befuddled by the offer

somewhat.

Marian smiled again and gestured to the gaggle of imps, Or an Imp. Ill give you one of
319

them if thatd be better for you.

As the hag made mention of the imps they all turned to her, eyes buggy. The Amnizu

chuckled at their expense but said nothing.

I think they would miss your presence... Clueless said with a chuckle.

Yeah, sure they would... said the Amnizu with another roll of its eyes which garnered it

Ravelsdotters familiar shooting it the look.

Clueless inwardly could only think that the rest of his party would end up freaking if he

walked back with either of those two freebies. Nisha imagined chasing Toras around the inn with

a wriggling larva.

As Clueless shook his head in the negative towards the imps the hag held out a bag to take

her payment. After she counted the coins with a cantrip she then handed the chain attached to

the elf to Nisha.

And yer larva... take em out whenever ye want. Ol Marian only sells the best of them. The

hag said as she took out a small gem, spokes a command word and one of the larvae disappeared

from the group in front of her while the gem began to glow.

Thank you... Clueless said as he took the gem and smiled. Well wishes to your business...

She handed the gem to the bladesinger, smiled a gap toothed smile and walked off down the

street, chatting with the Amnizu as the imps ushered the larvae to follow.

...Damn but this has been a chase after you, you know? Clueless said in elven as he knelt

down to examine his companions leg while Nisha unlocked the shackles around his wrists and

ankles.

The cleric looked up at them both and whispered, I know you, one of you, but I cant

remember your name, or even my own.

Clueless reached out to brush the elfs hair back gently, Thats ok. I dont know my name

either... Ive still got the thing in my leg that they took from yours.

The elf shuddered at the mention of the gem from his leg, They put something in my leg,

made me do things, like I was a spectator in my own head.

Clueless nodded back, Trust me, I know the feeling.

Looking down at the elfs leg there was a gaping, bleeding hole where the gem had been and

it was clearly infected. The gem appeared to have been ripped out, but removed by surgery.

Nisha wrinkled her nose at the hole And were gonna have to get you someplace to tend to this

thing.

Ive got *lots* of questions for you, but I also have an idea where youre supposed to be.

Will you trust me to get you there? The half-fey said to his former adventuring partner.
 320

The cleric looked up, on the verge of tears, Yes. Please just get me away from this place

though, its been eating away at my soul since I came here...

Clueless nodded and supported him as they began to move again. He looked over to Nisha

and motioned to the elf, Hey Nisha, meet well - one of the other guys who used to have a rock

in their ankle.

Nisha looked at them both, It does that, and nice to meet you. Can we leave? She pranced

back and forth nervously on her hooves. No teleports left, no planeshifts either. Id like to leave

the lower planes though.

Rightio. Well... Clueless paused to think for a moment, I doubt we want to ask for portals

out of here.

Umm... no. The tiefling quipped as they passed a group of cambions.

Lets see what my next trick of the day is... The bladesinger muttered as he tapped the

bubble of golden liquid in the choker at his neck. He recalled the basic idea of a Planeshift and

brought to mind the vague image of the outlands and the city of Tradegate.

Nisha winced as Clueless took her hand and they all abruptly vanished from the streets.

Clueless felt a burning in his veins as he used the liquid magic, whatever it was, and it staggered

him for a moment as they blinked back into existence. It had never done that before, but neither

had he attempted to use the liquid to extend himself so far beyond his own normal ability to

cast spells.

As the feeling left his head he released the button with a cough and a wince before he was

doubled over by a spasm of pain that felt like his blood had been ignited. Oh that f*ing

hurt...ow.

Wow, you got us back! Nisha said almost incredulously as the cleric knelt down on his

knees, kissing the ground and praying.

Dont sound too surprised there Nisha... Clueless said, as the pain receded, though not

entirely.

The air was cold and they had reappeared on a flat, nearly featureless plane. The sky was

hazy and with no sun, only a soft and washed out glow from no particular source, while off in

the distance the spire rose up into the clouds.

Nisha looked at Clueless, Tradegate? Faunal? Fortitude?

I was aiming for Tradegate... Clueless answered back.

Well planeshift isnt aimed, thatd be a gate.

The bladesinger laughed sharply, I think a gate would have taken my head off... Do you

have any teleports left?

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Nisha squirmed a bit before answering, Yeah. Kinda. You?

Clueless raised an eyebrow at her, ...Not really. I kind of pushed my luck already. On the

other hand - Ill buy ya a new set of scrolls...

The tiefling shrugged as she took out a scroll case made of some sort of hide, inscribed with a

holy symbol of Talona. She whistled innocently as she took it out before mentioning, Drunken

spellcasters and tight crowds are my friend.

An eyebrow went up on Cluelesss face in reply, Fun fun fun.

Nisha popped it open and began jury-rigging the spell. As it went off after only a few attempts

to trigger it they found themselves standing on the edge of the gatetown of Faunel.

Inn & healer? Or can you cast that yourself now that we got the chains off you? They had

stuff written on them that looked like curses to prevent you from casting... Nisha asked the elf.

He nodded back slowly, Food and water please.

Clueless looked to Nisha, He may not even be *aware* of the ability to do that. But, he

said, then looking over and nodding, Food and water it is. I could use breakfast myself.

A half hour later, the three of them sat in a private room in an inn in the gatetown, Nisha

having paid for it with the jink of the same drunken caster whose scroll had gotten them to the

town in the first place. Clueless had cleaned the elfs wounded leg out and changed the dressings

on it while Nisha had paid for food and extra blankets to be brought up to the room.

The elf had already begun to recite a litany of prayers, and slowly but surely some color

returned to his flesh and the hole in his ankle began to seal. While it would likely leave a

permanent scar it would heal and he would walk again without difficulty in all likelihood. By

the end of his prayers there was no lingering trace of the gem or anything else in the wound aside

from the livid scar across his ankle where it had once been embedded down to the bone.

Nearly an hour later he looked up from his devotions and whispered something, They sent

me to the mazes...

****

Tristol looked at the rest of his fellows as they stood around him just outside Tradegate where

they had arrived by way of its portal from Sigil. It had been several hours since they had met

with the Cheshire Fiend in the depths of Sigils Great Below, and they were collectively worried

about what they would find when they investigated the second layer of the plane of ultimate

good.

Everyone ready? The aasimar mage said as he twitched his tail steadily behind himself.

There was a smattering of yes answers from the group before Fyrehowl asked a question to

them all.
 322

So were agreed once we get there to travel to Rubicon and find out if they have any

knowledge of this all, or anything else they can tell us before we go running in? I think it best

to let them at least know what we know, and what the ...fiend... told us before we get ourselves

into trouble. After all, if we die in the process without telling them whats going on then its all

for naught. I cant find a problem with that. Florian said with a nod.

Same here, its a reasonable idea and they can at least tell us a bit about the layer well be

on once we arrive there. Toras replied.

Skalliska nodded and asked another question, Now, correct me if Im wrong, but for a plane

of pure good Ive heard some rather strange things about that second layer, Belarian.

Fyrehowl looked slightly amiss, but Tristol picked up the question. How so, Im not super

familiar with it myself. Sure Im a few generations descended from someone on the plane, but

Ive never actually been there or read much about it.

The kobold flashed a grin before she started lecturing. Like I said, for a plane of pure

good the second layer is pretty nasty and has the tendency to belch out evil creatures, usually

corrupted animals and such but every so often a fiend will blunder out of the swamp.

Skalliska glanced to the lupinal who again could only shrug.

Of course they cant leave the plane or get off the layer because its sealed off from the rest

of the planes and even the rest of Elysium. How, nobody really knows, and the Guardinals wont

talk about it, or seem to not know the dark of it themselves. But the only way in or out of the

plane is by the river Oceanus.

Toras interjected, And anything evil that tries to get out that way gets roasted by the river

pretty much.

Exactly, its a river of holy water more or less. Anything there on Belarian thats evil is

trapped there. Just dont ask me how they could have gotten in in the first place, or why theyd

even be there. Its a contradiction for the place to be like that really, and its confusing to say

the least.

Again, Fyrehowl shrugged. I dont know what to tell you honestly. Ive never actually been

to that layer in all my years, only the other three layers. Very few people actually travel to

Belarian. But, she said, We will soon and well answer whatever questions you have I figure.

And with that, Tristol completed his spell and they all felt an immediate tug on their beings

as the world dissolved around them in a flash of brilliant light. The transition between planes felt

much more different than their previous travels to Acheron, the ethereal, or even the Outlands.

After a brief burst of cold as their essence tunneled through the Astral they felt a warmth

and sense of joy as the world once again took form around them when they reappeared on a
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mountainside in Elysiums second layer of Eronia.

Fyrehowl smiled, closed her eyes and slowly breathed as she once again took in the feel of

the plane of her origin. As she basked in the essence of the plane the others could only stare and

wonder at the plane surrounding them all. Brilliant sunlight shimmered down from a perfect

blue sky that rained down sunlight upon a land of tall, majestic mountains and sheltered verdant

valleys of pure, untouched natural beauty. And above it all was the sense of unquestioning

belonging extending from the very air itself they breathed.

Dont stare and wonder too long, itll make it harder to leave when we have to eventually.

The lupinal said to her friends as they shook their heads and followed her down the mountainside

towards one of the forested vales below. At the edge of the vale ran the shimmering, sun-touched

ribbon of blue that marked the edge of the great river Oceanus.

What was that? Tristol asked he blinked. A single tear ran down his face as he turned

away from the sky above.

Dont become too attached or you wont be able to leave. Its the mirror of Hades. That

plane takes away your free will, your feelings, your beliefs and your spirit and leaves you apathetic,

drained and unable to leave by your own actions. Elysium though makes you unwilling to leave.

Having seen the face of perfection, how could you abide to separate yourself from it? We have

something to do though, come.

Together and resolute they moved steadily to the river on the horizon that would eventually

bring them to Belarian and the fortress of Rubicon. With the sun shining down warmly and the

wind at their backs they proceeded steadfast and smiling, the plane itself rewarding the will and

intent to do good.

****

The Keeper of the Tower was smiling as he gazed down at a series of reports that lay scattered

across his desk in an organized chaos of paper, petitioners and sensory stones. Helekanalaith

reached up and adjusted the gold rimmed spectacles perched on his snout as habit, though in

truth neither he nor any other of his kind needed them, it simply happened to be an affectation

to imply greater wisdom or knowledge.

And I trust that youve sent the Elysian bastards a fine little present of well meaning deceit?

The Keeper never looked up at his current guest as he spoke.

Everyone involved with me gets what they want, more or less, I aim to please all. Anyone

involved in this who hasnt been dealing with me... well... lets just say theyll have whats been

coming to them. No?

Helekanalaith glanced up into the shimmering blue grin that hovered in the air in front of
 324

his desk. This time the smiling icon had affected a pair of spectacles like his own and sprouted

fangs. But still, the Cheshire Fiend seemed entirely too chipper at times.

Everything will happen as The Ebon has planned down to the last drop of blood spilt on

planes as far removed as Celestia and the Abyss. A pity I wont be directly involved in it before

its all reached a climax. But when is our kind ever directly involved? Let the Mezzoloths fight

while we push paper and pull strings. After all, its how weve always done things. The Keeper

said as he smiled back at his representative who flashed cobalt fangs in reply.

But we do get to enjoy the benefits of being on a winning side, something which not everyone

in this conflict will be a part of. Assuming of course that all goes as planned.

It had better. Ive already had to give up a toy of mine in this all and if things dont work

according to our plans then Im second in line to face the consequences when the dust settles

and the blood dries. The Ebon would of course be directly held accountable, not that I see any

flaw in his plans in the slightest. Helekanalaith said, hastily adding the final conditional to his

last statement as he felt an unsettling chill pass over him. The same occurred whenever he had

spoken his co-conspirators name aloud in anything but high esteem.

In any event my lord, do you have any further instructions for me to carryout before I return

to my duties? I have to go send two more to Elysium to meet up with their fellows. Theyll be

needed for what weve sent them to do. The Cheshire Fiend said as it looked at the Keeper.

Helekanalaith thought for a moment before replying. Yes. Continue to ensure that the

Marauder has little use of her own toy for the moment. Being as how Im to be denied the use

of my own to further The Ebons designs I feel it only equitable that she and I at least be equal

partners in this all. I believe that you can accomplish that, and again, make sure that they carry

out what needs to be done in Elysium. Mydianchlaruss followers must be butchered to the last

and make certain that the rogue lupinal dies quickly. I have no wish for him to be questioned,

not that he knows much more than hes been told or deludes himself into believing.

The Cheshire Fiend nodded back, She wont have access to him for several more days at the

very least; more if I can help it. As for the rest of it, trust in me my lord. Its not an entirely

alien concept to us all, and you know me better than most I should think.

The Keeper sighed and removed his glasses before looking pointedly at his servant, I know

the meaning of trust among our kind more so than most. I know just what it means for us to

express it and the logical ends to which it proceeds. I have learned through that that pragmatism

is the best I should aim for in all cases, and I am ultimately pragmatic in all things including

this current endeavor. As for trusting you? Youve never failed me in anything where blame

could be placed upon you, but do keep in mind that I have more offspring than just yourself...
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****

The clerics voice was soft and shaken as he repeated himself and looked up at Clueless,

They sent me to the mazes...

Clueless nodded to his friend, They sent me to one too. Howd you get out?

They sent one of the Mercykillers after me, find out what I saw... They sent me to one of

The Ladys mazes... He was shaking at the memory and starting to weep.

Clueless walked over and wrapped an arm around his shoulder to console him. The man

seemed seconds away from a panic attack as he seemed to be recalling his memories of the events

he had been a silent witness to now as the lingering touch of the Waste had lost its grip on his

mind and spirit.

Do you know where they sent me? The cleric asked softly.

The Ladys mazes, thats all youve said.

No... which one? He clarified.

Clueless shook his head, No, where did they send you?

He took a deep breath and replied with a single word, Terrance.

Clueless inhaled deeply as well. Terrance had been the Factol of the Athar. ...F*ck.

The elf continued with a harrowed voice, Me, I had my faith tested for 8 days, and I cant

even remember what it was that I spoke to him about in there. It was only he and I... and the

maze. It was like Shed taken a part of Sigil and spun it off into somewhere else, but changed it,

altered it to how it once was. And how it never was.

In there, He continued, In the maze with Terrance, was the Shattered Temple, only it

wasnt shattered. It was there, all of it, in the height of its glory. Thrown in Terrances face,

telling him he was wrong. But it was also telling him he was right in a way. Every symbol of

Aoskar in that temple was broken, torn asunder, pierced through with blades. It was a monument

to every power in the multiverse and an epithet for one at the same time. Shes teaching him a

lesson, but I cant remember what it was. They took my memories from me...

Clueless nodded as he listened, occasionally brushing his hair back gently and nodded. Nisha

placed some food and drink before them both and let the exchange between old comrades continue

without her interference otherwise. The man had been through an experience she didnt envy,

and Clueless had shared in a similar one that she could not, nor would she care to, claim.

He might learn it eventually. Theres a man that may help your memories if you wish...

Clueless said, bringing to mind the Githzerai with the Bleakers who had helped him originally.

Im not certain I wish to remember. Whatever happened in there I do know that Terrance

refused to answer some of the questions I heard myself asking him repeatedly. He said that he
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would rot in there for eternity before he told me those answers. He was frightened I think of

whatever it was that I asked him, and even more afraid of answering. There was terror in his

eyes...
Chapter 28

And out of good still to find means of evil. Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 165. - John Milton

The next two days passed in a blur of paradise as the group sailed down the river Oceanus

on a slim boat while the sun shown down warmly and the breeze was always filling the ships

sails to their fullest. They had all waited only a scant few minutes on the banks of the river

when the ship had approached, slowed down and they had been hailed by the lone occupant,

a cervidal who only asked them their names and where they might be going. As it happened,

he was heading to the layer of Thalasia himself and had no qualms about having guests on his

journey. It was, after all, a kind gesture and one that the guardinal gave without pause.

The days were filled with pleasant talk and laughter, and the nights were brief and filled

with somnolent slumber devoid of nightmares. Upon waking to the soft rocking of the boat, who

could say if they were still dreaming or not when they gazed out at the perfection extending

from horizon to horizon.

Its a shame that Nisha and Clueless couldnt be here you know. Tristol said as he dipped

his hand down into the cool waters of Oceanus to let the current wriggle around his fingers.

Im sure theyre getting into mischief elsewhere, wherever they ended up going. Mischief

more so than not when you consider Nisha. Fyrehowl remarked.

I asked Clueless where all they were going and he wouldnt really fess up to it. I swear he

cant talk openly about half the stuff that goes on with him. Florian said.

Tristol shrugged, I dont know if he knows everything about himself to really be able to talk

openly about it all to tell the truth.

Still, all I know is that he was going to go to the Gray Waste and he was bringing Nisha

along to make sure he didnt get into too much trouble. Toras said.

Underneath all of their banter about their two absent companions there was an undercurrent

of unstated worry about the fate of their friends and if they would see them again. They trusted

in the skill of them both, but the plane they had traveled to... it hungered eternally and when

327
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it touched mortals it left men dead inside, within if not without as well.

At the mention of Elysiums polar opposite their cervidal guide raised an eyebrow and looked

over from where he was tending to the ships sails. At the same time, though perhaps it was

only coincidence, there was a cool breeze that rolled off the waters and lingered slowly on the

ship. It seemed almost as if the plane itself sensed some of their largely unstated worry about

their companions in that pit of darkness and sought to comfort them.

As they continued traveling Fyrehowl seemed the most taken with their surroundings, even

though she had been born there upon that very same layer of Elysium, her homecoming to her

native plane was a reaffirming presence in her heart and her mind, considering all that they had

been through in their time together. The warmth and incarnate sense of peace that swathed the

landscape was reflected in her eyes, and for once in a very long while she was neither worried nor

tensed for immediate action as her training with the ciphers had taught her. There was no need

for either since the very essence of the plane itself precluded their necessity. If the multiverse

truly was a living thing and one could listen to the heartbeat of the planes; if one could listen to

the Cadence of it all, then Elysium was where the multiverse lay still and gazed up at the clouds

above it and dreamt in utter peace and security, swathed in unconditional compassion.

On the third day they woke to a gleaming light in the east and the sound of tumbling,

churning water like the currents preceding a great waterfall. They looked but they saw nothing

ahead that might be causing the sound, nor was the current increasing upon the ship. While

Skalliska looked paranoid and Tristols ears perked, Toras looked over the side of the ship and

Florian whispered a prayer to his deity, the two guardinals could only chuckle politely.

A moment later it was gone and done with as their surroundings simply melted away into

the sunlight and they found themselves drifting slowly on the current in a great expanse of the

widened Oceanus. Far off on the horizon they could see a distant and deep green shoreline while

in the very center of the expanse of crystalline waters sat a single island and a massive glistening

keep at its very center, the cathedral-fortress of Rubicon, the last outpost of the guardinals upon

the layer of Belarian.

Wow... Florian remarked as he looked at the radically altered surroundings while the boat

drifted unerringly towards the island without any action by the cervidal captain.

Tristol was grinning and his tail twitched in excitement as they drifted closer and closer to

the island and the scale of the fortress became more and more apparent; it was massive.

Like the proverbial city on a hill, the fortress of Rubicon was an exercise in architecture

comprising both strength and aesthetic appearance that was best described as beatific. As their

ship drifted closer to one of the docks on the island they noticed that the feeling that they had
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felt from the plane itself all the while upon the plane was subtly different. Fyrehowl felt the

shift the most, but it wasnt negative in any way, simply different from the feeling that Amoria

or Eronia had radiated. The air, the wind, the sunlight and even the ground and walls of the

cathedral-like fortress exuded a sense of stoic resolve and quiet grace.

As the boat touched the shallows near the dock an equinal tossed a rope down to them and

they fastened the ship in short order and clambered up onto the dock. Several guardinals were

assembled to meet them, an eclectic mixture of lupinals, equinals, cervidals and avorals. All

of them were dressed in the white and blue uniforms of the fortress, and while they all wore

weapons, none of them had them drawn. All the guardians of the fortress had brandished were

polite smiles, curious glances and, from the watchcaptain, an extended hand to help each of their

guests up from the boat.

Greetings and warm welcomes to you all. Welcome to Rubicon. The watch captain, an

equinal taller than even Toras was, said with a bow. I am captain Delrenth. How can we help

you?

Fyrehowl bowed and spoke first, Weve come from Sigil hoping to gain an audience with the

Lord of Rubicon, his regency Duke Jalinon. We happened to encounter evidence of extraplanar

activities upon the mainland of Belarian, and we have strong reason to think that... She paused

and snarled softy, ...we have reason to believe that a group of Yugoloths are active upon the

mainland.

Several of the watch exchanged glances at one another, others looked at Fyrehowl and her

companions with expressions of concern, curiosity, and wariness. Seeing several looks of in-

credulity, Skalliska stepped forward.

We have actual evidence of it all if you dont believe us at our word.

Im certain you do, but its not my decision in these matters. Please, follow me and I will

arrange for you to have an audience with the Duke. Delrenth said and gestured for them all to

follow him while some of his soldiers saw to the boat.

This isnt Sigil Skalliska, far from it. Theyre not going to automatically distrust us unless

we walk in with an imp on our shoulder or something similar. We need to break you of that

habit while were here. Florian said as he looked down at the kobold, though making a comment

about how in a certain light the fire lizard on her shoulder might look like an imp wasnt too

terribly far from his mind.

And why havent they found this out on their own? I mean, really, its there home plane

and they dont know what alls going on out there? Skalliska replied.

Fyrehowl tensed slightly but didnt say a word, remaining as accepting as the rest of her race
 330

as they were escorted up the hill towards the glittering fortress.

In short time they passed through the massive silver and steel gates that glistened mirror

bright and were escorted to a waiting chamber to await their audience with the duke. As they

waited they were visited briefly by a minor cervidal functionary who inquired if they were hungry,

wished for something to drink, or had any other needs that she might see to. They thanked her,

but in truth they hadnt felt hungry or thirsty during most of their journey through the plane.

Perhaps the plane itself had fed them in some insubstantial way, perhaps time had passed in

such a way that they hadnt needed to eat yet, or perhaps they had eaten but didnt remember

it since the plane might have seen fit to remove the sensations of hunger or thirst from their

minds to make their journey more peaceful. Whichever it was they could only speculate. But as

they waited to see the duke, speculate they did, but not on their hunger or lack thereof.

Im sure theres a reason why they dont know about what weve come to tell them. Toras

said to Skalliska.

It doesnt make sense! Hells, from what I know of the layer it has -evil- creatures on it.

So much for being the plane of perfect good if you end up with fiendish animals and sometimes

minor fiends themselves wriggling out of that swamp that they call a layer of a plane. Skalliska

snapped back.

Fyrehowls hackles raised slightly but she didnt say a word.

A fine job theyre doing if theyre bottled up here and not going out to actually take care

of the problem they very obviously have out there. The place is supposed to be crawling with

evil, it just doesnt make sense! Skalliska continued.

The way Ive heard it told is that the layer isnt corrupted, but its been intentionally used

by them to imprison evil creatures. What exactly is anyones best guess because the guardinals

arent telling and the layer is all but entirely sealed off from the outside. Tristol interjected.

For a brief moment of awkward silence all eyes focused on Fyrehowl. Finally the lupinal

looked up at them and blinked. What? She asked.

So what have you all got locked up out there in the swamp? An archfiend, a slaad lord,

what? Skalliska quipped.

... I dont know any more than you do. I only know that the layer is largely unpopulated

by anything except the Quesar, and theyre anything -but- evil. I know that we dont have any

settlements on the layer except here at Rubicon. Otherwise I only know the rumors the same

as the rest of you, probably less so even. She said honestly and openly to dispel the aura of

distrust that the kobold was aiming in her direction.

Oh come on. Trust us here and let us in one the secret. Surely you know whats out there.
331

Skalliska replied.

Fyrehowl sighed and was about to reply when the door opened and an avoral wrapped in

cloth of green and gold motioned to them with one white-feathered arm. Duke Jalinon will see

you now, please follow me.

****

Factotum Delsar Muralt of the Bleak Cabal reached out one frail and yellowed hand to snuff

a candle that fluttered and slowly was dying next to a freshly burning taper in his chamber.

Formerly of the Bleak Cabal anyways. By any legal standard the faction no longer existed, but,

not that it really mattered anyways. Hed found his calling helping the unfortunates of the Hive

in the slums of Sigils worst districts; it gave him purpose and meaning in a world devoid of such.

The smoldering wick gave rise to a lazy column of sooty black smoke that spiraled like a

drunken, winged dervish up towards the rafters of the ceiling. Brushing his ash blackened thumb

and forefinger on his robe, the aging githzerai took out a thick journal and began to pen a daily

log of those who had come to him. All of them came for some reason relating to the mind and

their mental faculties. Some of them wished to recover from addictions, others to recall memories

lost to clubs, falls or gauntleted fists, and some others came to him suffering from peculiarities

and faults within their mind that left them unable to function or capable of harming themselves

and others. All of them he helped if he could, and all of them he chronicled down as a personal

log of his true calling, to restore meaning and substance back into the lives of his fellow men so

that he himself might feel a fraction of that meaning reflected back within himself.

He had just taken the pen to paper when there came a knock at his door; hed had no more

appointments for the day and it was closing in upon evening when he generally requested to be

left alone to write and meditate upon his days activities. Still, he thought as he put the quill

back in the inkpot, it was his calling and if another had arrived to request his services, he would

of course comply.

Delsar opened the door and listened to his fellow Bleaker explain the reason for his late

calling patient and his specific needs. He nodded and motioned for the fellow to follow him into

his chambers. He did, and as the bariaur closed the door behind himelf, he smiled. The githzerai

never noticed the glowing, glittering gemstone lodged within the bariaurs right rear ankle, nor

the sapphire glow it spread upon the floor like a cyclopic blue drake, nor did he hear the delicate

hiss of steel upon oiled leather. And then it was over. Mercifully he was embraced by oblivion

before he could hear and feel his limbs being severed like a sacrificial calf.

****
 332

Fyrehowl had to feel a sense of pride and anticipation added to her already heady sense

of homecoming as she and her companions were escorted by the avoral and a pair of armed

lupinals towards the Dukes audience hall. She looked forward to meeting the famed Leonal

noble, rumored to be a distant relative of Prince Talisid himself, and gaining either the approval

to investigate on the behalf of the guardinals of Rubicon, or being informed that all was well

and the loth and mercane information were all a scattering of lies.

The audience hall was long and airy, supported by white marble columns carved to resemble

each of the subtypes of Elysiums celestial natives. One column resembled a flute playing cervidal

while another was carved into the form of a soaring avoral. Down the list of guardinal subtypes

the columns were nearly lifelike and decorated with precious metals and gemstones that caught

the sunlight from the massive windows lining the chamber to scatter them in rainbow patterns

across the flagstones.

At the end of the hall was a simple but elegant throne atop which sat the leonal, Duke Jalinon,

who led the guardinals of Rubicon as a father figure if not an actual leader in a true sense of a

hierarchy. The leonals tawny mane shone like spun gold in the light and he projected a sense

of majesty and strength, but his dress was simple. He wore only a blue and white cloak and a

surcoat over his chest along with a simple circlet of silver around his brow and nothing more.

No glittering trappings of royalty were present.

Flanking the leonal was a robed Ursinal who announced the group, each by name as they

arrived before the Duke. She adjusted a pair of glasses upon her blunt muzzle before taking

out a quill pen and scribing down the following conversations between those assembled. On the

dukes opposite side was a slim vulpinal dressed in pale blue wizards robes who peered curiously

at their guests. Tristol smiled and waved back as he twitched his own nearly identical tail in

time with the vulpinal advisors.

Welcome my child. Welcome back to Elysium Fyrehowl, and I extend my welcome to the

rest of you as well. Greetings and please, speak what occupies your minds. You have traveled

long and far and the least I can offer you is a welcome ear. Jalinons voice rumbled like distant

rolling thunder, warm and baritone.

Toras motioned towards Fyrehowl, both as a way of acknowledging her to speak for them at

first, and to head off Skalliska who looked ready to launch into a speech.

Duke Jalinon, of late we have had encounters with a group of mercane who were themselves

dealing with Yugoloths. Without getting into some of the specifics of what happened, we found

records written by the leader of these mercanes that made specific reference to Belarian, routes

of transit through the layer towards the deeper mainland, and vague references to shipments to
333

alleviate hunger. Fyrehowl said humbly.

The Duke pondered the news and several of the others added their own thoughts on the

matter as well as expanding upon the story of how they had gotten involved with the Imshenviir

mercane and their Yugoloth allies in the first place.

Anything these mercane did upon the mainland was not with our leave or our knowledge I

am afraid to say. The layer of Belarian is almost impossible to enter and almost impossible to

leave except by way of the river Oceanus. River travel to Belarian is watched over by we here at

Rubicon. No mercane passed this way. The duke answered.

And yugoloths? Skalliska asked.

It would be unlikely. However your suspicions do not ring hollow or without evidence that

something is occurring. The leonal replied.

And there is another matter I feel is linked to this. We had spoken to Rhys, former factol of

the Transcendent Order in Sigil. She mentioned that one of her former factors, a lupinal by the

name of Tarnsilver, had returned to Elysium and spoken of things that may very well be related

to this current issue. Fyrehowl said.

Tarnsilver... The duke paused, Tarnsilver is fallen from us. He has not fallen into evil, but

the spark of good in him has dimmed to a flicker. He is misguided, and if he is involved in this

current matter than it takes on a level of urgency that it otherwise might not have.

Jalinon inhaled deeply and thought for a moment before continuing, I give you leave to

travel to the mainland to investigate the truth of the matter you rightfully suspect. I empower

you with my authority and the authority of Rubicon to put a stop to any fiendish activity that

you find therein if you are capable of doing so. If what you find is too large for you to resolve

then return here or send word and I will mobilize Rubicon itself to your aid.

The companions nodded to him and bowed respectfully before the duke added, And should

you find Tarnsilver, tell him that whatever he has done we would welcome him back amongst us

without question.

Thank you your highness. Tristol said with another bow and the rest soon followed suit

before turning and going back to their chambers to rest for the evening before heading for the

mainland the following day. However as they made way from the chamber, Fyrehowl felt a tug

on her robe.

The lupinal stopped and looked down at Jalinons vulpinal advisor where he was tugging

gently on her robe. Yes? She asked.

The vulpinal smiled and bowed before quietly informing her that, The duke wishes to speak

with you privately regarding these current matters. He would request that you hear him out
 334

presently, please.

Fyrehowl nodded and followed the fox-like guardinal back into a private audience chamber.

The leonal was already seated at a circular table and he quickly bade her to sit. The vulpinal

left and closed the door after himself, leaving Fyrehowl and the Jalinon alone in counsel.

I have something to speak with you about Fyrehowl. You likely do not have any awareness

of it, for it is rarely spoken of in our society and even more rarely outside of Elysium to any.

What I must tell you concerns Belarian, its history and our history as a people.

Fyrehowl nodded slowly as the Duke Jalinon began, There is no act of good greater than

self sacrifice at no benefit to oneself, done on the behalf of others and done in secret. An act

of benevolence done behind closed doors and away from sight where none will ever know what

good you did and none will ever thank you or praise your name; an unthanked, unasked for, and

unparalleled act of altruism. That is what I must speak to you about and the mark it has forever

left upon Belarian.

****

The lupinal gazed out of the adamantine window across the marshlands and cypress forests

of the layer of Belarian. He felt the presence of the Arcanaloth behind him before he smelled it

or heard it speak to him. The loths presence sullied the very essence of the plane like a gobbet

of mud upon a white smock. Even after all this time it still made him uneasy and he felt in turn

sullied by association. As the yugoloths padded footsteps echoed at the top of the stairs and

its stench of brimstone wafted into the room he sighed. Regardless of his current feelings about

the fiends, what he was here doing, what they would ultimately accomplish was for the greater

good. What they were doing true, it would benefit the fiends in the short term, but it would

remove a cross that he and his people had unduly borne for far too long and which had defiled

the very essence of their plane.

Tarnsilver still didnt understand the original intention of his people, but he would make

amends for their races failure here and now. It was still centuries off, but it would be gone one

day, and then the loths would be gone as well. Their presence there was intolerable as well,

but the ultimate ends were all that mattered. He knew he was right in that, he felt it echoed

in the Cadence, the very patterns of the world reflected the truth of what he was doing there in

Belarian. They would welcome him back even now, but they wouldnt understand what he was

doing, and they would stop his actions out of ignorance. He wouldnt allow that to happen.

You seem tense my friend, is something amiss? We have had continued success with our

joint endeavor. You should be pleased. The yugoloth commandant of the tower, an arcanaloth
335

by the name of Parphinnias, only recently ascended to his position, spoke gently to the lupinal

like a fine mixture of cream and venom.

Tarnsilver brushed off the loths hand as it placed it on his shoulder. Their joint work was

good, that was self evident, but he still felt sick at the fiends close proximity. I am pleased,

but old habits die hard. A century ago I would have torn out your throat before you lifted that

finger to my collarbone. Our work goes forward but I look forward to when it is complete and I

can have you gone from my home plane.

The loth smiled a jackals carrion-eating grin like a corrupted reflection of lupinals own stoic

expression. The lupinal wasnt in the mood to talk, he never really was, though Parphinias did

have better luck doing so than the Ultroloth that had been his predecessor, filthy Mydianchlarus

supporting wretch that he was.

Suit yourself, I was dining and was wondering if you wished to have something brought up

to your chambers. I would have had one of the Mezzoloths bring you something from the swamp

so you could prepare it yourself without us touching it beforehand overly much. I know youre

sensitive about such thing. The black-robed arcanaloth said with a shrug.

No, Im fine. Please leave me to my thoughts, I wish to spend time alone to meditate. The

lupinal replied firmly.

As you wish my friend. The loth replied as he exited the chamber. Only a few steps out of

the door did he reach up and wipe away the smear of blood that had leaked from his mouth and

onto his cheek from his meal. He glanced back and then hurried away, lucky that the lupinal had

been so absorbed in his thoughts that the idealistic fool hadnt smelled or noticed the splash of

fresh cervidal blood on his cheek or lingering on his breath. But, what the lupinal didnt know

wouldnt kill him, only others of his kind.

****

The pair of cornugons glanced questioningly at one another as they escorted their charge

down the dimly lit passageway. They carried no lights, their own nature as baatezu pierced the

gloom readily enough, but their ward lit the way before itself from the bright glow of its own

pair of oblong eyes. The Ultroloths glowing orbs set within its otherwise featureless face shifted

colors every few seconds and flickered like an angry, buzzing insect as it strode along with them

towards the throne room of their mistress, Lilith the Hag Countess, sometimes called Malagard,

Lord of the 6th of Baator.

But that the baatezu escorted an Ultroloth, the pinnacle of Yugoloth caste, was not the cause

of their concern reflected back at one another in their eyes, their expressions and their telepathic
 336

chatter between one another. No, they had seen their fair share of important individuals escorted

down their current path, from Baatezu nobles to pit fiend generals to Yugoloth mercenary lords

and even occasionally one of the hated Tanarri. No, their concern was not with the race and

rank of their escorted guest, but rather in its mannerisms, as it silently walked a few paces in

front of them.

Muscles rippled beneath scaled hide and the Cornugons glanced almost awkwardly at the

Ultroloth as it stumbled for but a moment as it walked before them. The loth was also doing

other things as well. It was whimpering... every few seconds the fiend would whimper like a

wounded animal or a petitioner being slowly fed, inch by inch, to the burning cold of the waters

of Stygia. And the Yugoloth was twitching at random as well, like it was experiencing massive

fits of pain or an electrical surge coursing through its brain to cause it the disturbances in stride

and manner as it walked.

But yet every time the loth stumbled or paused it would unerringly right itself and continue

on its path towards the end of the hallway where Lilith held court. The Cornugons speculated

on what was wrong with their charge, or perhaps if it was being led to their mistress as some

sort of plant, or spy upon the Gray Waste to funnel her information on her former rivals amongst

the gray sisters. There was also the matter of the gem embedded in the Ultroloths forehead.

Smooth as glass, shaped and sized like a hens egg, the gemstone pulsed with an inner light of

its own as the Ultroloth neared the entrance to Liliths throne room. Judging by the looks at its

face the Cornugons had gathered when they first met the Lord of the 6ths guest, the gemstone,

whatever it was, was embedded deep enough in the loths head to penetrate into its brain.

The chamber shuddered ever so slightly as the Ultroloth entered Liliths court, the tremor

only felt in the slightest there at the core of the Hag Countesss titanic citadel of ever tumbling

stone. Outside the boulder shaped fortress would have been leaving rock falls and landslides to

destroy a prime city in its wake as it eternally rolled and careened down the slopes of Malbolges

mountains and gorges. The Ultroloth didnt pause from the rumbling of the walls, but rather

from a near seizure of pain that made it pause and grip the frame of the doorway to the court.

The Cornugons stopped at the door and turned away, holding their tridents outwards to guard

the chamber, though in truth no intruder had ever passed much beyond the outermost layers of

the keep. They never noticed that their mistress had dismissed her normal retinue of toadies,

scribes, courtiers and advisors from the chamber, and sat alone atop her throne, brooding in the

darkness as the light from the Ultroloths eyes washed over her and her expectant smile.

A wave of her hand and a pulse of her will sent the doors to her court slamming shut with a

tremor borne of tons of steel and marble, but in the seconds that passed before she rose to greet
337

her guest and closed the doors to ensure her privacy, her guards heard the Ultroloth speak its

greeting. The loths voice was neither timid nor wracked with pain in the slightest. Without

pause the loths telepathic voice washed over them like a warm wind over a sailor alone and

swimming upon a black ocean with a sudden and sharp undercurrent of cold, dark waters welling

up from whatever hidden depths they sprung from. The loths voice left them cold as it spoke

in a tone of an equal, or a superior feigning equality, to their mistress, one of the most powerful

Lords of Baator itself.

The crashing slam of the doors and their attendant sequestering aura blocked the loths voice

and their mistresss reply so they could not hear their conversation. Neither could the pair of

Cornugons see the sable coated Arcanaloth in Carceri within his tower of millions of screaming

souls concentrate and project his will across the space of planes to speak through and manipulate

his servant like a puppet with invisible strings, smiling darkly as he did so.

Greetings Lilith, I extend my regards to your recent ascent in power. But there are other

things youve desired...

Chapter 29

Everything went all f*cking wrong Chaos reigns when Im along - Courtney Love, Love Despite

God

Fyrehowl looked curiously at the duke as she took a seat across from him and listened intently

with perked ears. The golden-maned leonal sighed deeply before he began.

While none of the celestial races take an active hand in the Blood War between the fiends,

all for fear of uniting the lower planes, some of us do take action though it is never large scale

or organized. The aasimon and archons learned that terrible lesson for us all... Jalinon paused

at the thought before continuing, Still, some of us do make forays into the lower planes in the

hopes of disrupting the fiends in any action that might involve the prime, or to damage certain

factions of the fiendish hierarchies in order to create instability and further infighting amongst

their kind. We guardinals are the most noted among the brethren of the upper planes to do such

things and succeed; your own kind perhaps foremost among us. You sister indeed as I recall has

joined one of the more prestigious bands of lupinals who take to the Waste, as did you previously.

The asuras are the only other kind who do the same as we do, but we have done so since nearly

the beginning of such things.

Fyrehowl nodded, understanding such things clearly from her own experiences in the past.

But sometimes our forays into the depths of the lower planes do not end as we would hope.

Sometimes we face death, and we all know that we might die in our cause, but still we continue

because it is what we do, because it is good. But once we faced not death at the hands of fiends,

something we might have expected, but rather we found something in our travels that we never

expected to find. I was there then, as was a young Talisad, and I remember it well.

The duke paused and seemed almost shaken by the memories of that day and it took him a

moment to return to the present as Fyrehowl placed a hand over his.

What did you find? The lupinal asked.

By all that is good and holy, it was titanic in size and terrible to behold. The Mother of

338
339

Serpents, the paragon and progenitor of every species of hydra and perhaps all scaled beasts that

roam the planes and prime itself, all of those with evil in their hearts, they or their ancestors

sprung from that beast we found.

We saw its intellect and we saw its evil that seemed palpable even on the plane we found

it on, and we realized that we could not suffer it to live. Had we simply left it where we found

it unmolested we would have spared ourselves the bloodshed that followed but we would have

risked the fiends finding it and using it. Even if they didnt use it against some unsuspecting

innocents on the prime or another plane, they would have used it against each other and it might

have tipped the balance of the War Eternal to one side or the other, eventually bringing all of

evil under one united banner. We could not risk that, and so we attacked the beast.

Fyrehowls eyes widened at the prospect and she asked a single question, Its not dead, is

it?

The duke stared into her eyes and replied, Oh we tried. We hurled ourselves at it heedless

of our own safety and our own lives. The soil of Oinos was turned black from our blood that day

and still we sought to kill it, but try as we might, we could not. We lost... our losses were nigh

uncountable... but we did not give up despite our own slaughter. We realized that we could not

allow it to fall into the hands of the fiends, and so rather than kill what we could not kill, we let

it follow after us, hell-bent upon revenge for the pain we had inflicted upon it.

It followed us, we led it on, and we brought it here with us. We brought it here to Belarian

and here we trapped it for all eternity so that it would never harm any as it might if it were

free. We brought the beast here to our least populated layer and let it rage against the bonds

we wove into the very fabric of the layer itself. We wrought magic of such potency that it would

make the archmages of Celestia and the warlocks of Gehenna weep. The layer is sealed off from

without and from within, the only way in or out of Belarian is by way of the great river Oceanus

and here at Rubicon we guard the egress of any seeking to travel the plane. For while we know

what lurks and rages upon the mainland, others do not and we keep our eternal vigil to prevent

their deaths or the release of the creature.

Fyrehowl was speechless, having never before heard the tale. We tainted the plane itself.

The Mother of Serpents, its presence is corrupting Belarian, isnt it?

Jalinon nodded, And so we have sacrificed of our own blood and sullied our perfect good

for the betterment of an ignorant cosmos that knows not what we have done on their behalf. An

act of self-sacrifice, or selfless good done in secret where none will know and none will thank you

is the greatest act of all. And I am proud of what we have done, and here I have been since then

to guard the way to Belarian where the beast waits impotent and trapped.
 340

It cannot swim the river? Fyrehowl asked.

No, the waters of Oceanus are like acid unto it. The very touch of its currents is repulsive

and painful to the creature and it will not cross the river that girds the layer. It is trapped where

it is and we gladly tarnish ourselves to keep it there.

I understand... thank you for telling me this. You think well find something there on the

mainland relating to the serpent? Fyrehowl asked the duke.

I cannot say. Since that time we have used Belarian to such a purpose with other beings of

evil that were best imprisoned rather than killed, and so fiends on the mainland may have been

put there by ourselves, or they may have found a way onto the layer in the hopes of finding those

we have exiled to the plane. Even if they did find the Mother of Serpents though, they could not

remove it from Elysium even if they tried, the wardings are such that they would have to ferry

it down the river and past our very gates.

What of Tarnsilver? The lupinal mused.

His presence here is what worries me for he knew of the beast and also of a great many

other of the beings that we have locked away on the mainland, and he saw it not as a willing

self sacrifice, but a shame that we kept locked away and buried away from the rest of the

planes. However he knew nothing of the magics that kept the plane isolated, and the ursinals

and vulpinals both have made it clear to me that the wardings on Belarian have not waned in

the slightest in the eons since we laid them down originally. Those are sacrosanct and we could

tell if any fiends were attempting to unravel them to release the greatest of those bottled upon

Belarian.

However you and your companions will soon discover the true nature of what is occurring

upon the mainland. We avoid the plane itself largely, leaving the imprisoned to their exile, and

we cannot divine or scry upon them as a byproduct of our own magics that block such attempts

from the multiverse at large. Not even Primus of the Modrons can view the interior of Belarian,

not even from his great orrery.

Fyrehowl nodded, May I discuss this with my companions? The Mother of Serpents and

what other things youve told me? They will need to know much of it for their own safety.

I leave that to you to judge. Speak to them if you wish, but have them pledge to never

speak of it elsewhere. The plane will hold them to their word if spoken in honesty, and you will

know if they hold back on their oaths. But, having met them, I do not doubt their honesty in

the matter if you wish to tell them.

Thank you for telling me. When we leave in the morning Ill tell them and well find out

whats going on. When we are certain well either take action, or barring that, we will inform
341

you if we cannot handle what we find on our own. Fyrehowl said with a bow as she stood and

smiled with honor at the leonal.

I have nothing more to say, but you will find that a room has been prepared for you and

your fellows. Sleep well and good luck in the morning. Jalinon said as he laid a hand on the

lupinals shoulder and led her back out of his audience room to rejoin her friends.

****

The Oinoloth, Mydianchlarus stood at he summit of Khin-Oin and paused, awestruck by his

own array and display of power. Yugoloths in the millions sprawled in formation and entrench-

ments for miles surrounding the base of the Wasting Tower. All of them were loyal to him, and

all of them were willing to die to support his claim to the throne of the Tower against the traitors

in league with the one he had deposed.

Oinoloth Mydianchlarus, the rough and dull witted voice of Typhus the mercenary lord

broke the still of the air atop the tower.

The Oinoloth turned and nodded to the Altraloth, a squat and twisted figure in patchwork

armor and tattered black cloak, all emblazoned with the symbol of his personal army, the Infernal

Front.

Your forces are arrayed and ready to receive the armies of the fallen lord. My own forces

have now fully joined with yours, the Tower in Gehenna and those loyal to you there have begun

to funnel their own forces as well and they should be here by the end of the day. Typhus said,

pointing out each of the various companies by their own specific heraldry.

As much of an idiot as the fiend was in comparison to many of the Ultroloths and Arcanaloths

who served under him, he had an instinctual grasp of tactics upon a battlefield that made him

invaluable. His own tendency to plan far in advance of his own troops capabilities would have

to be tempered, but in the coming battle he was a subordinate general and not the marshal of

it all. That belonged to Mydianchlarus the Ultroloth Prince and Oinoloth.

What of the Carcerian forces? I know they will be diminished from their maximum due to

the threat of the Gehreleths on the tower of that over glorified arcanaloth, but how many has

he sent? The Oinoloth asked, his voice carrying out onto the winds of the void, twenty miles

above the dust and blood of the Waste where his forces awaited the word to kill in his name.

They have begun to arrive as well, and in larger numbers than the Ebon originally projected,

you will be pleased at the increase. I had not expected it either, and it will be needed with the

claimed joining of Xenghara with your unworthy predecessor. He and Anthraxus, my brothers,

they are idiots. I would ask to be granted the honor of executing Xenghara after you have taken
 342

the head of Anthraxus. Typhus said with a bow.

I will consider it. Have you word of Taba, your other... sibling...? Mydianchlarus asked.

No. Taba has been absent for some time, roughly since we were aware of the growing silence

of The General. Several of the Ultroloths under my banner have made their own inquiries and

searches, and I know that The Ebon has been doing the same with even more fervor than myself.

Ive found nothing, nor has he discovered anything when I asked him. Typhus answered.

Very well. Let Anthraxus come hurrying to his own death. I spared him oblivion before,

but a second time I will not allow him to live. Go and see to your own troops and send in the

heralds that the Keeper of the Tower Arcane has sent, I have plans to discuss with them for their

part in the battle ahead.

Typhus nodded and bowed low before his master who turned away, absorbed in his own

thoughts, before the Altraloth had descended the stairwell to the halls below. Mydianchlarus

was worried, something not right for a being of his stupendous power. Perhaps not so much

worried as he was perplexed by certain facts. The General and his city had vanished, the Baern

were vacant or unresponsive, even to him. And while he referred to the Overlord of Carceri

as an arcanaloth reaching beyond his station, it was true that The Ebon had been the one to

point him towards the information that had been instrumental in his own toppling of Anthraxus.

That alone had solidified the lesser fiends claims to his tower after the deaths of Bubonix and

Cholerix when a hundred or more Ultroloths had been clamoring and petitioning for the title

and position the Ebon now held.

Given the information passed on by way of the Keeper of the Tower and the Oinoloths own

informants in Carceri, the arcanaloth was loyal and keen to capitalize on the continued success

of the Oinoloth. It stood to reason since Anthraxus would have him killed on the spot if he was

aware of his role in his original fall. The Ebon had hitched his future existence on his loyalty

to the Oinoloth and so he at least was not held suspect for the moment, though of course if his

ambitions ever stretched too high, he would need to be suitably checked; such was the fate of

any below the gaze of Khin-Oins dread king.

****

The morning rays of sunlight broke across Fyrehowls face and she stretched lazily before

hopping up from her bed to look out of the window at the sparkling waters of Oceanus. She had

been up late into the night simply pondering over what Jalinon had told her, and simply to sit

next to the window and revel in the view.

Night had never fully come to the layer, and it had been brief when the sun dipped below
343

the horizon in a storm of brilliant colors reflected on the distant clouds. The twilight had been

lit by a moon in brilliant intensity, and in the distance the sky above the mainland of Belarian

had been aglow in the flickering, phosphorescent fires of an aurora that danced across the skies

like an Eladrin prince and princess clad in rainbows.

Fyrehowl gathered her things and stretched before collecting her other companions, most of

whom had already risen and eaten breakfast. Toras and Skalliska were sitting and chatting with

an ursinal who bore an expression of avid curiosity in marked contrast to the skepticism of the

kobold.

Theyre constructs! Just how in all the hells would they... mate? The logistics are just...

Skalliska shook her head, Its just not possible.

I didnt say it happened like that. Im not really even sure if they have... well if theyre

even capable of that. Toras explained.

They arent. The ursinal interjected.

See? Its not possible, you have to be mistaken. Skalliska said.

My deity was involved, thats all Ill say. Deific caveat to trump your logic, haha! Toras

said with a smirk.

In any event, you may actually wander across a quasar during your time on the mainland. If

you do simply treat them as you would one of us. They may be overly curious, but unless youre

a being bent on doing evil you have nothing to fear whatsoever. The homelands of that race are

fairly far from the areas that you indicated to Jalinon that you would be traveling towards, but

still, its something to pay attention to. The ursinal said with a scholarly nod. And your own

heritage Toras of Andros, it is... unique. Ill certainly grant you that.

Tristol sat on a bench next two a mated pair of vulpinal wizards who sat curled on the floor

with their spellbooks open before the aasimar mage who bore an obvious line of descent from

one of their kind. They were happily chatting with the prime about some manner of abjuration

spell, and Fyrehowl found it both comical and adorable to watch all three of the wizards tails

twitch in synchronicity like celestial clock pendulums as they discussed arcane matters.

Off to the side, Florian was sitting by himself and trying very hard not to chuckle at the

antics going on between Tristol and the guardinal mages. Fyrehowl walked over and sat down

next to the cleric. It is rather amusing, Ill grant you that.

True, that it is. So, thats all of us now. Shall we be headed off, or is there anything else

you need to see to before we leave? Florian asked.

No, Im ready. More than ready actually. I want to see this through, even if theres nothing

there to be found, its something we need to settle for certain. Fyrehowl replied.
 344

They all walked to the western edge of the island that Rubicon occupied and glanced back at

the cathedral-fortress one last time before departing off towards the mainland. Rather than travel

by boat or teleportation, since the first was impractical and the latter more or less impossible

given the magical restrictions in place on the layer, they each quaffed a draught of a flying potion

that the guardinals of Rubicon had given them to aid their travels.

Soaring up into the air they quickly flew towards the distant shores of the mainland that

graced the distant horizon like a dark green line to contrast with the sparkling blue of Oceanus.

In truth their transit took barely a fraction of the time it might have normally taken them to fly

or swim the same distance as it seemed. Perhaps the plane itself sensed their urgency and sped

their transit in its own sublime way.

Two hours later they hovered over that distant shore, more a swamp that flowed into the

sea than a true beach. The plane seemed different there than at Rubicon. Gone was the stoic

passion and selflessness that was carried in the very area the guardinal stronghold, and in its

place was a sense of innocence lost, and the deep-rooted corruption of what was once pure and

untainted. Fyrehowl seemed slightly uncomfortable in the change of feeling the surroundings

gave them, and the others could tell.

Are you alright Fyrehowl? Florian asked.

The lupinal shrugged, Just a bad feeling is all. The plane feels different here than it has

anywhere else in Elysium. Its like looking a pure white cloth and then looking at one thats

been bled upon and trampled in the mud.

Its that different here? Tristol asked.

Yes... its that different here... Fyrehowl said with a mild shiver as they flew out over the

mud choked and drowned cypress forests that lined the coastline.

The next hour or so was spent in silent observation of the land below as the skimmed the

treetops. Things lurked down below the thick cover of the forests and marshlands as they

withdrew from the touch of Oceanus, and several times they stopped to ascertain just what

might be down below and gazing upwards at them. Most of the time it was simply animals,

though more often than not the normal fauna was altered or twisted in one way or another,

almost by a fiendish influence or touch of evil that had warped their physical forms.

Fyrehowl, this is really disturbing. This is a celestial plane, a layer of the plane of pure good

for Mystras sake... why do half of the animals that weve seen look like they should belong on

the lower planes? Tristol asked as they passed the rotting corpse of some animal and watched

a pack of scavengers scatter back out into the swamp, their eyes tinted red and their howls and

barking filled with malice.

345

Theres things here on Belarian that have been purposefully put here over the eons in order

to shelter the planes from them. Belarian is a bit of Elysium sacrificed for the rest of the planes,

thats the best way of putting it. The presence of some of the things that have been locked away

here, they sully the land and theyve slowly corrupted the native life of the forests. Fyrehowl

replied.

Wish wed known this before for a fact. Id heard rumor, sure, but it was just that. But...

Skalliskas comment was cut off by the sudden rustle and beating of leathery wings from the

forest below them.

Watch out! Toras shouted as a vaguely draconic form burst from the trees below and

shrieked past him, followed by two more of its kind.

With snarls, flashing fangs, and whip-like stinger wielding tails, the bulk of three twisted

and sickly looking wyverns rushed to attack the party, seeing them as nothing more than food.

The combat was over fairly quickly though, despite the near ambush, and before it was over one

of the beasts was nearly frozen solid by the lupinal, and another was dying on the forest floor

below where it was burned and scorched by a series of spells from Tristol and Florian. The third

wyvern escaped, but it trailed a dribble of blood in its wake from a number of slashes from Toras

and a series of Skalliskas crossbow bolts that peppered its chest, embedded to their fletches.

Following their encounter they moved more cautiously and slower, taking keen interest in

the lay of the ground below them. They managed to avoid any further combat, aside from a

swarm of stirges, but those were dealt with in short order by a fireball from Tristol. Still, their

close attention to the terrain did prove advantageous as they neared the regions that had been

originally marked on their maps that they had taken from the Imshenviir mercane.

Whoa whoa whoa, stop. Take a look down there. Toras said as he pointed his sword down

towards a patch of forest that was open to the sky. From their position high above they could

barely make out a set of furrows in the earth that looked unmistakably like the muddy tracks of

a series of heavy wagons or other such trade vehicles.

They turned as a group and descended down into the forest and alighted on the muddy earth

near the tracks that ran nearly due west and to the southeast. The tracks looked old, a few

weeks at least judging by the condition of the ground and the intervening rainfall and passage

of animals.

I think this is where our dearly departed mercane friends passed by recently. Florian said

as he looked at the line of tracks.

Sad to say that theyll be missing their next scheduled deliveries. Hope they didnt get paid

by cash. Toras quipped with a smirk and a grin.

 346

They followed the tracks to the west slowly and pondered at the size and depth of the muddy

furrows, commenting on how it had to have been several wagons at a time, and they had all been

loaded down very heavily to create the depth of tracks that they now found and followed.

To alleviate hunger... I wonder what theyre feeding... Tristol openly mused.

Fyrehowl opened her mouth and was ready to answer his question, or at least speculate on

what she worried they might find being fed in the interior of the layer. The lupinal never spoke

however as they all first heard, and then saw, something that made them dash for cover in the

trees.

A fluid and rhythmic flapping of heavy wings cut the air as a dark, flat shape, cut across the

sky overhead in the clear sky over the mercane trade route. Several miles off to the west still

and moving perpendicular to their westward trek, it was obvious that neither the creature, nor

the rider perched upon its back, belonged there on the plane.

What the hell... Florian whispered as Skalliska blinked and Fyrehowl grimaced nearly in

pain.

Flying above, and moving across their field of view, was the manta shaped profile of a Slasrath,

a creature native to Gehenna, most often used as mounts for Yugoloth scouts and aerial cavalry or

living siege platforms. The slasrath might have been an aberration, some fluke of the corruption

of the planar layer, but the being seated within the saddle on its spine, the winged form of a

Nycaloth, was not. The greater Yugoloth slowly swung its mount towards the southwest with a

single gesture and seemed to be deliberately scouting the area.

Yeah... we have problems... Fyrehowl whispered as they watched the loth and its flying

mount vanish towards the southwest.

****

Anthraxus the Decayed lifted his arm and gestured to one of his attendant Ultroloths, nearly

thirty of whom clustered around their past and current master. They and their master alike

were anxious and the air itself seemed to hum with the building tension as their plans, plots and

rebellion drew towards its ultimate culmination.

Speak and be done, for bloodshed calls to us on wings of retribution but quickly now. What

has the General said of our conflict? The former Oinoloth said with a hint of anticipation and

certainty as it sat upon a throne cobbled together from the skulls and ribcages of a dozen Shator

Gehreleths.

The purple robed Ultroloth approached and bowed low before its lord and hesitated before

speaking, seemingly at a loss for words. Its hesitation was removed as the massive Altraloth it
347

knelt before placed the burning tip of the Staff of the Lower Planes at the juncture of its head

and neck.

Speak... bother not with dressing your words. I would know what position the General of

Gehenna takes on the soon to break conflict between my usurper and myself. Speak now before

my patience stretches to amusement at your pain...

The Ultroloths eyes dimmed and flickered a pale shade of green with sparks of subdued

lavender. It voice was thin and uncertain as it answered the Decayed, We could not find the

Crawling Citadel...

A steady static hum rose from the chatter of the other Ultroloths before Anthraxuss withering

gaze silenced them. What do you mean, you couldnt find the Generals city upon the fourfold

furnace?

Lord of Agony... the city is no longer there. We found where the city had been. We followed

its path across the slopes of Khalas but we did not find the city itself. It was gone. Vanished

without a trace. The Ultroloth answered.

What?! The former Oinoloth bellowed with rage and leapt to his feet to begin pacing

around the still kneeling Ultroloth, his terrible shadow casting a pale over the smaller fiend.

What do you mean that its gone? You cannot simply lose a citadel that measures five miles

across and nearly two miles high at the tallest spires. Do you expect me to believe that the

city is either destroyed or invisible? Ah, perhaps it simply jumped off into the void between the

mounts. Did you look there you fool? Anthraxus said with incredulity as he towered over the

bearer of puzzling news.

Perhaps out of daring, or perhaps because it had nothing to lose, the Ultroloth looked up at

the Decayed. The depressions from the citys footfalls simply ended halfway up a massive cliff

on Khalas and the city was nowhere to be found in the vicinity. There were no signs of battle,

nor lingering traces of divine magic. Not that one of the powers would be capable of such a feat.

The city is simply gone my lord, and I do not know where it was gone. The General has removed

himself from us while we squabble like children...

Bloodshot eyes narrowed and Anthraxus flicked his lips clear of spit turned to foam as his

staff glowed and slammed into the Ultroloths head. There was no sound of a blow, nor a splatter

of blood or brains, but only the squealing agony of a larvae pinned beneath the tip of the staff

where the Ultroloth had stood but a moment before.

Turning to his other, competent generals and marshals, the once and future Oinoloth snarled

and slammed his staff into the bulk of his throne. Standing amid the burning and shattered

fragments of the leth skulls that he had sat upon at the apex of the Hill of Bone he spoke the
 348

words his supplicants had been eagerly awaiting.

Marshall my armies and call upon our allies, for we march to Oinos and there we lay siege

to Khin-Oin. I shall drink from the hollowed out skull of Mydianchlarus as I sit again upon my

throne. What was once shall be so again.

Screaming out orders to their own attendants and subordinates, the Ultroloth generals of

Anthraxus the Decayed vanished in the flashes of teleports and the dimension ripping flames of

planar gates. The former Oinoloth himself vanished into the largest concentration of his forces

encamped at the base of the hill itself, miles upon miles deep of Yugoloths that numbered in

the millions at but a glance. And as he vanished the air echoed with the agonized whine of a

single wriggling, wounded larva that twitched upon the ground, dimly lamenting its millennia

of struggle and triumph now vanished and gone at the whim of the Decayed. It however might

have been spared in some fashion the worst of what would soon come.
Chapter 30

Under the cover of the waterlogged forest, the companions slowly and carefully began their trek

in the direction that the slasrath had been flying, hoping to find where exactly it had come from.

As they continued through the swampy woodland the ground rose slightly and grew progressively

less and less a swamp, and more a forest proper, as the ground grew slightly more rocky and

well drained.

At least were out of the swamp, I was getting tired of that muck getting into my boots.

Florian said as he kicked a bit of slime off of his feet.

Hey, you dont have to worry about a wet tail-tip... Tristol said as he glanced over at

Fyrehowl, hoping for some support.

Honestly I never noticed... She said as Tristol noticed that the lupinal was still hovering

slightly off the ground, her own innate ability having lasted longer than the potions the rest of

them had used.

Anyways... through that break in the trees ahead I think theres another trail. Cant quite

tell yet though. Skalliska said, squinting her eyes. And none of you were hip deep in that junk,

so you have no room to complain...

As they continued, Fyrehowls ears perked every so often and she would indicate for them

all to pause while she listened. Something was getting to her. Some sense that they were not at

all alone in the forest, and several times she swore that she had heard the sounds of a snapping

twig or scuffed footfall in the distance that wasnt a natural sound of the forests inhabitants.

But, hearing nothing to confirm her suspicions, they proceeded onwards towards the path

that Skalliska had seen ahead of them where the trees thinned out slightly. Neither Fyrehowl,

nor any of the others saw the ripples in a large pool of standing water they passed, nor did they

feel the subtle rumble through the ground from the footsteps of something large and close, or

something distant and titanic.

Stop... Fyrehowl whispered harshly as she held up her hand.

349
 350

The others looked first at her and then in the direction of where her hand was pointed. There,

some fifty feet distant and marching along the path they were heading towards was a small patrol

of fiends.

Toras nodded to Fyrehowl and motioned for Florian to follow him to one side while he

motioned for Skalliska and Tristol to fall in behind the lupinal. As quietly as possible the two

groups moved into a flanking position as they approached the column of fiends.

Six Mezzoloths all told marched behind a bloated gray-green Dergholoth in an orderly column

while a much larger lobster-like Piscaloth marched behind them. Each of the Mezzoloths carried

a gleaming black trident, half of them burning with flickering violet flame, and the Dergholoth

sergeant and their Piscaloth commander carried no arms or armor. All of them wore either a

sash or a glowing brand in the shape of the Wasting Tower of Khin-Oin with a pair of eyes

superimposed above it; the symbol of the Oinoloth.

None of the fiends were prepared for the ambush as the five rushed at them from the forest,

swinging blades or hurling spells while the fiends were caught flatfooted. One of the Mezzoloths

fell in the first few seconds but the others fell back quickly and reorganized into a tight defensive

formation, their training in the Blood War serving them perversely well even on a plane of good

such as Elysium.

Crying out a praise to his god, Toras swung his sword at one of the chitinous insectile loths

as Florian screamed likewise to the glory of the Foehammer and charged at the Piscaloth. At

the same time Fyrehowl slashed deeply into the torso of the Dergholoth while Tristol hurled a

bolt of lightning at the clustered ground of Mezzoloths and Skalliska sent a cluster of magical

bolts to score against another of them.

Toras grinned as four of the Mezzoloths jolted and danced spasmodically from Tristols light-

ning bolt as he stood in the midst of it as well, utterly unaffected himself. Two of the others

were either resistant to the electricity, or their innate resistance to magic had spared them of its

effects. However that spared none of them from Torass blade as he parried several trident jabs

and slashed in return.

Wounded as it was, the Dhergholoth still kept its wits about it and made little attempt to

defend against Florian before taking an action of its own. Skalliska stumbled and Florian averted

his eyes as the fiend yet loose a piercing scream and a burning scatter of lights erupted from its

eyes. Having hoped to blind and confuse its attackers, the fiend was disappointed as only two of

them seemed heavily affected.

The next moments saw two more Mezzoloths fall before Fyrehowl was forced back by a

concerted assault by two others at once, and Toras was attacked by the Piscaloth. His largely
351

justified bravado was wiped cleanly from his face as the attacking loth snapped down on his left

arm with both of its massive pinchers and nearly ripped it in half at the elbow.

As Toras fell to the ground screaming and gushing blood from his wound the Dergholoth

toppled and fell as Tristol hurled a volley of flaming bolts to strike full into its chest. Skalliska and

Florian were both recovering from the now dead loths stunning attack while Fyrehowl weaved

and danced around the surviving Mezzoloths, taking a few jabs from their flaming tridents but

slowly wearing them down in a volley of cuts and slashes.

Oh son of a bitch... Toras cursed as he held his arm and gritted his teeth while his com-

panions cut down both the piscaloth and the remainder of the Mezzoloths.

Standing over the bodies of the fiends, watching them slowly bubble away into pools of boiling

and foul smelling acids, the air shimmered and a glimmering portal flickered into being. Weapons

held aloft, the group looked up, half expecting more fiends to emerge, when Nisha and Clueless

came tumbling out and nearly fell into the dissolving fiend corpses.

... Clueless was speechless as he and Nisha stood over the pile of fiends and looked at their

companions who were largely covered in blood, both the fiends, and in Torass case mostly, their

own.

Just what the hell is going on?! Elysium! Fiends. Dead fiends. In Elysium. You standing

over them!

Subtlety is lost on you guys I think. Nisha said as she peered at Torass arm. Does that

hurt Toras?

****

Two hours earlier Nisha and Clueless had both stood in Tradegate with Cluelesss former

companion and stood in watchful silence as he slumbered peacefully.

A soft cough broke the silence.

Huh? Clueless exclaimed as he turned to look.

Why am I not surprised to see you? Nisha said as she looked up at the glowing blue grin

that hovered in the doorway to the room.

Just like a clipped copper. Or something like that... The Cheshire Fiend said as it floated

into the chamber.

So whats this about? Clueless asked.

Your companions in Elysium, well, theyve gotten involved in a bit more than they had

originally bargained on. They could very much use and appreciate both of you about now. The

fiend said as it hovered closer.

 352

Clueless glanced over towards the other side of the room where his elven companion lay

asleep, resting from his ordeal. As the fiend drew near, the bladesinger motioned towards the

door and away from the elf.

Away from him, hes been through a lot and he doesnt need to hear any more trouble.

Clueless said.

Well have to get someone to take care of him. Nisha thumbed over towards the slumbering

elf and pointed her tail over at the same time.

I can have the innkeeper have someone watch over him and bring food and anything else he

needs. Ill leave a note for him when he wakes up. Clueless added.

The fiend coughed. Our little chit-chat aside now, I can have you sent more or less directly

to your fellows in Elysium.

Oh? A Planeshift, a gate? Nisha asked.

A portal actually, and one back in Sigil. Youll have to go back through the portal here and

then to the second portal there.

Clueless raised an eyebrow, Where in Sigil is this portal?

The Cheshire Fiend glowed brilliant blue and seemed to grin in a more sly manner for a

moment before it replied, Oh, youve been there before...

****

Lord of Blasphemy! The arcanaloth cursed as he stared at his lupinal colleage. You said

the idiots at Rubicon wouldnt send anyone out here. You said they would just watch and listen!

Do you have something relevant to say fiend? Tarnsilver said without turning to face the

loth. Just what is this about?

Parphinias was livid as he put a hand on the lupinals shoulder to turn him around. The

celestial brushed the hand away like hed just been touched by a hot brand.

One of my patrols hasnt answered back and the sergeant reported they were being attacked

just before we lost contact with them. The loth said angrily.

Its not Rubicon. The lupinal answered calmly.

In case you hadnt noticed, this f*cking layer of this f*cking plane doesnt exactly have an

overwhelming abundance of visitors. Who the hell else would it be?!

Then send out your other troops to find out, you have enough of them.

And I am, but I wont leave this tower undefended in the event theres more out there

than one group that took down a patrol of eight. And this stupid plane wont let me scry on

anything out there to find out what the hell is going on. Do something useful for once celestial,
353

besides being consumed by self pity, go out there and find out what the hell took down one of

my patrols.

Tarnsilver and Parphinias exchanged withering glances that could have set wood aflame, but,

in the end, the lupinal nodded and walked away from the loth. The loth looked at the lupinal

with forced courtesy as he walked away and vanished down the stairs to the towers lower levels.

You had better pray to whatever ideals you still have left that whatever you find out there

isnt from Rubicon. If theyve found us here youll end up in worse condition than the others of

your kind down in the bottom of this keep, but... The arcanaloth mused with a sudden show of

fangs, ...but you would know nothing of that...

****

Nisha and Clueless walked down a familiar looking alleyway in the Lower Ward each of them

looking at the other nervously.

This place again. Nisha said as she looked at the ruined temple looming at the end of the

street.

Coincidence? The loth sends us to the same place and the same bound space, but just with

a different portal key to get to the Waste or to Elysium. I doubt it. He replied.

Makes you wonder what this place was originally, and what the loths have to do with it.

Nisha mused as they neared the doorway.

Clueless reached into a small pouch and fished out the portal key that he and Nisha had

purchased at the direction of the loth, a bloodstone wrapped in a few links of a thin iron chain.

He glanced through the doorway and into the abandoned and dustfilled interior of the temple

and then back at Nisha.

Ready? The bladesinger asked.

Nisha nodded as she nudged a desiccated rat corpse at the edge of the doorway, it faced

outwards and away from the temple as if it had died running from something, just like all of the

remains of the small animals and insects that littered the ground around the building.

About as ready as I can be I guess. She said as the doorway erupted into a swirling mass

of silvery light as Clueless broke the frames border with the portalkey.

Looking at each other one last time, they leapt into the open portal and burrowed their way

across the planes, through space and age-old barriers, to emerge into Belarian, Elysiums sealed

3rd layer. Hurtling through space, they emerged into the plane and nearly fell over a pile of

yugoloth corpses

****
 354

Soon, soon now. Listen to it little ones, listen to it. Listen to it starting all over again.

It continues now in bits and inches, creeping towards the inevitable; towards what you have

borne witness to. I see it, and so do my brothers and sisters. The thirteen. We thirteen. The

Demented. Our plans now fall into place as we said they would. And the others fled, vanished or

returned to the source leaving us as stewards to control and plot the development of our children

and the course of all of these infinite worlds. And so we shall, and so we do. But... you already

know this now dont you...

Sarkithel fek Perthis lifted his head up towards the sprawling ruins of the great city that

sprawled out and surrounded him for miles. One of thirteen, the Baern looked out at the

devastation and cried out to the darkness that loomed like an unbound vault overhead. The cry

was one of jubilation and triumph, the cry of one who stood witness to the start of something

great and terrible and who knew what would happen at the end of that process.

All around the Gloom Father stood the scattered dust and frozen ashes of the city, the remains

of its great works and the remains of its dutiful worshippers and inhabitants; the ashes of the

faithful who had borne witness to it all. All around the bare feet of the Chronicler, one of the

very first of the fiends, the ashes danced and moved, drawn by some unseen pull back to their

original places as the city slowly rebuilt itself bit by bit. And all around the fiend the ashes

whispered their torment at what had been and what was to come.

The Baernaloth opened a book and placed it upon the broken stones of what had once been

a massive flying buttress to the great cathedral at the center of the city. He drew forth a pen

and jabbed it into his own flesh to coat it with a drop of his blood, and there he sat and wrote

in the ragged volume a litany of what he observed, of what he felt, and all that he saw come to

pass.

Would you wish to stop it if you could? The Baern spoke into the air to the voices that

surrounded him, all of them whispering forth from the frozen lips of the statues that populated

the ruins around him.

Would you wish to end your torment and stop it all from happening once again? The

Chronicler asked to the frozen and incinerated remains of a Solar and the Nycaloth that stood

next to it. You have seen what is to come, but you do not know the meaning of it all. You

dont quite grasp the meaning of the pain, the hollow darkness of that past and this future. No,

you fumble at the meaning lurking there in that last moment before death that your spirits cling

to, bound as you are to this place.

It comes softly now, uncertain of the world it enters and that it left behind. And, like you

my children, it too is bound to destiny and fate just as you are bound to this place. And you
355

will see it happen again as will I. But for now, whisper your warning of it all and I shall listen

to you as I have since you came to this place. Sarkithel said as a whisper that rose just above

the chorus of those that stirred the ashes and the air around him.

The first rumblings of that which you have witnessed, that which holds you now, and that

which you whisper of impotently in warning... The Baernaloth whispered as it looked up into

the black and starless void of Gehenna. These are but the beginnings of birth pangs...

****

Florian stood next to Toras and whispered a prayer to Tempus while the fighters arm slowly

stopped dripping a spray of crimson blood and began the process of re-stitching itself. Skalliska

was averting her snout from the foul-smelling fumes the loth bodies were emitting as they

dissolved, and Fyrehowl was glancing nervously down the path.

Have I taught you all nothing?! Clueless whispered harshly at his companions as he looked

between them and the dead yugoloth patrol. Sneaking! Its not that hard!

Clueless sighed, looked at the bodies once more and whispered again with exasperation, I

leave you alone for *five* *minutes*...!

Toras rolled his eyes at the bladesinger and deliberately ignored Nishas constant questioning

about his arm. Tristol had to chuckle however at the tieflings banter.

No, really, whatd it feel like to have it hanging off like that? Did it kinda swing at all? Did

you think it might fall off at any point? Do you like pickled eggs? Nisha asked as she tentatively

poked his bloody but healing arm.

...pickled eggs? What does that have to do with anything? Toras asked, now more confused

than in pain as Florian finished his spell.

Absolutely nothing. Why? Since when do I make sense? Nisha said with a grin.

Fyrehowl was still looking tense and worried as Clueless was making motions off towards the

woods.

Here, let me show you how its done. We leave the fiend bodies and sneak off into the woods

before they send out more to track us down and find us right where they probably expect us to

be. Quickly. The bladesinger said.

The ground suddenly shuddered and they all paused and looked, first at the ground and then

around them for the source of the tremor. Fyrehowl had redrawn her blade but had otherwise

said nothing.

Umm... what the hell was that? Skalliska asked.

The swamp rats need to go on diets? Nisha mused with a worried look.
 356

Fyrehowl, do they have dragons or anything big enough to do that here on this layer?

Clueless asked as another tremor hit.

Fyrehowl looked past her group and took a deep breath. No, but theres something I should

have already told you about this layer before now. I know what it is that we, the guardinals,

have kept locked away on Belarian, it...

I was wondering when Rubicon would send someone here looking for me. You arent what

I expected, but regardless, what is being done here is something that must be done. Its not

something for you to stop, not now, not yet.

Heads snapped around to glance into the trees to the south of the road where a tall, silver

furred lupinal stood calm and composed with his hands clasped in front of him. He nodded to

Fyrehowl as he softly stepped onto the road with an unearthly level of grace that made him seem

to flow rather than step the space between the wood and the road.

Fyrehowl alone saw that his eyes were glazed over, much like the eyes of Factol Rhys were

always. There would be only one end here on the road and the rogue lupinal had already decided

what it was to be.

We... Fyrehowl said as an earthshaking roar from the west drowned her voice out.

All of them there except Tarnsilver looked to the west where the hills rose above the forest,

and all of them stood transfixed in awe as they watched the first titanic reptilian head rise above

the forest and above the hills as well. A second ear-bruising roar rocked the treetops with its force

from miles distant as another head rose above the landscape, soon to be joined by a half-dozen

more. Dragons could have perched upon the ridges over the beasts eyes and giants could have

used its scales as tower shields; the beast was more massive than anything any of them had ever

seen.

Several of them stumbled with numb shock as they took in the sheer size of the Mother of

Serpents. The beast dwarfed any preconception they might possibly have prepared for them-

selves; even Fyrehowl who had been told of the beast stood in astonishment. Florian whispered

a prayer and Cluelesss wings glowed with an orange and yellow sheen of faerie fire. Skalliskas

eyes widened in shock and Toras rose to his feet with uncertainty as Tristol tried in vain to grasp

at the existence of such a creature.

Behind them all, as calm and certain as ever, stood the fallen lupinal in a loose and ready

combat stance. He spoke but briefly before acting, Rubicons vigil and our shame. That is why

I cannot allow you to leave here.

Chapter 31

I think Im going to need a bigger sword... Toras said with a look of open-mouthed shock as

he glanced up at the massive form of the Mother of Serpents where it stood towering over the

forest several miles away.

Massive yes, but... it will not remain here forever. I have seen to that, though it may take

centuries still. Tarnsilver spoke calmly. They feed it fiends. Baatezu, Tanarri, even their own

kind hoping to make it their pet and their tool in the Blood War or to sell it to either side like

they sell themselves. No different from other celestials providing them with weapons to slaughter

each other and keep them busy butchering their own kind rather than harming the innocent.

Keeping the Beast here is foolish pride and self destruction.

All eyes focused on the male lupinal as he stood calmly before them when they turned around.

Tarnsilver nodded briefly at Fyrehowl, either in respect for her heritage or for the similar robes

that they both wore, though his were marked with the station of a factor.

Yugoloths... how can you help them here? Fyrehowl was incredulous.

Our losses were for nothing. The beast does nothing here but slowly corrupt the essence

of our plane, a stain against our souls. Out of pride we keep it here! Out of pride we keep it

chained before we would admit defeat so long ago! The other lupinal snarled.

Clueless slowly stepped forward and past Fyrehowl, looking directly at Tarnsilver as he spoke.

Weve spoken to Rhys about you, and weve spoken to the defenders of Rubicon. They...

Clueless never completed the statement as the factors eyes glazed and the bladesinger felt

dirt and blood in his mouth as he was knocked sprawling on the ground from a circle kick he

never saw coming.

There was a moment of still and Tarnsilver tensed. A moment -after- he tensed, Toras charged

him. The fighter was halfway through his backswing when the lupinal barely seemed to move

but slammed the ball of his heel into Torass throat. Toras lay wincing on the ground while the

former cipher factor tensed again and the others readied their own weapons or began to cast

357
 358

spells.

Nisha looked down at Toras while she brandished a wand and sheathed her sword. Ah hell

this isnt going to be pretty...

And it wasnt. Tarnsilver seemed to slip in and out of a trance-like state as he ducked,

dodged, blocked and otherwise evaded most of the attacks brought to bear against him. In fact,

he seemed to anticipate things a fraction of a second before they actually happened. Out of a

dozen or so blows directed against him only two of them struck, and they were only glancing

blows. Tristols spells didnt fare much better either as the fallen lupinal managed to evade most

or all of the burst of fire that the aasimar conjured forth.

The bloodied companions looked up at Tarnsilver who stood calm and implacable in the

clearing, drifting out of the trance for the moment. He chuckled at them as he gently touched

and prodded the minor wounds he had taken.

Better than most. Without the spell slinger you likely wouldnt have landed any. How do

you hit someone who knows what youll do next before you even decide to do it? The fallen

lupinal smirked as he gestured to Fyrehowl.

You should know this more than the others; youve been inducted into the order as well.

However you are only a namer, not a factor like myself. You know this is folly, and I am willing

to spare you if you will listen to reason. The others have seen too much and there is too much

at risk here.

You dont know what youre doing... Fyrehowl said a moment before they charged Tarn-

silver again.

Again they met with little success, as the cipher factor was a blur of kicks, punches, and

spinning acrobatics that seemed to defy any sense of reality with their speed and prescience. With

only a single spell and a few more glancing blows landing to any effect, the group again backed

off. All of them had taken at least one hard blow in the fighting except for Clueless who, aside

from the suckerpunch kick that still had him seeing spots, was the only one the factor had failed

to strike. However the half-feys luck and evasion came less from any preternatural quickness like

the lupinal, but rather from a serious combination of defensive spells in his bladesinger tradition.

Fyrehowl had stepped forward and looked at the other lupinal again and the smug smile on

his face as he extended an offer to her.

Give up and I will ensure that the Yugoloths do not harm you. The multiverse speaks and

flows through me. Surely you must know that. I do what the planes themselves whisper to me

is the correct actions, and in this I am resolute.

No... no they dont. We spoke to Rhys and she told me to tell you that you dont hear the
359

planes, not anymore.

Tarnsilver paused and his eyes lost their glazed look as he focused on Fyrehowl.

Rhys told me to tell you that you arent hearing the planes, that youre only hearing your

own voice. Youre only hearing what you want to hear.

Tarnsilver seemed to slow in that moment and in his self-doubt and uncertainty he charged

her to silence the words he refused to believe. As he charged her, she struck back with all her

strength and seemed to hear in the back of her mind, less as a voice and more as an instinct,

something telling her when and where to strike. Tarnsilver struck hard, but harder still did

Fyrehowl.

Tarnsilver stumbled and clutched at his gut. His robes were awash in crimson and he glanced

at his wound and then back up at Fyrehowl with shock and disbelief.

...how? He shuddered and winced, No no no, I was right in what I did, no...

Fyrehowls eyes were glazed over as she walked forwards when Tarnsilver collapsed onto the

ground.

The fallen lupinal coughed up blood and looked at Fyrehowl, I was doing what was needed.

I was saving us from our mistake; I was doing this for us. You, me, Rubicon, all of you. I was

only trying to do what I knew was right.

And which of us was full of pride then? Fyrehowl said as her scimitar severed the other

lupinals head and her eyes lost their glaze and she stared down at his corpse.

Its not over. Weve only stopped him, but we have to stop the others. We cant allow the

fiends to stay here. The cipher was softly crying as she wrapped the fallen lupinals head in a

white cloth. A moment alone here please...

The others walked away for several minutes, leaving Fyrehowl a few moments of peace and

reflection before they returned, wary that the fiends would have some of their kind marching to

find their lupinal ally. They did not care to be there when the loths found the body.

Theyll be sending people to look for him most likely, we should get moving. Nisha said as

she slipped into the woods and motioned for the others.

From what he said it sounded like the fiends had a bit more than we thought. Toras said.

Clueless nodded, Thats what worries me, that theyll have too many of their kind here for

us to handle.

Well handle it. Fyrehowl stated.

As they crept through the forest they began to notice that the terrain began to slope down-

wards as they progressed further to the east, and that soon enough to had begun to do so at

an increasingly rapid pace. Perhaps a quarter of a mile distant from the road they slowed their
 360

pace and finally stopped abruptly as they saw something ahead.

Holy crap... Clueless said as he paused and looked at the structure that loomed ahead.

Sure enough as the terrain had bottomed out, they stood in the woods on the descending

slope of a natural bowl in the landscape several hundred feet below the normal lay of the land.

Rising to just below the height of the treetops at normal elevation was a jagged, bladed tower

that stood several stories above the ground in a clearing at the center of the depression.

Fyrehowl motioned the group to remain quiet as they stood and peered at the scene below.

The main gate at the base of the tower stood open and a dozen or more Mezzoloths stood guard,

clustered around the opening, while two columns of the fiends marched in formation around the

building on patrol in opposite to one another, probably forty of them all told. Mixed in with the

Mezzoloths were a number of Dergholoths and Piscaloths as well.

Fyrehowl gritted her teeth in rage and disbelief at the presence of the fiends and the insult

of the tower. Skalliska was more astonished than not.

Thats a scale replica of the Tower Arcane in Gehenna, right down to the blades on the

sides. And hell, judging from the color of the walls, they made it out of adamantium. They built

the damn thing to last... The kobold said before a flapping noise from overhead cut her off.

Descending from out of the sky towards the tower was the Slasrath and its Nycaloth rider

that they had seen earlier making an aerial patrol of the surrounding area. The black, manta-like

flier swooped down and landed upon one of three mounts on the edge of one of the upper stories

of the tower where two other Slasraths were tethered atop their own aeries. The Nycaloth rider

atop the beast dismounted, briefly paused to look down at the marching Mezzoloths, and then

disappeared inside the tower itself.

Were not going to be charging the front gates, as much fun as that might be, itd be a brief

amount of fun. Toras said as he motioned towards the troops.

See those carvings on the sides of the second and forth floors of the tower? Tristol said, I

cant tell you exactly what they are, but theres some contingent wards on them. If you look

closely at the carved figures there, arcanaloths, theyre all holding wands pointed down towards

the ground. The wards there are probably spells that trigger those wands to fire on intruders

who approach the tower.

Broke out all the stops didnt they... Florian remarked.

And this is where the sneaking comes into play, right? Nisha said.

Clueless pointed away from the tower to the opposite side of the valley where the ground

was considerably rockier. A few hundred feet away from the tower stood what appeared to be

a mineshaft sunk into the ground and a number of blocks of cut stone that had been drug out
361

from it, half of them gleaming partially like they were either metal or metal ores.

Id hazard a guess that the shaft there might connect to the tower if it has any lower levels,

and it doesnt appear defended in any way that I can see. Opinions?

The stone blocks there are just normal stone, but one of them looks like its been partially

transmuted into the same metal the tower is built from. Id guess they just took normal rock

from the area here and used magic to shape it and make it into the proper material. Skalliska

said. They might have abandoned the mine since the tower looks finished, but they might also

have connections to the tower as well like you said. Its worth a look.

The group exchanged nods and started moving away from the tower to circle around through

the woods to approach from the other side. At least that was their plan, to remain in hiding and

out of sight till they could sneak into the mineshaft. But, as in all things, not everything turned

out as expected.

Oww! Sh*t... Toras muttered as he turned and walked directly into a low hanging tree

branch and snapped it off from the impact with his head. The crack of the impact was loud and

resounding and not missed by the fiends in the clearing below.

Fyrehowl, Nisha, Skalliska and Clueless stared at Toras. The fighter winced and rubbed his

forehead as a bright bruise slowly spread across his face.

You can dodge arrows and sword slashes, but a tree manages to catch you with your guard

down? Florian asked with a chuckle.

Sneaking! Its not that hard! Clueless harshly whispered.

Toras chuckled and blushed heavily but before he could say anything Nisha cut him off,

Move everyone, the fiends are sending guards to see what that was, so lets move.

Down below, one of the two Mezzoloth contingents diverted course at the direction of their

Dergholoth supervisor and swung up towards the heavily forested slopes of the valley. By the

time they had marched to the spot where the sound hard originated however the group was gone

and nestled near to the open mouth of the mineshaft.

****

Is there anything more that my master requires? Shylaras tongue may have dropped honey

in the Ultroloths presence, but her thoughts were anything but as sweet as she knelt before the

other fiend whom she had obediently chafed under for months now in Center.

Not that her service and loyalty was at the order of the Ultroloth, no, not in any way. She only

served the temporary, so-called master, in order to funnel information and details of Anthraxuss

troop strength to her actual lord in Carceri. It was to He that she was loyal, and it was The
 362

Ebon who would reward her for her unquestioning loyalty, that for her bordered upon worship

normally reserved for beings of higher station than even the Overlord of Carceri. But titles for

those others were just words wrapped around the unworthy.

As Palinariuss mental voice buzzed ad droned on in her mind, her thoughts that the other

loth felt were ones of obedience, fear, and loyalty to their shared master, Anthraxus the Decayed.

Locked away and sequestered in the core of her being though, her thoughts dripped the Ultroloths

blood. In those thoughts she bathed in his blood and draped herself with his guts like fleshy,

still twitching ribbons. But there was a time and a place for everything, and desires, hers and

others, were something of a key in the next days.

I no longer require you in my service. I release you from my side and expect for you to

report yourself for service with the appropriate taskmaster of your caste in the army of our

mutual master. Palinarius said as he turned away from the window high above Center in the

palace of Dandy Will.

Outside, the first waves of the massed army of Anthraxus, the once and future Oinoloth,

marched around the city and through its wide-open gates like waves of liquid evil. The populace

of Center welcomed the massed columns of Mezzoloths, hundreds of thousands of them by the

hour, to cheers of victory, encouragement, and bloodthirsty screams of revenge against those

loyal to the pretender Mydianchlarus.

As Palinarius loomed over his assistant and scribe for the duration of his stay in Center, he

inwardly smiled at the lesser loths fear and worry. The silk robed arcanaloth seemed to shudder

slightly at times when he gazed at her directly, always seeming to be ill at ease in his presence as

were most of her kind. Behind the Ultroloth, the skies had begun to darken as the first waves of

Slasraths and their riders, all of them greater yugoloths, blotted out the light above the Waste

and their shadows rippled over the city. The piercing screeches of the manta-like mounts rattled

the clouds as Anthraxus himself approached the city, there to make his triumphant entry before

bringing his war to the coward and the cowards army huddled and frightened around the base

of the Wasting Tower.

Millions of them above and below, wheeling through the skies and marching through the city

en masse, it was beautiful as much as an Ultroloth could conceive of such things. The pain,

bloodshed and misery of their enemies would be a worthy sacrifice to that which had birthed

them all.

Dismissed and cast aside, Shylara AktAtarm, Shylara the Manged, crept away from her

former master and only looked back once, framing the Ultroloth against the window out into the

skies swarming with the silhouettes of the slasraths. A last look before she left, because it was
363

unlikely she would see him again, and woe to him if she did.

The moment she stepped from Palinariuss sanctum, her mind glowed with the soft caress

of a sending spell. She shuddered in nearly intimate pleasure at the touch of her master as she

received his instructions and listened obediently. With a shivering, anticipatory whisper of Yes

my love... and a gesture of her hands, she was gone in the rapid flash and collapse of an opened

gate.

****

A slow exhalation of purple smoke washed over Milton Ostersons face from the fiends pursed

lips, flowing over grinning fangs, and sparkling almost as much as her violet tinged eyes. Not

that he could see at the moment anyways since the cocktail of hallucinogens and narcotics in the

smoke had hours ago washed away any sense of lucidity from his desperate mind.

Show up and sit still, wait as long as I require and endure whatever happens while youre

here and the calling point on your brothers debts will be extended another month. All you

have to do is sit there, not budge an inch, and not say a word till spoken to regardless of what

happens. Such a simple thing, surely you can do that, cant you?

That was what the smiling King of the Crosstrade had said earlier in the day, and Osterson

was still sitting, ramrod straight on an unpadded footstool, several hours later. That he was

no longer fully aware of his surroundings didnt change the conditions of the deal, nor was the

fact that his higher brain functions were so addled that it didnt matter that he was seeing and

hearing things that might have sealed his death had he been capable of understanding it all.

The Marauder shifted slightly in her chair, dressed in a black velvet gown that might as well

have been painted on her, as tight as it was. Smirking, she inhaled deeply from a bejeweled

water pipe and hissed a series of long streamers of drugged smoke at the mortal while she leaned

back and kept her slippered feet cradled in his lap, using him for a footrest.

You enjoy your position far too much my dear. An amused chuckle came from the glowing

blue avatar of the Cheshire Fiend.

Shemeska laughed and took another hit from the pipe before blowing the smoke at the other

loth. Were you in the same position, youd enjoy doing the same. Dont deny it in the least.

Im simply considering this a prelude to the coming events that are drawing ever so close now.

My lot it pitched, my bets handed in, and well, I never bet on anything but a winning horse.

Would our mutual ringleader appreciate your comparing him to a racehorse? That seems

hardly fitting darling. And is it smart to talk of this with this piece of chattel in the room?

The grin said as it nibbled on Ostersons right ear.

 364

If I wanted you to have an opinion, Id skin you and scribe it on your soul. The fiendess

replied with a sneer as she ran the tip of a painted claw over the Cheshire Fiends avatar.

Besides, She added, You assume that I have the intention of letting this fool walk out of

here alive. Oh we made a deal and I wont break it, but hell relieve his brothers debt temporarily

at the cost of his sanity, likely his life, and possibly his soul as well. The Carcerian poppies in the

hookah are rather toxic you see, and in about an hour hell be exposed to enough to constitute

an overdose. You can stay and watch the seizures if you wish, I know that I will.

The grin gave her an approving look, And here I thought that you might have gotten soft of

late. No, youve just taken out your frustrations on others since I had to deprive you of a toy.

Helekanalaith couldnt stand me having mine when the Ebon had deprived him of his. You

didnt have to facilitate it you know, I had plans for mine beyond his current usage...

The Cheshire Fiend scoffed politely, I can only imagine...

Words words words my smiling fellow, youre full of too many of them. The Marauder said

as she put the pipe down and stared at the mortal expectantly while speaking to the other fiend,

Thats a difference between you and I oftentimes. You give your actions too much window-

dressing while Im open about who and what I am. I dont hide it, I revel in it and it makes life

in this sordid little city all the more enjoyable. And I do enjoy it, oh so much, and its afforded

me a position of power and influence that will take you some time to achieve yourself you see.

You can feel free to serve your sire and represent the Towers interests in Sigil and Ill sit here

and serve myself and no other.

If you say so mistress, I wont correct a lady. It wouldnt be polite of me. Besides, Id like

to hush now and watch this all transpire, if you dont mind sharing your entertainment.

The yugoloths laughed mutually and chatted with one another like they were having a picnic

on a sunny day with not a care in the world, and then Osterson twitched as a vessel in his brain

began to leak slowly and subtly.

Outside the room in one of the upper hallways of the Fortunes Wheel, a trio of tiefling

bodyguards stood at the ready and heard nothing but the low din of the crowds below them in

the gambling hall and the laughter of their mistress in the room behind them. Inside the room,

and the source of the gleeful mood on the Kings part, was the mortal who had dropped to the

ground slowly dying and convulsing spasmodically from the shock to his system and torment the

drugs had inflicted over the hours of exposure and overdose. His last moments of life contained a

single lucid moment when he looked up into the leering, razorvine crowned face of the arcanaloth

who held a single black sapphire in front of his eyes and whispered with a smile, Twenty seconds

short, and so a pity about your brother too...

365

****

Still being browbeaten by Clueless, Toras slipped out from behind the line of trees at the

border of the forest and ducked behind a block of cut granite. As he crouched in the shadow

of the boulder the others joined him and dashed one by one to closer vantage points near the

mouth of the cave. Skalliska went first and slipped nearly unseen into the mouth of the shaft. A

moment later she motioned them that the coast was clear and that they could follow her inside.

The place is pretty quiet, no lights and no guards as far as I can see. Looks like theyve just

been hauling stone out of hillside to built with, and theres not been much traffic through here

recently either. Skalliska said as the others caught up with her.

Nisha nodded, Yep, dead on with that.

Cautiously they proceeded down the tunnel in the dim light, with only Florian having any

difficultly seeing before Skalliska handed her a metal stick.

Whats this? The cleric asked.

A sunrod. Tap the end against the rock if you need it to see. But hold up on it till its

absolutely needed because its pretty bright and if theres anyone down here I dont want to give

away our position till they know were here already. Alright? The kobold replied.

Sounds good to me. Florian said back.

The tunnel sloped down slightly as they continued, the floors being roughly cut and scuffed

from the passage of blocks of stone like those they had seen littering the ground outside. Perhaps

fifty yards down the passage split left and right.

Hold on, I can hear something... Fyrehowl said as she perked her ears and turned to the

right.

What is it? Toras asked.

Running water, and movement, but I cant tell from what. The lupinal replied.

The others nodded and tentatively crept down the right passage. The tunnels they followed

were largely deserted and they blundered across two side passages as they crept ever closer to the

sound of swiftly flowing water. The dead-ending side tunnels had been empty and abandoned,

filled only with the marks from where blocks of stone had been removed and nothing more.

However, as the group followed one passage and the sounds grew louder, they found evidence

of recent passage by fiends and a dim light emanating from the same source of the noise. Their

slow creep down the hallway ended and became a dash when they heard a scream of pain and

fright echo from that direction.

Bursting into the cavern at the end of the tunnel the group saw the source of the scream and
 366

the reason for it made readily apparent. The chamber was bisected by what appeared to be a

tributary of the river Oceanus that cut through the rock. A group of frog-like hydroloths stood

near the edge of the holy river and watched as a Piscaloth and two more hydroloths stood and

aimed hooked poles and some manner of wand at the immobilized form of a woman with golden

hair and blue-green skin who hovered half in and half out of the rushing waters of the river.

Some manner of magical beam that formed a net-like field around the woman was directed from

two silvery fiendish glyphs carved into the stone at the rivers banks.

The Noviere Eladrin struggled and meekly screamed as she was levitated out of the waters,

but that was before a crackling bolt of lightning snarled two of the fiends and a roaring column

of holy fire smote a third.

The fiends, taken almost completely by surprise didnt last long and Toras took especial joy

in carving through the Piscaloth while shouting righteous curses about his arm and returning

the experience. As the fiend corpses slowly began to dissolve into greasy, burning splotches on

the stone, Clueless and Tristol helped the Eladrin back into the water of the river.

Thank you, she whispered before blowing a kiss to Clueless and slipping under the surface

in a sparkle of rippling gold.

Clueless blushed as he and Nisha went about breaking and disrupting the Yugoloth wards

that had been designed to ensnare any intelligent creature that passed between them in the river.

Hmm... wonder what this is... Skalliska said as she picked up the wand that one of the

loths had been carrying. It was made of twin rods of black iron twisted around one another and

wrapped securely around a glowing yellow topaz in its base.

The kobold cast a quick spell of identification and grinned heartily at the find. Not useful

against the loths, but its fully charged with a cone of acid.

Fyrehowl glanced curiously at the wand and then walked over to the kobold.

The bastards... She whispered before snatching the wand.

What the... Skalliska said as the lupinal broke the wand and shattered the gem held within.

The bastards were powering the wand with a trapped soul. Every time that wand was used

it was ripping out a piece of that soul and consuming it. Nothing deserves that.

Any argument was ended as Fyrehowl crushed the gem and released the wispy, glowing, and

indistinct spirit within that faded away into nothing. Come on, theres another half of the

tunnels here we havent explored. Hopefully theres a connection to the tower.

Despite some minor grumbling from Skalliska, and requests from Nisha to take a swim in

the river just because, they all backtracked from the cavern and returned to the first fork in the

mineshaft. Following that other fork they had originally bypassed, they noticed that the stone
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was becoming more and more smooth and well cut as they progressed.

Looks like were on to something here... Toras said as they approached a door set into the

wall at the end of the tunnel.

With several reminders about sneaking, Nisha picked the lock and swung the door open

despite Toras and Florian wanting to kick it in. Beyond the door was a long, high ceilinged,

dressed stone corridor that progressed nearly fifty feet before hooking off to one side.

Looks like weve found our way into the tower. But still... Nisha make sure theres no

surprise here. With all the guards they had in the front of the tower I dont trust this way to be

unguarded or otherwise unprotected. Fyrehowl said to the rogue.

The search didnt take the tiefling long and she grinned with a swish of her tail as she stepped

to one side of the corridor and poked at and purposefully activated a pressure plate in the floor.

Oh, now thats just cute there. Nisha said as she looked over the now opened pit that cut

the corridor in half.

Spiked pit? Clueless asked.

Yeah, pretty easy to avoid though, just dont get near the center of the hallway and youll

be fine. She continued.

Or fly. Fyrehowl said as she lifted off the ground slightly.

Showoff Nisha said as she stuck out her tongue at the lupinal.

No, youre not a showoff unless you can do it with style. Clueless said as his own wings

sparkled with a sudden rush of greenish-blue colored faerie fire.

Nisha made another face and hopped over the trigger plate for the pit. Anyways, nothing

else... oh holy sh*t!

At the end of the corridor where it abruptly turned to the right, something moved out into

the light, hovering a dozen feet in the air and leering down at the intruders. Nine or ten reddish,

rubbery stalks grew out from a spherical central point that was alight with a single, trisected

eyeball. Each of the stalks that reached out from the center was studded with multiple eyes and

random, and the end of each stalk was fixed with a gaping mouth that bristled with jagged fangs

and a slow shower of drool.

The bizarre beholder-kin advanced down the corridor and lashed out at Fyrehowl with one of

its mouthed tentacles. The creature struck hard and fast, drawing blood that seemed to visibly

flow into the creatures mouth and energize it as a crackling web of electrical sparks flowed over

its surface and an aura of evil radiated from it that the lupinal could feel just as acutely as the

pain of its teeth. Whatever the beast was, it wasnt wholly mortal and was likely the result of

some fiendish experiment gone wrong, or perhaps from their perspective, gone terribly right.
 368

Nisha, Skalliska and Tristol scrambled backwards and fled down the hallway, all of them

acutely aware that they would be next to useless in close combat with the guardian beasts

magic nullifying central eye active. As they avoided the pit trap in the floor however, something

else happened. While Florian, Fyrehowl, Toras and Clueless rushed in to attack the hovering

abomination, the ceiling vanished overhead of the other three of the group and gravity reversed

itself with a sickening, gut-wrenching lurch.

AAAAAHHHH! Nisha shouted as she looked upwards to the suddenly spiked ceiling above

them as a false roof retracted and she and the others shot up towards it.

Scrambling as fast as she could, the rogue stuck one of her hooves against the wall and stuck

fast, grabbing out randomly to snag Skalliskas tail before the kobold was impaled on the ceiling

overhead. Meanwhile, in a moment of quick thinking, and even quicker spellcasting, Tristol

hastily mumbled the words to a spell and his ascent towards the ceiling dropped to a snails pace,

though he was still drifting up towards the spikes.

Back down at the other end of the corridor, Florian was chopping his axe at the beholder and

finding that attacking it was not as straightforward as he had hoped. The moment his weapon

connected with one of the mouthed tentacles, a bolt of lightning discharged from the aura around

the beast and arced towards the cleric.

Florian, back away from the thing and let Fyrehowl and Toras go after it, theyre resistant

or immune to lightning. Im going to try and get around this thing and nail it from behind, go

help the others! Clueless said as he burst past and over the beholder to land behind it and out

of the touch of its magic sapping eye.

Fyrehowl continued to slash and jab at the beast as it turned its attention to Toras and in

the space of a few seconds it seemed to wrap around the fighter and curl its tentacles around

him like it pouncing him and attempting to feed. Toras let out a strangled cry as the mouthed

burrowed into his exposed flesh and gnashed and ground against armor and clothing, seeking to

gorge itself.

Several of the wounds on the beholder began to restitch themselves as it fed on the fighters

blood until a column of flame shot down from the ceiling to curl about the backside of the

beholder. Howling and gurgling with rage and pain from ten different mouths, the beholder

dropped Toras to the ground and spun around to face Clueless who stood with an outstretched

hand still sparkling with magic.

As the beholder turned to the bladesinger, Fyrehowl carved into the creature with a fierce

blow. There was a sound of deflating, rushing air and one of the creatures bladders ruptured

and it crashed to one side against the wall as it lost altitude. As it went down in a burst of
369

discharging electricity, the end came quickly as both lupinal and half-fey descended upon it to

finish the job.

Florian? A bit of help here? Tristol said as he held onto a rope from Skalliska and dangled

a few inches away from the spiked ceiling.

Theres probably a glyph or a trigger for this spell somewhere down there that we tripped

when we ran through here from the opposite way. Nisha shouted down to the cleric.

What do you want me to do with it? I didnt memorize any dispelling prayers today. The

cleric yelled back up.

Kick it, hack at it, just break the sodding thing. Being sneaky falls out the window when

were in imminent harm of being transmuted into yugoloths pincushions, so to speak... The

tiefling said, still dangling up from the wall by one hoof.

While Florian saw to breaking the effect of the spell entrapping Nisha, Skalliska and Tristol,

Toras was recovering from his own injuries.

Now I know how a steak feels... Toras said with a moan as he struggled to his feet.

I dont want to know if they made more of these things, I sure hope not. Clueless said.

As Toras quaffed several potions to heal from his wounds, the others rejoined with them,

Nisha still looking back at the sprung trap. All said, that was actually pretty awesome an idea

of them.

Awesome is a relative term then. Skalliska said.

Maybe, just so long as Im not on the pointy end of that thing Im fine with it. Tristol said

with a chuckle.

Stepping over the fiendish Deathkiss beholder-kin, the group walked a half dozen feet before

entering a larger chamber that seemed to have been the lair of the now dead eye tyrant. Several

bodies of beings that were likely dragged by the fiends from the river Oceanus lay drained of

their vital fluids and slowly rotting and stiffening on the floor, one of them bloated and near to

bursting with internal pressure from the decay process and rigor mortis.

Please just dont poke the bloated one? The fiend stench is already bad enough here without

adding that... Fyrehowl said as they approached a door flush into the western wall of the

chamber.

Nisha walked past the lupinal with her cheeks puffed out, eyes wide and sticking her belly

out in mock imitation of the corpse.

Ha ha Nisha, very funny. Check the door? Florian said.

The tiefling exhaled and sucked her stomach back in with a grin and twitch of her tail, Oh?

You thought I was making like the dead guy? No no, I just do that sometimes randomly.
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Nisha? You do -anything- sometimes randomly. Thats just what you do. Tristol said as

he poked her in the ribs.

She poked him back in the same place with her tail without turning around, Now youre

getting the picture, randomness is what Im all about.

Nisha looked back over her shoulder at the mage with a grin, And the doors magelocked

and alarmed. This would be your thing, unless you want to wait for me to pick it my way.

Dispelling it would work the easiest.

I tell you, one of these times well get to kick the door down and run in screaming. Florian

said to Toras.

Just not now, were still going with the whole sneaky thing. Clueless said as he hovered in

the air next to the cleric and fighter.

Tristol nodded and slowly cast several spells to erase and undo the alarms and wards on the

door. Upon whispering the last phrases of the final spell the door swung open, being otherwise

unlocked, into a dimly lit and wretchedly smelling corridor.

Fyrehowl winced and narrowed her eyes shortly before the others did as well from the stomach

turning stench that wafted from the open door. The odor was a thick carpet of what smelled

like rotting flesh, blood and harsh chemicals.

Everyone quiet and dont mind the stink, because I think we just found their dungeons for

that tower... Clueless said as he slipped into the dressed stone corridor beyond the door with

the others in close tow.

As they slowly crept through the hallways they heard the sounds of something bubbling and

thick bubbles rising and popping through a thick liquid. At the intersection of several passages

they found a vat inset into an alcove in the wall and a the stink of the corridors seeming to

emanate from its contents.

Blood, Fyrehowl said without looking over the lip of the large vessel that seemed to have

been grown into place rather that built. Yugoloths boil victims and render them down to use

as ink if they dont devour them or put them to any other uses. Were too late for anyone they

put in there, but they might still have prisoners down here that they may have dragged out of

the river behind us...

The lupinals thoughts were echoed by the sudden scream that echoed down the corridors

from the passage to their left. Looking at each other and hearing the pain and agony in the voice

they rushed down the passage and the closed iron door at its end with weapons drawn and at

the ready.

Halfway down the corridor, something flooded into the minds of the entire group. A sickening
371

voice that seemed directed to the victim of the torture whose screams they could hear spoke into

their minds.

Filthy being, not only will I eventually kill you, but you will experience this all from my

perspective as I rip you apart and feast upon your agony. I shall be generous perhaps and kill

you swiftly, or perhaps I shall prolong it for weeks till you expire here on this wretched plane.

But first, a taste of yourself.

Pausing and feeling sick, they all felt and saw in their minds the act of biting or stinging the

torture victim and burrowing something into its forehead. They tasted its fear saturated sweat

and the layer of fat beneath the skin, and then the taste of brain matter inside their own mouths.

You can still feel pain without this portion of your brain intact fool, do you like the taste

of it? I savor this like I have savored it a hundred times before, though never with your kind

exactly. We shall learn something here together then...

The fresh screams from the end of the corridor brought the group out of their pale-faced

shock and disgust. Sickened at what they had been forcibly made to experience, and that some

innocent was being ravaged by a fiend, they charged the door.

You want to, or shall I? Toras said to Florian as they both barreled towards the end of the

corridor.

Your turn, enjoy. Florian said a moment before Torass booted foot slammed into the door

and ripped it from its moorings in the wall.

The door slammed into a Mezzoloth who stood at the entrance and both of them landed

with a carapace cracking thunder against the far wall of what looked to be a torture chamber.

Glowing implements of torture lay inside a magically hot brazier between two other Mezzoloths,

but the groups focus lay on the victim and the torturer.

Chained down to an iron slab was a broken and bleeding Nycaloth, branded upon his chest

and arms with the symbol of the Oinoloth Mydianchlarus. Standing over him with a long, thin

proboscis piercing into the fiends forehead, was a large brown-red insectoid creature with tiny

black eyes and a fanged mouth that was best described as smiling as it physically burrowed into

its victims brain and fed the sensations into the minds of others.
Chapter 32

Evil is a mortal entity and not a created one, an eternal entity and not a perishable entity: it

existed before the world; it constituted the monstrous, the execrable being who was also to fashion

such a hidious world. It will hence exist after the creatures which people this world. - Marquis

de Sade

****

Though their first attempt at a heroic rescue was less than expected, they did manage to

butcher the remaining Mezzoloths and the Vaath torturer in several brief, blood spattered mo-

ments.

Not fun on the receiving end is it? Toras shouted out with a nearly gleeful laugh as he

jabbed his sword repeatedly into the insectoid native of Carceri.

Dont act so happy about it Toras. And... gah! Watch where you send those bug guts flying.

Evil bug guts even, ugg. Nisha said as she gingerly stepped over a pile of the Vaaths innards.

But, after they had made certain the fiends were dead and no reinforcements were on their

way, they gathered around the shackled Nycaloth and looked down at him. Florian whispered a

simple prayer and healed most of his wounds so they could speak to him in a lucid state.

So, who are you and why should we not just kill you like the rest of the fiends here?

Fyrehowl said with her sword at his throat.

I was second in command to the Ultroloth lord, Barzikonius ak Palin, of the tower here,

though he vanished shortly before the traitors overtook us. Filthy traitors to the Oinoloth,

they overwhelmed us and kept myself and many of my troops alive only to torture us for their

amusement. The Nycaloth snarled and spat. My name is Durmage the Blood Winged.

The group looked at each and then back at the loth.

Funny... that was the Ultroloth we watched get assassinated a short while back, wasnt it?

Florian mused.

372
373

Youre right, that was him there in the mercane demiplane. Interesting... Tristol said.

The loth narrowed its eyes at that information but said nothing for a bit as it pondered the

implications. Finally it looked up at them and spoke, Free me...

Excuse me? Florian asked.

Free me. You want to stop what is going on here, yes? I know the positions and strength of

the traitors here, and my troops are still loyal to me. Release me and they and I will help you

finish this here. Durmage said.

And how do we know that we can trust you? Clueless said with skepticism.

You dont. But youll be butchered three times over if you try to take the tower by your-

selves... A sly glint sparked in the Nycaloths eyes.

Fyrehowl narrowed her eyes and Florian snorted softly.

Hes got a point, as much as I hate to admit it... Toras said.

Sadly, yes. Clueless replied without taking his eyes off the fiend.

The loth rattled the chains impatiently, Then release me and I will tell you all I know of

the forces in the tower, then we wade in their blood as we are meant to do...

Why didnt you just free yourself? You can teleport at will, and none of those chains or

anything in this room have any dweomers to suppress that ability or spells like it. Tristol asked

as he surveyed the chamber slowly.

Durmage snarled, Somehow they stripped me of the ability. I dont know how except that

it failed me and all of my troops just before the thrice-damned followers of Anthraxus assaulted

us. I assume it was some magic wielded by their commander, the arcanaloth Parphinnias. He

was a potent sorcerer so I assume it was his doing.

We can use his help. Hes right about being outnumbered, and he knows the layout of the

tower. Toras said.

If youre sure Toras... Nisha said as she picked the locks on the chains holding the loth to

the metal torturers slab.

Normally youd be right not to trust me, but this concerns family matters, so to speak, and

on this issue of loyalty the stakes are higher than any dealings with you all. My word will hold

for this. The Nycaloth said as he stretched his wings.

You help us, and your former troops help us, and when we take the tower you all leave back

to the lower planes immediately. You dont belong here, and if you dont agree Ill have the

wrath of Rubicon descend on this tower and raze it to the ground so help me... Fyrehowl said

forcefully as she looked directly at Durmage.

The loth nodded its head and paused before responding, Agreed. Help me slaughter these
 374

traitors and I will do as you ask. This place is unimportant compared to happenings back upon

the Waste.

Where are your troops? Skalliska asked.

Down this current passage and off to the right. There will be a series of cells we kept

prisoners in for torture and starvation, and beyond those are where my troops have been held in

preparation for their torture and execution one by one. Durmage said as he picked up the black

iron trident of one of the dead Mezzoloths that shimmered with a coating of frost. He swung the

weapon several times before smiling at the balance and pointing down the hallway.

Following the winged greater yugoloth they snuck down the passage and into a long, wide

corridor lined with cells. The scent of rotting flesh rose from several of the cells, and blood tinged

the air with a metallic, cupric scent. Fyrehowl paused and looked into one of the cells with wide

eyes.

They had guardinal prisoners. They had them and Tarnsilver did nothing to stop it?! She

snarled in disbelief and rage as she glared at the Nycaloth.

He was blissfully unaware of this little portion of what we did here. He knew the main

details of it all, both under Barzikonius and under the traitors who came after. He was spared

the fine and more bloody details so as not to trouble him and induce any unsightly episodes of a

haunted conscience. Durmage said with a shrug as he walked onwards, Free them if you wish

but I have my own troops to collect at the end of the hall.

Hell no, youre staying right here where we can see you. Florian said as he looked to the

Nycaloth.

As you wish, but if you wait too long before joining with my troops the towers defenders

will have ample time to prepare themselves. Durmage said impatiently as he pointed down the

hallway. Dont waste your time with these fools. They will only slow us down.

You can wait. Fyrehowl said angrily as she opened the cell door and stepped inside.

The cells interior was dark and coated in filth and blood. Two figures lay against the walls,

chained down and unmoving. One of them, an ursinal, was covered in blood and half-healed

wounds; he seemed to have been there for a prolonged period and showed signs of starvation.

The other, a cervidal, was covered in the welts and scars that belayed a severe flogging, though

he showed no signs of starvation like the other.

The cervidal looked up with weary, bloodshot eyes, Please... no more. We... His eyes darted

from the Nycaloth and to Fyrehowl and then the others, a single spark of hope lighting in their

depths.

Fyrehowl motioned Nisha over to pick the locks on their chains as she knelt down next to
375

the prisoners. Youre safe, and were going to free you before we see to the fiends here. What

happened?

My name is Artrus, Artrus Willowminder. I was on the mainland near the marshes that

the Quesars first arose from when the fiends found me and captured me. I didnt expect it and

I wasnt armed... why would I need to be? They took me here perhaps a week ago and theyve

been torturing me since then. I havent eaten in days. The cervidal said before nodding his chin

towards the semi-conscious ursinal. His name is Tyburnis, but I havent been able to talk to

him much...

Fyrehowl looked on with concern as Artrus trailed off. How long has he been here?

I cant say for sure, but much longer than I have. He mentioned that shortly after he was

brought here that there was some sort of revolt among the fiends here between two camps. He

also mentioned that hed been questioned by an Ultroloth... he whispered that in his dreams

before waking up screaming... Artrus said as Nisha finished picking the locks on his shackles.

He rubbed at his sore and bleeding wrists with relief as they slid off and fell to the ground.

The Ultroloth was my commander. The Arcanaloth Parphinnias was likely responsible for

what you saw as a prelude to his actions here... the filthy Anthraxus kisser... Durmage whispered

harshly from behind the party.

Fyrehowl glanced back at the fiend, What did you do to Tyburnis?

The loth sneered, You wouldnt want me to go into the details Elysian... hes alive though,

so be happy. The others he was with arent, nor a dozen others we had found and couldnt allow

escaping with knowledge of this place.

Fyrehowl gritted her teeth together as she motioned Florian inside the cell to heal the wounded

and tortured celestials. The ursinal regained his senses after several whispered prayers by the

cleric and staggered to his feet with the same spark of hope in his eyes that Artrus had in his.

Powers of good bless you all... he said, though his words trailed when he saw the Nycaloth.

Something unspoken passed between them then and the ursinal looked away as the loth bared

its fangs and licked along their length.

Fyrehowl glared at the fiend as they all exited the cell, moving slowly to support the ragged

and battered guardinals they had rescued. The followed behind the yugoloth another forty paces

before entering another cellblock with a fourteen or more cells, each of them holding two to three

black-shelled Mezzoloths. At the sight of Durmage they all rose to their feet and the air nearly

hummed with the telepathic cries of the fiends.

I am free and we will paint the walls with the entrails of the fallen ones followers. Those

with me fight alongside us, and I have pledged their safety. He looked back to the newly free
 376

guardinals, Even our former friends here. You remember them Im sure...

Unlocking the cells took several minutes with the Mezzoloths clacking their jaws and leering

at Skalliska and Nisha as they popped the locks. Afterwards the lesser yugoloths arranged

themselves into a tight formation behind the Nycaloth and began marching out of the chamber.

Umm... just where are you going? The stairs to the upper layers are down that other

hallway... Toras asked as the fiends marched.

Before we go up towards the ground layer of the tower we have one thing to do down here.

The hydroloth pool is likely to be occupied and I dont want to fight troops behind us. After

killing however many are there we take the basement above us and equip ourselves from the

weapons stores there, then up to the ground layer.

True to his word he led them to a waterlogged chamber where the Mezzoloths charged and

overwhelmed a trio of frog-like hydroloths, butchering them without quarter. Durmage smiled

throughout the event and continued to do so as he led them all back out to the base of a wide,

metallic set of stairs.

Whispering as he pointed up, The armory is likely to be guarded, and after we take it, the

main garrison will be raised and quickly upon us. They outnumber us two to one, but they only

have one true spellcaster, the arcanaloth, and with you all we have several. On my order we go

up.

There were nods all around and the Mezzoloths said nothing but simply obeyed without

question, as was their lot in life for their caste of yugoloth. Clueless and Fyrehowl glanced at

the Nycaloth though with minor disapproval.

Dont act too in charge here. We can always take our chances without you. The bladesinger

said.

Whatever you say my liege... Durmage said as he motioned his troops into action and burst

up the stairs with a single flap of his wings.

The others charged up behind the fiends into the sounds of battle and claws on chitin. The

sounds ended quickly and three Mezzoloths of the opposite camp lay dead and mangled on the

floor as those loyal to Durmage grabbed tridents, spears and pikes as the sounds of insectoid feet

on steel and stone echoed out from above moments before an alarm rang out.

Be ready, they know were here... The Nycaloth said before screaming out orders to his

troops and once again launching himself upwards.

They met the towers defenders at the main level when they emerged from the stairwell.

True to the nycaloths prediction they faced more than double, possibly triple the number of

Mezzoloths that they claimed to their side, along with several other sub-species of lesser yugoloth
377

ranging from Dergholoth to Piscaloth.

The Mezzoloths crashed into each other like frenzied waves, but seconds later they were

struck from behind by spells and from the front as Fyrehowl and Toras charged into the fray.

Momentarily the opposing fiends were stunned and uncertain since they hadnt any clue as to

the identity and capability of their unknown assailants, and in that moment the tide of battle

began a slow slide against them.

Screaming out praises to the Oinoloth, the Nycaloth Durmage was a terror to behold as he

physically picked up one of the opposing Mezzoloths and snapped it in half bodily like a dry

twig. Even Toras, who was in the process of hacking a Piscaloth to death, seemed impressed.

But as favorable as things seemed in that moment as they pressed their way up the staircase

towards the second level of the tower, pressing the defending loths back with ferocity, things

swung back towards a stalemate as several things happened. First a bolt of lightning launched

down the stairs and struck amongst the lines of both groups and twin globes of darkness landed

atop of two Mezzoloths aligned under Durmages command. A pair of Nycaloths swooping down

from above and wading into the battle followed the globes of darkness with howls of rage and

screams demanding blood and retribution.

How good to see you again Forcalt, Rezzivus... traitors... Durmage said as he glared at the

two newly arrived loths as they advanced upon him.

Forcalt was struck by a blast of flame from Clueless and Florian assailed his partner a moment

later. The former recovered quickly and appeared largely unharmed, and Florian was sent

sprawled back down the stairs with a single smashing blow from the glistening, blurred greatsword

that Rezzivus held in his hands.

The three Nycaloths hurled themselves at each other and Clueless dove into the combat as

well, his wings a blurr of obsidian as he parried the greataxe wielded by the Forcalt. Those

four battled furiously as below them, Fyrehowl, Florian and Toras were busy carving up the

garrison of mezzoloths. And then a second bolt of lightning snarled amongst the ranks of their

own Mezzoloths and felled several of them at once.

What the hell? Nisha said as she looked up at the source of the lightning and watched

a small fleshy orb with multiple eyestalks and a central eye snarl and hover at the edge of the

stairs.

Nisha pointed at the eyeball beholder-kin and shouted out to Tristol. The aasimar nodded

and a moment later a fireball detonated at the stairwell and the familiar screamed as it darted

back up and out of sight.

The arcanaloth is probably watching this all through his familiar, and it looks like he can
 378

target spells and cast them through it as well... Tristol said as he ducked a thrown trident that

clattered against the tower wall.

The fighting continued and soon Toras managed to work his way up to aid Clueless and

Durmage against the other two Nycaloths who were both more massive then either of their

opponents, and seemingly better armored. At three against two the odds swung against the

Anthraxus supporters and they both took blow after blow. Finally, with a series of strikes from

Toras, one of them collapsed and fell to the landing some twenty feet below with a sickening

crunch where the battle was almost over with only a handful of Mezzoloths alive on both sides.

A split second later a fireball from above killed most of those few left alive.

Oh damnit, you dont give up do you? Tristol said as he hurled a fireball back up to-

wards where the beholder-kin familiar was taking potshots. Skalliska however signed, loaded her

crossbow and darted upwards in chase.

Ducking down and running as fast as she could, Skalliska bolted up the stairs with hardly a

look backwards. Hiding as best she could and pausing but briefly at each of the three landings

she passed to look for the familiar, she emerged at the top level of the tower which was composed

of a single room.

Skalliska had her crossbow drawn as she emerged into the room to see two figures, one of

them who had just appeared in the room with the bright flash of light of a teleport. Rezzivus the

Nycaloth, his fellow Nycaloth dead three stories below, knelt on the ground, badly wounded and

bleeding. Standing above him with a look of disdain was a black robed Arcanaloth and hovering

over the sorcerers shoulder was a tiny eyeball beholder-kin.

My lord Parphinnias, the battle goes poorly and Forcalt is dead. They have several spell-

casters on their side and we have none. Please, you have to help us or the tower will be lost.

The Nycaloth said as it looked up at its sneering, jackal-headed superior.

And then Skalliska snickered, Wimp...

The last thing the kobold saw was the eyeball beholder-kin swivel a half-dozen eyes in her

direction, followed by Parphinnias calmly extending a hand towards her and whispering a single

word. The green flash that erupted from his hand left only a pile of ash scattered amongst her

belongings.

Down below, the battle was over and piles of fiendish corpses were in the slow process of

erupting into flame, dissolving into pools of acidic liquid, or simply crumbling to foul-smelling

ashes. Of the Mydianchlarus loyal fiends, only the Nycaloth was still alive and he was badly

injured with one of his wings hanging uselessly to one side, limp.

The arcanaloth is still alive and we must hurry or he may flee, the coward...make certain to
379

kill the slasraths tethered to the mounts two levels up or he may attempt to take one of them

and run. Durmage said as he breathed heavily and climbed the stairs.

Following him the others went, stopping only briefly two levels up to do as he suggested.

Then, having butchered the tethered flyers without hesitation, they charged up the stairs into

the single chamber that filled the highest floor of the tower. None of them noticed the dusty pile

of ashes and Skalliskas belongings as the burst into the room.

Wait a minute, there isnt anyone... Nisha said a moment before Fyrehowl dove for cover

and another moment before a fireball detonated atop of them.

Fading into view was the current lord of the tower, the arcanaloth Parphinnias. A curl of

smoke rose from his still outstretched hand as he stood some twenty paces from the group.

Behind him hovered his eye-studded familiar that snarled in proxy for its chuckling master.

The arcanaloths subsequent words were silenced by a roaring column of flame invoked by

Florian. When the swirling pyre of divine flame vanished, there was nothing left but a charred

stain upon the floor.

Feel victorious oh bold heroes, you have managed to valiantly butcher an illusion and I

congratulate you heartily. Shall we try this once more perhaps? The loth said from a position

across the room as he raised his hand.

Looking back at a howl of rage from the Nycaloth Durmage, the group noticed that the

arcanaloth had encased the other fiend in a spherical shell of force, effectively removing it from

the battle.

Tristol however, didnt look, but rather he managed to cast first before the arcanaloth com-

pleted a second spell, and hurled a gleaming, fiery bead streaking towards the fiend.

Oh, very amusing little mageling. The arcanaloth said with a snicker as Tristols fireball

was snuffed as soon as it entered within a twenty-foot boundary from him. Shall I teach you

some real magic now?

With a whispered word, a column of nine burning beams of light shot out from the ar-

canaloths hand blasting his startled opponents with bursts of flame, lightning, ice, and even

more exotic effects that left them hurt, and in Nishas case staggering and drooling.

Recovering from the prismatic spray, the group charged the fiend with their weapons drawn

or hurled spells at it. A crackling bolt of lightning arced from the fiend to snarl around every

member of the group but Toras managed to strike a heavy blow as he seemed to be unaffected

by the electricity that had left the others stunned and badly wounded.

The fighters blow cleaved the fiend nearly in half, but then something strange happened.

Rather than spurting blood, the dead fiend dissolved into frost and sparks of magic as a telepathic
 380

laugh echoed through Torass head.

Idiot... once fooled shame on you, fooled twice... haha...how do you kill something my friend

if you cannot find it?

Another fireball erupted near the center of the party as they realized that the fiend was both

still alive and still within the room.

Damnit! He was using a simulacrum! Tristol shouted as he tried to think of a useful spell

to locate the fiend.

Hes somewhere on that side of the room, Florian said, pointing, as he concentrated and

felt the fiends presence like smelling a pile of rotting meat in a darkened room, it was evident

and unmistakable.

Tristol hurled a cone of cold towards the section of the room where Florian had indicated,

only to have the fiend counterspell it with seeming ease. And once more came its mocking voice

flitting through their minds.

Is this all that Rubicon sent? Surely they could have done better. And what will then do

when you fail to return? A pity about it Im sure...

The fiends taunts were cut off sharply as his invisible form was outlined in a halo of flickering

purple and blue faerie fire. As his form became visible he was instantly the target of spells from

both Tristol and Florian, as well as a wave of ice from Fyrehowls outstretched hand. All three

incantations struck with heavy effects, both the lupinals cone of cold, Tristols enervation, and

Florians flamestrike. The arcanaloth shrieked in pain, and a second time as the body of his

familiar drifted into visibility at his outlined forms feet.

Badly wounded and his familiar dead, the arcanaloth floated backwards and seemed to con-

centrate on something before looking perplexed and frustrated. A second time he concentrated

on the same thing and a second time whatever it was, it failed him utterly. A look of panic crossed

his features before Florian called down a second flamestrike on him where he stood. As he died

and was consumed by the holy flames, Parphinnias could only wonder why his teleportation

ability had failed him utterly in those last moments.

The group stood clustered around the charred remains of the arcanaloth and they smiled in

relief despite their hellish wounds. A moment later the first eight inches of Cluelesss sword burst

out of Durmages chest and the Nycaloth collapsed dead to the ground.

All eyes focused on Clueless as the Nycaloth shuddered and began to smoulder and turn to

acidic ash as it dissolved in death. Clueless flicked his sword clean in a casual yet business-like

manner.

What the hell was that for?! Fyrehowl shouted to the bladesinger. We gave him our word
381

that once he helped us he could leave back to his home plane, anywhere but here on Elysium.

Why?!

He knew too much. He heard us mention seeing that Ultroloth Barzikonius get assassinated,

and that alone is enough. That doesnt need to spread or else it might come back to haunt us

more than it likely will. I wasnt going to risk it and its too late now.

Well hells, thats the last of them then unless we want to make one quick check through the

tower for anything thats possibly left behind. Toras said as Nisha was bent over the charred

remains of the arcanaloth and happily picking through the burning remnants for his possessions.

Weve secretly replaced Skalliska with ashes today, lets see if Nisha notices the difference!

The tiefling said to noone in particular as she grabbed things and stuffed them into her satchel.

Nisha pilfers and theres no objections from the kobold, and all is good and fine in the world.

Somewhere Skalliska is angry at being left out of the grabbing and looting, but she does nothing

except perhaps to billow angrily.

Tristol chuckled and patted Nisha on the head as he casually picked up a thick spellbook

from the arcanaloths shelves. The book was bound in some manner of hide, but by any guess

it wasnt standard leather; it was far too supple for that. Additionally, Tristol took a quill-pen

that stood next to the book within a wall-mounted fountain of blood that was magically kept

warm and liquid. One look at the pen and its magical nature, as well as the fact that it appeared

to have been carved from Avoral bone, and Tristol had it slipped inside his robes and away from

Fyrehowls gaze.

The rest of the sorcerous fiends possessions were gathered together to sort out later, though

Clueless took the fiends crystal ball that had sat on a pedestal next to the shelves that had held

its spellbook. The scrying ball was a deep, blood red color with occlusions of black and lighter

shades of red swirling through its interior. Oddly there was no objection to the bladesinger

taking it since Tristol already had a crystal ball of his own, Florian wanted little to do with the

fiend created item, and Skalliska wasnt in a position to object.

Most of the fiends chambers were starkly furnished with the exception of the arcanaloths

chamber they had already picked clean. Two rooms were different, one immediately below the

top of the tower that was sealed, and the room that had served to house Tarnsilver.

The fallen lupinals room was simple and humble, despite his fallibility and mad ambitions

in the end. The walls were decorated with several hangings of the symbol of the Transcendent

Order and scenes from the three other layers of Elysium. The group let Fyrehowl enter and

spend some quiet time in reflection alone while they left her and examined the sealed chamber.

Hmm, looks like its mage locked and that the arcanaloth warded it as well. Give me a
 382

minute here... Tristol said before he dispelled the magic bound to the door.

Whats the symbol on the door? Florian asked.

A personal sigil, Id guessing the symbol of the Ultroloth who was in charge of the tower

before the other group of loths took over. Though why they felt it wise to lock and ward it, I

cant say. Tristol said as he swung the door open tentatively.

And that might be why... Toras said as they peered into the chamber.

The room was empty except for a single table in the center of the room atop which sat a

complex device of iron and crystal within which was cradled a brilliantly glowing white sphere.

Tristol? What the heck is that? Nisha asked from behind the mage.

... let go of my tail and Ill tell you... The wizard said.

Sorry...

Whatever it is its covered in abjuration magic. Tristol commented.

And its radiating good... Florian said as he moved into the room to look at the glowing

sphere within the larger contraption.

Following the clerics lead the others approached and looked into the glowing sphere as well.

Inside the light wasnt steady, but moved slightly and seemed almost alive.

Oh they didnt... Toras said as he reached out to take hold of the sphere.

Didnt what? Nisha asked.

The other natives of Belarian, the Quesar, beings of light. One of them is trapped inside

this thing. They probably found it and the Ultroloth has had it bottled up since then and the

arcanaloth either didnt know how the device worked, or what it was, but in any event he felt

the good of what was inside it and was afraid to muck around with it. The fighter said as he

looked into the interior of the sphere.

And with that he crushed the crystalline globe and released the being trapped inside. A flash

of brilliant light filled the chamber with an intensity that made them all squint to avoid hurting

their eyes, and then it was gone with a whisper on the air of Thank you... as the celestial

darted from the chamber and out into the plane at large without the towers walls serving as a

barrier in the least.

Well another good deed for the day then, well have to mark it on our list. Nisha said with

a grin.

Might make up for Clueless backstabbing that loth. Sorry there, but that really set me on

edge what you did back there. Florian said with a shrug. Clueless ignored it and they continued

on.

Collecting Fyrehowl they made one further check of the tower and found little else besides
383

a journal of sorts that the arcanaloth had been keeping to chronicle his time in the tower and

their goals. Reading through it, the material confirmed Tarnsilvers statements about his and the

loths goals for the Mother of Serpents, but it also went into details that had been kept hidden

from the lupinal. Tarnsilver hadnt been aware just how many guardinals had been captured,

tortured and finally killed in the depths of the tower, nor had he been fully aware of the shipments

of mortals and mortal souls to the tower to serve as food and playthings for the fiend. Most

of the grisly details had been kept out of the lupinals view. However neither did the material

suggest any larger involvement than they had already found. The book and their story would

follow them back to Rubicon when they presented their findings to Duke Jalinon.

Hours later, the tower left far behind them, they approached the shores of Belarian at the

delta of the river Oceanus and bay within which the fortress of Rubicon sat proudly. Triumphant

and with the two rescued guardinals in tow, they landed and entered the fortress.

Inside, they were granted audience with Duke Jalinon and explained to the guardinal lord

what they had found on the mainland, the apparent schemes of the loths, the collusion of the

fallen lupinal Tarnsilver, and how they had cleaned the tower of its fiendish inhabitants. The

two rescued guardinals both added their own tales and backed up the groups own claims while

praising them for their rescue.

I am proud of you all, especially you Fyrehowl. I can ask little of you all now, and I owe

you a boon. You have earned rest though for the moment. I would have you all visit Eronia and

give your findings there to Duke Windheir the Avoral Lord, then return to me and I will give

you a gift to repay my debt to you, and that of all of us here. Your companion Skalliska will be

brought back to you shortly and then you will be shown to a portal. Jalinon said with pride

and thanks.

Elsewhere, some time later, Skalliska awoke from oblivion and looked up into the eyes of a

smiling ursinal clad in the brown and blue robes of a cleric of Celestian, a neutral good power

of planewalkers. Welcome back to us, your companions are waiting for you outside. And may

I express my thanks for what you and they have done, it is appreciated deeply.

Skalliska looked down at her self and then back up to the guardinal cleric, Wheres all the

stuff I had on me? You didnt steal any of it did you?

Out in the hallway, Nisha smacked her forehead with her hand and sighed. We need to put

her together with a grumpy dwarf, a feminine male elf, and a stupid half-orc and well have the

party of stereotypes.

Shes not exactly breaking the mold of her people. Clueless replied.

She asked if the ursinal that raised her from the dead had stolen her stuff. Not thank you
 384

for bringing me back to life. Not where am I. Not even who are you. No, it was you didnt steal

my stuff, did you?. And to a celestial no less. Fyrehowl said as she rolled her eyes.

Hey, she didnt ask Jalinon for a reward at least. Toras said.

Yet... give it time. The lupinal replied.

Anyways, be nice when she comes out and make excuses if she wants to go reward hunting.

Nisha said as she broke into a grin once Skalliska walked back out to meet them, complete with

all of her equipment.

Welcome back from the dead hon. Florian said, Duke Jalinon said thank you and after

we go visit some highups in Eronia he wants us back here for a reward of sorts.

Perhaps too true to form Skalliska was in a much better mood when they all walked through

Rubicons portal to Elysiums first layer where they were greeted by a number of functionaries

and escorted to where they could rest for the evening before meeting with the Duke.

Given their own separate rooms, they all prepared for a well deserved and needed rest. With

content and warm consciences they all drifted off into sleep, their worries far from their minds

and their hearts happy with what they had achieved. And there in the depths of sleep, something

stirred and reached out to them from across the space of planes and imparted unto them all a

dream, common and simultaneous, cold and malevolent.

All of them stepped into the same dreamscape, all of the companions who had traveled

to Elysium together and stopped the rogue lupinal and his Yugoloth conspirators; all of them

dreamt the same dream. And at the same time they did, Duke Lucan of Elysium, one of the seven

companions of Talisad, awoke in the night with a sense of dread and a feeling that something

black that he had felt once in the past had awoken and for a moment stared at him and laughed.

Everything was shrouded in darkness that swirled like ebony mist around three standing

figures. Staring at them out of the dream stood Vorkannis the Ebon, the overlord of Carceri,

a study in black with only his gleaming reddish-pink eyes standing out from the darkness that

seemed almost part and parcel of the archfiend. Behind him stood the red and gold wrapped

form of Helekanalaith the Keeper of the Tower Arcane in Gehenna. A third figure in green

completed the triad and was wrapped in obscuring shadow, her face indistinct and hidden but

for the glint of light upon her fangs. A glowing blue gem hovered in the jeweled hand of the

third arcanaloth and another hovered in the open hand of The Ebon.

With a voice like honey touched with poison, wrapped with the warmth of a lover and the

cold of a betrayers blade, The Ebon spoke to them in mocking triumph.

Now my puppets I thank you. Know that nothing you do, nothing you create, nothing you

aspire to, nothing your souls crave happens but by my will. Nothing you have done, no plans
385

you have spoiled, no blood you have spilt, has been but by my wish and determination. By my

will your hands this night are awash in blood and the death screams of Rubicon, my symphony

in which you play your own parts. At the breaking of the first light of dawn on Belerian, witness

my work and despair.

Chapter 33

One mans death is a tragedy, a million deaths are a statistic. -Josef Stalin responding to

Churchill at the Potsdam conference

****

6 Hours before the slide:

Shylara the Manged looked out across the flooded lowlands of Belarian and then back to the

face of the Ebon. I have come my love, just as you requested. Anthraxus has joined his forces

at Center and marches now on Khin-Oin. The two armies will clash in perhaps a few hours from

now. Soon the Oinoloth will wonder where you are.

No. No he wont. The fool has more things to worry about, and all of the troops I promised

him have been provided, and they will fight loyally to him. For now at least. The archfiend
g
smiled knowingly at his protA c A .
c That changes in six hours.

Explain my lord, for while Ive been privy to portions of your plans, youve never told me

the full scope of it; youve reserved that for your two compatriots...The Manged sneered at the

mention of those two and Vorkannis chuckled.

Jealousy becomes you darling. Trust me and look around you. What do you see? He said.

She looked out over the landscape and frowned, Misguided righteousness that begets weak-

ness. That is what I see. A barren land that the guardinals have used as a prison for what they

could not kill. After all, what troubles them not and troubles the rest of the planes not is not

a trouble at all. They lock their problems away and hope they cease to exist if the multiverse

forgets about them. That is what I see.

Then we are in agreement. Consider this then: what better place to hide the marshalling

site of evil than under the very noses of the purest of the pure. A prison and hiding place of

their own making, too easily put to our use, and possession is 9/10 of the law...

The Ebon smiled down at his apprentice as they both looked out over the plane surrounding

them where neither of them should have rightfully stood. Neither should there have been the

386
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fortress there that rose above the swamp nearly a quarter of a mile across with spires that rose

into the sky almost as far. None of it should have been there, but there it was and the guardinals

of Rubicon were blissfully unaware of it all; warded by The Ebons spells, the entire citadel was

shrouded from sight and the very nature of Belarian itself prevented divinations and the like.

Evil sat within Elysium, unknowingly aided by the motives of the pure.

Thirty miles to the east stood the empty remnants of the smaller tower, a decoy that would

suffice to convince Rubicon that all was over and quiet. It would convince them that all the blood

that had been shed was all that would be. The fallen lupinal, Tarnsilver, who was now dead

at the hands of Rubicons servitors, had been wholly unaware of the full scope of the fiendish

involvement on the layer. He hadnt known of the portal to Carceri that sat within the central

courtyard of the other, much larger fortress to the west, framed by its three massive towers. He

hadnt been aware of that portal, ripped into the fabric of Belarians original wardings by the

Overlord of Carceri himself, that now stood open and glowing a sickly reddish light up into the

sky like a bleeding ulcerated wound. He hadnt known of the sheer volume of traffic through

that portal either, and neither would Rubicon till it was too late.

****

6 hours later:

They all awoke with a feeling of dread and nervousness, especially Fyrehowl and Tristol.

While none of them could pin it down exactly as they rose from bed and wandered out into the

hallway, they could sense that something was terribly amiss. All across Elysium it seemed for

those minutes that the multiverse itself was holding its breath, but out of fear and dread rather

than anticipation.

Nisha yawned as she got up from the floor where shed been curled up with her beds mattress

in the hallway. ... whats everyone doing out here? If I was snoring Im sorry, and if its about

the bed, well, I just felt like it on a lark. But I just had the weirdest damn dream...

Fyrehowl looked at Tristol, then Clueless, and then to the others as well. From a flicker of

eye contact she knew the truth of the matter and said as much, We all did...

Weve seen him before in Garroths sensory stones, and heard his voice in the Mercanes

demiplane. Hes had his hand in all of this, but I dont know what for. Clueless said warily.

Who were the two others with him? Florian asked.

Weve seen the one in the red robes before in Garroths material too, he was the Keeper of

the tower arcane in Gehenna. Pretty much the head of his sub-race of fiends. Tristol replied.

Not that he seemed to be calling the shots there... Fyrehowl said.

 388

No, he wasnt. The third one was the bitch back in Sigil who f*cked me over in the first

place... you know the name, I wont repeat it. Clueless said bitterly.

So what the hell do you think that meant? It was just to all of us it looks like. If a Yugoloth

had sent dreams to anyone else this place would be jumping with every guardinal in sight.

Florian said.

I dont know, but it isnt good. I think we should tell... Fyrehowl paused as she felt

something strange. For a brief moment it seemed as if the Cadence, the heartbeat of the planes

themselves, had trembled and skipped a beat. A second later her head swam with nausea and

she felt sick like a piece of herself had just been ripped away and violated. Tristol likewise paused

and felt ill before Toras helped him regain his balance.

Are you ok? Skalliska said up to the lupinal.

No. No Im not. Something horrible just happened, or will happen soon. It feels like

somethings missing. We have to go back to Rubicon and warn them that something terrible

is about to occur. Fyrehowl said in a panic as she dashed down the hallway and back to the

portal linking to Belarian.

They all ran to the portal and arrived a minute later to find the pair of Avorals stationed

by the swirling nimbus of light feeling sick themselves for reasons neither of them could explain

either. With looks to one another of worry and concern, the group dove through the portal to

Rubicon, or rather, what was left in the aftermath.

They arrived on the southern slope of the hill leading up to Rubicon with the air heavily

laden with brimstone and a sharp, coppery scent. As the acrid smoke of burnt flesh drifted over

them they realized that they were not within the fortress as the portal had originally led but

standing below and looking up into a scene wrought in hell. The island was seemingly sliced in

two down the center, with half of the fortress simply missing and the rest of it in devastated ruin

littered with the corpses of its defenders.

Oh powers above... Fyrehowl said with a cracking voice.

Amid the craters and scorch marks of spells that dotted the fortress and its surroundings, the

stones of the walls of Rubicon were glowing in the rising light of dawn. Glowing red with the rising

sun, the walls were coated and awash in the still sticky blood of tens of thousands of guardinals

who hung crippled, dead and dying, crucified upon the battlements of the fortress. Moans

of despair, anguish, and immortal agony echoed across the ruins from where the defenders of

Elysium had been left to suffer and die, surrounded by the corpses of those they would eventually

join in oblivion there, nailed to the walls of Rubicon by the hands of Yugoloths.

Smoldering pits and outlines of bodies dotted the rubble, the bodies of fiends dissolving into
389

nothingness. One of the towers of the cathedral-fortress still stood and crashed into its parapet

was a dead slasrath, its manta-shaped body hanging limply over the ramparts to leave no doubt

about who was responsible for the slaughter.

Oh powers above... Fyrehowl said as she fell to her knees and wept.

Wheres the rest of the plane? Tristol said as he too tried to choke back his emotions.

What do you mea... sh*t... look at the bay, look for the mainland. Clueless said as he

looked past the blood soaked island and out beyond it to the bay where Oceanus ran red with

the aftermath of the massacre. The layer of Belarian was gone, vanished, and only a pale grayish

mist swirled above the tarnished and bloodied waters of the holy river where Elysiums third

layer had once been.

Chapter 34

The changing of loyalty consists, in its primary step, of the eradication of existing loyal-

ties...What can people be made to believe? They can be made to believe anything which is ad-

ministered to them with sufficient brutality and force. The obedience of a populace is as good as

they will believe. - Lavrenty Beria

1 hour before the slide:

The Ebon hovered before the gaping, gnashing maws of the Mother of Serpents there upon

Belarian as the layer shuddered and slid. The great serpent locked its eyes upon the fiend like a

cobra upon a snake charmer; entranced, enthralled, captivated, controlled.

And now after so many years of preparation, I have need of you my pet. I have need of you

now after these long centuries of waiting and gorging you on the blood of my own kind to whet

your stomach to the taste. The Ebon said as his eyes began to glow a flickering red that was

soon reflected back and amplified in the depths of the Serpents own.

And now as your prison begins to break, its wardings buckling and tearing from their

moorings, I have much to speak to you of the coming hour. So listen, learn, submit, and obey...

But previously...

****

4 hours before the slide:

Anthraxus the Decayed looked up from four miles distant at the Tower that once was his, and

soon would be again if all went according to plan. The ground shook as he strode between the

ranks of fiends serving in his name; those who would die in his name, for death was preferable

to cowardice should he succeed, and preferable to surrender should he fail. But failure was not

in his mind or in his twisted heart.

Ensure that the mortals are ringed by at least double their number of fiends. They fear death

where a Mezzoloth does not, and I want them terrified more by those at their backs driving them

390
391

forwards than to whatever filth awaits them in the trenches ringing my former Tower. The voice

of the former Oinoloth rang out harshly to his attendant generals and warlords, Ultroloths all of

them, perhaps twenty-five or thirty all told. Surrounding out around them were perhaps double

that number of Arcanaloths and Nycaloths, who would in turn carry out the smaller details of

the battle plans within their own smaller contingents.

The precognizant scent of blood rose on the air as The Decayed spoke out once more, the

Staff of the Lower Planes cradled in his arms. Death under the pikes and spells of the enemy

before us is far more preferable to you, all of you, than to risk my displeasure and all the lower

planes forbid, my anger. They stand before you as cowards and I stand behind you as conqueror

and savior. You have no choice but to wallow in their blood this day in honor of me. You will

dance amongst their bones to the rhythm of my creed and praises in honor of me. It is birthright,

it is destiny, and it is my will.

And Anthraxus the Decayed raised his skull-topped staff and gestured forth towards the

summit of Khin-Oin miles above, laughing as the armies surged forwards around him. As the

uncounted millions of fiends surged flowed like a black, chitinous tide of damned souls and evil

made flesh, the air hummed with the battle cries of his soldiers and the beating of the wings

of slasraths that threatened to blot out of the gray of the sky itself, while high above atop the

summit of the Wasting Tower, the Oinoloth looked down.

****

What, if any, suggestions do you have Typhus? Mydianchlarus the Oinoloth said as he

strummed his fingers upon the throne of Khin-Oin.

Typhus, one of the Altraloths of Disease, looked up at his lord from where he stood on the

precipice of the tower overlooking the armies below. Your strategy is sound my lord, I can find

no fault in the overall plan itself. As well, the armies are nearly evenly matched in raw numbers

and in their exact composition.

The Oinoloth nodded, his expressionless face holding only the flickering, gleaming eyes of

his species and the jaundice of his position, though his voice rang clearly and powerfully in the

mind of his supplicant. You hesitate slightly. Why? It is unlike you to pause when discussing

military strategy.

Typhus nodded his compact, misshapen head, The mercenaries employed by your enemy

swell his force to a fraction larger than your own. Your own contingent of Mezzoloths is marginally

larger, but not enough to make up the difference. While your own force of arcanaloths is nearly

double that of the enemy, his hired wizards make up the difference, or nearly so, and we have
 392

nothing to counteract his use of clerics.

Godslaves... The single statement hung heavily on the air with the faint sensation or smell

of burnt flesh lingering on the wind, intoned by the Oinoloths impression.

At least the Overlord of Carceri has provided a larger force than originally promised by him

or projected by us. Not that he has deigned to show up in person... Typhus put emphasis on

the latter fact and smiled cunningly at the Ultroloth prince.

He still has time to make his presence known and to earn his continued position of leadership

in the Red Prison. If he does not, well, then you and I will talk about your ambitions. But not

till that point. Mydianchlarus was firm, but the smile only grew on the Altraloths face.

A moments concentration crossed the otherwise blank features of the Oinoloth and flickering

motes of greenish, sickly light danced in the ebony ovals of his eyes as his voice reached out

across the miles and into the minds of his generals and the blackened hearts of his soldiers, down

to the very last canoloth.

Brace for them and let them charge you. Protect the casters and engines of war behind the

front lines and allow them to fire into the enemys rear guard after the initial wave is broken.

Feast upon their hearts this day my children and I will be proud of you. Serve your Oinoloth

and your race.

****

3 hours before the slide:

The armies will fight for days and I am not in the mood for a war of attrition at this point,

even if it is one that will win by virtue of the Tower and what lays below. The Oinoloth said

as he rose from the throne atop the Wasting Tower with a flaming red glint swirling within his

eyes.

His attendants nodded, Ultroloths all of them, perhaps thirty or more gathered together

there at the summit of the spinal column that marked the birthplace of their race. None of them

however replied or dared hazard a guess as to what their master meant by the statement.

You disappoint me, all of you. But no matter, in this matter idiocy breeds compliance

and that is all I require for the moment, neither brilliance nor spontaneity, just brute force.

Mydianchlarus allowed his voice to linger on the air as a latent psionic hum for a few moments

before brandishing his sword.

His generals still said nothing.

My predecessor is arrogant beyond his means and we will enter the fray directly and make

our way to him. When the fallen one is dead the war will be over and we may begin shipping
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our troops back to their battles in the Blood War, and begin the execution of those who had the

temerity of choosing the wrong side.

Or those not appearing in person... Typhus said with a snicker underneath his breath.

Unnoticed in his covetous moment of envy there at the summit, the Altraloth failed to notice

the unnatural smile on the face of his scribe, an arcanaloth from the Tower Arcane in Gehenna.

Later, though the scribe would die in the continued fighting of the siege, Typhus would remember

the expression it had borne in that moment and the idiot savant of War would be perplexed by

it, and, for a brief second, appreciative.

A brief gesture was all it took from the Oinoloth and the Ultroloths separated out. Half of

them clustered around their master and the other half vanished in the momentary, telltale flash

of teleportation down to their own troops in the seething carpet miles below. Once more the

telepathic voice of Mydianchlarus rang out into the mind of Typhus, I would have you at my

side... as further proof of your loyalty and ability to command; something that will be taken into

consideration when Anthraxus is dead...

Typhus nodded, wiped the stream of drool from its mouth and brandished his axe as he took

his place at the Oinoloths side. Mydianchlarus drew his own blade from out of thin air like a

double-edged splinter of a moonless night gripped in his hand and wreathed in flame. Then, with

the hum of defensive spells cutting the still, they vanished and reappeared upon the battlefield

miles below.

They were sandwiched between the clashing front lines of Mezzoloths and within a second

those loyal to the wrong side were incinerated, disemboweled, petrified, imploded, crushed by

invisible hands, or simply hacked to pieces. With a hole cleanly punched in the lines of the enemy,

and with the defensive wardings of both armies impeding long range teleportation behind one

anothers lines, the Oinoloths army surged around him and through the breach, and he soon

followed.

****

Gregor Theodorikos, a mortal cleric of Athena stood behind the line of Mezzoloths in front

of him and hurled a column of flaming, divine kissed death down upon the enemies of his current

master Anthraxus. Evil was evil, there was no doubt about that, but gold was gold, and dying

for gold in battle was no dishonor as long as one fought bravely and with pride. Still, the fiends

made him uncomfortable in how they looked at him with every whispered prayer and invocation

of Athenas power.

The cleric ignored them and charged forward as the line moved up to replace those who had
 394

fallen in the more heated battles in the forward groupings where there seemed to have been a

sudden and tremendous break in the besiegers progress towards the Tower. Beside the cleric,

his brother Dimitri stood and heavily gripped a pike larger than Gregor. Both cleric and soldier

had seen easy profit, tales to tell their children, and things to proudly boast over when drunk in

the years to come by signing over their spells and arms to Anthraxus in Center. Now however,

they found themselves in more of a Hell than they could have imagined was possible.

A massive explosion twenty yards to their right sent them sprawling with its detonation and

then scrambling to avoid the rain of gore, blood and broken earth sent skyward. As the bodies

of lesser yugoloths and mortals alike rained down in pieces around them the fiendish artillery

on their own sides fired back, the spells-long-reach, catapults for spells, raining down explosive

bolts and showers of death in retribution.

Dmitri cried out in fear as a squadron of Slasraths shot over their position before turning

about and hurling a wave of spells at the fiends below, not far from their own position. Had they

been the intended targets they would likely have been incinerated instantly. But, just as soon as

the arcanaloths had expended their spells, they were enveloped in a cloud of arrows and ballista

bolts from the troops below them.

Well get out of this brother of mine, dont you worry. Dont you worry at all, Gregor said

to his brother.

How can you say that?! Look around you! If we stop, our allies will slaughter us or worse,

and if we march forward the only thing thats waiting for us is death. The fighter said fearfully

in a quite realistic assessment of the battle for he and his brother.

Athena will find a way for us both. She will protect us. Have faith brother. Gregor said as

he whispered a prayer of protection to his goddess a split second before a hail of arrows descended

atop their position and skewered a dozen fiends, leaving only them alive by virtue of the divine

protection against such.

Maybe youre right... but were being driven towards the break in the lines ahead, and magic

wont much prepare you from being devoured alive in close combat... well see... Dmitri said as

he thrust he pike upwards to clip the wing of a low flying enemy slasrath.

They both progressed into the hellstorm between the two armies that hurled themselves at

one another in a frenzy of blind loyalty. At least the fiends did, and the mortals fought for honor,

gold, and most importantly their own lives since they, unlike the fiends, feared death upon the

Waste. Closer and closer to the front lines the ash of the ground became a thick, syrupy mud,

thick and wet with the blood of mortals and the acidic bile and guts of the fiends. The air itself

was heavy with a spray of the stuff like fear taken palpable form as it misted upon their face
395

with each change in the wind; but still they moved forwards. With the iron tridents of their own

masters Mezzoloths at their back, they had little choice.

Still closer, the detonations of spells and hurled missiles from fiendish siege engines that were

fired almost indiscriminately from either side of the line grew even heavier while somewhere a

quarter-mile or so to their right, it seemed like the armies of Mydianchlarus were surging through

a sudden break in the attackers line while elsewhere their own line was fragmenting in response

to the push of troops forward in other places. Their world was a sea of fiends with blades, pikes

and banners rising above the surface of it all like the fins of swimming sharks awash in the bloody

froth with which the waters had been chummed, and the latter was what the two mortals that

moment felt like.

****

But not all in the battle was a moving sea of carnage, pain and death that ringed the Wasting

Tower for miles in all direction. Not everywhere was the air cut by the curses of the living, the

agonized screams of the dying, the ring of steel of steel, steel of chitin, and steel into flesh.

Not everywhere was the air alive with the sound of marching feet, chanted prayers and spells,

the explosive result of those arcane mutterings, or even the creak and thunderous release of the

engines of war on both sides. One small spot seemed calmer, more peaceful, offset and outside

the battle in way.

An outside observer to the carnage that ringed the Wasting Tower for miles upon miles

around might have seen one incongruous and very out of place person sitting down amidst it

all upon first glance. Perhaps a mile from the base of the tower at the point where the forces

of Mydianchlarus and Anthraxuss armies both clashed full on with one another, sat a young

aasimar girl perhaps in her mid to late teens.

The young girl was dressed in a simple robe of yellowed, homespun linen cloth but somehow

the dirt, blood, and spittle of the battle did not fall upon her. Neither did she seem concerned

by the war raging around her, untouched by it as she was. In fact, the fiends didnt seem to

notice her presence at all; they only seemed to avoid stepping on her by a foot or two, and even

then the action seemed to come to them unconsciously rather than by a directed action on her

part.

Tellura Ibn Shartalan smiled out at the carnage, an expression of blissful innocence upon her

face as she reached up to brush back her hair from her face. One half of the long hair on her

head was a nearly white blond and the other a nearly purple shade of bluish-black. Curling up

from under her hair was a set of gently curling horns like those of a bariaur, a ram, or a goat.
 396

Underneath it all were her brilliantly bluish eyes that sparkled with the same innocence as her

smile, a comforting beacon in the depths of a hell.

She continued gazing out at the battle with a look of expectation, wonder, and sympathy for

the fighting, the injured, and the dying. She continued gazing out and leaned heavily upon a

simple wooden staff, crooked at the top like that of a shepherd to tend to a flock of sheep.

Athena forbid! What are you doing here young one? I have to get you out of here or youll

be slaughtered, or worse, by the fiends! The abrupt and startled shout of one of the mortal

mercenaries of Anthraxus grated upon the Shepherds ears and she glanced over at him.

Oh heavens, you look injured. Your leg, is it broken or maimed by some spell? The mortal

cleric named Gregor prattled on benevolently like an idiot.

For a moment the ground behind the Dire Shepherd rippled with movement and a darkly

malicious glint overtook her eyes before she looked up and smiled back at the mortal. The

doomed soul only saw the brilliant blue eyes and the childish smile on the body of the lame but

otherwise beautiful young woman. He didnt consider the incongruity of the juxtaposition there

at the base of Khin-Oin, but by that point it was too late. He never saw the girls shadow rise up

from behind her like a living thing. He never saw the brilliant blue flickers of eyes in the shadows

goat-like head; all he felt was the sudden shock and horrific pain as it curled around him and

sunk its icy, razored fangs into his neck. And, as his world faded into darkness and his soul was

rent from his body, he saw the girl whom he had only wished to help, Tellura Ibn Shartalan the

Dire Shepherd, smiling up at his dying eyes with a look of perfect, childlike innocence.

Moments later the girls shadow lay flat upon the ground with deceiving innocuousness and

she wiped her mouth clean with the sleeve of her robe that was left bloody for the effort.

The mortal corpse at her feet was almost unrecognizable as mangled as it was, but she barely

concerned herself with it, except to whisper to a passing Mezzoloth to drag the body away from

her sitting place. The fiend did so instantly without thought and whimpered slightly as if it were

groveling in the presence of a figure of worship or adoration, like it was being smiled upon by its

mother.

The Shepherd gave only a small smile to the lesser fiend as it did her bidding, instead keeping

her attention on the movement of the leaders of the battle and occasionally a fascinated glance

towards the sky. The 2nd of The Demented was waiting for something greater to occur than all

of her children playing happily around her as they were made to.

****

1 hour before the slide:

397

Halfway through the battle, perhaps a single hour before the tide of it all would radically

change, something happened fifty miles from the Wasting Tower where a lone Baatezu army

abruptly changed direction from skirting the edges of the Yugoloth conflict and moved on an

intercept perpendicular to the slaughter. Though itself only a fraction of the size of either

loth force, it was not insignificant and likely was larger than the mercenary force of both sides

combined. One and a half million Baatezu marching towards history under the banner of Lilith

the Hag Countess, Lord of the 6th of Baator... their crash into the tide of loths would be heralded

in an hour by something far larger than they; something that would eclipse them entirely.

Shortly after the Baatezu army began its slow and inexorable drive towards Khin-Oin, un-

noticed and uncared for, two forces had begun to break their way through the opposing ranks:

Anthraxus and his Ultroloth servitors, and Mydianchlarus and his own Ultroloth generals. Like

twin forces of nature, the two groups seemed to melt through their opposition in a wall of blades

and invoked devastation, heading unerringly for the other.

Mydianchlarus the Oinoloth would simply look and snuff out the lives of fifty or more Mez-

zoloths standing to oppose him, their blood boiling, their flesh rotting away and leaving only

their soft innards to lay upon the ground and be trodden underfoot, or their forms consumed in

waves of flames to make Phlegethos seem a cool respite. His eyes flickering a staccato pattern of

merciless, flashing light, the Oinoloth caught sight of his predecessor in the approaching waves

of soldiers. What he had done by words and intellect before, he would soon do in cruder, more

painful ways.

The other force of nature upon the battlefield, the monstrosity that was Anthraxus the

Decayed caught sight of his successor a moment later and moved to intercept with a blood

soaked sneer upon his maw. He sent a dozen defenders to their deaths with a single blow from

his staff, and another dozen with a spell to turn their blood to a volatile, flammable liquid.

The former Oinoloth knew what powers his enemy commanded, for he had possessed them once

himself, and he knew how to counter them in perhaps more ways than they current holder did

himself. Stepping upon a still living Piscaloth under the banner of his enemy, Anthraxus smiled

as the fiends skull collapsed under his hooves as he physically picked up a Yagnoloth half his size

and snapped it in twain like a brittle twig before hurling it some fifty yards across the battlefield.

Anthraxus was laughing as he made his way towards his opponent, a trail of blood, filth and

ashes the only thing left in his wake.

****

The Sixth Hour:

 398

Mydianchlarus stood next to the Altraloth Typhus and a coterie of Ultroloths, all of them

standing a few hundred feet distant from Anthraxus and his own, all of them staring at the other.

Nothing was said; nothing needed to be said. But, for a time they all held their ground and let

the fighting rage around them on all sides amongst the lesser fiends while they sought to judge

the condition and defenses of their opponents.

You know that you will die here, today, in the shadow of Khin-Oin. That much is self

evident... The voice of Mydianchlarus whispered mockingly into the mind of Anthraxus.

If I ever die upon this plane it will not be from the likes of you, a weakling who relies on

others to provide him with secrets to topple his betters. Who told you that which forced me

from the throne? You couldnt have known that yourself, or likely discovered it yourself either...

youre too young to have witnessed that yourself... you were but a Nycaloth then and I an

Ultroloth... who supported your rise to power? Tell me before you die... Anthraxuss own mind

whispered back with sibilant promises of death carried on the gaps between the winds.

Both of them and their allies began weaving more and more defensive spells as they ap-

proached closer. All the while, unknown to them except for a vague feeling on the part of the

current and former Oinoloths, all of them were being watched from a short distance away where

a young girl with a lame, crippled leg, who sat silently upon the corpses of several Mezzoloths

piled high. Tellura Ibn Shartalan smiled at her children as they played and squabbled, and then

looked up at the sky beyond the Wasting Tower a moment before planes shifted and realigned.

Suddenly the ground began to shake with a subtle vibration that set the dust and ash swirling

and dancing, quickly rising to an earthshaking tremor that left nothing upon the plain surround

the Wasting Tower unmoved save the tower itself. Every fiend upon the battlefield paused and

looked around in confusion as something lurched within their hearts and clouds began to gather

in the sky.

Anthraxus and Mydianchlarus both looked into a sky that was boiling above the Wasting

Tower and spreading across the horizon as far as the eye could see while the pungent stench

of Styx water rose in the air from vast clouds of mist that billowed out of the roiling skies as

something felt suddenly and drastically different. The battle paused for both sides to access the

situation when the army of the Hag Countess slammed into the left flank of the armies of the

loth civil war and a roar to shake the firmament pierced the still upon the air.

Tellura Ibn Shartalan narrowed her eyes, as did those of her shadow, when the mist cleared

and the Mother of Serpents emerged to wade into the middle of both armies, indiscriminately

devouring and shattering both forces as the mass flash of teleportation spells signaled the arrival

of a third host of Yugoloths from Belarian, the 4th Gloom, itself nearly the equal in size to either
399

of the other two armies.

Anthraxus stepped backwards and Mydianchlarus attempted to teleport further back to a

position of safety. The former Oinoloth was pale with fear as he looked up into the malign

intelligence lurking behind the bestial eyes of each of the twelve heads of the progenitor of all

hydras, and something looked back as the eyes of the beast reflected a reddish-pink in the light

of the Waste. And there, looking up into the army that bore down from their opposite flank,

sandwiching them between itself and the Baatezu, Mydianchlaruss teleportation failed as the

Maeldur et Kavurik ignored his call. A split second later an eighth of both original armies turned

on their comrades in a mass, planned defection to the army in the wake of the Mother of Serpents

which bore down upon both past and current Oinoloth with the same reddish-pink gleam still

lurking behind its eyes and controlling its every move like a puppet...
Chapter 35

A sudden uncertainty ran through the minds of both Mydianchlarus and Anthraxus, a fear that

the other might have called the third army into the battle, or worse, that some other enemy had

entered what had been a two-sided war between them. Several seconds passed with both of them

waiting for a reaction from the other.

They are not mine either... The Oinoloth said preemptively before lurching into the hasty

casting of a dozen defensive spells over himself.

As the newly arrived army rolled in waves onto the field of battle, the Mother of Serpents

fully solidified into being upon Oinos from Belarian, the 4th Gloom, and fully three of its heads

turned to focus upon the trio of archfiends.

Anthraxus screamed in anger at the thought of his revenge, so long planned, slipping away

from him at the moment of what would have been his triumph momentarily. The former Oinoloth

stood his ground and raised the Staff of the Lower Planes at the progenitor of all hydras and

hurled a bit of himself into the effort as the ground shook with his fury. Like a burning, falling

star in reverse, leaping from the earth into the sky, the anger of the Decayed hurtled towards

the Mother of Serpents, striking solidly upon one of its heads and making the sky rain blood.

The Altraloth Typhus shuffled backwards as he watched one of the heads of the great beast

explode into a bloody cloud of bone and viscera, leaving only a charred and broken stump

behind while the remains fell like a storm across the landscape. Typhus screamed out in fear

and attempted to teleport to safety when he saw the stump of the ruined head begin to shift,

tremble, twitch and regrow... He screamed louder when his teleportation ability failed him.

Anthraxus felt the same sensation as Typhus did when he too attempted to teleport further

back into his own lines only to have the ability fail him utterly. However, unlike Typhus, he never

had the chance to stumble backwards physically, as one of the massive heads of the Mother of

Serpents lashed out at him with the force and speed of a falling mountain.

The scream of pain from the former Oinoloth rose above the clamor of battle tenfold it

400
401

seemed when the great serpent severed his body at the waist, snapping down to rip his legs

off just below the hip and leave him helpless upon the ground and trailing a frothing stream

of mangled innards. Mydianchlarus stood in shock, uncaring as Typhus dashed past him in

panicked retreat, only staring at his crippled enemy as the titanic head of the serpent withdrew

back up into the sky. Current and past Oinoloth watched in shock and pain blurred vision

respectively, as before that head withdrew to strike down hungrily at a cluster of slasraths under

the banner of Mydianchlarus, the reddish glow within its eyes sparkled, coalesced, and erupted

in a flickering bolt of lightning to ground itself between them both.

Hovering several inches above the molten crucible his entrance had sprung into being was a

single figure, well known to both archfiends in his presence. Vorkannis the Ebon, installed into

his position as Overlord of Carceri following the ascendancy of Mydianchlarus as Oinoloth, and

the vanishing of the former Altraloth lords of the Tower of Incarnate Pain in the Red Prison.

The Ebon was wrapped in robes of darkest blue that seemed to fray at the edges and merge

directly into the hazy flickers and tendrils of shadow that lapped up from his feet and streamed off

of his body like wisps of smoke. He glanced at both archfiends with a smug sense of superiority;

a study in darkness with only the odd, pinkish red of his eyes and the gleaming ivory white of

his fangs giving contrast to his robes and sable dark fur.

Mydianchlaruss eyes glowed a brilliant reddish-orange, reflecting the Oinoloths anger at his

subordinates treachery. He threw out a thin arm and motioned his retinue of Ultroloths back

and away so that he would have both traitors to himself in single combat. The Ultroloths did as

ordered.

The Oinoloths mind sharpened to a blade and thrust out at the lesser loth before it was

blunted a half dozen times, the mental parries taking the sound of soft but feral laughter. The

mental jousting was repeated in sorcery a moment later as both fiends sent a dozen or more

spells to test and probe at each others defenses, protections, vulnerabilities, and contingencies.

As the air hummed with hurled spells, the Ebon gave a feral smile and exaggerated bow to his

lord the Oinoloth.

I regret that it must come to this my Oinoloth, but you see child, I have grown impatient

in the time that I have had. Perhaps I might even spare you the pain that I have in store for

the Decayed. Swear your loyalty to me and I might spare you the same. I regret that while

my hatred is directed not to you, and only tangentially directed to your predecessor, you simply

happen to stand in my way. And I cant have that... The glint of distant explosive cascades

reflected off of the Ebons glistening fangs as he looked to the Oinoloth and to the mangled but

still living Anthraxus.

 402

Who are you? What are you? No arcanaloth could have mustered this support, this level

of treachery; not even one granted status as Overlord of Carceri. The Ultroloth prince said as

he pointed his blade at his very own Judas.

The Ebon turned back to the Oinoloth with an amused look playing across his muzzle. No.

Youre right, one couldnt. But you know me, dont delude yourself into thinking you dont. Or

rather, perhaps I should say you knew me once in a manner, and then, thinking yourself better,

abandoned me. Wrap your mind about that while I exterminate your predecessor.

The arcanaloth began to hover closer to the crippled body of Anthraxus, but then paused

as he felt an unwelcome sensation of being watched. He snarled and began to whisper softly,

nearly under his breath, a mixture of curses, invectives, and incantations. Thirty yards distant

from where he and the two other archfiends stood, Tellura Ibn Shartalan watched expectantly,

the Baernaloth wrapped in the guise of innocence; understated blasphemy.

... you are not welcome here Bitch... you had your chance, and I... The Ebon snarled in the

mother tongue of all guttural languages, Baernaloth, which the other archfiends recognized but

did not themselves speak, before trailing off as he turned around to face the Shepherdess. There

was nothing there where the Baernaloth had sat only moments before, and the Ebon glanced

around warily for several seconds with a look of keen suspicion crossing his otherwise confident

features before he was certain she was truly gone.

No sooner had he returned his attention to The Decayed before a flurry of spells erupted

from the outstretched hand of Mydianchlarus. The Ebon counterspelled or deflected all of them

with an almost dispassionate series of gestures and whispers, all in the same guttural tongue

he had spoken in before. Those spells he deflected shot out and devastated whole columns of

troops where they struck, such was the force behind the Oinoloths attacks. But, the first volley

of spells dismissed, he continued till he hovered over Anthraxus.

The maimed Altraloth spat blood up at The Ebon and vainly tried to reach his staff that

lay just out of his grasp. You... you were the one who told Mydianchlarus those words. You

wanted me to step down, you set us against each other to serve yourself. Id be proud of you if

I wasnt going to feast on your heart!

Anthraxuss left hand shot up and slammed into The Ebons chest. There was an explosion

and spray of blood around the two fiends, and when it settled to the ground the Ebon was

smirking.

Contingencies are beautiful things, especially when theyre not visible to your opponents.

For what its worth I wasnt expecting a physical attack and you can say you surprised me, in

a way. The Ebon said as he looked down at the other archfiend who was missing an arm from
403

the detonation of his own spells funneled back at him and the explosive contingencies that had

surrounded the Ebon.

And yes, I did tell those words to Mydianchlarus. Prophecy is beautiful, self-fulfilling

prophecy even more so, and you played your role in it perfectly. You have at least that to be

proud of, impure wretch that you are. And this is all about purity you see... The Ebon said as

he began to whisper the words of another series of spells like undertones mixed in with his own

voice.

****

Halfway across the battlefield, nearly on the other side of Khin-Oin, the forces of Anthraxus

fought a slowly losing battle versus the forces of The Ebon and a wedge of the smaller Baatezu

force. Leading the counteroffensive for the forces of the former Oinoloth was the Ultroloth general

Palinarius, marshal of his own regiments and those mercenary troops out of Center.

Palinarius currently stood above the prone form of a Hamatula whose broken body had been

pinned down by the tridents of two Mezzoloths. Rather than killing the Baatezu immediately,

the Ultroloth was slowly torturing it to death on the battlefield. Already a bloody series of

incisions laced across the bowels of the lawful fiend where the Ultroloth had begun to slowly

excise its intestines, meticulously separating their loops from one another and placing hair-thin

cuts across their surface to expose to the mildly acidic air. All the while, the yugoloth general

taunted the lesser fiend with release if it would only curse the name of the Hag Countess.

And then, something happened during the last stages of the torture, right before the Ultroloth

was certain the hamatula would expire and exhale its last cursed breath. Right before that point,

something seemed to reach in and snuff out of the fiends life and replace it with another.

Have you missed me... my lord? The hamatula said with a mocking, almost sultry tone,

as its eyes began to exude a greenish glow.

The identity of the sorceress who had snatched away the spirit of his victim was instantly

known, and Palinarius answered her question with the point-blank detonation of a crackling bolt

of black lightning at the hamatulas head. As the ozone laced smoke cleared to reveal the charred

and partially melted corpse on the ground, the Ultroloth heard the voice again.

Perhaps you dont remember me quite as well as Id hoped my lord. Shall we try again?

The voice came again, mocking and acerbic, a second time from one of the two Mezzoloths that

had flanked the Ultroloth.

The necromancy spells have done wonders for your complexion... traitor. The air hummed

with the Ultroloths retort before the Mezzoloth gave a hateful scream and hurled itself at the
 404

general.

The possessed fiend was killed in short order, and the other Mezzoloth as well, a moment

later, after it too succumbed to the will of the otherwise unseen arcanaloth. Palinarius touched

a trident wound in his side, judging the extent of the injury, when he was struck a glancing blow

from a jagged spike of lightning. His contingencies took effect almost instantly and a second

later he was shielded by a series of spells and standing several yards away to look at his assailant

finally in the flesh.

Shylara the Manged stood over the two Mezzoloth corpses with a trail of black smoke slowly

curling up from her taloned hand where she had hurled the bolt at her former superior. The

arcanaloth was snarling and nearly foaming at the mouth in fury as she glared up at the Ultroloth,

wearing what was best described as a blue velvet loincloth and two strips of blue leather wrapped

around her body to only barely cover her flesh in discrete places before joining at the neck.

I have a new lord, and he has promised me much. You live now only because The Ebon

forbid me from killing you during the time I served you in Center. Shylara snarled before licking

the blood from a cut on her forearm, And I am under no such restrictions now...

Their sorcerous duel lasted nearly an hour, and for a time it seemed as if the battle raging

around them avoided the vicinity due to the spells the two hurled at one another like insults.

But at its conclusion, the Ultroloth was dead and the Ebons consort was crouched atop its body,

screaming till her voice cracked, as she clawed at the dead generals mutilated face. Shylara was

herself badly injured from the battle, the illusions covering her cursed and manged appearance

dispelled, her body scorched heavily and bleeding from multiple wounds as she repeatedly vented

her psychotic fury at the Ultroloths corpse.

My Love will be proud of me this day. I will sit at His side and damn all of you that stand

in His path. My Love will be proud of me, and you will not stand in the way of me basking in

His approval...My Love will be proud of me and I will give PAIN to make it thus... dont think

this over... I will kill you for sport and wrench your spirit out of the plane itself to punish you

again and again and again if my Love but wills it happen...

Her own troops and those of her allies left her alone to repeatedly mangle the face of the

fallen Ultroloth, fearing that her own irrational hatred might be turned towards them if she was

interrupted. And so, they left the blood spattered arcanaloth, a solitary, screaming figure upon

the field of battle who incinerated a half dozen groups of fiends loyal to the enemies of The Ebon

who strayed too closely to her position. But elsewhere, in a battle of his own, The Ebon was

immensely pleased with her, his delightful, blind little tool.

405

****

Halfway across the battlefield, the Altraloth Typhus, Warlord of the Lower Planes and Gen-

eral of the Infernal Front, was running and fleeing the field of battle. The archfiend was screaming

in shame and terror, running for his life, and abandoning all rational sense except immediate

self-preservation.

Typhus was confused, overwhelmed by the utter collapse of his plans and strategies that had,

before the battle, seemed brilliant and masterful. Indeed, his battle plans designed alongside

Mydianchlarus were that, except they were also inflexible and rigid, incapable of being modified

to account for the sudden appearance of a third and fourth army on the field of battle. And,

upon the collapse of his plans, the Altraloth reverted to a confused simpleton without a full

sense of what to do and where to go, reacting only on instinct. Still, the archfiend was still that,

an archfiend, and so despite his lack of wits he was still a force to be reckoned with, and those

hunting him were well aware of that.

Typhus was babbling incoherently when he slammed into an invisible barrier and sprawled

on the ground for a moment before snarling and looking up. Some thirty feet above him hovered

a group of fifteen arcanaloths dressed in the robes of the Tower Arcane of Gehenna, all of them

having originally pledged themselves to the Oinoloth Mydianchlarus; all of them had gleefully

lied. Surrounding the circle of sorcerous fiends were a flock of Nycaloths, perhaps double their

number in total, and the winged fiends were slowly descending to surround the Altraloth.

Traitors! All of you! How dare you betray the Oinoloth! Typhus snarled and spat as he

looked up at the circle of arcanaloths and the central figure among them that his hatred was

reserved for.

Helekanalaith, the Keeper of the Tower Arcane, looked down upon the archfiend dispassion-

ately, his hands clasped behind his back as he hovered in the air staring down, both literally and

metaphorically, at Typhus through gold rimmed spectacles perched on his snout, How dare I?

Imbecile...

Typhus hurled a crackling greenish ray from his hand up towards the Keeper, only to have

one of the Nycaloths suddenly have its eyes glaze over and promptly hurl itself into the path and

be disintegrated instead of its superior. The Keeper chuckled like a teacher at a well meaning,

but ultimately wrong and failing student.

You overreach your place arcanaloth! You follow an over glorified member of your own caste

instead of your Oinoloth, the most powerful Ultroloth on the lower planes.

Ah yes, so says the idiot archfiend, lecturing me, the Keeper of the Tower Arcane, on matters
 406

of caste, protocol and obedience. Tell me... you were a Mezzoloth when you bargained with the

hags for your power, yes? Dont presume to speak to me as anything less than your better if you

wish to speak to me of matters of caste. Helekanalaith snarled back at Typhus.

Typhus brushed off the words and abruptly changed track, abandoning his previous path of

logic for another. And why do you follow the Overlord of Carceri when you are his superior by

right of position amongst the members of your own caste? You are the Keeper of the Tower, the

highest of your caste, and he is not. He should be following you, not the other way around.

The Keeper seemed amused by the protests of the archfiend, The Ebon will want you later,

and youve been a thorn in my side for some time with your insistence on being a free agent in

the Blood War. One less thing to balance on the books now, so I cant say that Im sorry to do

this...

By himself, the Keeper of the Tower might have had the ability to best the Altraloth, but

it would have taken time, pain, and even then it would not have been a certain thing for an

outcome in his favor. However, with a dozen others of his kind and double that number of

Nycaloths surrounding them and penning them apart from the rest of the battle surging all

around them, the task seemed almost easy, if not for the loss of half of those contributing casters

beneath the blade of Typhus.

Clutching a massive emerald nearly the size of his own head and cut on each facet with

glowing sigils, the Keeper smiled as he dismissed his retinue and teleported back towards where

the Ebon was busy with both former and present Oinoloths. But, before he vanished from sight,

he held up the gem as if giving its occupant a view of the battlefield, where the army of The

Ebon was steadily taking the battle, smashing the other two opposing forces between itself and

the smaller Baatezu army of the Hag Countess while above it all, the Mother of Serpents was

literally wading through a blood frothed sea of Mezzoloths, crushing, devouring and spitting

flame or ice down upon whatever did not obey the archfiend who held its obedience in thrall.

And, as he showed the captive Altraloth a view of the ongoing battle, he whispered to it.

We will discuss this matter later after my lord has assumed his rightful position and I am given

that which I asked for when I answered his little question. Even for an idiot, over glorified

Mezzoloth like yourself, you should know that power commands respect, regardless of caste, and

that loyalty is bought by the highest bidder. That explains my actions here as far as you need

be concerned with for the remaining hours of your existence, though I expect that The Ebon

will explain things in more detail. Im a pragmatist above all though, so really, you truly should

have seen this coming.

407

****

Very rarely do the planes see direct battle between nearly godlike entities, but there upon

the Waste, in the shadow of the Wasting Tower of Khin-Oin, three of them fought to the death.

Anthraxus, already cut in half and missing an arm, died quickly when his blood was transmuted

into an flammable liquid and his heart erupted in a white-hot flame to spark his blood. The

former Oinoloth died as his own body confused itself in a pyre of liquid, nearly living flame that

left only his ribcage and head recognizable.

Mydianchlarus however was not already injured at the start of his battle with the Overlord

of Carceri, and in fact he struck first as the Ebon sealed the fate of his predecessor. Observers

to the battle might have seen what first appeared as a black cloud rising up from the hand of

the Ultroloth prince that then rushed to surround the arcanaloth, taking upon itself the shape

of a dozen howling, ill defined spirits all suffering from a multitude of hellish diseases.

The spell, the swirling cloud of disease, or the concept of disease, swirled around the Ebon

as he turned to face Mydianchlarus. He paused and smiled before he inhaled deeply of the cloud

and sniffed at the air like the spells effect was a warm breeze filled with the smell of flowers or

perfumes. You havent had control of the power granted by your position for very long if that

was your attempt at channeling it. But even if you were holding back, it wouldnt affect me

anyways.

The Ultroloth Prince didnt bother asking why, or even respond at all before hurling a flurry

of spells that his opponent countered, avoided, or simply allowed to take effect if he was immune

to them, which was more often that not.

Do you know the source of the power granted by your throne atop the Wasting Tower?

Youve scratched the surface, but it and I, we were well acquainted, so to speak, before you first

crawled out of the spawning vats miles beneath Khin-Oin from the rotten flesh of the tower, the

blood of the Styx, and the plane itself. You are a child who would claim to touch the sky while

your feet were still firmly planted in the crib. Vorkannis said mockingly into the mind of the

Oinoloth as both of them continued to hurl spells and invocations at one another at a frightening

pace.

Such was the ferocity of their battle that even the Great Serpent moved to avoid those spells

of the two archfiends that either missed their intended target or were intentionally deflected by

one or the other. But as the minutes of the duel stretched onwards it was clear who was the

more skilled of the two.

Mydianchlarus was fighting for his position and for his life and the strain was clearly showing
 408

by the flickering pattern of colors upon his otherwise expressionless and dispassionate face, and

Vorkannis was clearly enjoying himself rather than feeling stressed. It was a dual to one of them

and a game or lecturing experience for the other.

You know what you lack boy? The Ebon said as he avoided a sphere of electrified ice that

Mydianchlarus had counterspelled and hurled back at him. You lack passion. You lack a driving

motivation behind your actions. Certainly you can claim the promotion of dispassionate evil as

a goal, but I think for some it has become a blank, bland combination of words rather than

actions. Its something you claim to represent in body, spirit and deed, but it has become a

mantra only. You claim to write a book after having just learnt to pen your own name.

You are an ambitious fool and nothing more. Talented, so it is a pity that I will have to kill

you today as an example. The voice of the Oinoloth sliced the psionic ether like a blade, but

it seemed to blunt against a wall of oinian steel at the mind of the Overlord of Carceri. There

was something about how the Ebons mind seemed almost to fade into the background that was

unsettling to the Oinoloth, but still, they fought.

You would lead our race but be the lapdog of the General... surly you wont deny that.

Neither you, nor any of your predecessors could really say otherwise. You stand in the shadow

of others and try to deny it exists, and I intend to cast my own. The Ebon said as he gestured

and imploded the prismatic sphere that the Oinoloth had been standing inside.

Mydianchlarus was dazed and injured as the Ebon teleported directly in front of him, hovering

silently with his hands crossed in front of him as if in prayer. The Ebon was whispering a slow

and subtle litany of words in a language that burned the ears and seared into the mind of any

within a hundred yards. As he whispered, his reddish-pink albino eyes glared into the Oinoloths

own flickering orbs, and Mydianchlarus saw something in them that he recognized somehow. In

that moment of recognition, something slipped through into his own mind and seared deeply

where the Oinoloths mind touched it. Mydianchlarus stopped fighting.

You have something to say to me then? The Ebon smiled as he reached out and touched the

Oinoloths chin and made the other archfiend look up at him. Through it all, he never stopped

whispering the stream of seemingly effortless incantations from the well of his mind.

I yield to you my lord. I submit and relinquish my claim to the throne of Khin-Oin. I offer

you my loyalty. Mydianchlaruss mental voice was unsteady and seemingly in awe of whatever

it was that he had glimpsed buried within that faint touch upon The Ebons mind.

Yes, I said I would spare you the fate and pain of Anthraxus if you pledged your loyalty to

me and submitted. That I did say. The Ebon said as he whispered the last words in Baernaloth

into the air, I lied.

409

The air seemed to crystallize into a spiders web of spells made physical, sutured together

by will and words. Woven about the Oinoloth like a hundred thousand guillotine blades they

snapped taught and constricted in an instant. As the Ebon smiled and blinked his eyes, there

was nothing left of Mydianchlarus but a yards wide splatter upon the ground, a fine reddish

mist, and the intact head of the Oinoloth with a look of fear lodged into his eyes in their death

glaze.

Vorkannis the Ebon snapped his fingers and summoned a group of Mezzoloths. He pointed

at the heads of the two former Oinoloths, Carry them, drag them, whichever... bring them with

you and follow me through the Tower. We have much to do before we climb to the top.

A moment later his thoughts whispered out across the battlefield where the war still raged

despite the death of the lords of the two other opposing armies. The Keeper of the Tower, the

Ebons consort, and their third wheel of their conspiracy all felt a tug at their minds as their

lord called to them.

Shylara the Manged was the first to arrive, appearing at the Ebons feet and clutching at his

robes like a worshipper at the base of an idol. It was apparent that she had cleaned herself since

butchering the Ultroloth general Palinarius, though her muzzle was still matted and stained with

blood as she licked The Ebons hands. The Ebon minded not as he motioned her to stand, and

they embraced one another passionately before Helekanalaith the Keeper of the Tower Arcane

appeared in the flash of a teleport. The Ebon broke the embrace of his lover and she stepped to

his side respectively and lowered her head in deference like a trained pet.

Typhus is waiting at your leisure, but very definitely not at all at his own. The Keeper said

as he handed the gem containing the bottled Altraloth over to The Ebon.

Good, though there is still much to do once we are all arrived... He said, before whispering

into his consorts mind and handing her the gem to carry for him, something that she did without

question.

As The Ebon stood over the mangled remains of both former Oinoloths, there was a long

expected flash of an opening gate off to his left and a single figure stepped through. She was

dressed in an elegant green and purple gown made of an uncountable number of glass beads

strung on woven gold wire, and a tiara of living razorvine was perched on her head between two

erect jackals ears; The Marauder.

Good of you to join us Shemeska, I was hoping that you wouldnt remain bottled up within

your Cage while we had our fun here. Tell me though, since I cant exactly enter Sigil myself,

how have the celestials reacted to losing a sizable fraction of one of their upper planes? The

Ebon said as he took the hand of the newly arrived fiendess and kissed her outstretched hand.
 410

The Marauder turned to the Manged and smiled delicately to the other female who was only

barely repressing her urge to snarl and hiss; instead she returned the petulant, thin-lipped smile

of social courtesy. Inwardly the Ebon was amused to no small end.

Let me kill her my Love... I beg of you... please... Came Shylaras mental begging into the

mind of The Ebon. Clearly there was no love lost between the two, though whatever the reason

might have been, neither of them was being forthcoming to anyone who didnt already know.

Vorkannis replied openly with a smile as he leaned over and rubbed his lovers chin softly

with endearment. However his mental reply, pumped directly into her mind was a terse, No.

She is useful to me, and as long as she is, she remains off limits to any ideas of revenge on your

part. You as well, are very useful to me my love.

The Manged took the point and smiled again at the Marauder with smoldering eyes tinged

with green flame. The Marauder returned the affection with a slight bow, a rim of purple flame

lapping up from her own eyes. The King of the Crosstrade was laughing ever so slightly as she

brushed past the Ebons lover.

Even with these fools dead, the battle will not end till I have taken the throne myself.

Already at least two pretenders to the title have attempted to take the seat themselves... The

Ebon said as he looked up towards the top of Khin-Oin where the Siege Malicious waited.

His three conspirators and his consort nodded to him and waited.

Our forces here at the base have the upper hand and it will not change at any point in

the near future. The Mother of Serpents will wait here and deny entry to any not loyal to me

once we enter Khin-Oin. As that point the army of Baatezu loyal to the Hag Countess, their

loyalty purchased by me some time ago, will leave with their payment. Vorkannis said with

utter confidence.

And what is their price my lord? Helekanalaith asked curiously and respectfully, despite

the point that Typhus had argued with him earlier.

The mortal mercenaries here on all sides. That is their price, their bodies and their souls in

trade for loyalty from the Baatezu. Several hundred thousand at the very least, many of them

valuable prizes in their own right. And I have no need for them. The Ebon said as he motioned

towards the gates of Khin-Oin.

We have a long walk ahead of us from here to the summit, and much to do along the way.

The lesser yugoloths here or within the tower will follow their inbred instructions and listen to

commands given power by caste and power, they are not a worry. Any greater yugoloths within

the tower and here without, they will be given two choices: they will swear utter loyalty to me

or they will face first pain and then oblivion. Our purge of the race here at your birthplace will
411

take several days, but it will be something to remember. Follow...

Chapter 36

...then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think, Till Love and Fame to nothingness

do sink. John Keats, When I have fears that I may cease to be

****

Fyrehowl felt cold, alone and introspective as she and the others stumbled back into Sigil

through the gate from Elysiums gatetown. All thoughts of Rubicon were smeared a crimson

red and blurred with tears in her mind as she sat down in the Portal Jammers tap room, not

honestly remembering much of what had happened after they had arrived in the middle of the

devastation that had been wrought upon her people. Elysium had been raped in the cruelest way

imaginable, and she felt that violation to her core. That it wasnt her who had been butchered,

crucified or raped and left to die in the ruins of Rubicon as they ripped away a fourth of her

home plane... it didnt matter, she felt it all the same and nothing seemed to help in either the

short term, or in any long term solution.

The alcohol that she might have drowned her pain in would have only felt akin to the numbing

drain of the plane the fiends had spawned upon, and it didnt seem to her that the rulers of

Elysium had any way of making right what had happened. Where had they been...

The lupinal wept softly by herself as the others consoled themselves in whatever way suited

them best. Even Nisha seemed quiet and hurt as she sat next to Tristol and Skalliska. Skalliska

was staring curiously at a crystal ball larger than her own head, watching the genocide play out

upon the plains of Oinos, and Tristol watched with morbid fascination at the battle.

The Mother of Serpents was missing four of its heads, but it still fought on against the armies

of the two fallen Oinoloths who likewise did the same. It seemed unlikely that mercy would be

practiced by any side in the conflict.

I think I can guess whos going to be the next Oinoloth. Tristol said fatalistically.

Taking their sweet time climbing to the top it looks like though. Still, I want to see who

arrives at the top eventually because theres people fighting there already, and they have been

412
413

since the former Oinoloth died. Skalliska said as she poked a claw at a section of the battlefield

as she panned out on the images unfolding within the scrying orb.

... died in rather spectacular fashion no less. Nisha quipped.

Clueless was coping with it all in his own way as he drank down several bottles of hard

alcohol, none of which were capable of getting him intoxicated, but if only to give him something

to concentrate upon. Florian was alternating between prayer and ale, and as time passed, he

was edging closer to Clueless who still seemed largely oblivious.

Toras was busy watching the window out of the bar, watching a steady stream of worried

and tense members of the city watch and both the Sons of Mercy and the Sodkillers hurry past

in the direction of the Hive.

Looks like theyre expecting trouble in the Hive from this all... the half-celestial said as he

turned back towards the others.

Already most of their patrons had left and returned to their own homes or places of business

as word had spread about the events in Belarian and in the Waste. The multiverse was tensed,

coiled tight like a spring, and no one wished to be standing in the way if something were to snap.

But if there was to be any sort of response that might spill over to Sigil, Fyrehowl at least knew

it wouldnt be at the hands of her own people...

Toras stepped back as the door swung open and a member of the Sons of Mercy stepped into

the bar. Dressed in the white armor and regalia of his faction, the man seemed uncertain but

ready for what the next days might bring as he nodded to everyone in the room.

Can we help you sir? Tristol said as he looked up from Skalliskas scrying orb.

The paladin shook his head, then thought better of it and nodded. I need to ask you all to

stay inside and be alert, especially since youre not all that far away from the Hive.

Oh? Clueless asked from behind the bar.

We expect trouble and we expect it very soon. The loths... not sure how much you know

about it...

Fyrehowl looked up and snarled violently.

The paladin grimaced and nodded sympathetically, While I cant say first hand what hap-

pened, Ive heard the same rumors our faction has been told. Some are saying that a portion of

the upper planes was ripped away into Hades. Some are saying that the Oinoloth is dead, and

others are saying that the Baatezu were making off with the mortals who had served on either

of the sides. That by itself is causing all hell to break loose in Torch, Hopeless and Curst.

And theyre all coming here... Nisha muttered, ...all of greed, gloom, and stab you in the

back just because I can. Lovely people, open the portals right up...
 414

The paladin ignored the mildly tipsy tiefling, Whats got them terrified are the rumors that

whoever came out on top in Oinos is slaughtering anyone who had been loyal to the former

Oinoloth or Anthraxus. There was a riot in Hopeless when someone claimed that a death squad

had marched out of the palace of Thingol the Mocking... I dont know whats true or whats not,

but we may have every lower planar portal jammed with people trying to get into Sigil.

Toras nodded.

After all, no army is going to march in after them, thats for sure, and theyre afraid that

the purges are going to follow them anywhere else they might go. But in any event, just be alert

if we end up with a riot in the next ward over, and it seems likely that we will. The paladin

said as he made for the door.

If you or anyone working with you needs a place to just sit down for a minute, something

to drink or what have you, youre more than welcome to drop in here. Florian said.

Tristol and Clueless both nodded before the half-fey commented, I dont think well be going

to sleep anytime soon, and well be open as long as were awake. And in this climate, considering

what happened, well be here a while.

Thank you, its appreciated. And Ill keep the offer in mind. Take care. And with that,

the white-garbed paladin was out the door and down the street.

Its going to be a long night everyone, thats for sure. Clueless said as he started to pull

out extra glasses and ale mugs for the people that might filter in over the rest of the evening and

next day.

Fyrehowl looked up sullenly and spoke for the first time in a while, A long night... that fits

well...

***

Indeed it was a very long night, and the Portal Jammer ended up attracting a rather eclectic

crowd of local businessmen, city guard and faction members, and a number of refugees who had

managed to get into the city through some of the less regulated portals. Many of those in the inn

had never been there before, and despite the horror that had spawned it all, they were getting

exposure for the bar that they hadnt had as much of before.

Florian and Toras took shifts serving as bouncer at the door of the inn as sporadic violence

in the streets bled over from the poorer sections of the Hive where refugees had been flooding

into the city from the lower planar gates. Toras took no small measure of relief in personally

handling any such violence in the immediate vicinity of the Portal Jammer.

Funny about those random head wounds aint it? Nisha said as she looked past Toras to
415

the tiefling who was sprawled in the street behind the fighter as he walked back into the inn.

The man had threatened to burn down the inn if they hadnt given him free alcohol, and the

man was now lying in the street, bleeding, and possibly comatose.

I didnt mean to break anything on him! I meant to subdue! Toras said as Nisha shot

him another disbelieving look that was bordering on laughter, if only to break the otherwise

oppressive atmosphere in the jammer.

The atmosphere took a dip downwards when a haggard looking swordsman walked into the

inn, injured with half healed wounds, and looking petrified with fear. His torn and scorched

tabard bore the symbol of Anthraxus: one of the mortal mercenaries who had served for gold

under the now dead archfiend.

Toras looked at him warily as the man shuffled in and sat down without a word. Far from

being liable to start any trouble, then man had literally been to hell and back, and just needed

somewhere to recover if he could. May I have something to drink? He asked, his stare slightly

glazed over and his voice choking and cracking as he spoke.

Clueless looked at him and then at the others, the berk was alive but not intact. Anything

specific? Its on the house.

Dmitri Theodorikos looked up at the half-fey and managed a smile, Just anything, I need

to forget something things for a bit.

Tristol paused from watching the kobolds scrying orb and sat down next to the man. What

happened out there?

The mercenary answered with a broken laugh. My brother and I, we joined up in Center,

hoping to make some easy gold. The pay was good and we didnt think that the former Oinoloth

was going to lose. Hes dead now, and so is the other one.

Did your brother make it out too? Florian asked.

No... Dmitri whispered softly, And I almost didnt either. As soon as the fighting broke

out, there was a Baatezu army that altered course and crashed into our flank. That was when

the sky began to boil and...

He shuddered and paused to take a drink. Clueless refilled it almost immediately with better

wine. Dmitri continued then, Another army, easily comparable to either of the others, simply

appeared with a great serpent, or dragon or something at its head, I thought it might have been

Nidhogg but it wasnt.

It wasnt. Toras said as he glanced out of the window as a group of Xaositects rushed past

carrying burning torches and water brigade buckets both.

I dont know how I survived the fighting after that, but my brother and I got separated and
 416

it all went downhill from there. The newcomers and their army were winning. Sure their losses

were horrific, but whoever their leader was I dont think he cared, they were just property...

same as all of the mortals there in the battlefield were.

The Baatezu. Clueless said.

Yeah, that seems to have been their price in all of it, us. The loths dont use petitioners in

the same way the devils do at all, and so they sold us all before the battle even started. Traitors

or agents within the first two armies started grabbing us and herding us together for the baatezu

to collect as their prize once it was clear that their allies were winning.

B*stards... Florian cursed.

And as soon as they could they fled the field of battle, dragging off the mortals back to the

Nine Hells. I only hope my brother wasnt with them. It would be better even if hed died earlier

on in the battle, at least then hed have a chance of arriving in his patrons realm. Dmitri sighed

and polished off his drink, not knowing that his brother was dead in a rather permanent fashion.

The exact fate of his brothers soul however was an open and uncertain thing.

Florian looked at the others, His tab is on me till hes feeling better and recovered. Make

him comfortable, its the least we can do.

Dmitri smiled and wiped away his tears, Thank you. Bless you all.

Feeling pleased that they could at least make the mercenary temporarily happy and removed

from what he had been through, they continued as they had been throughout the evening already

and then continuing on through the early morning.

Skalliska continued observing the events unfolding on the Waste along with several of the

patrons. As the battle and its aftermath progressed, they watched as bodies were hurled from

the spires and ramparts of the Wasting Tower. Lesser yugoloths were simply hurled into the

open air to be crushed by their impact, though some of them never hit bottom, as the Mother

of Serpents would pluck them out of the air and devour them whole with one or more of its still

intact heads. The rest of the great beast was curled about the base of the tower like a pet, and

its other crippled or mangled heads lay on the ground oozing blood like slow rivers as they ever

so slowly regenerated.

They saw no Greater Yugoloths hurled from the heights of the Wasting Tower though; their

fate was perhaps worse and much more symbolic. As the purge progressed towards to the top of

the tower, greater loths were hung from the spires and crags, or their heads strung like beads

on a string from the ramparts. All said, the dying or dead and butchered loths seemed to swing

and dangle like leaves on a withered tree too long denied water and light.

Hours passed and higher still it went till the upper portions of the symbol of Yugoloth
417

dominion over the Waste was hung, decorated and festooned with the swinging bodies of hung

and disemboweled Ultroloths. And then finally, several figures emerged onto the top of the tower

to stand before the throne, the Seige Malicious, and a group of perhaps twelve Ultroloths, one

of them who had already claimed it, its title, and its granted power.

Four figures in total stepped out towards the others clustered around the throne, though

others comprising all types of greater loths stood back and watched, mostly Ultroloths and

Arcanaloths loyal to the four. A chocolate brown male arcanaloth dressed in red and gold, a tan

female dressed in little but the blood-soaked remnants of rich blue silk wrappings though she

herself seemed unsullied by the gore, another female of rich copper color and dressed in green

who seemed to lurk in the background and avoid direct sight from any watching, and The Ebon.

Vorkannis the Ebon, overlord of Carceri, was a billowing black swirl of shadows that wrapped

around his own blue robed body with only his piercing reddish-pink eyes and his fangs giving

contrast from the gloom that cloaked him. In fact his body itself seemed darker than the rippling

currents of shadow that wafted off of his body as he stepped apart from his companions, the

Wheels Within Wheels, and approached the newest ruler of Khin-Oin.

The slaughter was quick and brutal, with none of them being offered the chance to swear

loyalty to the new order that had risen up against them. In under a minute the Ebons two

primary conspirators sat upon the corpses and healed what wounds they had, though they were

precious few, and the Ebons consort fawned upon him as she lay at his feet. Vorkannis himself

was holding the head of the Ultroloth who would be Oinoloth, ripping it free from the doomed

fiend and speaking to it while it somehow remained alive till he was finished. Upon finishing, he

turned and sat upon the throne, letting the blood and spinal fluid of the former occupant drip

upon his waiting tongue before he crushed the skull and hurled it over the edge. Khin-Oin had

a new master and the Yugoloths of the Waste bowed to a new Oinoloth.

Well f*ck... Florian said, breaking what had been total and unbelieving silence throughout

the inns taproom.

Clueless said nothing, but instead looked down at his own leg and the gem that was embedded

into his ankle, the gem that had been placed there by the fiend he had just watched usurp the

leadership of his entire race. The antimagic bubble around his ankle was still there, but he

wouldnt have a supply of them forever, and was at the mercy of another loth to have them in

the first place. No, hed have to deal with it sooner rather than later.

****

The Ebon smirked knowingly and smugly as he sat upon the great throne and felt the nearly
 418

sentient essence of the siege malicious reach out and touch his mind to determine his worth to sit

and rule. Seeming to grow from the top of the spinal column shaped tower, it resembled more

living bone than the rock of the tower itself, and it felt powerful, willful and alive as it latched

onto the spirit of the one who had slain its three previous occupants.

Like a lovers caress it brushed across the Ebons thoughts and then paused as it tested the

black and lightless waters of his mind, feeling the currents of the sharks swimming within those

midnight depths. The tower was pleased with what it saw, overwhelmed and honored even, as

it whispered to him, Hello my lord. Hello my Oinoloth of the Waste. I give you this title and

this power, as is my purpose. Be proud.

Mentally turning inward, Vorkannis reached out his own mind to that of the Tower and gave

it his reply, Hello stepping stone.

Kneeling before him, her hands on his robes, his consort smiled up at him. It has accepted

you my Love, and I am proud of you, though this was to be expected. The Ebon stroked her

ears as she lowered her head and occupied herself with showing her own approval.

Without a pause, the new Oinoloth looked up at his two conspirators who stood over the

bodies of the Ultroloths. And now I believe that your loyalty is to be rewarded. At the start of

this I asked you each a question, and you have earned what you asked me for.

Helekanalaith and Shemeska nodded to the Ebon as they sat upon the bodies of the dead that

littered the courtyard atop the tower. Both of them paused however as they realized something

that struck their minds as anomalous: The Ebon had not changed in the slightest upon assuming

the throne and being accepted by it as Oinoloth. There was no physical alteration, no warping

of the body, no corruption of form as the Siege did to all who took its mantle for their own.

Nothing had happened to their lord except for a minor change that they sensed was entirely of

his own doing.

The Ebon had always been surrounded by an aura of shadow that manifested as trails of

darkness, black wispy tendrils that seemed to swirl about his form and evaporate from him in

ephemeral traces on the air. It was still there, all of it, lapping up from his body as he settled

onto the throne of Khin-Oin and his consort indulged in the carnal. But where before the trails

of shadow were thin tendrils of darkness, they had taken upon themselves an additional aspect:

they trailed off on the thin air like an artists impression of disease, like the shadowy images of

plague spores and airborne corruption drifting off and emanating from the Lord of Khin-Oin.

His conspirators sensed that it was at his whim though, and not a forced change according to his

position as the title had always enforced, and they were inwardly uncertain as to what it meant.

But none of that mattered as they pictured in their minds their rewards for their part in
419

his ascension. Both of them had pictured cleanly in their minds what it was they had requested

in exchange for their aid to the Ebon; Helekanalaith had asked for something simple: respect

due his position, and importance. The Marauder had likewise asked for something of few words:

independence, respect, and sole dominion over the informal Yugoloth hierarchy within Sigil.

Your newfound respect and importance doesnt extend to your children Hele... The Ma-

rauder said with a smirk after they both had reiterated their answers to Vorkannis. Sigil only

has enough room for one king, and youre looking at her. Your son can play handmaiden or

squire, something like that.

Not unexpected considering how much you actually despise him. Though Ive no doubt that

youll continue f*cking each other despite the mutual opinions. Helekanalaith said disdainfully.

The Marauder laughed as she adjusted the razorvine circlet atop her head and ignored the

mental snarl from the Ebons consort at the open discussion of her love life. No, we never have.

Except for that one time. And all those other times too, but maybe Im just lying, or maybe he

is. Would that I was. Which would make you more comfortable? We can call that the truth.

Would that you were. The Keeper said with a shrug. No complaint from me, since youve

earned your prize and he hasnt. He will still of course serve as my envoy in matters within the

city. And I expect then that since Ive lost my mortal tool in our mutual information hunt, I

would expect you to lose yours as well. In fact, Im adding that to me request...

The Marauder narrowed her eyes briefly but then shrugged and laughed as she passed it off,

while all the while the Keeper was passive but inwardly laughing at her. She was good, very

good, but she wasnt as old as he was, nor had she the years of experience in a position of power

such as he did. He smiled and adjusted his spectacles.

Shemeska looked back up at the Oinoloth and explicitly ignored his consort as if she didnt

exist except to waste air. My lord, before I do as the Keeper would request, is there anything

further you would ask of me? I would have one last use for him before hes let loose, one person

to see killed in Sigil.

The Oinoloth raised an eyebrow and smirked as he plucked the thoughts from her mind and

replied likewise, Yes you could, but you have others who could do the deed just as well. Kill the

executioner as you like and make a public statement with it just to leave the lingering impression

that we can reach inside the city at our whim. We could, but the Wheel Within Wheels are

served better by the impression and fear of such, rather than the unwanted attention that we

three would receive by doing so.

The Marauder nodded and adjusted the circlet of razorvine atop her head, playing with one

of the razor sharp leaves with a single painted, poisoned claw. I know just the way, and Ill
 420

enjoy this one personally I think.

Helekanalaith smiled back at the Marauders leering, smug, sh*t eating grin as she laughed

and wrapped a finger fully in the living razorvine. Bloody but satisfying, he wouldnt doubt

that, and Sigil had enough of the floral vermin to go around on almost any street corner, or at

least it did the last time he had been inside Sigil nearly a hundred thousand years prior.

And by the time you are done with that, my own mortal tool will be at your doorstep to

collect what you still have, and then Ill proceed to break him. Assuming all goes well in Ysgard,

Oakwright will be dead and your former toy will have a present waiting for him. Youll see.

Helekanalaith and Shemeska both nodded and began to talk amongst themselves as they

gathered the bodies of the dead Ultroloths and began to personally sever the heads and suspend

them over the lip of the Wasting Towers summit.

All the while The Ebon simply watched in idle amusement at their banter as they hurled

the tethered heads from the precipice to dangle like obscene ornaments from the tower. As they

worked his mind was largely occupied and speaking to the Wasting Tower itself, familiarizing

himself with its more subtle powers, while his body was firmly in the caress of his consort.

The process went on for an hour or more before he silenced the tower and recalled his

awareness back to the present; he had other things to do and the Wasting Tower could wait.

Besides, there was little there he wouldnt have been able to do already, it simply made it less

taxing to control certain affects and properties of the plane it was tethered to. In some way that

plane was more linked to him than it might have been to Khin-Oin, but power in its own right

was worthless without the ability to use it, direct it, and exploit it for your own benefit. Purity,

reorganization, a rebirth of focus, and revenge... all of these were worthy goals to exploit that

power towards, though perhaps just a part of a larger picture by the end of it all.

Opening his eyes and fully snapping back to the present, Vorkannis smiled down at his lover.

He reached down to touch Shylaras chin and gesture her to stand. She rose and stood before

him, only briefly glancing back at the Marauder and licking the side of her mouth clean. Yes

my Oinoloth?

I asked these two a question some time ago, but I have never asked the same of you. Tell

me, what is it you want. Answer me your desire and I will reward you with it.

She looked into his eyes and answered without hesitation, I desire y...

He stopped her, That is implicit and understood. Besides that.

She nodded and stepped forward to sit upon his lap and wrap her arms about his neck.

Shylara leaned forward as the illusions and other magics cloaking her true physical appearance

dropped and vanished. Gone was the pristine and immaculately groomed fiend, and in its place
421

was a tattered and manged figure who bled and oozed from the open sores that dotted her

flesh where she had scratched herself raw from itching. Gone was the arcanaloth draped in

rich clothing of silk, velvet and leather, and except for a few bits of jewelry she sat naked and

bloody upon the Oinoloths lap. Leaning into her embrace of the Ebon, she felt not an ounce of

self-consciousness at her appearance, and she gave her answer to his ear with a whisper and a

lick.

Power my love. I want power, responsibility, ascension, prestige and power. Let me stand

at your side for what may come and empower me to do so more than I am now.

He answered her with a lingering kiss as they sat together upon the ancient symbol of power

that was the Seige Malicious. Minutes later he broke the embrace and answered his breathless

consort, And that you will have.

She was unchanged seemingly, and then she felt it within her, at first just a subtle alteration

within thought processes and then understanding flooded into her mind, seeming that her veins

might ignite with what she had been granted. Outwardly though she was still the arcanaloth

who sat upon his lap, naked and tattered, except where her eyes had always been a shade of

lavender, they now danced with a of shifting staccato swirl of colors: violet to blue to green to

orange to crimson to scarlet and back to violet... the hallmark of an Ultroloth.

The Manged was weeping softly as she looked at her lover and her mind swirled with those

she would have revenge upon with the power she felt swirling inside her mind, unlocking and

unfolding mystery upon mystery with every eat of her blackened heart. The acid dripping from

her eyes steaming and evaporated on the air and The Ebons tongue as he licked her cheek.

Power and ascension you have, prestige as my whore, and now something additional for the

rest of your desires. I find myself with a new tower beneath me here, and an old one in Carceri

that requires a lord and warden, a mistress to reign over it and all that it holds and represents...

She swallowed hard as she realized the implications of the gift and position she was being

handed. And the responsibility. What is it that you would have me do in my place as Mistress

of the Tower of Incarnate Pain? Say it and it is done my love.

The Ebons eyes flickered crimson as he smiled up at her and held her closer. The air

crystallized around them and outside of that bubble, Oinos was still and silent, time itself paused

and waiting for them. That is your position which I abdicate and give to you. And now I have

something for you to do with that newfound power and position, something I need you to gather

for me.

***
 422

And so Fyrehowl sat, numb and cold, dead to the world as she looked back to that moment

and tried to remember. She honestly didnt remember leaving the Portal Jammer or walking into

the other bar where she found herself sitting with half a mug of bitter, watered down ale. The

broken fortress, the screams of the dying, the walls glowing red with the blood of the crucified

in the light of dawn... she shook with a mixture of fury and misery and broke off the recollection

on those details. It would take time before she could picture it, and already what exactly had

happened and what she had seen there retreated into the corners of her mind, balled up and

willingly, thankfully forgotten in a haze of regret.

Instead, her mind locked onto the aftermath as she and her companions had left, unable to

do anything, and with only a single question rolling about her mind: why? Sigil seemed to drift

away as she pondered over things in her mind and felt something change in her as she asked

questions she might not have considered just days before.

Why? That same thought had seemed to come to her in an instant as she had fallen to her

knees there at Rubicon with the waters of Oceanus running red with the blood of her kind, and

even possibly her kin. She had simply stared, shivering from the cold numbness that seemed to

enclose everything. Too disbelieving to even protest her disbelief... It seemed to take both an

eternity and an instant to pull away from that battlefield of horror and the question was locked

into her mind, rising above even her own horror and fear.

Of all the things to happen, why this? To be so shortsighted, to do what I *thought* was

right and good to pave the way for even more betrayals and horrors. How could the guardinals,

my own people, have been so ... righteous that we...they... brought their own downfall?

Where were the greater powers of good when all of Belarian needed them most? Where were

they when armies of fiends poured into Elysium? Not even the other layers of Elysium had seen

it come or happen. Talisad, Lucan, Windheir, the others... where had they been? This is...this

is not how it is supposed to be!

They have been so blind, I... I have been so unfathomably blind.

***

When they had emerged out of the glimmer of Tristols planeshift and onto the cobblestones

of Tradegates streets it had been later in the evening. The sky was clear and still as the lights

of the city stretched off and faded into the distance above, the dark of the Outlands sky snuffing

the lights of the city as well as the spire snuffed magic. Fyrehowl had wandered off on her own,

needing the time to simply walk and brood, and telling the others that she would meet them

later.
423

Unaware and unconcerned, a bat-winged tiefling scampered along the streets, between the

noisy bars and the shops that were still open. Running from the other card players who just

realized theyd been cheated, he quickly cornered into an alley and doubled back on the next

street near the outskirts of the city. He took little notice as he ran past a blue and cream furred

lupinal, staring up at the sky, apparently talking to thin air.

Fyrehowl stood there, looking at the stars above, the fur on her cheeks matted from her tears.

She spoke softly, I know you cant hear me, but Im sorry. I know you had faith in me, and I...

I failed. Again. I wish I could see the world like you did - have faith like you did in the things

we were taught but...I cant...

She would have said more, but the words stuck, her voice trailing off to nothing more than a

whisper. It seemed as if all that was supposed to be good and right in the planes didnt matter.

No one would come to help you, no one would guide you, and no one would save you.

As hard as it had always been to believe that Elysium would always seem to take what the

Lower Planes wanted to do with the rest of the multiverse, now it had taken this with its only

reply being a whimper of its own agony as it curled away and whimpered for the pain to end.

The winner was painfully obvious. Were the powers of good so content to let the fiends run

everything and mow down anything in their way? Apparently so.

What was so wonderful about all the morals, all the hope, the genuine faith in right and

mercy if it came with a passiveness that rendered you useless? It wasnt like the guardinals

did much these days that she saw other than the unending but largely petty interference in

the Blood War. Fighting evil for the sake of fighting evil was right and proper, but all that

they did was meaningless in the overall scope and scale of the War Eternal. It all went on

without accomplishment, other than a stalemate that seemed acceptable to them, and at a price

shed seen paid before her eyes over, and over, and over again. Belarian was neither the first,

nor the last innocent blood to be spilled because of their quiescence, all born of high-minded

righteousness and a fear of drawing attention to the upper planes as a threat to the fiends.

Damn the limits! Damn what they wouldnt do. It didnt matter when it came down to

stopping bastards from the Pit like the Ebon. If it was a crime to defend yourself and your home

by any way possible without betraying it, then so be it. So what if it came at a price of things

that youd rather not do, that you didnt think were right. Watching your friends, the people

you cared for, watching them die over and over again couldnt be any more right.

Thirteen hundred years and shed yet to find the meaning or understand the way other

guardinals seemed to accept their view and their world. She was starting to agree that their

view was foolish... Tarnsilver may have been a traitorous, arrogant fool, but he was, in some
 424

small way, right about what Elysium had done.

But she... she would not be a traitor in the mold of that one. No, Tarnsilver rightfully lost

his life for what he did to Elysium. And in the future, be it a day, a decade, or millennia, the

Ebon would be worse off than to lose his head for what he had done.

As much as she thought the blame was hers for Rubicon, she knew it was shared; oh, was it

shared. It was shared among many, and the only one who seemed to be on top of that mountain

of blame was the midnight black arcanaloth of nightmares. And, while what had been done

could never be undone or erased, as much as Elysium would try to eventually bury it, as it had

buried all its other secrets, perhaps it would in some slight way compensate for what her own

failure had caused. Nothing seemed to really make sense now, but that, at least, was a goal to

hold onto.

She looked up from her mug, shoving what was left along with a bit of coin across the bar,

having sat for too long absorbed in her thoughts and needing to be back to her companions. It

was well past antipeak, far too late to be up, and on the other side of Sigil no less, but as she

walked home, if she could have thought of a deity who might have granted her wish, shed have

prayed not to dream the dreams she knew would come...

Chapter 37

Several days had passed. The mood about Sigil, and indeed the planes themselves, was still

subdued and pensive, the nerves of some seemed set on edge, waiting to see what would happen

next. A bloody, ragged hole had been torn from the heart of Elysium, and it was as if, on that

matter, the planes were holding their collective breath at what response might be seen. But no

response came. No crusade, no revenge, no invasion of the Waste to reclaim what did not belong

to it.

Nothing happened, though some within Sigil did indeed call loudly for something to be done.

But those voices were not the voices of the important, the powerful, or the influential. All of

those voices that might have mad a difference were still, hushed, and silent. Those who could

have done something, they did nothing as if they were still in shock at what had transpired in

so short a time, and with little to no warning.

The influx of refugees into Sigil from The Waste and the gatetowns bordering the three planes

of conflict ebbed, slowed, and finally reversed themselves. The riots were quashed, and order was

restored by the efforts of the city watch, the Sons of Mercy, and the questionable, but effective

methods of the Sodkillers. The status quo returned to the City of Doors, and sooner than anyone

expected.

The Blood War was uninterrupted and yugoloth presence upon the untold battlefields of

the War Eternal seemed as ubiquitous as always, unperturbed by the sea change within their

upper hierarchy. The status quo returned to the lower planes, and, like Sigil, faster than any

might have considered possible. Rumors of bloody purges amongst their own ranks, of masses of

greater yugoloths being put to the sword while their lesser watched, and of the desperate flight

of Ultroloths who had failed to ally themselves with the winning side of their civil war, all those

stories and more were whispered and retold in hushed tones.

Officially, as glibly phrased from behind the glossy white fangs of the arcanaloths who served

as their races spokesman to their clients and to the curious in general, little had changed and

425
 426

rumors were only that. Yes there had been a change in power, the former Oinoloth, an Ultroloth

prince of minor consequence, had been deposed, and Vorkannis the Ebon ruled from Khin-Oin as

Oinoloth of the Waste. That a portion of Elysium now lay merged with the Waste was glossed

over and no comment was given, nor was much comment given to the reports of the uncountable

thousands of bodies and severed heads that swung like obscene wind chimes, slowly rustling

about in the wind as they hung from the ramparts of Khin-Oin, from base to top, decorating

the Wasting Tower with their gory and silent reminders of the price of disloyalty to He who sat

and ruled, twenty two miles up.

In Sigil, such questions posed to The Marauder were scoffed at and rebuffed, though the

fiend seemed in a remarkably better mood than usual. It almost seemed like the jackal-headed

rumormonger and mistress of less than legal dealings had to intentionally hold back her glee at

what had recently happened.

I buy and sell dark and rumor, but I cant say that Ill vouch for such rumors one way or

the other. Now, Im not any sort of official spokesman for my race, though I do hear things from

time to time, and Im pleased with what Ive seen and heard out of the Wasting Tower of late.

Beyond that, I have no comment.

The Marauder had then leaned back and grinned at the clustering of reporters from a half

dozen of Sigils papers. She inhaled deeply from the long, crystalline tip of the waterpipe perched

on the bejeweled and gilded skull of what looked disturbingly like a cervidal, and then blew a

steam of smoke at the collective gathering of the press.

Now, if youd like to do business with me, my door is open and my schedule too. But,

she said, twin streams of thin smoke curling up from her nostrils, I run a business, and I know

that none of you make very much. If youre that curious, we can talk about making you a loan,

but otherwise gentleman, Im in a deliciously good mood, and lets not do anything to spoil that,

yes?

But Maam, wed like a confirmation or not on some of the... An aasimar reporter for the

Tempus Sigilian said before being cut off.

I prefer your grace. The King of the Cross trade said curtly to the reporter. And again,

I have better things to do than publically speculate on things you should be paying for me to

speculate upon. Do dawdle off and report on something else. I heard that Aram Oakwright was

scragged four days ago but his faction has been trying to keep it under wraps as they try to raise

him from the dead.

But... your grace... The same reporter said, I still dont... That wasnt a polite request.

The fiend said, baring several fangs, and leaning forward to point a single, manicured, claw tipped
427

finger in the berks direction. Dont make me make an impolite request. You wouldnt like that.

****

Much like the rest of the city, the mood inside the Portal Jammer was grim and taciturn.

Clueless was tending the bar and serving drinks to the slow stream of regular customers, many of

whom had begun hitting the jammer after the riots earlier in the week. Toras had been visiting

the small chapel to his god in the Temple district of The Ladys Ward, as had Florian, though

Tyrs temple within Sigil was significantly larger and more prosperous than that of Andros.

Nisha had been wandering in and out at random, doing whatever it was that Nisha did to amuse

herself. Knowing the chaotic tiefling, that was a rather long, eclectic and delightfully sporadic

list of things.

Fyrehowl had spent perhaps a day sulking and brooding angrily, but had very quickly gone

to the Great Gymnasium, training more and more with various members of the Transcendent

Order. In the end, most of her waking hours were split between there and the Jammer, doing

rather than sitting in her room and thinking over things that she couldnt personally change, at

least not yet.

Tristol had mainly bottled himself up in his lab, going through the spellbooks that had once

belonged to the Imshenviir Mercane, and also the spellbook that had belonged to the arcanaloth

Parphinias, late of the tower in Belarian. The latter was scribed in a sort of personal code, likely

to keep the fiends own discoveries safe from his fellows. But regardless of the intend and purpose

the dead fiend had behind the ciphers in the book, it was taking most of the aasimars time to

translate the runes into infernal, and from there into draconic for him to learn the spells within.

And, given the nature of the spells, most wouldnt have cared to learn them at all. Tristol learned

them anyways, even if he might never use them.

Oddly enough, Skalliska had been staying in her own quarters back at her place of business,

rather than taking a room at the Jammer. The kobold had also been embroiling herself in a

bit of research concerning the pantheon of gods that had formerly served her people on her own

native world. For several days, she had been clustered around a number of fairly thick books

on the subject of dead gods, missing gods, obscure pantheons, and the history of kobolds on the

prime material.

During her research, Skalliska had kept mostly to herself, and hadnt been too terribly

talkative about the reasoning behind her research. Still, she seemed quite avid about what-

ever it was that she was looking for. During the second day of the kobolds work, Nisha had sat

down at the same table and was staring oddly at a dish of... something... that Skalliskas was
 428

snacking on.

Skalliska? Why are you eating Illithid tentacles? The tiefling said, reaching for one.

Skalliska chuckled, Not Illithid. Some sort of prime animal called an octopus. Illithids

expensive and hard to get this time of year.

Nisha grinned and played with a number of the tentacles, making them dangle and talk to

one another in a way that could only be said was exactly her way of thinking. Then she paused

and looked at the kobold a bit more seriously.

...wait... You can get Illithid? Youve eaten one of them before? Im both sickened and

impressed and curious at the same time. She said with a giggle.

Skalliska pushed the dish towards Nisha. It has heaped with several dozen of the purplish

tentacles, many of them graced by oversized suckers. Help yourself if you like them.

Thank you, I think I will. The tiefling said, hiding a mischievous grin as she picked up five

of the tentacles, stuck them to her fingertips, and dangled them in front of her face...The last

anyone saw, she was walking off towards the direction of Tristols lab.

Sir? I was instructed to deliver a package to you. The messenger said as he held out a note

and a box to Clueless.

Oh? Who from? The half-fey asked from behind the bar as he took the two items.

Im sorry sir, but I wasnt told. They were both delivered to us anonymously with instruc-

tions to deliver them to you at this time. Id tell you more if I knew. But, alas, I dont.

Clueless nodded, tossed the runner a silver piece from behind the bar and thanked him. The

runner smiled and headed quickly out the door, on his way to his next assignment, leaving his

last puzzled and looking at the package.

Clueless was about to open the box when there was a sudden, distinctly Nisha sounding, cry

of Aasimar Brains!!!!! from Tristols lab, followed immediately by a distinctly Tristol sounding,

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! Most of the bar patrons turned to look at the screams, the sub-

sequent crash of clattering furniture and books, then the fierce giggle and sounds of a laughing

tiefling running away and up the stairs as fast as her hooves could handle.

Tristol came walking out of his lab a few moments later, several purple tentacles still draped

over his head and dangling over his forehead. He was trying very hard not to laugh himself,

despite being flushed red in the face. He calmly walked over to Skalliska, his tail bottlebrushed

out behind him, and plopped the tentacles down on the table.

Dont encourage her, please dont encourage her... The mage said before he walked away,

chuckling under his breath.

Clueless laughed and offered Tristol a drink before turning back to his own package that had
429

arrived a few minutes prior.

Weird, wonder who its from... He said, quickly casting a minor dweomers to discern any

magic upon either box or letter. A single, and paltry, spell flickered on the envelope for the letter,

one likely to alert the writer if the intended recipient was the one who opened it. Otherwise,

there was nothing else of note.

Shrugging, Clueless opened the box, and immediately stepped back as he gazed at the cleanly

severed humanoid hand that lay within the nestled confines of the package. He quickly moved

the box out of view of the patrons of the inn while he took a closer look. The hand was clearly

githzerai, probably an elderly githzerai.

His mind pictured the face of the githzerai who had originally aided him in restoring his lost

memories, and that the man had been absent the past week, and that none of his fellows seemed

to know, or in typical bleaker fashion, seem to apply much meaning or import to it.

Sh*t... Clueless softly cursed in a language that few in the inn would have recognized,

except perhaps to mistake it for a highly ornate and bizarre derivative of elven or sylvan.

The envelope was ripped open a second later and its short, brief contents read silently before

he was gone and out the door before anyone could stop him. The contents read simply:

Suicide Alley. Peak.

As Clueless rushed out the door, it was ten minutes till peak.

The Bladesinger arrived at the filth-strewn alleyway in the Hive, not a moment late. He

touched down on the ground and drew his sword immediately while his wings folded down to

the sides. But, contrary to his expectations, there was no gang of thugs awaiting him, nor a

boisterous and gloating yugoloth or a flunky of the same, waiting for him to deliver a mocking

speech while he was expected to wait till they were finished and then act.

There was only a single person, and they were perched at the rim of the alley, tottering by

the second and threatening to fall over the side and over the edge, out of the ring of Sigil. It

was the Bariaur who had once been a companion of Cluelesss, and who, like him and the elven

cleric, had been deceived, captured, and drug to that Tower in Carceri where the yugoloth who

now sat atop the throne of the Wasting Tower had implanted each of them with a gemstone in

their ankles.

The bariaur kicked the side of the wall to push himself off balance, and then dropped a bag

to the cobblestones of the alley. As the momentum swung him over the side, his eyes grew wide

with the flicker of awareness, and then it was gone as he tumbled over the edge and into oblivion

with a scream.

No! Clueless shouted before launching himself to the edge, but it was too late. There was
 430

nothing over the edge. No void. No darkness. No blank space. Nothing. Unable to wrap his

mind over what it was that existed beyond the edge, the half-fey averted his eyes and dropped

down to the ground of Suicide Alley, so aptly named this time and for countless others.

The bladesinger exhaled in defeat, having watched a friend vanish into oblivion, or whatever

it was that awaited any who leapt from the edge of Sigils ring. In all of Sigils history, none had

ever done so and returned to tell the tale. The Fraternity of Order even had a standing offer to

pay the families of those wishing to kill themselves by that act, if only they would return and

given an account to the faction if they did survive, before they tried some other way of killing

themselves.

F*cking sons of b*itches... He lamented as he kicked the wall harshly and picked up the

bag. So what the hell do you have for me that cost you your life?

He opened the bag and dumped the contents into the palm of his hand. A single, glimmering

gemstone rolled out, glowing the same color as the orb in his leg, just smaller. The controlling

gem.

What the hell... Clueless said as he stared at the gem, instinctively feeling the urge to touch

the gemstone in his hand with that in his leg. There was a synchronous vibration that seemed

to pass between, and resonate between the two.

A moment later he did what simply felt right. He merged the two stones. They glowed

brilliantly and flowed together like droplets of water joining. The feeling was one of relief, almost

analogous to shutting a window on a frigid winters day to prevent the escape of warmth from a

roaring fire. Likewise, Clueless felt a door in his mind slam shut and lock, leaving only him with

its key.

Still, a pile of questions still lurked in his mind about what had happened to him, and what

had just happened. Why was he given the controlling gem back? It seemed hard to believe that

the Marauder would willingly return it to him. Was it simply a case of her having finished with

her toys and casting them aside? Did someone else within the Wheels take it and return it to

him? Was the Cheshire Fiend involved? What was the reasoning behind the tasks that he and

his two other former companions had been forced to perform?

He wasnt sure, but he did have one more thing to look into, one more avenue to explore.

Clueless gazed down at the severed githzerai hand before he walked off to find a cleric.

***

Wake up. The voice seemed familiar but distant as his conscious mind flooded back into

his body, called back by a cleric of Nephthys.

431

Delsar Muralt, factotum of the Bleak Cabal, opened his eyes and looked up into the face of

the man that he had willingly betrayed. He closed his eyes, shutting them tight and grimacing.

He should have refused the call to return to the world of the living...

The sudden images of exactly where his petitioner had been wandering before that call, they

lingering hauntingly in his mind. It had not been pleasant...

Your alive. Now what the hell happened to you? Why did friend... a friend whos now

dead... why did he kill you? Clueless asked as he stood over the Bleaker.

Delsar sighed and sat at, swinging around to the opposite side of the cot where the priestess

had revived him. He was silent for several minutes, oblivious to the bladesingers questions,

before finally, he answered.

Im sorry.

Excuse me? What? Clueless asked.

Your memories that you recovered, I intentionally gave you back only a fraction of them.

That was what I was paid to do by the people using you. The gith said with pained regret.

... Clueless was taken back by the admission.

They wanted you to think I had done my best effort, and being as good as I was with such

things, that you wouldnt dig deeper into those memories except at the safe rate at which I had

set them into unraveling. The bleaker looked up at Clueless with deep, yellowed eyes, red at

the edges with emotion.

They had you on the payroll as well, I should have figured... Clueless said, looking away.

They wanted to control every aspect of whatever it was that they were doing to you, and

using you for. No, I dont know anything about it besides what I saw in your mind, and what

you already know yourself. Delsar replied, But still, I knew a bit too much for them, and in

the end I was having second thoughts about what I had helped them do to you. They killed me

for it.

Clueless looked at him rather pointedly, Who was paying you?

I dont know. I was contacted mind to mind originally, bargained with by those means, and

paid by hired courier. The mind was cold and dark, dreadfully so, a fiend most likely. The voice

would change when they talked to me, so I cant say if they were male, female, or something

else, but regardless of how they dressed it up, the touch was the same.

Why? Clueless asked.

I didnt know you, and I wasnt directly hurting you. I didnt know what they would do

to you, and by the time I saw some of those memories you had come back into your mind, I

couldnt say no. They would have seen to it that I was punished. Delsar said, starting to tear
 432

up. As for why I even agreed to it? The money, it was significant, and I was donating the vast

bulk of it to the orphanage and soup kitchen we run out of the Gatehouse. In the lack of any

meaning in this world, none that Ive found, none that I think exists, I can give myself a reason

to exist and survive by seeing to it that I might better the harsh lives of those around me. You

were only one man, and I was helping so many others... please forgive me for what Ive done to

you...

It wasnt your fault, and I know who it was that was doing it to me. Though I dont know

exactly all of the details. Clueless said.

Dont tell me. I dont want to know. They killed me once, and they may do worse the next

time. Please dont give them reason. The gith said quickly.

Dont worry. I wont tell you. And you dont need me to forgive you. Youre not the only

person that theyve ensnared, both willing and unwilling. And youre far from the last. It wasnt

your fault, its just something that I have to make right. That wont be something I can do now,

but eventually... Clueless said calmly as the githzerai nodded and slowly rose from the cot.

Forgiving myself is something that I have to worry about though. Meaning comes from

within, and so must forgiveness. It may take me some time to find what may be as elusive as

meaning, but we shall see. Thank you for bringing me back from the dead, I will find some way

to repay you eventually. Thank you, but I have a great deal of introspection and meditation to

see to.

Clueless nodded to the Gith who shuffled off back to the Hive, and then thanked the cleric

for her work. Still running through his head though, were the same questions that had sprung

up back in Suicide Alley, and they didnt have any ready answers.

***

One week later, the tensions in Sigil had decreased even more, and it seemed that no dire

predictions of bloody revenge or crusades would take place, nor the rumors of even more black

and dire actions by the children of the lower planes. The status quo rained. But still, there were

indications that not all was normal, and some things, once released and thrust into the light

of their own making, were loathe to entirely creep back into the shadows and be dismissed or

forgotten.

Skalliska was walking between the Portal Jammer and the Great Library, taking a more

roundabout path than might be normal. At the same time, Fyrehowl was returning from her

daily training and meditation at the Great Gymnasium where she had been practicing with the

githzerai aide to former Factol Rhys, an experience which she felt was highly beneficial to her
433

both for her combat prowess, learning more and more about the philosophy of the now officially

defunct faction, and an experience that she had begun to involve Clueless in as well, hoping that

the two of them might learn to coordinate their fighting styles for use in the future.

Wandering home by perhaps odd paths, both Skalliska and Fyrehowl happened upon each

other in front of a disturbing scene. Perhaps fifteen members of the City Watch stood in front of

the outside wall of a large counting house, blocking the close observation and approach of many

in the quickly growing crowd of onlookers. The lupinal noticed Skalliska and approached her.

Oh, hey there Fyrehowl. I was just walking past and I saw something going on here.

However, my height being a bit lower than the average here, I cant see a bit of whats going on.

Whats going on up there by the building? Skalliska asked.

Fyrehowl moved in and out, between and around, several members of the assembled crowd

before she caught a full glimpse of what was being blocked off by the watch. It wasnt pretty,

and what she recognized made her see red.

Fyrehowl? Wherere you going? Whats up there? Hey! Skalliska shouted after the lupinal

as she abruptly left the scene.

The kobold shrugged and deftly worked her way under the line of guards and finally managed

to take a close look at what they were blocking off. At once she understood the lupinals reaction.

The buildings wall was a snarl of only vaguely trimmed razorvine, though one patch of the

wall had been cleared, and recently as well. A single naked and bloodied body was ensnarled

and wrapped up within the razorvine, ragged and mangled from its apparent struggle against

whoever had thrown them to their death. A silver and carnelian, Mercykiller helmet was fitted

over their head, and was indeed the only article of clothing they wore, besides the razorvine that

cut deep and suspended them several feet above the ground.

Skalliska blinked as she noted that the victim appeared to have been hung by several thick

strands of razorvine, dying by that just as much as they did from blood loss during their struggle

to escape. And then there were the words written in the victims own blood on the patch of the

wall that had been recently cleared of the razorvine.

The Wheels grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine.

The words were underlined and signed with a symbol of the Wheels Within Wheels.

Skalliska narrowed her eyes at the obvious link to the yugoloth cabal that seemed connected

to every ill that had befallen them lately, and then she moved on to return back home and spread

the word to the others. Several days later the press would report the victims identity as the

former Mercykiller known only as The Ladys Executioner. He had apparently been missing for

some time, though his personal finances seemed to indicate that he had been paid a substantial
 434

amount of jink just prior to his vanishing, at which time there had been no evidence of foul play,

only that he had packed for a trip and vanished by way of a portal, possibly to the Ethereal

Plane.

***

Several days later, Clueless was checking the daily mail. He idly tossed a number of adver-

tisements for rival inns through the fire portal, and then gingerly held one advertisement away

from the others. That particular advertisement was dripping some sort of foul smelling, rancid

goop.

I told him to leave us off his damn mailing list... Clueless said as he looked at the note that

accompanied the dripping bundle that seemed to have, a week or two ago, been a cranium rat

and was well into the decay process.

You must have been drunk or not thinking straight when you asked me to stop sending you

free samples and news on weekly specials. So, in your best interest, and mine, Im sending you

this. This week were running a special of spleens. Two dozen species. Fresh and bloody, pickled,

dried, frozen, living, undead, you name it and Ive got it.

- Seamusxanthuszemus, Merchant Most Excellent, Slayer of Fiends, Purveyor of Death.

P.S. Enjoy the free assorted cranium rat parts. Best quality anywhere in Sigil.

Clueless tossed the putrefied remains of the rat through the fire portal as well, and then yelled

out to Toras.

Hey Toras! Seamusxanthu...whatever the hell his name is, he sent us some more free sam-

ples.

There was a pause, followed by a surprised and miffed reply from the half-celestial. He

what?! I thought you went over to his shop and demanded he stop sending us stuff!

Clueless laughed, Yes, I did. He put us back on his list anyways. Said he thought I was

drunk or not in my right mind when I asked to be removed from the mailings.

There was a loud, exasperated cry from the other room. Son of a b*tch! That damn mephit

sends us anything more and Im going over there myself and stuffing him into his own damn

hat!

Clueless laughed, and then Toras walked into the main taproom.

You think Im kidding? Ill take him and Ill fit him into his own damn hat, whether he fits

or not, hes going in there if I have to go to that shop myself.

Toras, youll have entirely too much fun if you do that. Clueless said before handing the

fighter a sealed letter.

435

Whats this? Toras asked.

A letter, one addressed to each of us with our named in gold ink. I havent gotten around

to opening mine yet, so I cant say really what its about. Clueless said as he walked off to wash

the rat goop off of his fingers.

Indeed, there was a crisp and well scribed letter addressed, by name, to each of the seven.

Inside each envelope was a single, delicately folded letter, baring their name and any official

titles. The letters read:

Dear X,

You are hereby cordially invited by Jeremo the Natterer, The Ladys Jester, to attend a grand

banquet and social event at the Palace of the Jester in The Ladys Ward, held in the honor of

Sigils property owners, prominent citizens, and political figures. Come as you are.

Seven past peak in two days time.

Jeremo the Natterer, Factol of the Ring Givers

Chapter 38

Nisha snatched the letter out of Cluelesss hands and started reading it, softly muttering, What

to wear, what to wear... and a date, Ill need a date for this. And hmm... never been to a real

party before, unless you count crashing one with a dozen other folks, and that usually doesnt

end happily for us, even if its fun.

Clueless laughed and snatched for the letter, Hey, I was reading that!

The tiefling held it up over her head and tried to keep it out of his hands, failing to realize

that a game of keepaway tended to work best if you were taller than the other person. She mock

pouted for a few seconds before she felt a poke to her back.

You know, youve got one yourself. Tristol said as he held out a similar letter addressed to

her. No need to crash the party either.

She handed back the letter and picked up her own with a grin, Can I pretend Im crashing

it anyways?

You can do whatever the heck you want. Thats what you usually do anyways. Tristol

chuckled.

Toras looked over towards them, Id put a qualifier on that though. So long as no people

get hurt and theres no major property damage or public scandal you can do whatever you want.

Hows that?

Workable. Nisha said with a wink.

Tristol laughed as she got up, snagged the Factol Karan doll and dashed out the door, saying

something about dolling herself up. He looked over to Toras, This should be interesting...

That it will. I have to wonder who else is showing up, for good or for ill.

True, its probably going to be a pretty big crowd, lots of important people and all that.

Just so long as its not like one of the social functions my parents always tried to drag me out to,

I wont mind at all. Anythings better than sitting in a room with a bunch of social climbing,

absurdly arrogant wizards, and having to play along with it. Tristols tail spruced out as he

436
437

recalled his memories of such things in Halaraa, and his mothers routine insistence that such

were for his betterment.

No. Here were likely to get everyone from Rhys, Estevan, the Titan... Toras said before

Clueless interrupted.

...the b*tch in a razorvine headdress... Clueless said with a smirk before he muttered to

himself, I swear Ill have her shaved one of these days...

Ok, so theres one person whod fit in back home... hopefully we dont get seated next to

her. Still, it sounds pretty large, and it sounds like itll have all types there. Tristol mused.

Its something Im looking forward to, thats for certain. Clueless said with a grin.

***

Fyrehowl drew her blade and bowed to the githzerai monk who stood opposite her, her

sparring partner of late. At first she had felt overwhelmed by the quickness and odd fighting

style of the other cipher, and because of that initial surprise, she had felt doubt in her own

abilities. However, by the end of their first few sessions, she had discovered a number of things

that set her own style of fighting apart from Kelshratars. First and foremost, she was probably

twice as strong as the spindly monk, maybe even more; she was taller than he was by a good foot

and a half; and she had her own claws and fangs, that while not commonly regarded as proper

weapons for a trained fighter, she was naturally adept with them as extensions of her own body.

She spent the next evening after their last session alone in a chamber in the gymnasium,

adjusting her methods of using her sword, experimenting with incorporating her bite or claws as

sudden, unexpected, offhanded attacks. A number of wooden practice dummies quickly showed

the signs of the unorthodox methods, and by the end of the evening the lupinal was smiling,

though at one point she did have to pause to pick a splinter or two from between her teeth.

It was all going much smoother, as if she could feel what to do rather than sit and ponder on

style, tactics, and proper movements. It might have just been the extra practice that led to her

feeling more confidant and noting a smoother edge to her reflexes, but at the same time she felt

oddly similar to how she had in those few spontaneous, reactive moments when she had bested

the fallen lupinal, Tarnsilver, there in Belarian.

Well see how this works... Fyrehowl said, looking down at the splintered remains of the

targets with amusement.

***

She hadnt told the other cipher about the changes, half expecting the spontaneity of it all

to surprise him and give her the upper hand in their next match, and half expecting him to
 438

fully anticipate it and react on instinct much like she was beginning to do. Neither of them were

Rhys, but compared to Fyrehowl, the gith had trained for much longer. Still, she was improving

rapidly and both of them were pleased with her progress.

Near the end of that next match, Kelshratar hastily moved into a defensive position and

parried a sudden low strike from Fyrehowl. Repeatedly during their match the taller and stronger

lupinal had forced him back and gone on the offensive far more than in previous bouts. He had

managed to fend off most of them, but the blocked impacts were jarring at times when they

landed solidly, rather than being deflected off to one side, and by themselves it was taking more

than a bit out of him. Still, he adjusted and eventually disarmed her, being as much quicker

than her as she was stronger than him, but he noticed the improvement in her style, and more

importantly in her reflexes.

He was better than her yes, but her rate of improvement was such, that given time she was

going to eventually outstrip him in ability, partially from her own racial traits, and partially

because of how rapidly she seemed to be adapting to the philosophy that he himself had been

taught by Rhys and her factors, and which he was now teaching to her. He didnt admit all of it

to her immediately, but she seemed to sense it anyways, which was an affirmation of the feeling

anyways.

I have a question to ask you. She said as she rolled backwards and stood up.

Ask, he said, handing her back her sword from where it lay on the ground.

She nodded and spoke as they walked out of the training chamber, One of my companions,

a bladesinger and member of the Indeps, Clueless, I think youve met him before. I wanted to

bring him along the next time we sparred, hopefully so that he and I might coordinate some of

our tactics. Would you mind?

Not at all, though I may be hard pressed against the both of you. You have improved, and

his style is largely unfamiliar to me. I am at a disadvantage, but the challenge is welcome. Ask

him and bring him along. Perhaps tommorow?

She nodded and sheathed her sword, That sounds good. Again, thank you. And the

compliment is well received. See you then.

***

So why am I here again? Clueless asked as he stood in the center of the Great Gymnasium,

looking at the hundred odd persons milling about the central courtyard.

Spontaneity! Because I asked you to. Is it that bad of an idea? The grinning lupinal said

to the half-fey.
439

Clueless shrugged and quirked an eyebrow, Spontaneity isnt bad, and its something your

new group embraces from what I know. But isnt this whole idea of planning and working

on coordination of our fighting styles a bit... well... defeating the whole purpose of being

spontaneous?

Your not a cipher, hence we need to train. Besides, you dont just wake up one day and

hear the heartbeat of the multiverse and know what to do when you need to do it. That takes

practice, even if it slowly replaces the need for you to consciously think before acting. Fyrehowl

said with a soft chuckle as she opened the door to the separate courtyard used for swordplay.

Besides, She said, brushing an idle speck of dirt off of her otherwise spotless robes, This

gets you out of the Portal Jammer. Youve been stuck behind the bar, serving drinks for a solid

week now. You need to get out more.

And you need to be around more, because Ive only been tending bar for a shift or two at a

time. Besides, I rather enjoy it. I get to chat up the regular customers, get to know their faces,

and I have the added bonus of making sure that Nisha doesnt burn the place down by accident.

Burn the place down?

She swore she only did that to one place, one time, and it wasnt entirely her fault. Something

about dancing Slaadi and large amounts of alcohol. I just keep reminding myself that we dont

have dancing Slaadi. Clueless said, his wings flushing with a bit of color at the very idea of

dancing Slaadi. Plus, if you must pry, Ive found that Factol Montgomery is a rather good

conversationalist for an animated doll. Shes cute, and she makes fun of Darkwood. And shes

more than a little hot.

Still, you cant just stay bottled up in the bar if your social life revolves around little

animated dolls. Even if some of them are amusing, or objects of your weird fantasies Fyrehowl

said, poking Clueless in the shoulder.

Hey, Ive got a girlfriend, and Ive been spending just a tiny little bit of time with her. Lets

just say that we havent been spending our hours together playing Arcadian Bridge. Shes a

Sensate, Im half Sidhe, allow your mind to wander from there. Fyrehowl shrugged and very

nearly said, Is she actually your girlfriend, or do you two just get together to have fun? but, in

a very uncipher-like fashion, she paused, hesitated and reconsidered.

I can only imagine. She said with a hesitant chuckle, hesitating rather than acting, and

as funny as some might find it, theyd need to approach the subject eventually, just not at the

present. Fyrehowl pushed the idea out of the forefront of her mind.

So whom are we supposed to be sparring with today? Rhyss gofor? Clueless said as he

stretched in the center of a marked practice yard.

 440

Fyrehowl chuckled, I wouldnt call him that, but thats him. Kel. Hes pretty damn fast,

even if hes not exceptionally strong. Youre probably stronger than him, but hes confidant

enough to train against us both.

Clueless raised an eyebrow as he stripped out of his shirt and tossed it to the side. Yeah,

that probably says something. But I still say that we should try out what we talked about

earlier.

The lupinal paused and hesitated before replying, staring overly long at the bladesingers

chiseled physique and the elaborate knot work tattoo that covered most of his back except for

his wings. Clueless was exceptionally fit, and despite his being neither a lupinal, nor any type

of celestial in the first place, Fyrehowl found herself admiring what she saw.

Fyrehowl? About what we talked about earlier? Clueless prodded her with the question

again.

Oh! Im sorry, I was thinking about something. She said with a slight startle.

Clueless grinned, Isnt that what youre not supposed to be doing? The whole cipher thing

and all?

She poked him in the ribs, Yeah yeah yeah. Hey, its better than lingering on other things.

Im doing my best here to not be utterly depressed.

He nodded, Actually yeah, youre right. Youve been tossing yourself into this, and its been

keeping you occupied. I cant say thats bad. Anyways I think our sparring partner is here.

Council Chairwoman Rhyss assistant and understudy walked onto the sand of the sparring

ring and bowed to both Clueless and Fyrehowl. They exchanged greetings and made small talk

for several minutes before they took their positions at opposite ends of the ring. The githzerai

held up his hand and the metallic bracers that he had been wearing seemed to flow like liquid,

pool in his hand, and form an intricate longsword; karach.

Clueless glanced down at his sword, Razor and whispered to it, Hey now, dont get jealous.

I promise I wont leave you here and elope with any other swords. Im more than happy with

you, and I think you know that.

Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing about Clueless talking to his sword

like it was a living thing. So... like we talked about before?

Clueless nodded, That works for me. Well see how it works out.

***

They walked out of the Great Gymnasium tired but happy, Fyrehowl smiling and flushed,

and Clueless stumbling in his walk due the spasms of laughter he was having as they left. His
441

wings were flushed green as he glanced over at the lupinal and began snickering, a tear or two

running down his face.

She rolled her eyes and poked him in the ribs, Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Clueless was still laughing, Well, thats rather the point of the group isnt it? Still...

Oh it wasnt that funny. Youll make me regret having done that.

No, the people who happened to be there at the time wholl likely tell it to all their friends

will. I wont tell a soul, I swear. I wont need to. The bladesinger said, still flushed and laughing.

Bah. It worked didnt it? Who cares so long as it did?

Two hours earlier...

Clueless deflected the giths last slash with a backhanded cut of his own sword and then

ducked in low, cutting hard and quick and attempting to force the gith to either retreat further

or trip. The gith was already stepping to the side however, and his blade was already moving to

counter and nullify the tactic. Or at least it would have, had he not suddenly faltered, paused,

and been knocked flat to the ground, still staring, not at Clueless, but at Fyrehowl.

The lupinals robes were pulled down to her waist, she was bent forwards, and flashing her

breasts as the githzerai. It lasted barely a second or two before she covered herself, leapt and

pinned the stunned cipher on which the faint trace of a blush was showing under the pale yellow

of his cheeks; and Clueless was laughing hysterically.

Several dozen other people in that section of the gymnasium were also staring slack jawed

over in their direction, including several ciphers, a bard who had nearly choked on his flute, and

one of the hill giants who owned and operated the building. Some distractions affect more than

their intended targets, and Fyrehowls had done just that.

I think we just won... She said with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction over

towards Clueless as she moved and helped Kel up from the floor.

... He said little as he molded the liquid karach of his sword back down into a ring on his

dominant hand. He then simply stared over towards the two, and while he said nothing at first,

the karach seemed to twitch slightly, almost as if it were laughing for him by proxy in response

to his thoughts. A few seconds later he started laughing too.

I must admit, I wasnt expecting anything like that. He said, his cheeks flushed.

Score one for us then. Clueless said with a grin.

The githzerai motioned them towards the exit as their session was over, but he lingered just

long enough to ask Fyrehowl a question. Was that planned in advance?

She shook her head, No. No, it wasnt. I needed a distraction and I just did that without

thinking, it just felt like it would work and I did it without really considering it.
 442

Kel smiled and bowed, Then youre learning. Very good.

She smiled back, Thank you, Ill see you in a day or two again.

He bowed once more and she departed, walking out towards the entrance where Clueless

seemed on the verge of falling over with laughter. He didnt seem like he was going to let her

hear the end of that little incident.

***

Back at the Portal Jammer, Skalliska sat at one of the back tables, away from the customers,

and poured over a new stack of books fresh from the Great Library. Her reptilian nose twitched

in annoyance as, once again, another supposedly comprehensive source of lore relating to her

own race left much to be desired.

F*ck him, and the same to his worshippers. She muttered harshly in her own native lan-

guage, referring to the figure pictured on the current page of the tome.

Hes too damn entrenched, or else I may be looking in the wrong places. One or the other.

Skalliska said in a softer tone as she rubbed a finger along the knobby spine of her familiar. The

fire lizard growled softly in support as it nibbled at the end of a bit of meat the kobold had given

it to gnaw on as she did her research.

Son of a... She cursed again, this time in planar common as she tossed the book off the

table in disgust at the content of the chapters relating to religion amongst kobolds. She mentally

swore that every damn world that had kobolds, and that was most of them, held Kurtulmak as

their patron, himself just an overblown and self-important archfiend.

Can I help you with something? She said, trying to regain her composure as she stared at

one of the inns patrons who had been staring silently at her since she had tossed the book off

of her table and tumbling under his.

Not you... The bald human said in a surprisingly monotone voice before he went back to

sipping at an empty glass.

Whatever... sorry about the book. Skalliska replied, but the black clad berk had already

turned away to stare off distantly towards the bar. Though not that she could see his eyes, what

with them being behind a pair of black metallic goggles.

She shrugged and went back to her reading, leaving the man to stare off into space. Probably a

bleaker or a dustie, considering the void that made up his personality, his pale, waxy complexion,

and his drab choice of clothing. Still, the bar had seen weirder types...

Skalliska, what exactly is it that youre working on? Youve been at it for a couple days

now... Toras said as he walked over to the table, a curious look on his face. He motioned to the
443

chair across from the kobold.

Sure, youll just need to move the books though... go right ahead. Skalliska said without

looking up. Her familiar puffed a small gout of flames from its nose towards the fighter, acting

all the part of a miniature red dragon.

Toras sat down and glanced at the titles of the books that sprawled across the tables surface.

He frowned slightly.

What? Skalliska said as she looked up and tilted her hat back to look up at his face.

I cant really say I approve really. Kurtulmak isnt exactly high on my own patrons list of

friendly deities. I can give you some much more pleasant options, so can Florian as well. Toras

said with the tone of a concerned parent who just caught their kid with a hand in the liquor

cabinet.

The fire lizard snorted another puff of flame in Torass direction. Though it was little more

than a matchsticks worth, it accurately reflected Skalliskas expression. She groaned and knocked

her head against the table with a soft *thunk*.

What? Toras said as he reached over to pick up the book and look closer at it. There

was a full-page illustration of Kurtulmak, sitting atop the skulls of various humanoids, gnomes

primarily. Nice guy...

Another snort and a puff of smoke from the familiar as Skalliska glanced up at Toras, her

beady eyes peering down the length of her snout unhappily. Exactly, and thats my problem.

Oh?

She pointed unhappily at the illustration. Same thing in that book and most all of these oth-

ers. Same thing over and over for the past week of reading. Kurtulmak, Kurtulmak, Kurtulmak!

Im sick and tired of Kurtulmak!

I take back my previous statements. Toras said with a wide smile. Doing some soul

searching then I take it? Not happy with your races standard options?

Skalliska leaned back in her chair, propping it against the wall on two legs and putting her

feet on top of the tome, and the picture of the ubiquitous evil god of kobolds; she seemed far too

comfortable in the position.

Did I ever tell you about the prime world that I originally came from? She asked as she

picked up her familiar.

No, not really. I always assumed that you were planar, given your profession and all. Do

tell.

Not much to tell. Or rather, theres not much left of the place. There was my own race and

the Illithids; both of us controlled about half of the sphere. It ended poorly and the world is
 444

more or less dead and spinning in the void now. However before it all fell apart, my people, we

had our own gods. An entire pantheon of them, and Kurtulmak wasnt among their number.

She scowled at the mention of that particular powers name.

Toras nodded, And once you got out here, all you could find was him, and almost all of your

kind tend to worship, or at least revere and respect him.

Pretty much how its been. After all that happened recently I started to look around for

information on if any of the members of my worlds pantheon survived the destruction of our

world and the dispersal of our people. F*cking squidheads scoured the surface of the world clean.

Think magical sandstorms of white hot glass, constantly, over the entire surface.

Not my idea of a fun time, no. Toras said as he closed the book. Any luck so far though?

Skalliska shook her head, No. At least not yet anyways. Ive got time, and if worse comes

to worse I can always just go to the astral and see who amongst them isnt there...

Toras nodded, Its an idea. If I can help you, you know, all you need to do is ask.

The kobold grinned, I appreciate it, but for the moment this is something that Id like to

do on my own. Spiritual, personal stuff, I think youll understand my need to go this alone for

now?

Toras nodded respectfully, Yeah, I sure can. Anyways, I have to go out and do some

shopping for some new clothes for this party that were all invited to. It says come as you are,

but considering how much jink that Jeremo is supposed to have, I think Im going to do my best

to look good.

Skalliska chuckled, I should too at some point actually.

Anyways, anything I can get for you before I leave?

Skalliska motioned her snout over towards the berk at the other table, Yeah. Get me a drink

and get that berk over there to leave? Hes been there staring at the bar for two hours, and he

just starting drinking the lamp oil at the table. I think hes a bleaker or something.

Not a problem, Ill handle it. But anyways, Ill see you later. Keep an eye out for Nisha when

I leave, make sure she doesnt get into anything she shouldnt. Shes like everyones mischievous

but lovable little sister, but three times more innocently destructive...

***

Tristol glanced around the shop, a tiny thing about three blocks in the direction of The Ladys

Ward from the Friendly Fiend. He knew that because he had walked from the Portal Jammer to

there along with Florian, dropped the cleric off and then gone about looking for any shops that

might commission custom articles of clothing.

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After all, if he was going to a party, any sort of party, he wanted to look nice for the occasion.

Sure, he wasnt dressing up to impress anyone really besides himself perhaps, it wasnt like such

functions back home, but this would be the first real official function he had attended since he

had come to Sigil. He wanted to look nice, even if it wasnt for anyone but himself.

Florian wasnt with him as he stepped into the silversmiths shop a few blocks from the Great

Foundry, the stacks still belching their acrid clouds of soot high into the yellow haze of the Wards

sky. The cleric had insisted on dropping by the Friendly Fiend, saying something about Akin

is such a sweetheart, or some such. Tristol shook his head in bewilderment. He was a fiend,

regardless of the smile, and though hed always been pleasant, Tristol honestly wasnt sure what

to make of him. Fyrehowl seemed to feel the same way, Toras thought he was what happened

when a fiend went barmy, and Nisha seemed to adore him, at least in as much as the loth put

up with her random petty theft.

Can I help you sir? The shopkeeper inquired with a pleasant tone. He was a gnome, and

former member of the Godsmen, apparent by the golden symbol around his neck.

Yes actually, Tristol said. Earlier today I purchased a new staff down in The Ladys

Ward, and while its nice, its rather plain. I was wondering if I might be able to commission a

decorative headpiece for it.

Absolutely, it seems a simple enough prospect. What sort of metal might you have in mind?

Im well enough versed in gold, silver, brass, most any base metal, and one or two exotics, though

I tend to need advance notice for any of them.

Tristol held out the staff, a long, smooth, simple shaft of some dark hardwood, stained almost

black. I was thinking silver. Itll offset the color of the wood nicely I think.

The craftsman looked at the wood and nodded, That seems like a decent prospect. What

sort of decoration might you be interested in? Either describe something and I can sketch it out,

or if you already have a model for me to work from; I can do either.

Actually, I have a model for you that I think will work. Tristol said with a grin as he

reached into his robes, and the extradimensional pocket contained within.

The silversmith chuckled, I think I can work with that. In fact, if you leave him here for a

while I can get started on it now and have it finished by the morning.

Tristol smiled, Ill wait if you dont mind, he doesnt like to wander.

***

Clueless? Why are you laughing? Florian said as he walked over to the bar where the

half-fey was trying to pour a drink while giggling.

 446

Oh... nothing.... He replied, obviously failing any attempts at restraint.

Come on, spill it. He insisted. Youve got me curious.

Clueless looked around for Fyrehowl then leaned in closely, Distraction in the middle of a

sparring match, Fyrehowl flashed Rhyss apprentice. Poor berk was too stunned to react and we

had him down almost instantly after that. Trouble is, about half the gymnasium may have seen

it too. Maybe just the aftermath, but Im sure it wasnt just me and Kel.

Florian started to laugh, Honestly?!

Honestly. And hells, it worked like a charm. The look on his face was priceless, and so was

hers after the fact. Clueless said, still pouring ale into an already full cup as he laughed.

Florian was laughing just as hard before he leaned over the counter, took Clueless by the

shoulders, said, Oh what the hell. and kissed him full on the lips.

Clueless pulled back with a stupefied look and put down the bottle on the counter. Earning

his namesake, he just stared in bewilderment as Florian laughed again, blushed, smiled and

walked up to his room.

What the hell was that about? He said a few seconds after the cleric had departed. Not

that I minded. Not that hes a bad kisser, but still...

Sitting at a table and watching what had just transpired, Nisha began to giggle and said

nothing to alleviate Cluelesss utter bewilderment at the situation. She saw no need to ruin a

source of amusement.

What? Clueless asked her. Is there something Im missing here?

No, nothing at all. Really. Nisha said as she drank deeply from her mug, using it to hide

her grin. A little white lie never hurt anyone, especially not when keeping it that way made for

amusing times.
Chapter 39

Fyrehowl stood on the stairwell just above the taproom of the inn, her tail twitching randomly

from side to side, curling slightly inwards towards her legs as it did so. Shed been standing there

for nearly an hour, running over and over in her mind how she would finally ask Clueless out.

Oh yeah, youre doing real well here. Youve willingly faced a small army of lesser Tanarri;

youve fought an archmage inside one of The Ladys mazes, and youve ventured into every single

one of the lower planes. But yet you cant work up the nerve to ask a friend out on a date.

Fyrehowl sighed and rubbed a hand over the side of her muzzle, Now I know what s meant

by nothings sadder to see than watching a cipher trip...

Another deep breath and she closed her eyes, steeled herself and walked down into the main

room of the inn. Clueless sat behind the counter washing several dirty glasses and keeping a

loose eye on the patrons. He looked up as the lupinal sat down in the seat in front of him with

a smile.

Hey there, want something to drink? He asked, putting down the mug and the dishrag hed

been using to clean.

She paused, smiled again and popped the question. Would you be willing to go out with

me at some point? Maybe grab dinner somewhere nice? I know that youve got a girlfriend, but

from what I gather you and her are pretty much in it for sex and not much else. Im looking for

something possibly leading a bit deeper and meaningful than that.

Clueless paused and his wings twitched.

You dont have to answer now, maybe just think about it.

Cluelesss mouth hung open awkwardly for a few more moments before he blinked and man-

aged to reply. Umm... no.

Fyrehowl winced.

No no no, Clueless shook his head and put a hand over hers. Its not that youre not

interesting or that I wouldnt be interested. I wont date or have any sort of relationship with

447
 448

anyone within the party, its simply something I make off limits. I did in my previous adventuring

groups, and Im keeping that in place now. It keeps tension down and jealousy at a minimum,

depending on who all makes up the group.

Fyrehowls sullen frown lessened slightly and she nodded, Well, that makes some sense I

guess. I figure that I should tell Florian too since...since he was interested in you too.

Cluelesss eyes went wide, Florian too?! Am I that oblivious to these things? I didnt really

know that either of you had any interest in me whatsoever...

The lupinal laughed, Yeah, since almost the first time we met you. Remember when we

were working for the mercane and were resting before going out into the ethereal?

Clueless nodded slowly, Yeah, and?

Well, the two of us were trying to get close to you without trying to look like we were

competing with each other to snuggle up closer...

Clueless put his hands on his hips, Yeah, I am that oblivious then. I didnt catch any of

that at the time... the namesake fits apparently.

Fyrehowl laughed genuinely, Yeah, it does.

The half-fey gave a bewildered shake of his head, I hope youre not angry at me. If Id

actually realized this was such a big deal to you both, well, Id have explained myself earlier.

She nodded back, Yeah, I guess I do. Im sorry for not being as direct as I should have

originally.

Well no, dont feel sorry. Its as much my fault as not, and so long as we understand each

other here I dont think its anyones fault. Sorry if you were hoping to have me as a date for

Jeremos party though. At this rate I dont think that any of us are going to have dates. My

sensate is in Arborea for the next week or so, so Ill be doing this alone too. Clueless said with

a shrug as he poured Fyrehowl and himself a drink.

****

Fyrehowl sat across from Florian in the latters room on the second floor of the Portal Jammer

and looked at the outfit spread across the clerics bed. She nodded her approval.

Well, I approve. Are you sure that you want to wear it though? She asked up to Florian.

Florian laughed, Yeah, I think so. And for two reasons. He frowned slightly for a moment

before sitting up straighter with a look of firm resolution.

The lupinal perked an eyebrow, Do tell.

He nodded and pointed a finger at the ceiling, One: I honestly dont give a damn if anyone

notices and I seriously doubt that anyone is going to recognize me and send word back to my
449

family.

Fyrehowl nodded.

Secondly: I just want to see the look on their faces. Florian said as he gestured at the outfit

that hed had custom tailored the day before to wear to Jeremos party.

Nisha knows. Fyrehowl said with a chuckle. Or, rather, Im pretty sure she knows, but

she wouldnt admit to it.

Wouldnt admit to it?

Oh, you know. She knows, or at least I think so, but she was playing clueless and waiting

for me to say it myself. Fyrehowl said.

Aaaaaand when you admitted anything she was going to act like she didnt know a thing.

Yeah, that sounds like her. Amusing, greatly amusing. Florian laughed.

Anyways, speaking of Clueless, you understand what I said before about his reasons for not

dating either of us?

Florian held the outfit up in front of him, posing with it in front of a mirror as he looked

back to reply to Fyrehowls question. Yeah, though to tell the truth Id more or less given up

on it. I was going to let you take your chance and not get involved with it unless you broke it

off for whatever reason. Hes cute, but he lives up to that name of his...

Yeah, he does that sometimes. Though given that hes seeing a sensate, and from his

reactions to things, I really dont think it mattered to him, all things considered. Him, more

than anyone else, I want to see how he reacts to that outfit.

The cleric unlaced the back of the gold and scarlet bundle of cloth, Give me a bit to get into

this and well see. Besides, the party is tonight so I may as well get dressed now. Ill meet you

downstairs at five past peak, alright?

Fyrehowl stood up from where she had been sitting, Works for me. And besides, while my

clothes arent as elaborate as yours, I need the time to just brush myself out.

Never thought about that, but yeah, it makes sense. See you then. Florian said as he waved

to Fyrehowl, closed the door and got dressed.

****

It was nearly five past peak, only two hours before the Natterers party, when the group

began to assemble in the back room of the Portal Jammer. Toras was dressed in an elaborate

and gilded ornamental breastplate, fine silk trousers and a long red cloak. He smiled as Clueless

walked into the room dressed much the way he normally did, though the clothes were new and

of a tighter cut than normal.

 450

Tristol showed up several minutes later dressed in a fine orange robe with faded to white in

the front and darkened to black at the cuffs and bottom trim. Clearly his inspiration for the

color scheme was solidly grounded in his ancestry and even his own appearance. He smiled as he

knocked on the inside of the doorframe with the silver head of his new staff, tapping a pattern

on the wood with the silver fox that perched atop its tip.

You look nice, came Skalliskas reply as she looked up at him.

And you look... Tristol paused and searched for words as he looked down at the very nearly

nude kobold.

Skalliska was dressed in almost nothing besides her plumed hat and a cane. Anything socially

import was obscured by a swatch of cloth and not much else, though her scales were either painted

or somehow tattooed by a swirling, slowly changing pattern of abstract designs and illustrated

scenes from their past encounters in the Ethereal, Acheron, and Elysium.

Ok, thats impressive. Magical I assume? Who did it? The mage asked, impressed both at

the level of artistry, as where the others in the room, and with whatever technique was used to

create them.

A little tattoo parlor in the Hive, run by a Dabus. Fell. He does good work, even if some

people get scared away by what he is.

And by the fact that every so often his tattoos come alive and act on their own when he

makes them. Nisha said as she poked her head through the doorway.

Wow... Tristol said with a blink as Nisha walked into the room with a soft clip-clop from

her hooves.

She blushed and chuckled softly, then stuck her tongue out as she shifted awkwardly in the

short, tight, restrictive evening gown she was dressed in.

You have no idea how awkward this is for me. The tiefling said as the others looked at her.

Nishas dress was a soft green in color, shot through with bits and flashes of scarlet and silver.

It was cut around mid-thigh, and was strapless and moderately low cut up top as well. Judging

from the girls self-consciousness about the attire, she wasnt used to dressing up in any way.

Ugg. I dont look completely out of place do I? She said as she reached up and poked at

the boning in the front of the dress.

Honestly? You look really nice Nisha. Tristol said.

Are you wearing makeup? Clueless said with a chuckle.

...I hate to be the one to have to ask, but why is the Factol Karan doll wedged in your

cleavage? Fyrehowl asked as she slipped into the room.

Nisha looked at them oddly like it was a normal, everyday thing and they were the weird ones
451

for asking such a question. She hold up a finger and answered, One: They dont make pockets

in evening gowns. Two: I dont have my satchel. Three: It was convenient and he didnt seem

to protest! Besides, I brought him along for the fashion advice! Its not like Ive ever dressed

up for a night on the town before. We didnt exactly have high culture in the Hive when I was

squatting in the Slags.

Eh, true. Ill grant you that. The lupinal said.

Karan gives good fashion advice. You should take his shopping with you more often if this

is what he brings back to us. Tristol said with a wink.

Nisha grinned, crossed her eyes and grabbed Karan, promptly putting her hair up and weaving

him into the braid for no reason other than she could. Just keep telling me that its only for one

night and that Ill probably never see half of those people again. This is seriously uncomfortable

you guys, I dont have a clue how certain folks pull this off all the time.

Oh, now if you dont mind, I have something to show you all... Fyrehowl said as she

motioned to someone outside the room.

What? Your new robes? They look nice. Toras said.

I swear, they didnt make evening gowns for people with tails... Nisha said, fairly oblivious

to anything else.

Come on in Florian... Fyrehowl said as she moved out of the way and Florian stepped into

the room in her new dress for the evening.

The silence was deafening outside of Nishas fussing with putting a hole for her tail in the

back of her gown. Florian stepped into the room in a red and gold evening gown, and it fit her

without any awkwardness in the least.

Since when did you have breasts? Skalliska asked with confusion. I thought only female

humans had them...

Well sh*t... Clueless said, absolutely stupefied.

Surpriiiiise... Florian said as she smiled at the largely flabbergasted group.

Tristol blinked, Youre a woman?!

How nice of you to notice. She replied before patting the wizard on the head.

...wha... Toras said, feeling incredibly dense at never having noticed.

Who knew and didnt tell me? Clueless asked.

I knew fairly early on and she asked me not to tell. And Nisha knew, but I dont know

when, or how.

The tiefling looked up from where she had been magically mending the back of her gown to

let her tail through. Oh, a month or two ago I think. I was climbing around the side of the
 452

building and Florians window was open. I didnt look for more than a second, but some things

are obvious.

Clueless looked at her, I wont ask why you were doing that.

Ill ask later, this has to be good. Tristol replied.

Ok... why? Clueless asked Florian. Why pretend to be male for so long and not tell us?

Well, for starters, its safer when traveling, at least where Im from. And secondly, I didnt

want to be recognized by anyone and word to be sent back to my family. Florian said, making

a face at the mention of her house. Suffice to say that my parents have an arranged marriage

set up for me, and if I ever go back there, or get forced into going back there, Ill probably not

be able to get out of it. And the guy is a real jerk. Rich yes. Connected yes. Ugly and with the

personality of drunken bulezau, most definitely.

Skalliska shuddered, I dont want to see a drunken bulezau, or any other type of Tanarri

drunk... Ill take your word for it.

I dont think we can blame you at all, but still, its a bit of a shock. So dont be surprised

if you refer to you as a guy for a while still. You look really good though, very nice outfit.

Clueless said.

Oh, and before we go, we got two letters with offers of employment in the mail today. Toras

said, holding up the two envelopes.

Oh? Who from, we can deal with them when we get back. Fyrehowl asked curiously.

Someone in Sylvania, and someone in Rigus. Toras replied, looking briefly over the headers

of the two offers. Some Institute in the first gatetown, and the other from a Professor Cilret

Leobtav in Rigus. I think the two might be connected, but I didnt read them fully yet.

Clueless shrugged, Eh, something to deal with later if were interested and need the money.

But now, we have a party to crash, without crashing it, because were invited, but because

I can still pretend Im crashing it anyways! Nisha said with a grin and a pat on Karans head.

And because... Tristol said.

And Im all out of becauses. The tiefling replied as she ruffled the mages tail just because.

***

Dressed up and smiling, the group of seven walked several blocks from their inn and through

a portal that led to the Nobles District of The Ladys Ward. From there it was only a short

walk towards the northern edge of the Triad District where the massive and sprawling edifice

that was the Palace of the Jester rose up across from the Square of the Singing Fountain and the
453

City Courts. In truth, the Palace of the Jester could have comfortably held both of the former,

such was the sheer size of the area of land that it occupied.

Already the hazy sky of Sigil was dotted with its own constellations of flickering stars, the

cooking fires, streetlamps, and smokestacks of the opposite side of the city all filtered dimly

through the smog and smoke. The darkness of the hour was offset by the rosy glow of newly

hung lanterns atop the spires that dotted the exterior retaining walls of the Palace itself. The

gates of the Palace were open into the largely empty courtyard that, during the day, would have

held a circus-like atmosphere of performers, debates, speakers on varied subjects, and a ripe

atmosphere for the more underhanded political intrigues of Sigil.

But, given the hour, the sprawling expanse of the courtyard was empty and deserted, and a

trio of armored pikemen and an air genasi dressed in a spangled courtiers costume flanked the

gates. The genasi held a list of names and was admitting those invited guests who arrived by

foot, magic, or carriage, while the pikemen turned away those who might attempt to crash the

evenings festivities.

Beyond the gates, the lights of the Palace could be seen dimly, and a golden, glittering path

meandered through the darkness towards the warm glow of the open entrance. The way was lit

by a path of brilliantly glowing, gilded lanterns that hung from etched and inlayed wrought-iron

poles set into the ground. Every twenty feet the color of the lanterns changed as their source

of fuel shifted by some internal mechanism, either mundane or magical, and the path alternated

with bands of rose, blue, golden, and emerald light all the way up to the entrance to the palace

proper.

The palace itself was truly grandiose, seeming to be a combination of dozens or more styles of

architecture, unified by the common themes of spikes, spires, and bladed ornamental buttresses

that seemed ubiquitous within Sigil. But Jeremos kip itself was ancient, and even its commonal-

ities to the mansions and chateaux of the Nobles District were superficial, like they were simply

copies, cut from the original mold of the Palace of the Jester.

And so I told him, thats what I said the other week! Came the loud punchline to a joke,

followed by a burst of laughter from a group of richly attired nobles and merchants who stood

around the first speaker, an even more richly robed, blue-skinned ogre-magi who stood several

heads above his cadre of fellow merchants, admirers and toadies.

Clueless smirked as Estevan of the Planar Trade Consortium turned and motioned his fellows

through the open entrance and into the warm light that flowed like golden honey out into the

sooty air of Sigil.

Dont like him? Florian asked the bladesinger as they slowed their approach so as not to
 454

catch up within hearing range of the powerful merchant lord and company.

Clueless made a face, My inner Indep cant stand his business practices. Hes corrupt as

they come, and hes been making moves on trade in Tradegate ever since he lost some of his pull

in Sigil. Long story there, ask me about it later. The walls here may have ears.

The cleric nodded back and stepped to one side as another newly arrived guest floated along

towards the entrance. A Lillend, one of the natives of Ysgard and the Infinite Staircase, the

woman had the lower body of a green and golden serpent, and her upper body was wrapped in

a gossamer wrap of lapis silk and minute tassels of orange beads. As she passed the group she

greeted them briefly in a fluted dialect of celestial from behind a silver and porcelain harlequins

mask she held in front of her face.

Good evening to you Milori, good to see you invited as well. Perhaps we can talk later if

time permits. Skalliska said up to the floating Lillend.

We shall see, though I expect I may be busy with prior engagements. But it is good to see

you again Skalliska, perhaps youll even meet someone this evening. Milori said with a friendly

chuckle as she removed the mask and smiled back to the kobold before floating past and into the

palace.

Worked with her before? Clueless asked as his eyes followed the drifting coils of the womans

lower body till she was out of sight.

Yes, shes translated some material for me before and she taught me some bits and pieces

of Ignan when I was first learned that language. Shes a nice person, if usually extremely busy

and in demand for her services. Its good to see her here though. Skalliska replied.

So, are we going to sit here outside and wait for it to rain, or are we going into the party?

Florian asked.

Rain would be bad. Tristol said, And I for one happen to be curious about this place. Ive

heard of it before, but since Ive not been in Sigil for very long Ive never actually been inside.

Besides, the longer you wait out here, the more impatient I get, and an impatient Nisha is

a Nisha who dashes inside, leaves you behind, and tries to walk out with expensive furniture.

Nisha quipped, motioning towards the warmth of inside with her tail, softly jingling with an

attached silver bell as she did so.

Nisha gazed up at the surroundings as they wandered through the corridors of the Palace of

the Jester. She seemed to be nearly drooling at the level of wealth that the very architecture

itself seemed to insinuate. The walls were a combination of exotic marbles, equally or more

exotic woods, and plaster that was decorated in exquisite frescos or mosaics more often than

not. All said it was gorgeous and breathtaking, but designed in such a way that it never became
455

ostentatious or overbearing.

Someone? Please pinch me. I think Im dreaming, I really do. And Im probably passed

out in the Hive somewhere in a gutter, maybe even drooling all over myself in my sleep.

Owwww! Nisha jumped forward a few steps and nearly blundered into Toras before she

rubbed at her tail tip.

Clueless snickered softly when the tiefling glanced back at him and stuck out her tongue.

Tristol leaned over to her and whispered as they walked forwards, Hey, dont do that. I have

it on good authority from some Halruaan transmuters that if you keep doing that, your facell

stick that way.

Fyrehowl repressed a laugh as Nisha only redoubled her efforts at sticking her tongue out,

first to Clueless and then at Tristol, adding sound effects when she made faces at the mage. A

few moments later and she tired of it all and went back to drooling over the surroundings some

more as they passed into a crystal tiled chamber and were directed into a second corridor that

branched off to the right.

They have to be absolutely loaded here. What I wouldnt give to just hide here and wait

till after the party and... Nisha idly mused.

I wouldnt suggest it. Jeremo isnt loaded for no good reason, and Id put a wager on this

place having more security than the Prison and the Barracks combined. Toras said preemptively.

Maybe, I havent seen too many guards since weve been here though. Still, theyve closed

all the doors into adjoining rooms and closed off most of the other hallways except for the route

into where the party is being held. Fyrehowl said, And Id wager that theyre doing so to

discourage people from wandering and taken home souvenirs.

Than Ill feel special that they had me in mind when they set everything up tonight, because

all of those doors are locked a dozen times over and more. Ive checked. Nisha said as her tail

flicked happily from side to side while she grinned.

You checked? When? Tristol asked.

Nisha looked at him cross-eyed, When I tried to get in earlier today, thats when.

She looked at the blank stares from the others, What? I was curious. I didnt take anything,

and I barely got a few hundred feet inside. The place is very unfriendly to unannounced guests.

They continued walking and chatting at a leisurely pace for several more minutes before

Tristol paused abruptly in the hallway.

cor
Nisha looked back at him, I got over ogling the dA c Tristol, you can too. Hurry up or

well leave you behind and Ill steal your chair.

No... hold on guys, this is just weird. He said, looking intently at the shut door that would
 456

have otherwise led off from the hallway.

What? Skalliska asked.

Tristol looked at the doors that branched off of the hallway that they were in and he narrowed

his eye as they sparkled with the dim hint of magic. As he examined the doors, the floor, the

walls and even the ceiling, the entire structure of the palace seemed nearly alive with magic. The

doors were not only locked, if what Nisha had said was true, they appeared to have been mage

locked, sealed with walls of force and a number of contingencies seemed veritably layered upon

their surfaces, all keyed to activate if the doors were forced open.

This place is locked down tighter than an archmages study or a kings treasury. He said

with some certainty.

I told you... Nisha said as she tried to peer through one of the keyholes unsuccessfully.

No, but its weird. Id swear that those wards are all pointed in to those rooms, not out into

the hallway here. Tristol said, looking at the doors warily.

Anyways, someone else is coming down the hall, lets get going. Maybe Jeremoll explain

later if we ask him. Fyrehowl said as her ears swiveled and perked at the sound of approaching

footsteps and laughter from another newly arrived reveler.

And so they continued down the marked path, deeper and deeper into the heart of the Palace

of the Jester, the single oldest structure in Sigil, heading towards the great banquet hall that

the Ladys Jester had prepared for his guests. Still, something was nagging on their minds as

they entered the lush chamber, some incongruity in the event and the level of protection placed

upon the palace itself. Tristol was certain it was for the protection of Jeremos guests, rather

than protecting the Jesters possessions from any attempts at theft. And considering the sheer

level of those protections, frankly it frightened him.

Wow, Skalliska said as she looked up into the banquet hall of the palace. A dozen lengthy

tables, apparently carved from single pieces of Arcadian hardwood, stood in rows within the

chamber. Each of the tables was decorated with exquisite floral decorations and arrangements,

gleaming golden tableware and lush padded seats for the guests. Clearly Jeremo was sparing no

expense.

Oh, thats just cute. Nisha said as she dashed over to a seat on one of the tables near to

the entrance. The chair was taller than she was, and it stood out from all of the others in the

room. A small card upon the golden plate set at the spot on the table the chair faced, read

Zadara, the Titan of Potential.. Clearly the chair was reserved for her, and, looking around,

each spot at the various tables was reserved for a specific guest, with the chairs and even the

choice of dinnerware being selected and appropriate for the assigned.

457

Awww... no silver silverware. Nisha mock pouted as she pointed to the uniform use of gold.

I thought youd be happy with more expensive dishes and utensils? Tristol said as he poked

her in the ribs.

Well yeah, there is that, but thatd be rude to steal it now. No, what I meant is that we

dont get to watch any fiends light up on fire when they tried to eat dinner with a silver fork.

She winked as she walked back to join the others.

Honored guests, if I might have your invitation and your names, Ill direct you to your seats

if you wish me to help you. There are several hundred of you here tonight and so the seating

arrangement is in a specific order to suit all involved. One of Jeremos servants said to the group

as they approached him. The man was dressed in a uniform of black and green with highlights

of gold trim, and by the looks of him he was probably some flavor of aasimar.

They handed him their invitations and he escorted them to a group of seven chairs arranged

across from one another together on one of the tables along the outside edge of the chamber, facing

the rear of the room where Jeremos throne sat upon a small dais. Nisha giggled again as she

noted that her chair, along with Skalliskas and Fyrehowls all had open backs to accommodate

their tails. Additionally, the kobolds chair was slightly smaller, but raised up to provide her

with an equal vantage point for the evenings festivities.

Toras smiled as he walked over to pull out the chairs for each of the female party members,

and they graciously accepted, although Nisha had already jumped over the back of her own chair

and taken a seat. Once they were seated, they began to take a look at the names of those that

were to be sitting around them for the evening.

Clueless glanced over to his left, reading the name on the card. It read, Lissandra the Portal

Seeker, Guildmistress of the Doorsnoops Guild. The half-fey smiled puckishly across the table

to where Tristol sat. The mage simply chuckled and rolled his eyes as he looked at the nametag

next to himself that read, Alluvius Ruskin, Tivums Antiquities.

On the other side of their group, Nisha was giggling from where she sat between Tristol and

Toras on one side of the table.

Toras looked over at her, What?

She said nothing but pointed over to the nametag on the plate next to Toras. It read,

Seamusxanthuszemus, Purveyor of Death, Merchant Most Excellent, Slayer of Fiends: Parts

and Pieces.

Oh hells no! Toras said with a string of curses added onto the end of the statement. Nisha

was nearly snorting her glass of water as she hysterically laughed at the fighters plight of seating

partners.
 458

Across from Toras, Fyrehowl warily glanced over at the card next to where she herself sat,

hoping to avoid the same plight as Toras. There was no plate at the spot next to her, though

there was still a name at the spot that read simply, Ylem. The name meant little to her and

so she simply shrugged and glanced over sympathetically to Toras.

Theres no way Im sitting next to that over glorified dustbunny! Ill end up stuffing him

into his hat by the time the drinks arrive! Toras said in a harsh whisper.

Next to him, Nisha continued to giggle.

It cant be that bad Toras, Florian said from across the table before failing to suppress a

chuckle of her own.

It is that bad. Hell probably walk in dressed up in a rotting skull or a dress of cobwebs or

something. Hell stink, regardless of how f*cking annoying he is. Im not putting up with that

for the next couple hours. Toras replied, getting more and more adamant about it.

A dress? Do mephits even have proper genders? Nisha asked, abruptly ending her snicker

fit.

Opposite Toras, Fyrehowls ears swiveled back towards the entrance and the sound of a high

pitched, incessantly annoying voice. Dont look now, but I can hear the mephit walking up the

hall.

And you thought you wouldnt have a dinner date for this evening... Clueless said with a

snicker over towards the fighter who had started to grit his teeth as he began to hear the mephits

voice echo up from the entrance hall.

The hell with that, Im not sitting next to elemental annoying, someone else will, like it or

not. Toras said as he stood up and grabbed Seamuss seating card and dashed across the room

to the next table and a row of unoccupied seats.

He glanced at the names on the open seats, looking for any that might be less offensive to

him to sit next to. No, not sitting next to the high priest of the Temple of the Abyss, definitely

not...

He continued to muse over the names, before noticing one name in particular. The chair was

elegant, high backed, and more well padded than any of the others, and the name tag upon the

golden and bejeweled plate that sat in front of it read, Shemeska the Marauder, King of the

Crosstrade.

Toras grinned evilly as he snatched up the nametag on the chair next to the Marauders and

replaced it with the dust mephits name. Enjoy your date together sweethearts, Im sure youll

make a lovely couple tonight.

Having exchanged the nametags, he hurried back to his own chair, still snickering with mali-
459

cious glee, and placed the nametag of his new dinner companion on the spot previously reserved

for the mephit. The new nametag read, Verden, owner and proprieter: Azure Iris Inn, Ladys

Ward.

Over the next fifteen minutes or so, most of the few hundred invited guests had arrived and

taken their seats, slowly filling in the open spaces at the tables, though Toras noted that the

Marauder had yet to arrive when Jeremo himself entered the chamber and jumped onto his

throne with a startling level of exuberance.

This is going to be interesting, He said as he watched Seamusxanthuszemus march up to his

assigned seat with his own bit of pomp and circumstance, dragging his hat on the floor behind

him, trailing, rather than gathering dust the entire time.

The mephit grinned like a fool as he twirled the loose end of his hat in the air like a parade

baton and climbed up into his seat. Let the festivities begin! Seamusxanthuszemus, Merchant

Most Excellent has arrived!

There was a groaned murmur of discontent from those at the same table as the dust mephit,

and a few muffled calls of Pike it! Shut it you sodding mephit! and If you like death so much,

please, go right ahead and take the plunge yourself and save us the misery of your company!.

Seamus, as odd as it might seem, seemed pleased as punch with the reaction as he grabbed a

knife and fork in his grubby little hands and stuffed the tablecloth under his collar in preparation

for a meal.

From his throne, the Ladys Jester chuckled from under the rim of his goblet of wine as his

eyes focused on the mephit and then moved to mentally catalogue those guests present and those

few not.

Toras snickered as he wondered what would happen when the mephits honored dinner com-

panion arrived. A moment later, a frizzy haired old tiefling woman, Allusvius Ruskin, Old Lu,

sat down next to Tristol, bundled up in a dozen layers of scarves, shirts, sweaters and a woolen

cloak, even gloves on her hands. She turned and greeted Tristol with a crooked toothed but

friendly smile, though a pair of dark spectacles perched on her nose obscured her eyes.

Fyrehowl likewise watched as her own neighbor at the table, Ylem, approached and moved

his chair out from under the table. The rogue modron looked nothing so much as a metallic box

with spindly arms, legs, and a stubby pair of metal wings. It looked up at the lupinal without

any real emotion on its vaguely humanoid face that was dotted with a small, reddish, star-shaped

pattern on its forehead.

Greetings to you berk! Pleased to make kip with you this evening. Hopefully we will tumble

to the jink of it together.

 460

Fyrehowl just sort of stared at the odd looking modron before giving him/her/it a confused

but polite smile and a hasty reply of, Uhh, yes, sure.

She edged her chair closer to Florian, Switch seats with me? Please? Im sitting next to a

barmy modron, if thats possible.

Florian laughed, Not a chance!

Fyrehowl warily glanced back over to the modron that was just staring blankly at her.

Please? Whatever it is, its completely daffy!

Enjoy. Florian said with a snicker before turning around to talk to Clueless.

Clueless was meanwhile chatting up a young wizardress garbed in a light purple robe and

a silver shawl. Lissandra was chatting the half-fey up quite happily, and Clueless was likewise

enjoying their conversation. Soon enough their two person discussion was joined by both Tristol

and Old Lu, all of them mages of some sort or another.

Toras abruptly stopped his chuckling at the Dust Mephits new seating arrangement when a

slim, gorgeous wood elf women dressed in a shimmering blue down stepped up to the table next

to him. Verden smiled at the fighter with a face framed by coppery brown hair and glowing with

a warm, light brown complexion.

Good evening to you, let me help you with your chair. Toras said almost immediately,

standing up and moving the elfs chair out, letting her sit and them pushing her close to the

table.

Thank you, its so uncommon to find a gentleman. She said with a gracious laugh as she

extended a hand daintily to Toras. Too often I have to put up with the worst of high society:

rich noblemen on midnight escapades of gambling and other less palatable pursuits, and women

of less than noble bearing seeking to snare them after a few too many drinks. It gets to be too

much sometimes and its a pleasure to have a change from that here tonight. Pleased to meet

you.

Toras took the offered hand and kissed it softly before launching into smalltalk with her.

From across the table, Clueless gave an impish thumb up to the fighter, though he didnt really

see it, as entranced as he was with his dinner companion. Florian laughed, Fyrehowl rolled her

eyes, and Skalliska and Tristol were too busy chiding Nisha who was biting the golden knife and

fork one her plate to test their metal content.

The man known as The Ladys Jester, owner of the Palace of the Jester, Factol of the Ring-

Givers, and one of the richest men upon the planes, Jeremo the Natterer, sat upon his throne and

smiled at the assembled crowd. He was dressed in a richly tailored but intentionally mismatched

costume of green and gold breeches and a patchwork tunic of cloth from a hundred different
461

worlds and planes. His straw colored hair was short but fussy and almost uncombed by design

as he adjusted a tarnished crown atop his head so that it would sit ever so slightly off angle.

Even the Jesters eyes kept the same pattern of designed disorganization, one of them brilliant

blue and the other chocolate brown and shimmering with a canny understanding of the people

around him.

The notoriously garrulous factol grinned like a little boy with delight as he looked out at

the assembled crowd. Jeremo lounged crosswise on his throne, legs over one of the arms of the

chair, as informal and at home as an important man of power and prestige might appear, and it

seemed to come naturally like he bubbled up charisma from some hidden wellspring deep inside.

He took a sip from a golden chalice in his right hand, pouring the liquid down into his mouth

from where he leaned his head backwards over the other arm of his throne, and then without

a moments warning he leapt to his feet and placed the cup down. He clapped his hands and

immediately gained the attention of the suddenly quiet room, the center of attention for all of

Sigils rich and powerful, and he smiled.

Greetings my friends, my fellows, my peers. Fiends, celestials, primes, planars... all of you

my honored guests, welcome.

Chapter 40

The Factol rubbed his hands together and glanced across the crowd once more, making eye

contact with many of those present, and smiling or otherwise giving some cue that he had

noticed them. And, once again, he spoke.

Many of you know me, many of you have worked with me before on various occasions. Some

of you may even not like me, and I hope to smooth over any such feelings this evening. However,

for a plurality of you here tonight, we dont much know each other. Perhaps a familiar name on

paper but never having spoken; perhaps even less familiarity than that, and for all of those cases

I want to get to know you more and I hope to give all of you a better acquaintance with myself.

This banquet and all of tonights festivities are for you, and for that purpose.

Jeremo paused as a number of people in the crowd voiced their thanks and support for their

invite and his efforts to be social. After the chink of wine glasses had ceased, he continued.

Now, Ive been in possession of the Palace of the Jester for some time now, but Ive always

had only a very small hand in its role as a place of commerce, politics and intrigue. Ive much

more recently found myself in command of the Ring-Givers. Some might even call me a factol...

Jeremo intentionally paused at that, letting the disquiet of the room voice itself in mutters and

whispers.

As of yet, he had not officially declared himself the Factol of the Ring-Givers, nor the sect

an official Faction within Sigil, based in the Palace of the Jester. Whether such a decision and

declaration would cross The Ladys ban upon the factions was an open question, and Jeremo

seemed to be riding that line, but not quite crossing it.

Such a declaration, if I do make it, is not for tonight. Well save that for the next time

perhaps. Youll have to wait and see I guess... He said with a wink and a laugh as the tension

and uncertainty in the room faded back to a dull whisper.

But, for this evening Ive placed you all in the open arms of my hospitality, and as a good

and proper host, Ive seen to it that you will all be both entertained, well fed, and well watered,

462
463

be it wine or whatever else you prefer to your tastes. I wont be too discerning, but you may if

thats your pleasure. Jeremo bowed with a flourish and tipped his crown to his guests before

motioning to a few dozen servants.

Appetizers? Fyrehowl asked curiously as two servants approached their table, one with a

list and a pen, and the other with a tray of small boxes.

Drinks? Clueless said in turn.

Butternut squash? Nisha said, breaking the train of thought.

No, I think... butternut squash? Tristol said with a weird look over towards the grinning

Xaositect.

Gifts... Skalliska said, The whole Ring Giver shtick. You give people presents and it gets

you respect, owed favors and eventually the multiverse sees to it that you get paid back ten times

over. At least thats their claim on the matter.

So its entirely selfish? Toras asked.

Not really. At least according to their philosophy the getting back part is incidental, and

the giving has to be gracious and honest for it to work. Skalliska replied.

So hes just a nice guy then. I think I like him. Florian said.

Heh. Thats the point of this all. The kobold said a moment before she smiled and accepted

the small box handed to her by one of the Natterers servants.

And so it went as Jeremos servants walked about the room, handing similar small boxes to

each of the nearly three hundred guests, and, at the same time, taking requests for drinks. The

Jester himself had taken a seat once more upon his throne and was giddy with anticipation while

his guests seemed puzzled and curious about what he might have given them.

Now, as Im sure some of you may have noticed already, the boxes are locked by magic and

wont open till Ive given the command word. So be patient, let your assumptions develop, let

your imaginations run wild, and well get to that soon enough. Jeremo said with a grin.

Awww... Came a sullen whisper from Nisha.

Tristol looked over at her as she shook the box and seemed on the verge of gnawing on it,

Left the lockpicks at home, right?

...yes... She said before patiently putting it down and staring at it intently.

Any ideas on what it might be? The mage asked her.

Not a clue, and it doesnt weigh anything at all. She replied.

Really? Tristol said as he lightly hefted hers and compared it to the weight of his own.

Sure enough, the tieflings was much lighter in weight.

 464

Maybe he customized it for everyone? Yours feels lighter than mine. Odd. He said as he

handed her back the box.

Jeremo waited a few minutes before continuing, Before we proceed with anything else, I

simply wanted to give a warm welcome to those of you that I know better perhaps than others.

There are quite a few of you, so I cant promise that Ill say something to all of you. This is just

whimsy, and the names that leap to my mind as Im saying them.

The next dozen minutes were spent as The Ladys Jester recited a laundry list of names of

Sigils elite, wealthy and otherwise influential. Guildmasters, highpriests, former faction highups

and more, were among those he mentioned and singled out.

Sigils representative within the Planar Trade Consortium, Estevan, good to see you made

it instead of being busy with paperwork all evening as I swear you must too often be. Never do

see you out and about; a shame I see you so rarely. Jeremo said to the blue-skinned ogremagi

who occupied a chair at one of the three banquet tables.

Notice something? Jeremo put Estevan, Zadara and Shemeska at different tables. Clueless

pointed out, And Akin is about as far away from the latter as is possible...

Good. Otherwise theyd complain about whose chair was better or who got to sit where.

Itd be a nightmare. Skalliska said, obviously having seen such an instance before, if the tone

of her voice gave any inference.

Shed probably try to accidentally spill stuff on Akin if she was near him. Oh hell, who am

I kidding? Shed throw a fit and go after him... Florian said.

Akin doesnt deserve it either, hes a nice guy. Say what you will, but I like him. Nisha

said with a grin as she pointed up to the Factol Karan doll in her hair.

Jeremo continued to rattle off names, My personal thanks Lissandra, to the work of your

people as of late. Theyve been a great help in plumbing many of the portals in the upper floors

of the Palace that had, till recently, been largely unmapped since the Tempest.

The young Torillian wizardress seated next to Clueless smiled at the Jester as he called out

to her from across the room.

Ah... my favorite arms dealer in all of Sigil, Spiral HalOight. Tell me, who pays more, the

Baatezu? The Tanarri? The loths?

All of my sales are to legitimate buyers! I dont sell arms to anyone that doesnt need them

or shouldnt have them. I dont honestly know what youre getting on about Jeremo. The young

Golden Lord shouted back to the Jester.

Suuuure you dont. Hows it feel to be a puppet to the loths and the archons both? Im

sure it pays well though. Jeremo muttered under his breath.

465

Whats so great about arms?! I sell ALL the body parts! Came the sudden and confused

shout from Seamusxanthuszemus.

Akin, the friendliest fiend I know, and perhaps the better half of Sigils pair of resident

Yugoloths. You at least know the meaning of punctuality, and I find you much more pleasant

to deal with, even if I sodding cant figure out whats up with you. Youre always pleasant, Ill

grant you that. Jeremo said towards where Akin sat jovially talking in a low voice with the

people seated around him. The turquoise, black, and gold velvet robed Friendly Fiend smiled

and waved back towards the Jester before going back to his ongoing conversation.

And were still waiting on your bitter half to show up...shes late... Jeremo once again

muttered.

My friend Fell, its good to see you in attendance this evening. Jeremo spoke and waved

to the fallen Dabus who sat slightly apart from the others at his table, those seated around him

having moved as far away as possible.

Oh, now thats just cool. Nisha said as she watched the words that Jeremo spoke to Fell take

the form of glowing, dabus-like rebuses above his head, seemingly emerging from his tarnished,

off-kilter crown. Can you make me one of those whatever he has Tristol?

Illusions... Tristol muttered, though he had to admit mentally to himself that it was a

rather nifty thing for the Jester to do, considering what Fell was and all. A moment later and

the tiefling wasnt pleading for him to make her a rebus speaking whatever it was that Jeremo

had, but rather she was making faces at Ylem the modron who was still blankly staring at

Fyrehowl, much to the lupinals disquietude.

Ladys Grace to you too Fell... Jeremo said to himself, again in a soft whisper, and making

sure than his words did not manifest in rebus above his head. Ladys Grace to you, be it a

curse or a blessing Fell...

Over the next few minutes, Jeremo called out and mentioned a dozen or so other persons

and bantered with them as his servants brought out any requested drinks to the attendees of the

party. As soon as that mundane business had been attended to, he gave his guests several more

moments to taste their liquid pleasures and then he spoke again.

And, on that note, youll find that your gifts are open. I hope you enjoy. A few of them

are personalized to the receiver, though with the simple amount of people here tonight I could

do that for all of you. Jeremo waved his hands to encourage everyone to open their gift, and

his expression was like that of a cat whod just been given a bowl full of cream; he was enjoying

himself greatly.

Almost immediately the room was filled with gasps and commotion as people opened their
 466

boxes and discovered what was inside each of them. Collectively, the group looked at one another,

shrugged and opened their gifts to much the same response as the rest of the room.

Oh! Oh my! Florian said as she held up an emerald the size of a hens egg.

How much money does this guy have?! Toras exclaimed, hastily adding, Not that Im

complaining! He held a yellow topaz of equal or larger size in his own hand.

YES!!!! Came Nishas response as she grabbed something from her own giftbox before

tossing the box aside, jumping up and dancing for a few seconds of glee.

Clueless looked over at her with bemusement as he admired his own reflection in the smooth

surface of a polished opal the size of his fist. Someones happy with what they got, eh Nisha?

No no no, I didnt get a gemstone. I got a treasure map of sorts. I get to go find mine and

pretend Im stealing it. The tiefling was giggling with glee as she handed the tiny, folded map

to Factol Karans open hands poking up out of her hair.

Tristol laughed, Well, I think someone noticed your past breaking and entering attempt...

Probably. Nothing in this place goes on without him knowing, but honestly, hes just a

genuinely nice person from what I can tell. She replied, still jubilant and with her tail smacking

back and forth against her chair in excitement.

He must be. He must have just dropped a few million jink on his guests on that alone.

Fyrehowl said with a note of disbelief to her voice.

Jeremo was standing again, seemingly unable to actually sit still for more than a moment.

Between that and his penchant for speaking, it wasnt any surprise that he was known as The

Natterer. He seemed honestly happy at the responses his gifts had garnered, and he humbly

brushed off most of the appreciative thank yous that he received from those in the crowd seated

near him.

I thought that you might appreciate that small gift from me to you. Its a little thing, both

for old friends, new acquaintances, and perhaps a rekindling of relationships gone sour in times

past. And so welcome, all of you. And now I...

Jeremos speech and welcome was suddenly and abruptly interrupted by the crash of the

banquet hall entrance doors flinging themselves open and slamming into the walls they were

hinged to. The assembled crowd turned as one to look at the smug, grinning face of the fiend

and her entourage who stood centered in the open doorway, a crackle of dispersing magic still

flickering from her single, outstretched hand.

Starting without me? The Marauders voice was elegant, presumptive and absurdly petu-

lant, as she stood framed by the gilded entryway. She was dressed in a glimmering blue evening

gown whose material resembled the scales of a sapphire dragon, and for most appearances it may
467

as well have been something she dipped herself in, such was the snug tightness of the fit. The

King of the Crosstrade was also draped in a long golden stole of a loose, silken material that

was wrapped about her neck and hung across her shoulders to hang loosely at her sides and trail

upon the floor.

My darling Jeremo, you know you simply cannot have a social event of this size and prestige

without me in attendance. But, as we all know, it wouldnt do with me arriving with everyone

else. That would be far too mundane and gauche. So here I am, fashionably late. Shemeska

said, the level of arrogance almost dripping like poison off her tongue.

Somehow Jeremo looked neither upset nor surprised at the fiends late arrival, and as she

strolled into the room and made for her seat, it was anyones best guess if he had been aware of

her impending presence before she had kicked the doors in. He managed to remain calm and even

pleased that she had arrived, and not a single harsh comment passed his lips. Still, a puckish

light seemed to flicker in his eyes like this was all something that hed frankly hoped for as he

ran a hand through his fussy blond hair.

Weve all been awaiting your presence with bated breath my darling. But, now that youre

here, my compliments on your attire for the evening. Jeremo said, putting on at least the polite

pretense of cordiality.

Youre too kind Jeremo. I like you, I really do. Now, be a gracious host to an honored guest

and escort me to my seat? The fiend held out her arm and waited for the Jester to personally

lead her to her seat.

Clueless frowned over towards the Marauders direction, And once again everyone just rolls

over when she tells them to. Doesnt anyone in this damn city have a backbone when it comes

to that b*tch?

Lissandra leaned in closer to Clueless, Dont worry. If I know Jeremo at all, hell see to it

that shes paid back tenfold for embarrassing him at his own celebration.

One can only hope... Clueless said grudgingly.

Jeremo led the Marauder towards her table, pointed out her chair and was abruptly handed

her stole. Anything else Madame?

Hmm.... The fiendess pondered for a moment before batting her eyelashes and extending

her hand to the Jesters lips for him to kiss. He politely gave a forced smile and kissed the

knuckle on her third finger before walking away and letting her take her seat. About halfway

back to his own throne, he handed her gaudy stole to one of his servants to take away till after

the party was over.

A pity. Normally they pay someone to make sure the dogs stay confined to the kennel out
 468

back during these things... The Titan said under her breath as she looked vaguely in Jeremos

direction. If Shemeska heard it, she made no response as she walked to her chair.

Oh no! The b*itch and the titan are wearing the same dress! One of thems gonna have to

go home and change now! Byebye shemmy! Toras muttered in a voice barely above a whisper.

Oh if only that were the case. Clueless said to the fighter, noting that while both the fiend

and the titan were both wearing some shade of blue, both were wearing entirely unique attires

for the evening, and so the normal rules of such things werent going to raise their ugly heads

for the current event. A pity.

How does she walk in that dress? Florian asked. No, seriously. What mold did they pour

her in and then paint that dress on her for tonight.

You cant seriously tell me that youre jealous. Skalliska said over to Florian.

Right right, says the woman without breasts. Florian replied.

Mammals... Skalliska sniped back.

Nisha rolled her eyes and said nothing.

Theyre fake. Tristol said softly without looking over at the Marauder.

Excuse me? Florian asked.

Theyre fake. Shes an arcanaloth. They can shapechange at will into pretty much anything

from a flea to a dragon. So, in a manner of speaking, theyre fake. He clarified, still not willing

to look in the loths direction when he was talking about her.

Fyrehowl smirked, I still dont feel much better. Shes like a walking stereotype of every evil

sorceress youve ever heard of. Powerful, b*tchy, vain, and with big t*ts.

And judging from that dress, she likes people to look at them. Clueless said with a smirk.

But, on a more serious note...one word: exemplar. You should know Fyrehowl, youre one too,

just a different flavor entirely. They dont just reflect a concept, they -are- a concept in a way.

So yeah, she pretty much is a mix of every evil sorceress youve ever heard of, just maybe more

arrogant, and very much in need of a shave. And before I die, Im going to see her shaved bald.

And distribute a sensory stone of it to anyone who wants it. Florian added.

Ill help. Toras said.

Thats fine, but Id like to be the one doing the shaving... Clueless said with a wicked grin.

As the party chattered amongst themselves, the King of the Crosstrade was busy dismissing

her normal entourage of toadies and guards.

Do be polite and wait outside till the party is over. Trust me dears, Ill be fine. Jeremos

a fine gentleman. He wont try to take advantage of me. Though I cant say I wont try the

same of him. Shemeska said with a laugh to her collection of tiefling groomer-guards and they
469

quickly excused themselves and left as she walked to her seat.

Very nice indeed. You have excellent taste Jeremo, just as I do and... oh youve got to

be f*cking kidding me... The Marauder paused and changed her tone of voice abruptly as she

looked at who was to be seated next to her: Seamusxanthuszemus.

I could have saved you jink on the scales for that dress, Ive got a special on drake hide

this week, only slightly moldy! The Dust Mephit said in a high-pitched voice as he looked up

at the fiend, the tablecloth stuffed like a napkin into his shirts collar, and holding his oversized

silverware in his hands like a kid at the adult table.

...what the f*ck is this?! Who in the Oinoloths name sat this pissant little gutterlicker next

to me?! Shemeska whirled around to face Jeremo, jingling as she did from the veritable jewelers

case worth of bracelets, earrings, necklaces and other adornments that she was adorned with.

Jeremo was actually taken aback by the situation, being that he hadnt actually seated the

King of the Crosstrade and the Merchant Most Excellent next to one another. He smiled and

motioned her over disarmingly. Softly, the titan snickered, and this time the fiend noticed, glaring

daggers back at the other woman.

I have to wonder what hes saying to her. Clueless mused as he and the others at the table

glanced towards the Factol and the fiend as they chatted softly.

Doggie treats, a nice thick T-bone, and a squeaky chewtoy if she behaves at the people table

like a good girl. Toras said

Clueless nearly gagged on his wine as Toras ratcheted up his insults even more, barely hiding

that one.

After the party, ask me about some of the stuff that Ive seen, and heard, out of that one. I

think that youll find it amusing. Verden said softly to Toras with a wink and a chuckle. Toras

blushed and took her offered hand.

Jeremo and the Marauder bantered softly back and forth, with the Ring-Givers factol seeming

to reassure her that the situation was not by design or intention. Fyrehowl perked her ears and

tried to listen in on the conversation, though it seemed that they were using some manner of

magic to keep their words concealed.

A few moments later Jeremo patted the arcanaloths shoulder, they exchanged smiles, and

the fiend walked calmly back to her seat. Fyrehowl shrugged, stopped leaning forwards, and

sat back down more comfortably in her chair, only to notice uncomfortably that Ylem was still

blankly staring at her. She whimpered slightly, Id have preferred the Dust Mephit...

The Marauder smiled at the other gentleman seated next to her, a well-dressed, pale golden

skinned aasimar by the name of Spiral HalOight. She cleared her throat and smiled at him
 470

again expectantly.

Ah, my apologies my dear king. Spiral said awkwardly as he rose to his feet and pulled out

Shemeskas chair for her, waited for her to sit down and then pushed her up to the table. She

smiled back at him like shed just given him a present.

Hey! Watch where youre sitting, youre taking up... Came the squeaky complaint of the

Merchant Most Excellent as the Marauder scooted up to the table and starting moving the

mephits tableware out of the way to make more room for herself.

*SMACK*

The echo of the backhand that the fiend slapped upside the mephits head rebounded around

the room, drowning out the fiends guttural statement in infernal of, Elemental vermin!

Seamus picked himself up off the floor and climbed back into his chair, complaining loudly

about overblown, hussy fiends. The Marauder wasnt looking at the mephit when she back-

handed him again, smacking Seamus off of his chair and onto the wall behind them, some fifteen

feet distant; she was looking towards Zadara as she felt the mephits face distort from the force

of the blow.

The Slayer of Fiends slowly slid down the wall, leaving the onlookers half expecting him to

give off a squeak or leave a trail on the paneling as he slowly slumped to the ground.

Was that really necessary? The aasimar seated next to the King of the Crosstrade asked

with some concern as Seamus staggered to his feet and slowly stumbled back towards his chair.

Not only necessary my little golden lord, but pleasing. Rarely do the two coincide unless

youre in my line of work. She said with her fangs slightly bared at the Titan. Observe.

Seamus had barely gotten halfway back to the table when the Marauder gently motioned

with the fingers of her outstretched hand and an invisible force struck the mephit first in the

gut, doubling him over, and then to the head, sending him sailing through the air to smack into

the wall once more with an even louder, and wetter, crunch.

Across the room, Zadara snorted and patted the handle of her maul, itself probably double

the size of the Marauder. Shemeska simply smiled back at her rival as she dismissed the last

flickers of the telekinesis effect she had used to mercilessly pummel her former dinner partner.

The mephit was out cold and slumped motionless at the base of the wall where she had hurled

him.

Anytime b*tch. Shemeska said softly as she continued to glance over towards the Titan,

making certain that her lip motions could be clearly read from where Zadara was sitting.

Back with the group, away from the public spectacle that the Marauder and Zadara were

working on starting, Nisha was making faces at Ylem. The rogue modron was still blankly staring
471

at Fyrehowl and every so often a new circular eyepiece would rotate out of a slot in its side and

slip over its left eye like it was looking at the wayward lupinal like something in a zoo.

Nisha, stop messing with the modron... Florian said to the tiefling.

Aaaaaahhh, blut ith...wait sorry, forgot to put my tongue back in my mouth, Nisha said

with a whine, Lets try this again. Awwwww, but its fuuuuun! I promise I wont steal silverware

if you let me!

Dont pick on the modron. Florian said.

Go right ahead. Fyrehowl said as she glanced awkwardly over at the barmy lawful exemplar.

I swear this is like watching a little kid get told no on something and then going to ask their

other parent... Toras said with a resigned laugh, joined a moment later by the wood elf seated

next to him who seemed to have taken a shine to the fighter.

Tristol meanwhile had struck up a fairly involved conversation with the other tiefling seated

next to him, Alluvius Ruskin. There was something about the old tiefer that seemed somewhat

familiar, though for the life of him, he couldnt place what it was exactly. But, regardless of

that nagging feeling of something familiar about her, they were chatting in fairly complex terms

about the operation of portals and gates, and the difference between the two. Almost inevitably,

the two of them were joined in the topic by Lissandra, also a mage and as much an expert on

such matters as there existed in Sigil.

So, bets on when the b*tch in a razorvine headdress gets into a fight with the titan?

Skalliska mused.

Clueless shook his head, Not going to happen. Theyre both too smart to do that in public.

Theyll just get pissy with one another but it wont go beyond that.

I dont know, they keep glancing at one another across the room. Fyrehowl said as she

watched the pair shooting hateful stares at each other.

Flirting. Clueless said with a laugh.

Fyrehowl made a face like she was going to be sick, Oh ick... Clueless, thats just disgust-

ing...

What? Shemeska is a yugoloth, and well, you know what they say about them and their

gender, right? Clueless was clearly just picking on the lupinal by that point, but it seemed to

be lost on Fyrehowl nonetheless.

No, I really dont want to think about that. I seriously dont want to start up speculation

about what is or isnt under her skirts. Are you honestly trying to make me sick? Fyrehowl

said with a queasy look playing across her muzzle.

Yes, he is. Nisha said, breaking from making faces at Ylem for a brief moment.
 472

Heh. Fyrehowl said, relieved at least for that, Still, its nasty. Talk about something else.

Clueless only laughed.

Once again, Jeremo seemed to anticipate just when his intervention was needed to restore

some semblance of civility to his own party, given the fractious nature of some of the guests with

one another. He cleared his throat and addressed the room as his servants began to bring out

the first round of food for the evenings meal.

Allow me to become the center of attention for a bit as I share with you all another gift.

This one is shared freely and carries no expectation of future reciprocation. After all, its just

information; words really and nothing more. But, I do hope that it might serve to seed your

conversations throughout the evenings based on what darks I spill before you.

Hmm, this ought to be good. Clueless said as he turned to listen more closely.

Better watch out Shemmy, Jeremo might steal your job and then youll have to call yourself

the Queen of the Crosstrade. Uh oh, hes even got a nicer crown than you. Toras jabbed again

at the fiend.

Jeremo smiled as he held up a large, flat stone. Now, as many of you know, the Ring Givers,

to whom I belong, recently gifted the city of Skeinheim in Ysgard to the exiled Takers.

Bryn Ohm, the Guildmaster of the Innkeepers Guild snorted softly at the Jesters mention

of that gift. The bariaur had not departed Sigil with many of his former faction members, and

many of them who had not departed Sigil for Ysgard felt that it was a slight on them all for

their faction to have accepted the charity of others when they settled in Skeinheim.

Thank you Bryn... Jeremo said before he continued, But from a number of the former

members of old Rowans faction, I managed to find out a number of things regarding the Dukes

involvement in the Faction War. Its all on here. A record made by Darkwood himself out of

simple ego during the full swing of the war.

A ripple of murmurs and commentary moved around the room before Jeremo activated the

stone and let his guests listen to the distinctive and much hated voice of the late Factol of the

Takers detail his instigation of almost every stage of the Faction War. While certain members of

the audience had likely already been aware of the information, it had never been made public,

or in such great and personal detail.

Ill be donating the stone to the Civic Festhall at the end of the week if anyone would like

to give it a second listen. Jeremo said as he put the stone down and picked up a large yellow

apple.

The Natterer took a large bite out of it, chewed and swallowed as he panned the crowd to

focus on one of the lesser Golden Lords, a man by the name of Wei Ming Lee, an apothecary on
473

a grand scale, and a seller of potions he claimed could make the old young again.

My good acquaintance, the honorable Golden Lord Wei Minh Lee, the master of youth and

proxy of the Lord of Longevity, Shou-Hsing... Thor says hello.

The white bearded and silk robed Golden Lord who sat several chairs down from Estevan

nearly choked on his wine and seemed pale at an otherwise puzzling comment from the Jester.

Otherwise he made no other reaction one way or the other and didnt say anything in retort, but

his eyes were already glancing over towards the exit.

Jeremo moved on as he finished the apple.

Now, I heard some other things from the Takers in Ysgard aside from what Ive already

said. One of them in particular had a long and detailed conversation with me a little while ago,

a relatively new convert to the factol and a former burgler and forger. A githzerai by the name

of Mantello the Jeweler. Jeremo said in an overly cheerful voice. Almost immediately he had

the Marauders attention and she was making motions across her throat for him to shut the hell

up while he was still ahead. Well, Jeremo saw her and kept right on talking with the same grin

plastered across his face.

Oh, this should be good. I remember Mantello. He and you seemed quite close... Zadara

said openly, just loud enough for her rival to hear. Shemeska snarled back at the titan with a

loud hiss.

Mantello mentioned, oh just a bit, his former business partner, and lover, the King of the

Crosstrade. He wondered quite openly how youve been passing your time since he left you, and if

youve spent your nights, and I quote, cold and alone, pining for your former lover to grace your

august presence between the sheets. Jeremo prattled on while the King of the Crosstrade got

up from her chair and waved her arms wildly for him to stop, making cutting motions repeatedly

across her throat. At the next table over, Zadara was starting to laugh.

And then he went on to describe what the two of you did in bed, Jeremo said with a laugh,

raising his eyebrows a few times to insinuate any number of lewd activities without actually

listing them. To start, Mantello said that you particularly liked it when he...

SHUT UP!!!! ENOUGH!! Shemeska was standing on top of the table and screaming at the

top of her lungs as she stomped her feet and kicked at the dishes and table decorations.

Hells does that woman know how to pitch a freaking fit... Florian said with amusement.

I didnt come here to be insulted in front of half of the city, and all of the city than frankly

matters. And unless you intend to have your tongue on my plate for a main course you can shut

your nattering mouth now Jeremo. Do not splay the details of my love life around in front of

your damned guests. Shemeska snarled at the Jester as she climbed down from the tabletop and
 474

retook her seat, though when she put her hands down on the arm rests of the chair, the wood

was beginning to blacken and singe.

But, while the Marauder was trying to calm down, Zadara was laughing to the point of having

difficultly breathing, Details were hardly the only thing splayed about apparently!

Oh shut up you oversized harpy! Dont you know when to shut up?! Or has the coin gone to

your undersized brain like how we can all tell its gone to your oversized *ss? The Marauder was

back on her feet, flecks of violet flame spurting from the corners of her eyes that were already

glowing with rage.

Beside her, Spiral HalOight cringed and said nothing, his own frustration with Jeremos

rather public nattering having vanished when the fiend seated next to him had begun to snarl,

growl, and smell of brimstone.

Zadara calmly smiled with a sense of triumph as her rival made a public fool of herself. She

sipped from her goblet of wine and responded mockingly to the fiend, Bark. Bark. Bark.

The sound of breaking crystal and splashing wine rang above the clamor of the crowd as the

Marauder snarled something in a guttural tongue and shoved a hand in the titans direction.

Zadaras goblet exploded in her hand, showering her and those seated around her with wine and

broken crystal. She had only the time to register the attack before a second spell was hurled at

her, more snarled and spit out than properly intoned and cast. Whatever it was, there was no

apparent effect upon the titan aside from a stutter and a cough.

F*ck this! To hell with you all! Kiss my *ss Zadara! The Marauder screamed as she bolted

for the door and ripped her stole out of the hands of one of Jeremos servants on her way. Her

shrieks of rage continued to echo down the hall as Zadara came to her senses about the same

time that the rest of the room fully registered what had just happened.

Holy cr*p... Tristols eyes were wide as he whispered the intonations to allow him to view

any lingering traces of the spells that had just been cast in the Marauder and Titans altercation.

What? What did she actually cast? Clueless asked with concern and alarm.

Everyone seemed taken back by the public brawl the two women had just been involved in.

Even Ylem seemed shocked and dismayed, and Nisha was no longer making faces at him either.

Tristol blinked in surprise. She tried to kill her. He whispered to the others, She threw

some type of death spell at her that Im not entirely familiar with. Zadara was lucky, thats all

I can say.

Well sh*t. Toras said, realizing just how quickly and how far things were escalating.

B*tch! How dare you! Get back here! Zadara bellowed as she stood to her feet and

brandished her maul in one smooth motion before she ran for the door, chasing after the Yugoloth.
475

Jeremo adjusted his crown and looked across the room, his eyes going from Seamusxan-

thuszemuss prone and limp body, to the broken fragments of Zadaras goblet, to where the two

powerful women were apparently about to bring their public spat outside. Well... this wasnt

what Id been aiming for. So much for well made plans...

Everyone remain calm, theyll work things out and theres nothing to worry among the rest

of us here. My apologies for the rudeness of some people... Jeremo hastily but genuinely said to

his guests before bolting over to confer with his guards away from the party and out of earshot

of the crowd.

Umm... guys. They arent going to work anything out, I think someone needs to actually

get involved before... Fyrehowl said before being cut off by the dim echo of an explosion and

flash of light from the hallway.

...as I was saying... She said as the sound of more spells erupting outside the Palace could

be heard.

We can come back to the party, but theyll level a block or two if they keep going after each

other. And Ill be damned if I let the Marauder get away with murder. Clueless said as he made

for the exit.

Come on Zadara! Toras said jokingly before immediately feeling guilty for saying it, with

a half dozen people glaring at him. Ok, sorry, poor taste...

The poor tasted jest was forgotten as the group ran for the exit along with perhaps five

other concerned persons. A minute or two later they had managed to run through the veritable

mazework of passageways leading out of the interior of the Palace of the Jester and into the

lantern-lit courtyard.

Cr*p... Tristol blurted out as they walked out onto the flame scorched flagstones of the

courtyard and saw what was there waiting for them.

That there had been a spellbattle was obvious, and the ground was pitted and scarred by

fire and acid while the air was hung with the pungent stench of ozone. The corpse of one of the

Marauders guards was splayed and broken into pulp near the entrance of the Palace, probably

killed by a single blow from the titans hammer. But that was not what fixed their attention.

Rather, they all stared in numb shock at Zadaras sprawled and motionless body in the center of

the courtyard. Her hammer lay beside her, the head smeared a brilliant scarlet and the Marauder

was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 41

Torass eyes went wide as they all stopped dead in their tracks near Zadaras prone form. She

wasnt breathing.

Oh sh*t shes dead! Florian can you... Toras blurted out before being cut off by the cleric.

Shes not dead. Florian said as she pointed to Zadaras eyes.

The titan of potential was motionless and still, but her eyes were open and filled with pools

of rage. Whatever spell had felled it, it had simply paralyzed or otherwise immobilized her, not

snuffed her life.

...cr*p... Tristol muttered again for the second time in as many minutes as there was a

sudden flash of light roughly thirty feet from where they stood.

Standing in the fading light of her teleportation spell, the Marauder snarled as she walked

closer to Zadara. The King of the Crosstrades previously elegant evening gown was disheveled,

scorched in several places, and she looked more like a slavering hellhound in a dress that had

run headlong through a patch of razorvine than one of Jeremos invited guests.

Ok, whatever the two of you got into, I think that we can all calm down and go our separate

ways. Tristol said hastily, and perhaps a bit overly optimistic in his tone.

Shemeska glanced at the mage briefly, baring her fangs as her eyes leaked scarlet flame, and

completely ignored him as she launched into casting another spell.

Tristol, shes not listening and I dont think... Toras was cut off abruptly as the fiend spat

out an intonation in a harsh, guttural language and flicked an obscene gesture at the motionless

titan.

Tristol, acting entirely on instinct and shock, did the first thing that sprang to mind: he

defended himself. The bubble of antimagic rippled outwards from the mage and enveloped his

companions and a solid chunk of the titan where she lay on the ground. Whatever spell the

loth had cast was negated wholly and with a scream she hurled a second spell, cast in a more

mundane language that Tristol recognized.

476
477

Sh*t! Tristol cringed as the disjunction erupted around him and evaporated his own an-

timagic field like a raindrop hurled into a fire. It was unexpected and the Marauder tossed it

with more than a comfortable level of ease, and that frightened Tristol. He had always assumed

the fiendess to be a sorceress, that much came with being what she was, but he hadnt thought

her to be on the level of an archmage.

However, as surprised as Tristol might have been at the moment, while the fiends spell had

obliterated his hasty defense, it also dispelled whatever previous magic had ensnared the titan...

Zadaras eyes widened and she was on her feet and reaching for her hammer in under a second.

There was a crackle of spell energy as the Marauder vanished and reappeared a distance away,

out of viable range of any immediate attack.

The two women glared murderously at one another as the clatter of armor and steel shod

boots heralded the arrival of two-dozen guards, both from inside the palace and from the front

gates of the courtyard.

F*ck... The King of the Crosstrade snarled as the guards arrived. Witnesses to murder

would not be easy to bribe when they worked for someone with more money than some gods of

wealth...

Zadara dropped her hammer as the guards arrived, though she was still looking like something

that would have put a pause in one of the members of the Olympian pantheon if they blundered

into her in some dark alley.

Back to the party then? Id like to go hear more from the Jester about his story he was

telling us before you started barking... Zadara said mockingly to the hovering fiendess.

This isnt over you gold guzzling whore... The Marauder said as she adjusted the coil of

razorvine above her head. I hope you choke on your wine. But youve already spoiled the party

for me, and Ill make that clear when I otherwise praise Jeremo when I talk to him next.

Zadara snorted.

Ta-ta... Shemeska said with a sneer, grabbing herself briefly in an obscene gesture directed

towards the Titan, before vanishing in the flash of a teleport.

Zadara glanced at the approaching guards and then at Tristol and the others. Thank you

for the aid. Ill properly thank you later after Ive calmed down. Ill need to speak with these

gentlemen first. Go back and enjoy the party...

***

Staring down death at the hands of an angry fiend is not an experience I care to repeat.

Remind me never again to want excitement in my life. After tonight, Ive had all that I can
 478

handle for a while. Tristol said as he tried to calm himself down as they walked down the hallway

back towards Jeremos party.

Awwww... Nisha said, garnering herself a worried stare from several people.

Clueless changed the subject away from whatever it was Nisha had in mind to randomly

excite their lives. Even if we pissed off Shemmy tonight, weve got a titan who is pretty damn

well pleased with us.

It still pisses me off that there wont be any charges filed on anyone. Toras complained.

Yeah, well, nobody actually saw the two of them fight, just the aftermath. Plus, they both

probably have witnesses bought and paid for if it ever came to that in the courts. Still, we

stopped her from getting away with murder... Florian said.

True, and Im sorry, but Tristol, Ill take to my grave the look on her face when her spell

failed. Good job. Skalliska said with a toothy grin.

Youre welcome, but frankly that was just instinct on my part. I wasnt expecting her to

just randomly throw out a 9th sphere spell. I didnt know that she was that sodding powerful a

sorceress. He said with a shudder.

Hehe, you said sodding. Sigil cant is rubbing off on you. Nisha giggled.

Shes that powerful, she just doesnt use it that openly, all that often. Plus, her spellcasting

isnt entirely normal. Clueless muttered.

The language she was using... Tristol said.

Exactly. Ive heard it before, and while shes not an expert in it, she learned it from someone

who was. Clueless replied.

Fyrehowl softly growled.

She has powerful friends. Im not going to say his name though if you dont mind. Clueless

said grimly with distaste.

Hey at least the party was really nice, and profitable, before that all happened, right?

Skalliska said with a grin as she held out the gem that had been her gift from the Jester.

Florian chuckled, Youd have thought that with security as tight as it was, Jeremo could

have made sure that his guests didnt get into public brawls.

Tristol stopped and glanced around.

Hmm? Fyrehowl asked, motioning the others to stop.

Tristol motioned to one of the locked and magically sealed doors. Even if he was worried

that some of his guests might be lost in this place, which might be easy to do if it wasnt sealed

up more than Nessus, or if he was worried that they might get into a fight with one another,

that still doesnt make a really valid reason for all of this...
479

It is a bit extreme I guess. Skalliska said as she started to examine the multiple wards on

the doorway.

Extreme is a light way of saying it. And Jeremo doesnt strike me as the sort whos just

paranoid or fanatical about the security of his home. Tristol said as he motioned again to the

doorway.

Self assured, yeah. A bit talkative, yeah. But youre right it does seem extreme. Heck, if we

asked him he might tell us what was going on. Im sure hes got a valid reason for it. Florian

said jovially.

Umm... guys... Fyrehowl said warily.

That was when they saw the creature that was staring at them.

Looking up at them with glassy pink eyes was a small rat, barely the size of one of their

hands. The rodent was nestled in a small hole that had seemingly been gnawed out into the

hallway from the other side of the wall, and it pushed at a small pile of chipped wood as it

emerged out fully into the passageway. The rats braincase was fully exposed, enlarged beyond

normal, and pulsing with a soft, subdued glow: a cranium rat.

What the hell... Nisha said as she stared at the rat, already reaching for something to throw

at it. In her hair, Factol Karan ducked down and held on.

Guys, I really think we should back up away from that thing. If theres more than one of

them anywhere near here, were screwed if it decides to mess with us. One cranium rat isnt an

issue, but a dozen or more and youve got a serious problem. Skalliska was similarly reaching

for something, anything really, to throw at the vermin should it make a hostile move. But, like

Nisha, she was lamenting having worn clothing appropriate for a party, not for hunting psionic

vermin...

The rat was suddenly scooped up in a bag by a man dressed in the standard outfits of one

of Jeremos servants. The rail-thin githzerai seemed bowed and immediately took an apologetic

tone. My apologies. My lord Jeremo has had me scurrying about for the past week trying to

catch this little fellow. Weve been trying to catch him since it wandered into the palace earlier,

but he seems to have taken an interest in you just long enough for me to capture him.

The gith bowed again and smiled, My apologies lords and ladies. This disruption of the

evenings festivities is uncalled for and I am deeply sorry for the trouble it may have caused.

Now, if you will excuse me, the Natterer has other duties for me.

The servant was gone and down the hallway before they had much of a chance to respond.

That was odd... Toras remarked.

Yeah, especially considering that he ran off for the palace exit. There werent any other open
 480

doorways down that passage. Clueless said, looking back down the hallway where the servant

had hurriedly vanished off.

Weird. He was dressed like one of the servants around here. Maybe they have access to

doors that we dont. Fyrehowl mused.

Well, its something to ask Jeremo about. Whoever he was, I his tone seemed more than

a bit suspect. Whens the last time you saw someone catch a cranium rat with a bag and their

bare hands? Skalliska said warily.

****

They hadnt noticed the githzerai apologize to the rat after he had passed out of sight and

let it out of the bag. The rat crawled up his arm and perched on his shoulder, staring up at his

head before he cupped it in one hand and held it before his face like a friend.

No, of course not. The servant will not be found till after I am gone. It was unwise for You

to have made Your presence known to those few. If word of Your activity here grows outside

of these walls it may bring unwanted attention, and perhaps even draw the wrath of ... The

githzerai paused as the rat began to chitter and its brain began to sparkle with trails of psionic

energy.

Yes, as You wish. My apologies. Though our goals are shared, I am but a servant. And

despite my concern, I overstepped my bounds. I am sorry to have doubted You. Parraks face

was lined with regret, honest regret as the collective mind lurking behind the eyes of its single

representative in his hand whispered a rebuke back to him. This time it did not bring him pain,

and it would not unless it was earned on his part. He was loyal and It knew he acted only out

of concern, thus he would not be punished.

He spoke to the cranium rat for a few more moments before releasing it back down onto the

floor with seeming reverence. The rat vanished through another hole and back into the walls

where the others waited.

***

Jeremo had little need to provoke chit-chat or ladle out topics of conversation after the group

got back to his party. The public spat between two of Sigils most powerful women had seen to

that. Jeremo did however spend his time apologizing to many of his guests in person over the

antics and problems of some people.

But, for all the problems that it might have caused, The Jester seemed to emerge out of it all

as clean as could be, and most seemed to take it as a memorable occurrence rather than a sour
481

note on the party. It was a winning situation for the Natterer if he could leave such a positive

impression on most of his guests over the course of the evening. It didnt stop him from getting

his hands dirty and talking to most of them personally though.

Still, Jeremo wasnt the only person making rounds about and amongst the party guests.

Giving the Ladys Jester a rival for most active and apologetic was Akin. The Friendly Fiend

seemed positively mortified by what had happened and he was going table-to-table, guest-to-

guest and apologizing on behalf of the entire yugoloth race for the dreadful attitude and actions

that his counterpart that evening had demonstrated.

Sigils other resident arcanaloth seemed embarrassed almost to the point of tears by the time

he got around to speaking with Tristol and the rest of the group.

Im so terribly terribly sorry for what happened outside. I just heard from one of the guards

about it all. Please, please let me just express to you how embarrassed I am over this. I try to

be nice, I try to be friendly, but sometimes every step I take towards making people realize that

not all of us are bloodthirsty fiends out to snag their souls, she just ruins it all... Akin ended

in sniffles with his head on Florians shoulder.

Fyrehowl looked on with a mixed reaction of disbelief and honest sympathy.

We know youre not like that Akin. We like you for who you are, even if shes in contention

for the biggest b*tch in the multiverse award most of the time. You arent her, the Foehammer

be praised, and whatever she does it doesnt rub off on you by association. Trust me. People

like you. Florian said as she rubbed the Friendly Fiends ears like a sullen puppy-dog.

Its ok Akin, we love you anyways. Nisha said comfortingly to the loth before adding with

a touch of guilt, And Ill put the chocolate mephit back in your shop by tomorrow, or Ill leave

the money for it on your desk. Sorry.

Akin sniffed and tried to compose himself again, Thank you Florian. And thats fine Nisha,

just keep him. I can make more. But the sympathy really means a lot. Ill find a way to make

this up to you all. The sentiment is appreciated.

Why? Why does she have to pull cr*p like that? All the time. Fyrehowl asked a weepy-eyed

Akin. Attitude, fake tail, fake t... oh fake pretty much everything!

Compensating for me? Akin offered up with a shrug. Long, complicated story and much to

my lament perhaps, its not something thats going to change with her anytime in the foreseeable

future. It doesnt stop me from trying to compensate for her, just as much as she seems to do for

me. Again, I really do hope you know how sorry I am over all of that. Were not all like that.

Maybe Ive read you wrong Akin. Thanks for not being like her. Fyrehowl said with a

smile.
 482

Akin smiled graciously, Im not much like her except perhaps for shared origin. Im glad

that you dont think that Im like her. If I can change your mind, being where youre from, it

gives me some hope for everyone else.

Anyways, if you dont mind, I have to go wake up Seamus and make sure that hes fine.

Everyone seems to have forgotten about him and left him lying there in a dusty little pile of

mephit, the poor thing... Maybe Ill see some of you later. Akin said before giving them all a hug

and wandering over to where the Merchant Most Excellent was still passed out cold from where

Shemeska had belted him against the wall. As far as most of the other guests were concerned,

the elemental annoying was better left that way, and he was certainly less of a pain in the *ss in

such a state.

Meanwhile, Florian excused herself away from the group and made her way over to where

Jeremo was talking to several of his guards about what had gone on outside. It would be curious

to see what Jeremo had to say about the oddly spectacular level of warding on the palace, plus

about the rat they had seen...

Chapter 42

A bright yellow question mark appeared and hovered over Jeremos head as Florian approached

him. The odd effects of his crown seemed to anticipate his next statement, or it might have

simply allowed him to visualize his thoughts. Still, the effect was the same.

Whats on your mind... The Natterer asked with a lopsided grin, adding after a moments

thought, ...Florian?

The cleric smiled, Not bad, you remembered my name out of everyone here. Im impressed.

Jeremo shrugged, I try, though for the life of me I was confused earlier on this evening.

Everything Id been told had led me to believe that you were male. My dearest apologies for my

confusion.

Florian chuckled and waved away his concern, Thats a long story, but not your fault at all.

So, what can I do for you? He asked politely.

Well, I wanted to ask you about the security of the palace.

Oh? I should think that its all the better to ensure that my guests are as safe here as

they would be in their own homes. Some of you all consider that paramount. Jeremo said

before adding offhandedly, Some more than others. The Titan wanted a list of who would be

invited, especially any clerics or proxies. Noshtoreth wanted to make sure that I wasnt inviting

any full-blooded Baatezu, and tonights fuzzy entertainment wanted to know what the decorum

would be so she could arrive in something fashionably out of place and clashing.

Well, she got the out of place and clashing part down... Florian coughed softly.

But its impolite of me to speak poorly of my guests and peers in the city. Anything at all

else about the security? Jeremo said deferentially.

It seems to be a bit much... and its all oriented seemingly to prevent something from

getting -out- into the palace, not to just prevent the guests from wandering off... Florian asked

skeptically.

Jeremo laughed and waved a hand dismissively, Not at all the case. Seriously now, Im just

483
 484

a bit overprotective about my guests and I dont spare any expense. So if youll excuse me, I

have some other things I really should attend to.

Jeremo gave a tip of his crown, turned, and made an attempt to leave. Florian stopped him

dead in his tracks with a single statement. We saw a cranium rat in the palace.

Jeremo paused and slowly turned around, his previous joking demeanor gone and replaced

with a much more serious expression.

It gnawed its way out from behind one of the walls before one of your servants snagged it.

She added to the now dour and frowning Jester.

Jeremo sighed, I need to ask you in all honestly to not repeat to anyone else outside of myself

and my servants what you saw today. To say that I have a problem is only the least that you

could say about it. To an extent, todays festivities were to put off any rumors that something

was amiss in the palace and keeping me from having many visitors.

The rumor mill was starting to get you worried about people finding out? Florian asked.

Jeremo nodded and pursed his lips. Aye, both the polite and casual mill, and the paid

gossip mongers of the city were close to having a field day with the speculations of what they

perceived. Incidentally, that was also a reason for one or two of my jabs tonight. She took it

harshly... a pity...

The Jester gave a puckish smirk at his last comment before returning to a more serious tone

and affectation.

Suffice it to say, I have every intention of snuffing the vermin out before they pose a real

risk to myself and others. But damn it all, theres more in the bowels of the palace than I care

to speculate on. Whatever it is, theyre less interested in me and my faction is seems, than on

the underhalls of my home. Why theyre here or what theyre so keen on finding is an open

question. Jeremo mused, Either they know something I dont about the history of the place,

or theyre using it to hide from one or two of the other rat hives in the city.

Theres more than one hive of those things in Sigil? Florian asked with some alarm.

At least two; and from what I understand, one of them has gone rogue on the God Brain. I

cant speak of their squabbles with one another much, but I do know that theres an established

hive or two in the Slags, the two or three Great Minds, but one of them has done its damnedest

trying to move into the Palace of the Jester over the last cycle.

Florian was about to ask another question except for Jeremo kept right on talking. The

Natterer wasnt a hollow nickname...

...but did you say a servant of mine found it? Odd. I hadnt heard about it yet. Who was

he?
485

Florian replied before Jeremo could launch into babbling any more. I dont know his name.

Some githzerai.

Jeremo fixed his different colored eyes on her harshly, I dont employ any githzerai...

Florian found that odd. After all, the fellow had been dressed in one of the Jesters servants

uniforms. Still, he had been acting odd.

Jeremo adjusted his crown again, How would you like to earn some jink or otherwise gain

me in your debt?

Excuse me? Florian asked.

Jeremo crossed his hands and grinned like a child with a treasure map. I have a problem

and you and your fellows have seemed resourceful from all that Ive heard. I have more money

than some powers of wealth, and so price isnt much an issue.

Is this an employment offer? Florian asked with a chuckle.

Quite.

Well, I can certainly ask the others if theyre interested. Florian said.

Please do, and if you decide to take the offer Ill be waiting. Let me know in the next several

days and Ill provide you with some more detailed information about the situation I have on my

hands. Of course, Id really appreciate it and suffice it to say that the pay will be commensurate

to my means... Jeremo said with a wink and a nod.

Florian grinned, the image of jink floating about her mind. Ill ask them and Ill let you

know what they say. And I swear to you on the Foe Hammer that I wont mention any of what

Ive seen here to anyone outside of them.

Thank you, I appreciate it. Jeremo tipped his tarnished crown. But do go on and enjoy

the rest of the evening. Ill leave you to that, but I have a few things to discuss with the guards

now, so if youll excuse me. Good evening to you.

****

So, Toras... I was wondering what you have planned for later on this evening? Verden

said seductively into the fighters ear as he chuckled in amusement and over consumption of the

Jesters free flowing alcohol.

Excuse me? His face was flushed with an equal mixture of gleeful surprise and drunkenness.

Ive enjoyed your company here tonight and Im inviting you back to my place. You can go

home in the morning... Verden said softly as she rubbed a thumb over the back of Torass hand.

Torass eyes grew wide as he finally realized just how heavily the rather attractive owner of

the Azure Iris was coming onto him. She was just as tipsy as he was, and so some small part
 486

of his mind was leaning towards saying no just to make sure than neither of them would regret

anything in the morning, but that part was losing.

Well, Ive enjoyed your company as well. Youre quite attractive and its been a pleasure

chatting with you all evening. My apologies for that unpleasantness earlier. Toras said before

she took his face in her hands and kissed him full on the lips with a drunken giggle.

I promised that Id tell you about some of the stuff Ive seen from that one over the years,

and you can ask me about that, and most anything else when were in bed together. She was

tugging him up from his chair as she winked at him.

Nisha rolled her eyes as Toras and Verden both staggered away from the table and made

their way towards the exit.

See you guys in the morning! Toras muttered as he and the wood elf left with only a select

few things on their minds.

Oh, this is going to be interesting... Fyrehowl said as Toras and the elf left.

Mammals... Skalliska muttered under her breath.

Not a chance, Im already taken. Came the soft but argent and preemptive reply by Lis-

sandra the Gateseeker to Clueless who was smiling at the young guildmistress as the previous

impromptu couple made their way out.

Damn. Oh well, cant blame me. Clueless said to the flattered wizardress.

Ill let you know if the situation changes, but its not likely. Lissandra said with amusement

as she gave a chuckle at the bladesinger.

Toras never noticed that Verden wasnt intoxicated in the slightest as he left with her, his

mind being run by organs other than his brain, and her own mind being filled with a hunger not

of the carnal variety either.

****

The telepathic web of the hive stretched across miles and among the minds of hundreds

upon hundreds of those who had rejected the poisoned succor of the most hated Godbrain. The

psionic impulses of thought rocketed from mind to mind and point to point along that web that

stretched invisibly through the burrowed tunnels in the Sigilrock of the Great Below and now

into the forgotten hallways of the Palace of the Jester.

The Natterer, he knows that we are not here for him and his own. A single thought was

shared by the many minds of the collective, spread out across the underhalls of the palace and

the sewers and forgotten places in between.

But does he know our purpose here? Does he know what we seek? The voices asked
487

themselves, pondering the thoughts of the single mind of The Jester above them. His thoughts

were locked to them, by spell or by simply titanic force of will. But regardless, they had not

managed to divine his own insight into their activities.

He seals us away from the places he walks and the places he knows. He has made no

organized move to seek us out here in the levels below that which he knows.

The minds of the Us gave thought to what they had found in the labyrinthine network of

chambers and forgotten halls below the Jesters demesne.

He does not know of what lies below his feet. He knows down to a depth, but nothing

beyond it. He is ignorant of the history of his own house beyond a few centuries. Scattered

names of former holders of his position perhaps are known to him, but nothing more...

There was a pause again in the thoughts of the Us; a certain wariness about what it had

found there beneath the streets of Sigil.

There are thoughts here below, strange and distant, stronger as we travel further down and

into the past. The walls are alive. We feel it, and whatever is here eludes our touch and evades

our sight. It plays with us, prevents us from reaching whatever it covets and hides.

For a brief moment a touch of fear rose from a minority of the collective, a fear of something

that it did not recognize. The Palace of the Jester was Sigils oldest extant structure, and its

past was shrouded in mystery. The underhalls were unmappable. The walls moved, shifted and

changed to prevent any true understanding of its sprawling network of empty catacombs and

abandoned chambers. It was Sigils past made manifest, and it was as alive as its present...

Swalkkur knew of this. He knew what was here. The visionary also avoided it and his

lingering spirit only laughed at us when we found his tomb. It was shallow in this place compared

to where we wander now amongst the laughing, watching galleries.

The undercurrent of fear rose again amongst the component minds of the Us and the bulk of

itself suppressed the feelings as best as it could.

The Dabus are wary here. The Dabus are afraid of this place! But that is foolishness; if

anything they avoid the depths simply because of ourself and nothing more. We do not concern

ourself with the Dabus, but only with what we may find amid the labyrinth. There is power

here...

****

Florian had gestured them all together and into the back room almost as soon as they had

gotten back from the Jesters party. Despite having been away from them for a good while,

speaking to the Natterer, she hadnt said a word to the rest of her group during the course of
 488

the evening for fear of it being overheard. Besides, she had the nagging suspicion that Jeremo

might have had his own people close at hand to let him know if she actually did spread word

of what she had seen. The man seemed genuinely amicable, but he didnt reach his position of

power and influence by not knowing how to watch his own affairs and carefully cultivate public

opinions, and frankly that was what he had been doing that entire evening: positioning himself

in the eyes of his peers.

So, what exactly is this about? Skalliska said as she stroked the head of her familiar, whose

head was currently flickering a soft halo of orange flames.

Why not just tell us while we were at the party? Besides, its obscenely late. Tristol yawned.

Alright, you all saw the cranium rat in the palace, right? Florian asked rhetorically.

Sure, they had a few of them and Jeremo had his servants chasing them down. Big deal.

Fyrehowl said with a shrug.

Florian waved her hand in the negative, Jeremo doesnt have any gith on his staff...

There was silence, and even Nisha paused and paid rapt attention.

Whoever that was, he wasnt one of Jeremos people. And there are more than just a handful

of rats in the palace. Jeremo has a serious problem with them; he thinks a hive of them has

managed to burrow into the underhalls of the place... Florian explained to a half dozen open

mouths.

Well sh*t! Clueless said bluntly.

Tristol nodded, Damn. That explains all the crazy wards the place had while we were there.

Jeremo wasnt taking any sodding chances with the rats and his guests, considering that most

of Sigils elite were there tonight.

Not that wed have minded if the rats ever got to one or two of those elite... Fyrehowl said

as she rolled her eyes. Thats going to come back and bite us you know.

What the hell are the rats doing there? Trying to influence everyone around the palace?

I know that Autochons Runners Guild operates out of a wing of the palace. Maybe trying to

get into the heads of the people in Jeremos this is a faction on everything but paper. Clueless

mused.

Jeremo isnt sure, but hes not taking any chances. From what hes told me, hes managed to

keep them confined to the lower levels of the palace, and they dont seem to be at all aggressive

about trying to break through into the parts of his property that hes more or less sealed off from

them. Florian explained, And thats what worries him. Hes not certain what theyre doing

down there, and hed like to find out.

Do we get to name our own price?! Nisha said with a glimmer in her eyes as she leapt
489

forward, placed both hands on the table and jingled the silver bell at the end of her tail.

Florian chuckled and Nishas belled tail jingled again as Tristol tapped it.

He made it clear that cost wasnt much of a concern of his if youre curious. She said.

Has he sent other people down there yet? Clueless asked while Nisha continued to babble

about gods only know what all is down there.

I would assume so given what he talked to me about. Florian said.

And I think it safe to assume that so far none of them have come back? Fyrehowl asked.

Probably a safe bet. Cranium rats arent friendly neighbors, and hives of them are territo-

rial. Skalliska said, And scary...

Everyone nodded.

And tasty if you marinate them in alcohol... The kobold added.

Ewwww... Nisha said with a twisted expression. Ive eaten ashes spiced with arsenic just

because nominally I can survive on it, but cranium rats? Yuck.

Suit yourself, youre the person who wouldnt eat fried bugs just... Skalliska said before

being cut off.

Aaaaaand changing the topic of conversation... Clueless said abruptly.

So, I guess the question is are we up for taking Jeremos offer? Fyrehowl said. Personally

I dont mind going for it. Besides, having Jeremo owing us a favor may just end up helping to

shield up from another certain someones displeasure in the future, and I dont think we can put

a price tag on that.

The benefits and dangers of it all went around for some time, with both Nisha and Skalliska

giving their previous experience with cranium rats to the group. Eventually though it was

decided: they would accept Jeremos offer and meet him in the next day or two to find out the

full details. Following the decision, they variously went for a bottle or yawned, or both before

staggering up to their own rooms.

****

Clueless sat in his room surrounded by a few dozen random items that hed managed to

collect from the Astral, places around Sigil, and even back on Acheron. For hours upon hours

he had sat nearly motionless there, surrounded by the odd and otherwise unremarkable sundry

items that hed assembled, and one at a time he had tapped the small collar around his neck.

Each time, the single droplet of golden liquid it contained made contact with his skin, and each

time he plucked into his mind the arcane symbols of a single legend lore spell. Despite that he

was unable to actually case the spell himself, whatever the liquid that he had found in the Tower
 490

Sorcerous actually was, it was providing him a window into the history and background of the

items.

Hours had passed as he looked into the background of those items. He watched in his mind

as a scrap of the late Factol Alisohn Nilesias robe from Acheron blossomed into fragments and

snapshots of her time in slavery, and then how her husband, the late Duke Rowan Darkwood,

had callously and purposefully sold her into slavery on the plane of war eternal.

He watched as fragments of time from the Incantifers genocidal war of self-destruction began

and ended in a haze of death, misery, and unintended consequences. He even watched a chronicle

of just where a single silver piece had been in the past three weeks before it had first graced his

purse. A single coin and it had passed from hand to hand in that time from aasimar to gnome,

from archon to succubi, from abishai to mephit, and from a Nycaloth whose hand the silver in

the coin had burned, right down to Nisha who the loth had hurled the coin at a minute before

she had cut his purse strings and made off with the rest of his jink.

Still, there were events that his magic failed to illuminate. Anything related to his experience

in Carceri, or rather, anything surrounding the tower there on Othrys: it was all shrouded in

what seemed to manifest as an impenetrable mental fog. The closer that he got to anything even

remotely related to the newly ascended Oinoloth, the thicker that the block became.

Oh you son of a b*tch, how the hell is it that nothing about you has any background? You

cant just have appeared out of sodding nowhere! Clueless cursed as he concentrated on another

question about The Ebon, only to have the magic fail him once more.

The feelings of interference only increased the closer that the bladesinger probed, and only

gradually did he recognize a cold malevolence that underpinned the haze that shrouded any of

the information that he sought. If it werent impossible for something to be aware of the interior

of Sigil while not within Sigil itself, Clueless would have sworn that something was aware of his

attempts. He ended that train of legend lore attempts abruptly and with a disturbed feeling

playing about his mind as he glanced down at the gem in his ankle. Hed sworn that it had been

glowing before he had canceled the spells effects.

New subject... definitely a new subject... Clueless muttered as his wings flickered with

traces of faerie-fire that mirrored his discomfort.

Tapping the bubble of golden liquid on his neck, he called once more into his mind the

inscrutable symbols and patterns of a legend lore spell, pulled it into his mind and then concen-

trated on a subject of interest: Bartol Trenevain and his work with the King of the Crosstrade.

Information on the fire genasi evoker wasnt blocked in any way, and it was apparent from

what glimmers of information the spell provided to the half-fey, that Trenevain had indeed been
491

a complete and utter pawn under the clawed thumb of the Marauder. Trenevain was apparently

openly loathed by his Nycaloth minders, and at least one of them was eager for the chance to

kill the mortal as soon as he had outlived his usefulness to the nycaloths mistress.

Clueless snorted, Figures that youd break your toys so nobody else could play with them.

But this only makes me want to look old Bartol up again and see what he has to say about a

few things...

The bladesinger moved on to other topics, but as soon as he asked a question that directly fell

upon the Marauder or actions she had personally taken a part in, he hit a solid wall. The spell

didnt end, but his mind was abruptly filled with an image of a room in the Fortunes Wheel, the

same one in which he had signed away his freedom to the gossip monger along with the freedom

of another friend and the life of another.

What the hell... Clueless said as the image in his minds eye focused on the Marauder, sitting

and relaxing on a cushioned chair. The fiendess was smirking and her tongue was partially stuck

out at an angle, petulantly bitten between her fangs. Her eyes glimmered violet as the image of

her shook its head and waved a finger as if to say no. Questions about her operations within

Sigil were warded, and warded well.

Clueless snuffed the effects of the spell and the magic rapidly faded away from his mind,

leaving him drained and exhausted from the effort of it all.

B*tch... figures that youd pull something like that. Otherwise everyone with money for

magic would be divining everything about you and where youve got your clawed little hands

sunk into the pie. He sighed, And youre immune to mind affecting spells, so I might as well

try and get Nisha to act rationale for an hour or two as I might try to pluck details from your

twisted little head.

Clueless paused and winced for a moment.

What the hell? He said as he reached up to rub at his neck. His fingers came back dappled

in blood.

Clueless launched forwards and went for a mirror, looking at his neck. Where the collar had

held the droplet of magical liquid against his neck, the skin was inflamed and there was a small

and angry blister at the exact point of contact: the source of the blood on his hand.

Alright... thats not good. He said as he dabbed up the blood from the broken skin. There

was a small ring of white, seemingly dead skin that surrounded the blister. Obviously hed had

some sort of reaction to the repeated use of the substance, whatever the hell it was.

Hmm... he thought as his wings once again reflected his mood. Time to lay off using this

for a while. At least till I actually know what that stuff is. Well have to see what Tristol might
 492

know about it, because Im not going to use it again to find out what it is and where it came

from originally if I dont know if itll blow my head apart to use it again.

Still flushed from the experience of channeling magic beyond his normal means, and intrigued

by much of what hed discovered, Clueless placed the collar and its bubble of golden, and appar-

ently dangerous, liquid in a locked drawer to stay safe for the moment. He rubbed the raw spot

on his neck, and he didnt plan on wearing the collar again for a while, at least until he was a

bit more certain about what it was that it contained. He glanced at where hed placed the collar

for a few seconds, and at the globe that contained the bulk of the liquid, and having done that,

he wandered downstairs from his room in search of Tristol.

****

Sitting at a table near the back of the taproom, sat three nearly identical men. They were all

bald, dressed in black leather overcoats, and wearing dark glasses or spectacles each. They had

walked into the Portal Jammer and sat down without saying a word to anyone, and ignoring the

initial drink or food queries from the serving staff as if the employees simply didnt exist.

After an hour or two of staring off into space, they had apparently noticed that everyone else

in the room was drinking or eating, and so one of them asked for what is normal. A wary staffer

served them ale and a scattered assortment of food, and then watched as the Keepers prodded

at the food for nearly twenty minutes before making any attempt to actually eat it. Eventually

the odd trio seemed to catch on, and the waitress wandered over to ask them a question.

So, what plane are you all from? I cant say that Ive ever seen your kind around here.

All three of them stared at her uncomfortably.

The normal plane where everyone else is from of course. And no, you have never seen us

around here before. I repeat, you have never seen us around here before, but not that we are

out of place at all. You may be assured of that.

She raised an eyebrow, Uhh... yeah. So, uh, what are you here in town for?

Again they all stared at her in silence before another one replied, in the exact same voice

as the first had. You ask many questions. Asking many questions is not something that you

should do.

The third answered quickly as the waitress wrinkled her forehead, We are only here to wait

for someone else. Nothing to be concerned about at all.

No, absolutely nothing to be concerned about at all. Everything is normal and as you might

expect. The first Keeper replied in a blank monotone, despite the awkward smile it tried to

make.
493

Umm, sure... alright... The server said awkwardly as she walked away from the three odd

and identical gentlemen. One of them was smiling awkwardly at her over a mug of lamp oil while

the other two stared off into space as she walked away.

Several minutes later, Clueless walked down and made for the room that Tristol had been

converting into an arcane lab for himself. The walk required him to make a quick transit through

the common room of the bar, and as he did so, a sextuplet of eyes tracked him. The bladesinger

swaggered across the floor towards that particular room where the mage had more or less locked

himself away since they had been back in Sigil, identifying the glut of items that they had found

previously. As he made for the door, the goggle-hidden eyes of the three men at the back of the

room followed him silently. All three Keepers watched him before he was out of their sight.

Watch him, he is going for the mage. The aasimar will have it undoubtedly for he would

have recognized it for what it truly is. A few more cycles of observation before we make ourselves

known. Till then, we act as the others do, till more of ourselves enter this place.

Agreed. We watch and then take it from the wizard.

Yes, agreed.
Chapter 43

Tristol sat in the dim recesses of the back room that hed converted into a makeshift arcane

laboratory. His eyes were half-lidded from lack of sleep but they remained focused on his tasks of

both identifying the host of magical items that they had all recovered in the past while, and to

learning from the spellbooks he had taken from the Imshenviir mercane, and from the arcanaloth,

Parphinias.

Tristol? Helloooo.... Florians voice broke the mages concentration and drew his unhappy

gaze.

Tristol sighed and his tail was bottlebrushed behind him. Yes? Im rather busy...

You need to eat. The last time I was in here you said that youd take a break and do that.

Yeah yeah, whatever. Tristol said dismissively before turning his eyes back to the spellbook

in front of him.

Florian pulled the spellbook away, You said that seven hours ago...

The mages ears folded back and to the side as he looked up at the cleric, Im busy. Send

something in if youre concerned.

Florian pushed the book back with a sigh, Ill have the kitchen send something in.

Yeah yeah, whatever...

More time passed and Tristol flipped through a few more pages, arriving at a lovely spell

called Parphiniass Corrupting Touch. Even if he might not cast it himself, the aasimar was

having a grand time just learning magic from a tradition so utterly alien to his own. Still, it

was mildly disturbing that the book seemed to be bound in some form of nondescript humanoid

flesh, and also appeared to move slightly when you didnt watch it closely.

A pair of slim hands suddenly descended over his eyes.

Florian I said that...

Guess who? A voice said with a giggle, sounding very much unlike Florian and very much

like a certain tiefling.

494
495

Toras. Tristol answered.

Toras? Nope. The unknown person said.

Judge Gabberslug of the Court of Woe? Tristol said as he snickered.

... hey! Youre just being mean now. One of the fingers thumped him on the forehead.

Someone whos going to get bitten if she doesnt take her hands off my face? Tristol asked.

Oh! I know who you are! Youre a wizard with fuzzy ears! The hands snagged the tips of

his ears and wiggled them around.

... wasnt I the one asking the questions? Tristol said as he swatted at the hands on his

ears.

Were you? I dunno. The tiefling said as she abruptly abandoned his head for another

random whimsy.

Nisha took off her hands and abruptly wandered over towards the shelves where Tristol kept

a number of spellbooks, research tomes on a hundred or so different topics, and piles of various

and sundry arcane scrolls.

Tristol yawned, stretched and immediately went back to his reading. Hed just gotten to the

next paragraph, notes that the arcanaloth had written or somehow burnt into the material that

the spellbook was penned in, when he was interrupted again. Nisha was humming some random

ditty as she thumbed through some of the scrolls.

Nisha? Tristol asked with a soft whine.

Thats great and powerful archmage Nisha The tiefling corrected him with a grin and soft

jangle of the bell on her tail.

... Tristol closed his eyes and breathed in and out a few times. Great and powerful

archmage Nisha?

Yeeeeees? She said, very obviously amused with herself.

Is there something you want from me, or are you just pretending to be a mephit? He said

in slow, measured tones.

No, Im pretending to be an Archmage today. Silly wizard, youd think that youd know

the difference by now.

Tristols ears went down again, Please... Im very busy. What do you want?

The tiefling grinned...

Anything? She said as the bell on her tail rattled loudly, perhaps with an ominous fore-

shadowing.

Yeah yeah whatever... Tristol said as he got back into the spellbook.

Can I have a scroll? She asked nicely.

 496

Sure, yeah, whatever... Tristol replied.

Can I have a couple of random spell components from the middle shelf? Nisha added.

Yeah yeah, whatever... Tristol replied once more.

Can I make you my familiar? Being a great archmage and all I need one. Nisha said without

skipping a beat.

Tristol replied once more with the same unconcerned reply in the affirmative.

Alright! Nisha chirped.

The room went silent suddenly and it was several more minutes before Tristol heard the door

softly close as Nisha left. Something felt wrong since the tiefling had left without actually doing

anything insane...

Tristol looked around but didnt see anything missing except for a scroll of jump and some

rather inconsequential spell components. Strange to say the least, but he smiled and returned

to his work, happy to finally have some peace and quiet. That respite lasted around ten minutes

before Clueless walked in through the door.

Hey Tristol, I had a few questions for you.

Tristol banged his head against the spellbook emphatically with a groan.

Im just not going to get any work done today. None at all... Tristol said with a resigned

sigh.

Clueless sat down opposite the mage, Oh, the bell and the bow look cute by the way.

Excuse me? Tristol looked at the half-fey with a confused expression.

The bell and the bow that youve got. Clueless replied.

Tristol looked perplexed until the bladesinger whispered a phrase and made a motion with

his hand. There was suddenly a soft jingling noise from behind the aasimar and Tristol felt a

soft tug against the tip of his tail. There was a brilliant pink bow tied to the tip of the mages

tail and a tiny silver bell as well, just like the one on Nisha.

Tristol smacked his head down against the spellbook once more.

The dread pirate Nisha strikes again I see. Clueless said with a smirk.

Tristol whimpered softly as the bladesinger jangled the bell a few more times with his cantrip.

So, what is it you want? Tristol muttered from his prone position against the book.

I was curious if theres such a thing as liquid magic. Maybe something like stuff in limbo,

or stuff in the deep ethereal that just does stuff when you concentrate on it.

Tristols ears perked slightly and he looked up. What? Like Karach or protomatter? Some-

thing like that?

Clueless shrugged, Maybe, but those just sort of become what you think about and then go
497

back or collapse if you stop concentrating on them. This stuff didnt change itself, it just made

things happen when you touch it and think about things.

Tristol sat up with the rapid jingle of the bell, Why do you ask?

Clueless shrugged again, Just curious. Something I was reading about.

Yeah, Ive heard of stuff like that, but its mostly a legend and no one seems to know how

to make it anymore. It was mostly an accident in the first place. Lemme get you a book...

Tristol got up and walked over to his bookcase and thumbed over a few of the books written

in a dialect of Halruaan.

What color was it, out of curiosity? Clueless asked.

It was sort of a syrupy stuff if I remember the stories about it correctly. Tristol said

offhandedly as he pulled out a book titled, Netherils Golden Age.

Was it gold colored? Clueless asked again.

Tristol paused and thought, Yeah, actually it was if I recall it right. Why?

Clueless held out a small vial of shimmering golden liquid, a portion of the larger store that

he had recovered from the Tower Sorcerous. Like this?

Tristol dropped the book. Get it away from me...

There was a moment of sublime silence as Tristol and Clueless simply stared at one another,

then at the sample of golden liquid, and then back at each other once more.

So... Clueless said, breaking the silence.

Keep that away from me. Tristol said once more.

Why? Clueless asked.

Because the only person I know who was ever capable of creating what I think that is, they

nearly killed themselves experimenting with it... Tristol held open the book and pushed it across

the table. He still wasnt getting near to the bottle however, and as Clueless glanced at the pages

the mage was keeping a wary eye on the stuff.

Clueless read over several pages of material that detailed a dead archmage who had been

known as Karsus. The mage had created a substance known as Heavy Magic by accident really,

and had found that it held spells cast into it and functioned almost like a physical expression of

magic that could be molded, shaped, or worked like wood or metal would be worked by a sculptor

or a craftsman. Karsus had largely abandoned his research after he had nearly obliterated his

enclave, some sort of floating city he ruled, by reckless experimentation with the material.

Where did you get that stuff? Tristol finally asked.

I picked it up at random from the material we found on the Incantifer, back in the mazes.

I just thought it looked pretty... Clueless said with a shrug.

 498

You randomly picked up what was probably the most valuable and most dangerous thing in

that entire tower. Mystra forbid... Tristol was as white as a sheet.

Its rather interesting stuff. Ive been messing around with it and... Clueless said before

the mage interrupted him.

Youve what? Messing around with it? Youre crazy...

Whats the worst that could happen? Clueless asked.

I dont know, and I really dont want to find out. Listen, the most powerful wizard that

my world has ever known abandoned research on that stuff because it was too dangerous for his

tastes. And he eventually destroyed his entire culture in another foolhardy experiment that he

thought was safer. Tristol said adamantly.

When did Karsus make his version of this?

About two thousand years ago... Tristol answered.

Then he didnt make this, because unless he was inside that maze, its been around for

longer than that. Clueless said as he looked at the bottle of golden liquid.

Tristol put his hands over his ears, Then one of them figured out how to make it than

probably. It might even be different from what Karsus made. Please promise me than youll

hold off on it for a while before I can do some more reading on it?

Clueless frowned, I wont do anything more than I already have.

I hesitate to ask what exactly you have done. But please? Tristol asked plaintively.

Alright, Ill be careful, I promise.

Tristol looked at the vial and then back at Clueless. Just keep it away from me.

They chatted about the liquid for another twenty or so minutes before Clueless gathered his

things and left. He never mentioned the raw spot on his neck, mostly because he didnt want to

worry his friend, nor did he want for Tristol to demand that he dispose of the heavy magic or

give it into the safekeeping of someone more magically adept than either of them.

***

Things have changed. One of the Keepers said as it looked across at the door to Tristols

lab.

Something has happened. Another of the beings said.

Perhaps he is aware that we are here. The third Keeper said as lamp oil dribbled out of

his open mouth.

We will move preemptively now, even if others have not arrived. Now.
499

Tristol walked out of the door from his lab, still looking nervous from what Clueless had

shown to him. He was so taken back from it that he hadnt bothered to remove the florid bow

and silver bell from the tip of his tail. Hed gotten perhaps ten feet from the door when he was

surrounded by the three identical looking men, all wearing dark goggles, all of them bald, all of

them dressed in rubbery black clothing and having stark white skin.

Umm... can I help you gentlemen? Tristol said wearily. I swear, everyones been asking

for stuff today and I only want to sit down and study...

Give us the Orb. Came the monotone request from the first Keeper.

Tristol blinked, Excuse me? The what?

The Orb. Give it to us. The second Keeper asked in the same voice as the first.

Tristol looked up uneasily at the close proximity and blank expressions of the three men. I

dont know youre talking about. Now if youll please move out of my way...

They didnt budge an inch.

Tell us where you have put the orb. Bring us to it and give it to us and we will leave you

unharmed. There was an implied threat to the Keepers voice even if its tone hadnt changed.

I dont have any idea what the hell youre talking about. Now get out of my way and get

out of my inn! Tristols ears lay flat against his head as he lost his temper for the odd and

stubborn questioning.

Do not lie to us wizard. You would have it or know where it is. Tell us and speak of it to

no one and we will not harm you.

Toras! Fyrehowl! Tristol shouted out into the taproom as he brought the words of a spell

to mind.

Halfway up the stairs going back to his room, Clueless paused and turned back when he heard

Tristols shouting. Toras and Fyrehowl both looked up from their own table near the door where

theyd been serving as relaxed quality control on who entered the inn and in what condition they

left.

Tristol called into his mind the words of a petrification spell as he ducked out from under the

circle of three Keepers as a stern looking Toras and Fyrehowl approached. One of the Keepers

turned to face Tristol, one turned to face the fighter and lupinal, and a third turned outwards

to address the entire room and its occupants.

There is no scuffle or untoward activity occurring in the slightest! Nothing at all! All of you

would be best served by returning to your normal activities. Forget that we are here. Everything

is normal!

One of the other Keepers was about to speak as well, but that was before Toras threw it
 500

halfway across the room.

I think youve had a little too much lamp oil sir. Toras said with a smile on his face as he

walked over to the sprawled form on the floor.

Fyrehowl drew her sword as the other two Keepers smiled and held up their arms. She backed

up slightly and took a defensive posture as their flesh seemed to ripple from the inside, shift, and

reform into flesh-colored, rubbery hammers at the ends of their arms.

Oh to hell with that! Clueless shouted out as one of the Keepers swung at the lupinal and

the other made ready to do the same. Calling to mind a spell that he wasnt able to cast, but

had called into being in his mind earlier in the day from the heavy magic, he hurled it at one of

the two keepers.

A cylindrical column of force sprung into being around one of the two Keepers near Fyrehowl,

penning it in and separating it from her. Clueless shouted in triumph, but a moment later his

grin vanished as the Keeper paused and then seemed to melt through the wall of force like it

wasnt there.

Oh hells! Thats just not fair! Clueless shouted again as he drew his sword.

Toras walked over to where the Keeper that hed thrown now lay sprawled on the floor. He

stood over the body and then stumbled back as it seemed to ripple like it was of liquid and

abruptly invert itself from being facedown on the floor to looking back up at him.

Flat against one of the exterior walls, Tristol watched as Fyrehowl slashed at one of the

Keepers with her blade. Whatever the thing was, it didnt bleed, and she might as well have

been fighting an animated hunk of putty. It didnt seen to register pain either, though the

damage did seem to be slowing it.

Tristol continued to watch as Toras picked up the one on the floor and began smacking it

around like an abusing child with a rag doll.

Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself! Toras shouted with a laugh as he smacked

the Keeper in the face with its own fist several times over. Toras stopped abruptly when the

Keepers black goggles flew off of its face and landed on the floor. There were no eyes on the

things head beneath them, only blank, pasty skin.

Tristol saw it as well and hurled his spell at the second Keeper that Fyrehowl was fending off.

The being hesitated, stopped, and began to change color as the spell took effect to transmute

it to rock. All three Keepers began to laugh in a single voice as they turned to look at the

mage. A split second later, the petrifying Keeper collapsed into a puddle of oily muck and resin,

apparently ending its own life rather than be held captive by the spell.

Nisha! Hit the fire portal! Toras shouted as he tried to hold the one Keeper as far away
501

from himself as possible, ignoring its heavy smacks against his arm and shoulder as best he could.

The tiefling dashed over to grab a bent copper key and then thrust it into a framed portion

of the back wall. The moment she did the wall vanished and a glimmering scene appeared in its

place: the elemental plane of fire. Waves of undulating lava and sheets of flaming wind rushed

past the other side of the portal as Nisha moved out of the way.

Enjoy! Toras said as he shoved the Keeper through the portal and followed it up a moment

later with the other one. The two beings vanished through the portal, but before it closed itself,

he could see one of them bobbing in the flaming ocean, blankly staring back at them like a eerie,

possibly retarded, fire mephit.

There was a small amount of scattered applause from the patrons of the inn who hadnt

bolted at the first signs of a fight. Toras bowed and Nisha claimed the vanished Keepers drinks.

Tristol however glanced down at the puddle that was all that remained of the Keeper that hed

attempted to turn to stone, and then up at Clueless.

Clueless, do you have any idea what in Mystras name that was? Tristol said as he tried to

wave away the smell from the dissolved Keeper.

Clueless blinked, Nothing at all. Those guys have been here around the inn for a few days

and theyve just sat there drinking weird things that even Nisha said were weird.

Nisha grinned as she sniffed idly at one of the mugs of lamp oil.

Alright that was weird... Toras said as he looked at the puddle on the floor. If anyone

asks... Skalliska had an accident. Something strange and female kobold related. Alright?

Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow at Toras, Works for me. Lets all just watch out for any more

of those... whatever they are, alright?

They all nodded in agreement, though Clueless had already picked up and pocketed the pair

of goggles that had fallen off of one of the Keepers. At some point he had the intention of

attempting to use some divinations on them, if only because he was almost certain that theyd

been looking for the golden globe of heavy magic that he had sitting in his room... not that he

was going to volunteer that information to anyone else presently.

***

The vast psionic intelligence of the Us was uncertain. Several of its component minds stood

over the edge of a stairwell that coiled downwards into the rock and spiraled down into cool

darkness.

This place is no longer within Sigil. Something is different here, even stranger than the

labyrinth. And portions of it felt the same as we made our way through its corridors...
 502

The air was silent and chill as several dozen cranium rats peered down over the edge and into

the abyss below. The hive was not only uncertain, it was frightened, and it had been for some

time whether it wished to admit it to itself or not.

The walls continue to mock us, as does that which walks within them, watching us scramble

about blindly. The rats that sprawled across the warren of ancient passages there beneath the

Palace of the Jester, they all peered about with uncertainty.

The presence that we feel, it has still refused to show itself, but not out of fear. It knows

this place, but the stairwell is separate from it. The depths below are something else. This is

malign, but below is...

A ripple of fear crossed the gestalt mind of the Us. It was at a loss to describe what it felt,

only cold, ancient, and alien. There was power there in the forgotten places of the Great Below,

power that reminded hidden, but there was more there than what they had originally thought

to find in the depths of the Palace. Something else indeed.

The door to the upper layers has been opened. The Natterer is sending others down to hunt

us. The depths can wait for now.

***

The appointed time came, and the group stood in one of the nonpublic regions of the Palace of

the Jester, accompanied by Jeremo the Natterer and several of his guards and faction members.

He had escorted them all through the sprawling corridors of the street level area of the palace and

down a long flight of stairs into the first subterranean level, one of many as he explained it. At

the bottom of the stairs was a barred and warded set of double doors. The magical protections

on the portal were even stronger than the other warded doorways that Tristol had seen within

the palace to that point entirely.

If youll take a look at the map that Ive provided you. Jeremo said with a grin as his words

crystallized in pictures above the tarnished crown atop his head.

Florian held up the first page in the series of oilcloth maps that Jeremo had provided them

with.

Ive had this door marked off on your map, and each sheet details one of the sublevels of

the palace, all the way down to the third. The routes to the staircases down to the next floor

are marked for the quickest routes, and the stairwells themselves are circled. There shouldnt be

much of a problem on those floors at all... excepting the bloody rats of course. Jeremo said.

Fyrehowl held up a hand, Jeremo, if I can call you Jeremo...?

The Natterer brushed away a stray lock of blond hair from his face, Please do. And yes?
503

The lupinal nodded and continued, The maps cover the first three levels of the underhalls,

but theres a stairwell marked as going down to the fourth level. Is that in error, are we missing

a map, or do you not have it mapped?

Jeremo snapped his fingers and chuckled, A map of the fourth level and further down would

be useless. Hence you dont have a map of it. But oh theres floors below that point, and I cant

tell you how many.

Why will it be useless? Skalliska asked.

Jeremo answered with a wistful smirk, Because the walls move and rearrange. Its impossible

to map since it all changes. Believe me, weve tried it more times than you can imagine.

Clueless spoke up, Were not the first people to go down here are we?

Another chuckle from the Jester, To explore it, or for this latest... problem?

Yes. Came a chorus of answers.

Obviously Im curious about the building given its history, size, etc etc etc. Jeremo said

as he scratched at his chin, Ive been down there myself and eventually I gave up with trying

to map it all. Plus it gets dangerous further down, all I can really say. Malevolent? Perhaps, it

just doesnt feel friendly down there. As far as the rats though, yes, youre not the first.

What did they find? Fyrehowl asked cautiously.

Beats the hell out of me. They never came back... Jeremo gave a nervous chuckle. If you

find any of them down there Ill pay you extra for dragging them, or a piece of them, back so I

can have them raised. Same extends to you all obviously as well.

Wonderful... Tristol muttered.

Dont worry Tristol. Youve got the great and powerful archmage Nisha here to protect

you from big-brained rats! Nisha chirped and Tristol felt something being deftly and quickly

attached to the tip of his tail.

I have to seal the doors after you go down there, and communication wont pass through

the wards, just to make sure that the rats cant influence my people from under the floors and

through the walls where we cant see them. Jeremo continued, trying not to stare at the bright

red bow and glittering silver bell that dangled from the end of the wizards tail.

Sounds fair enough. Toras said.

If I dont see you for a week Ill consider you dead and Ill be sending others, just so you

know. Jeremo added.

That shouldnt be necessary, but well see you when we see you. Florian said with a nod

to the Jester.

Then so I shall. Good luck and my pre-emptive thanks. Jeremos head was a whirl of
 504

symbols and animate pictures, reading off his last words of luck and encouragement to the group

before he signaled to have the doors closed after them all.

The doors sealed with a heavy and hollow boom that echoed down the empty corridors of

the Palace. A thin layer of dust caked the floor, but it was disturbed by a series of footprints

that led down the passage in the exact same way that they themselves were preparing to head.

Skalliska glanced down at the dust and then back up at the others. There were eight of

them; more than us. And one of them tramples over the original tracks, coming back in this

direction before they just end.

Rats? Fyrehowl asked.

Skalliska chuckled grimly, Tracks all over the place...

Clueless asked the unsettling question that lingered on all of their minds as Nisha glanced

back at the very much sealed exit: If someone came running back here, wheres the body?
Chapter 44

Ten minutes previous, they had all been walking alongside Jeremo the Natterer and a flock of

his attendants, guards and servants. Jeremo had never seemed to actually look where he was

going, and simply turned at the last minute before walking into a wall or going down the wrong

hallway, never pausing or even slowing down when he did. The factol in all but name just kept

chatting them all up as they kept up with him and his staff.

And so this little bauble is going to be key to your fun, The Jester had said as he held up

a ring in the palm of his hand. It was carved from ivory and inlayed with silver, the gilded head

decorated with the symbol of the Ring-Givers.

More presents? Florian had asked him as she accepted it.

Jeremo had shaken his head, Sort of, and frankly if you make it back you can keep the rings.

Theres one for each of you.

Somewhere near the rear of the party, Nisha had squealed with glee when Jeremo had men-

tioned that little fact.

As youve noticed, everything is warded around here, and youd just as soon ruffle Her

Serenitys skirts than try to break your way through some of these that Ive had set up. Thus

keys are a bit impractical in the sense of such things, and as always a bit gauche on the less

practical side of things. Jeremo had said as he held up one of the rings before handing it to

Tristol.

The rings are a way around the wards without being flash fried, immolated, melted, turned

to stone, or any one of a dozen other things I saw to be woven into them like a particularly

expensive and prickly coat of paint on the walls. Jeremo had said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Just concentrate on the ring and think of being back outside of this place. Theres a contingent

teleport on the rings that is keyed to you and only you. Activate it thusly and youll immediately

return to the room at the end of our little walk without whatever monstrosity or psionic, cheese

eating, rodent menace might have been chasing you.

505
 506

They actually eat cheese? Nishas voice had said, piping up at the back of the group again.

Skalliska had then muttered something under her breath and Fyrehowl had chuckled.

****

Now, solidly back in the present moment, Fyrehowl wasnt chuckling as she and the others

stood on the other side of those very same wards. Skalliska and Nisha were both tracing the

patterns and trails of rat tracks that patterned the dust and tracked tiny footprints of bright

crimson in their wake from the trail of blood that lead away and out of the chamber through the

northern corridor.

Skalliska? How many rats were here? Can you tell? Florian asked.

Nisha looked over at Fyrehowl, Hey Fyrehowl. The lupinal was batting at her muzzle in

irritation, probably from the dust that they were all kicking up into the air.

The kobold looked back at the cleric, At least forty. Maybe more.

Nisha tried to get the lupinals attention again, but once more Fyrehowl was trying to hold

back a fit of sneezing from the omnipresent dust and didnt hear her.

How bad can forty of them be? Toras asked tentatively.

Florian looked around at the trail of blood and then back up at Toras, Apparently bad

enough for some poor berk.

Toras nodded to the cleric, Point taken.

Nisha finally glanced over at Fyrehowl, Hey, bignosed goodie goodie with a tail!

Fyrehowl glanced up with an odd expression, Goodie goodie?

Oh sure, take offense at that and not the nose comment. Anyway, can you actually get any

idea of how many people were down here and maybe how many of them got into trouble in the

immediate area? Or is the dust too much? Nisha said as she tapped the lupinals nose.

Well I do have a big nose, comparatively speaking. And no, I really cant tell other than

there isnt much blood on the ground outside of that smear. Fyrehowl shrugged as she moved

out of the room in the direction of the trail of blood, and the route towards the next stairwell

down.

The blood traced a series of crimson lines through the dust for about another forty feet or so

before turning into a smaller passage off from their mapped route. They didnt have to look hard

to find the corpse though, and there was no doubt as to how it had died. The body of a human,

probably a swordsman, was sprawled against the side of the adjacent passage surrounded by a

spattered circle of bloody rat tracks.

Rough way to go... Skalliska said as she approached the body. The kobold whispered a
507

cantrip to make sure that the body wasnt trapped by any spells, and then she crouched over it

for a closer inspection.

Nibbled to death. Toras said with faint amusement.

Eaten by food. Skalliska said as Nisha made a face at the very idea of considering cranium

rats to be worthy of snackage.

The corpse was desiccated from the exposure to the dry, overly dusty and stagnant air of the

sealed off underhalls of the palace. But more so it was almost entirely drained of blood from

a thousand tiny slashes and bites that covered every exposed portion of its flesh from the face

down to the frayed fingertips. The rats had bled it dry in what had to have been a very lingering

and painful death.

So, who wants to raise him back to life? Clueless asked.

Florian shook her head, Not me. Well bring his body back with us on our way out, assuming

we have better luck than him. Im not wasting the spell now when hes got it coming to him

from Jeremo eventually.

Skalliska held out a ring that was clutched in the hands of the corpse. It was nearly identical

to the ring that each of them had been given by Jeremo, though apparently the poor fool hadnt

had the chance to use it before the rats had killed him.

Either he couldnt concentrate, or the rats blocked it from working because the charge is

still there latent on the ring.

Skalliska then paused for a moment and glanced around cautiously.

Something wrong there? Fyrehowl asked the mage as he continued to glance around.

Maybe. Felt like I had something reach out and touch my mind, almost like a wizard or a

squidhead tried to probe my thoughts. It wasnt a spell. She said with a soft snarl.

Clueless swore, Cr*p... they know that were here...

Thats what Im worried about. Though it seemed more curious than angry. Skalliska said

with a nervous shrug.

Alright. Then lets get moving towards the spot on the map before they take a less friendly

look at us. Florian said as she motioned them away from the corpse and back to their original

path.

***

They are disturbed by the corpse. No matter, he was one of the Natterers hired killers and

deserved no mercy. We offered him much and he declined, thus sealing his fate. We will extent

the same to these others.

 508

Several members of the hivemind crept through the burrowed tunnels that honeycombed the

walls of the upper layers of the labyrinth, the only place they could since the walls below not

only healed but reacted... negatively... to their attempts.

The kobold, the one that we touched, she has killed one of the slaves of the Godbrain before.

She enjoyed the act, it shows like flame upon her mind. She may serve even if the others will

die. We will follow and observe before acting...

***

Over the next fifteen minutes the group passed though one empty hallway, chamber, and

gallery after another. Everything was cold, dark and empty, but with a lingering atmosphere of

forgotten grandeur. While dust seemed to cake the floors and festoon itself from the moldings

and archways like ancient decorations for one of the Jesters parties, it still retained an aura of

prestige and beauty.

Whoever built this place had style, thats for certain. Florian remarked as they passed

beneath an archway carved to resemble two asuras with their flaming wings touching at the

keystone. Carnelian and stained glass sparkled along the length of the sculptures.

Damn, same here. Clueless added as he looked back at it from the next room over, noting

that from the other side, the asuras were replaced with erinyes, and each feather in the fiends

wings seemed to have been carved from ivory, frosted glass or some feathery crystalline mineral.

And dont look at me, Im just as impressed as you are and Im not even pondering snagging

any souvenirs. Nisha said preemptively as they passed into another long corridor of clear glass

floors suspended above what might have been the layer below them.

Still too dusty... Fyrehowl said with a soft sneeze. But its still damn pretty.

They continued on without any sign of the rats, though Fyrehowl did stop several times and

glance around with a preternatural sense that they were not alone in the halls. But each time

there was nothing there to be seen or heard, and strangely enough none of their attempts at

scrying or divination worked: they simply failed without comment.

Several moments later they stood on the staircase down to the next level of the underhalls

and glanced down the wide, spiraling length of stairs. They seemed worn smooth by the passage

of the years, though by the dust that covered their wide, shallow steps, they had not seen active

use in centuries at the very least. Railings of darker stone curved down to follow the stairs, and

carved scenes of wild game, stags and pursuing hounds decorated it from top to bottom along

its length.

They slowly walked down the flight of stairs, though Nisha insisted on sliding down the
509

banister. Her soft cry of wheeee! echoed up from the bottom and then it ended sharply.

Nisha? Tristol shouted down to her.

Yeah Im fine, just... just come down here... Came the tieflings reply.

They quickly followed, if without her initial exuberance, and quickly discovered what had

gotten her attention. The dust, or rather the complete lack of dust. The floors and walls were

spotless as they emerged into a wide chamber of wooden walls, studded with mirrors and amber

mosaics that seemed to glow of their own accord, reflecting back the magical illumination that

Toras and Tristol had been providing.

Alright thats just strange. Clueless said as he looked at Tristol. Spells on the area to

keep it clean?

Tristol shook his head. Spotless. There isnt any magic on the walls that I can see.

Fyrehowl furrowed her brows as she glanced at the mirrors. The reflections are wrong.

Huh? Florian asked as she walked over to where the lupinal was glancing into a series of

the mirror panels between two scenes in amber that depicted a golden portrait of woodlands and

a great manor house that seemed to be a stylized depiction of the Palace itself.

Fyrehowl pointed into the mirror, Thats not the reflection that should be showing in the

mirror. Its showing a reflection from about thirty degrees off from where it should.

The effect was subtle, but every one of the mirrored panels showed a reflection that was off

from what they should have been showing. There was even one of the smaller panels that seemed

to display an image as if it were positioned behind the person, showing them from behind on the

far side of the room, looking into one of the mirrors there.

Weird. Florian said.

Not weird. Awesome. Nisha pointed out as she goofed around with the mirrors. Tristol

however was simply unnerved by it all, given the lack of obvious magic.

Eventually they passed out of the chamber, off towards the stairwell marked on their map

that would lead down to the next level. As they walked under the archway out of the room and

down a long corridor to the south, they never noticed that in the amber mosaics one of the tiny,

depicted figures turned and watched them leave...

The hallway traveled perhaps a hundred feet or so before Clueless looked over at the map in

confusion. Therere connecting hallways here that arent on our map.

Then I suggest we dont take them. Skalliska added bluntly, glancing around in seeming

irritation.

Well no, the main corridors and chambers weve seen down here have all been clearly marked

on the map, but the fine details are starting to go the way of the factions... Clueless replied.
 510

Skalliska? Are you alright? Tristol asked as his tail swished idly.

Someones reading my thoughts... The kobold said through gritted teeth, And given my

past history with Illithids I dont take kindly to the attempts whoever the hell you are!

Clueless glanced around, Not appreciated!

Tristols tail suddenly bottlebrushed as he too felt something rustle around in the contents

of his mind and then vanish back into the woodwork, probably just as literally as figuratively.

At least they havent gone after us. Florian said.

Yet. Toras added. They havent gone after us yet.

Or stolen our cheese. Nisha said as she did her best imitation of a squinted up rodents

face.

Come on, lets get moving... Skalliska said as she concentrated on keeping out any untoward

visitors in her head.

The passage continued southerly and ran directly under the hallway in the level above where

they had seen a glass floor. The current hallway at about the halfway mark had an arched glass

ceiling that seemed to have either been cast in place or cut from a solid block of the material.

I want to live here. I really do. Nisha said as she looked up through the glass.

What the hell? Fyrehowl said as she did the same.

Above them, rather than seeing the hallway in the floor above them, they saw nothing of the

sort. Through the thick glass was a perfect, inverted representation of the hallway they were

currently in, rather than what should have been above them given the map and what they had

seen earlier.

This place is like a funhouse... Clueless said.

No, the architect was huffing opium... Toras said as he tried to make relative sense at the

warped layout of the passages that increasingly had begun to deviate from the map.

The Natterer sent you. The direct and disembodied voice abruptly echoed in all of their

minds.

The group looked around hastily, trying to find the location of the speaker.

We have done nothing to him. He is a fool, ignorant of what he sits atop, and we have

greater need for it. Purer, more just purpose to put it to our use. We would ignore him if he did

not sent murderers down to seek us.

You killed one of his servants. Clueless said bluntly.

They were a hindrance and so we removed it like you would pluck a splinter from your finger.

In the grand scheme of thing they were nothing and do not matter.

Fyrehowl quickly motioned them all towards a ragged spot in the carved molding at the base
511

of the western wall. A small hole was burrowed into the stone and in it was nestled a single

cranium rat. The vermins exposed braincase glowed with a pale green radiance as it twitched

its whiskers and glanced at them with black, distant eyes and a mind that was very much more

than the sum of its parts.

So why have you been snooping around in our minds? Tristol asked as he drew a series of

spells into the forefront of his mind in case things escalated.

To determine if we should kill you immediately, or give you the opportunity to serve us.

The telepathic whisper of the Us had not a shred of pity or compassion.

Some choice... Clueless said with irritation.

How about we let the kobold eat you. Toras said to the rat just as bluntly as the hive had

spoken to them.

Skalliska glanced back angrily at Toras, Not now...

You have killed Illithids before. You agree with us on what must be done. Serve us and you

will achieve that goal. You would be valued.

No thank you. Id be valuable perhaps, but I wouldnt be valued. Skalliska said as she too

drew a spell into her immediate memory.

Rethink your rash statements. Your bodies would never be recovered down here. Consider

our offer and reply within the next two minutes.

Not going to change. The kobold replied immediately.

Clueless was about to comment when he felt a sudden chill race over his mind like something

had just opened his skull like a jar and dipped fingers of ice into the interior. Something wrapped

around his thoughts, and for a moment he felt as if he was on the verge of losing control over his

actions before the influence slipped, snarled and fell away.

Now that was just f*cking uncalled for! Clueless said with a shout as he turned about to

glance at the offending cranium rat that watched them from the hole in the wall. Then, purely

out of instinct, he hurled a spell at the rat, beyond it, and back into the spaces behind the wall:

a spell that he shouldnt have been able to cast by any stretch of the imagination, but one that

had been nestled uncomfortably in his mind since his first experiments with heavy magic...

The spell raced out of his mind and enveloped the rat with a dull halo of black, expanding

light before. A split second later the hallway was transfixed in a chaos of telepathic shrieks

of agony for a brief, flickering moment before the wall detonated outwards in a wash of pure

retaliatory hatred.
Chapter 45

When the dust settled out of the air, their vision cleared, and the ringing in their ears ended,

they all looked up. A ragged hole was punched in the wall from whatever force the rats had

launched outwards in desperate, reflexive rage. Dozens of their corpses lay lifeless on the ground,

in the rubble, and still plugging a network of burrowed holes deeper in the wall.

Pain! How dare you harm us! Reduce us, make us fewer, and make us weaker! Death!

The shrill psionic screams of the collective burned out on the ether and into the still recovering

minds of their foes. Tristol glanced over at Clueless.

... you said youd hold off on using that stuff!

Clueless leapt to his feet with a flick of his wings, I didnt! Sorta... Complain later because

theyre pissed.

No sh*t. Florian said as she looked at the hole in the wall.

The group regained their footing and stood back up as the seething anger that seemed to

reverberate all around them began to pump and pulse like a living thing. Fyrehowls ears were

flat against her head and Skalliska and Nisha were glancing nervously at the ground where the

dust, gravel, and flakes of ragged stone were beginning to dance from an unseen force building

up below them all and growing stronger by the second.

Guys, we need to move. Now! Fyrehowl shouted a split second after her feet were already

bursting into motion and carrying here out of the way. The warning was not unfounded, and a

moment after they all dashed from the immediate area and down the hallway, the floor where

they had been standing erupted in a fiery glaze of green and white liquid flames.

Not even Nisha glanced back for more than a moment at the lapping, sloshing flames that

roared out of nothingness to flood the hallway. They bolted, weapons drawn and spells in mind as

they turned a random corner, forgetting for the moment any pretense of following the directions

from Jeremos map. Turn after turn down the mazework of ancient, elegant corridors, and they

were thoroughly lost. But still, they continued to run.

512
513

Guys? I think weve lost them for the moment. Florian said as she glanced behind them.

Fyrehowl chuckled, Lost them? Too quiet for that.

Spoken like a true Cipher apparently, as a moment later they turned a blind corner and

came face to face with a dozen rats in the center of the hallway, staring intently at them with

unblinking eyes and lightning crackles of energy flashing in concert between and amongst their

exposed brains. Then there was suddenly something else.

Toras flew backward with a cry as a semisolid, vaguely humanoid being of glowing, writhing

ectoplasm manifested out of thin air and charged him, standing between them all and the circle

of concentrating cranium rats who had formed it out of sheer force of will.

Clueless, Fyrehowl and Florian didnt stop their charge either, but slammed into the astral

construct nearly as hard as it had slammed into Toras. They drove it back with a number of

blows, leaving splatters of ectoplasmic goo to splash across the hallway and quickly evaporate

into nothing. However it soon recovered from their attacks as the rats only continued to blankly

stare while mental energies danced between their heads with an intensity to rival the white

knuckled hatred in their pink, glistening eyes.

Another series of blows to the conjured beast and it was starting to falter, but at the same

time it had dealt a series of blows to its attackers. Toras steadied himself and rejoined the

conflict, but the moment he struck a final blow to the creature, making it erupt into steaming

fragments of semisolid jelly, the rats were gone, scampering down the hall with some form of

warding that deflected Skalliskas crossbow bolts and a flurry of magical bolts from Nishas wand.

Oh, hell no. Youre not getting away that easily. Toras said as he dashed off in pursuit of

the rats.

Another blind corner turned and the fighter realized how poor an idea that was as he ran into

the same group of rats, as well as two more of the conjured astral constructs and the glistening

shockwave of a bolt of concussive force that slammed into him solidly in the chest.

The others turned the corner as well a split second later and barely had time to fend off

to two smaller, but much quicker, glowing attackers as the rats seemed to ready themselves to

launch another mental detonation. Tristol had other idea however.

Someone hit the damn rats or else well be doing this over again like a bunch of... Nisha

didnt finish the sentence before the rats hurled another bolt of glistening, rippling force at her.

Tristol hurled a bolt of lightning into their midst a moment later and it detonated with a

thunderous crack and the harsh stench of ozone. Half of the rats were dead, roasted and turned

to cinders, but where the others had stood there was the telltale trace and flickers of teleportation

magic. The rats were gone.

 514

Oh hell with that! They hurt Nisha! Clueless shouted as he flicked a bolt of lightning from

the end of his sword and into the chest of one of the two lingering constructs.

As the bladesingers spell detonated on one of the two, Fyrehowl was all but dancing around

the other. The lupinal was making it seem slow by comparison as she darted and weaved out of

the way of its blows and left gouges and slashes across its weak side every time it tried to strike

at her.

By the time Toras had helped Nisha up to her feet, Florian had caved in the translucent skull

of one of the constructs and Tristol had turned another to stone.

The mage brushed down the fur on his tail as he looked over to the tiefling, Its not going

anywhere soon Nisha. Its all yours for the taking if you want to break it apart into as many

pieces as you like.

Nisha looked at him like he had a hole in his head.

No? Seeing as how the rats took off to regroup, youve got your chance to break something

of theirs while you have it still.

Nisha just held up her rapier. Sneak sneak, poke poke. Thats what I do. I dont have

the habit of going around up to things twice my size and going, RAAARRRR! Me Toras! Me

smash! RAAAAAARRRR! And me give presents and candy to orphans and small children in

general! RAAAARRRR!

She smiled over at Toras who only raised an eyebrow as he stood with his sword slung over

his shoulder.

Can I have candy? Clueless asked hopefully.

Ill break it for you, but Im not saying that when I do it. He said, more than slightly

bemused. And whats wrong with that at all? I think thats a perfectly reasonable way to go

about life.

Awww... She said halfheartedly before she stepped to the side to let Toras shatter the

transmuted construct with a few solidly placed blows.

Skalliska, with a more serious tone, glanced over at Fyrehowl. Anything you can sense

around here? I cant see any traces of them in the area, but your nose is better than mine.

Fyrehowl shook her head, No. They took off when the first few times didnt kill us imme-

diately.

Theyre smarter than that. Tristol said.

Clueless nodded, Yep. Theyve got an idea of what were capable of, and theyll probably

just wait and either let us find them and maybe get ourselves killed in the process as the pull

more stunts like that on us.

515

Plus, were lost. Skalliska said with a sigh.

...yeah. That too. Clueless said as he glanced around at the marble columns that supported

a crystal dome overhead. The dome was studded with flickering beljurils, each of them a tiny

star in a series of constellations inset into the artificial night sky.

As much as Id love to make some wishes on some falling, pried out stars from up over top

of us, lets try to find our way back onto that map. Nisha said as she stared up at the flickering

gemstones in the ceiling of the chamber.

Forty minutes later they had managed to do just that, and without any interference from

the cranium rats. In fact there had been a disturbing silence from the rats since their last

attack, though they did feel keenly aware that -something- was watching them. The feeling only

increased as they made their way to the stairwell down to the next level and to the point at

which, according to what Jeremo had told them, the map would cease to be of use.

Thats a long staircase... Fyrehowl said as she glanced down the shaft that the spiral

staircase descended down into.

The stairs actually seemed to vanish after a point, curving out of sight and into darkness.

Tristol shook his head as far as portals or magical traps were concerned, but nonetheless, Skalliska

found herself being volunteered to check the stairs for any surprises left by the psionic vermin

who where still lurking out there in the walls, waiting and regrouping.

Fine fine, Ill go first. Skalliska said as she tapped a sunrod on the ground and held it aloft

to light her way down the stairs.

Set off any traps! Nisha shouted after her.

Surely you mean disarm them. Right? Skalliska responded quickly.

Same thing in the end! Nisha shouted back down.

An uncomfortable amount of time passed, and Skalliskas glow passed out of immediate view

as she descended. Eventually, the others became worried and called out after her.

Everything alright down there? Florian shouted.

... yes. Just come down here. I think youll want to see this... Skalliska replied with a sense

of awe.

The others followed and as they wandered into range of the kobolds light, they too were

struck by what she had seen. Florian immediately whispered a prayer to Tempus and conjured

a brilliant flare of daylight to banish the shadows that cloaked the shaft that surrounded the

stairs. What she revealed even more of was amazing.

While the stairs they stood upon wrapped around and meandered about the shaft, eventually

going down, there were other stairwells that did the same. Some of them passed back up the
 516

shaft along the walls, some of them sideways, some of them upside down, etc. It was a massive

recreation of perhaps fifty landings on the Infinite Staircase; all of them pulled out of some mad,

genius architects grandest dreaming.

Who in the hell built this place? Clueless asked as he flicked his wings and darted over to

another of the stairways. Gravity immediately reoriented itself as he touched down, the same

way as it would have on the actual Infinite Staircase.

Tristol chuckled, Whoever it was, they certainly had a sense of imagination.

Or a sense of the crazies. Nisha replied. And I dont say that as a bad thing...

Fyrehowl glanced over to one of the landings that seemed to stand out more than the others.

In fact, it wasnt a true landing at all, but rather a doorway that simply hovered in space,

surrounded by a tangle of staircases that weaved around it as they meandered through the shaft

like spider webs.

Tristol or Skalliska? Take a look at that doorway over there. The lupinal said as she pointed

towards the door.

They both looked over towards the closed doorway that simply hovered in the void and they

looked puzzled and intrigued at the same time. A moment and a whispered spell later they were

both staring more intently at the bound space contained within the doorframe.

Thats a portal. They both said at the same time.

Where to? Clueless shouted over from the adjacent staircase.

If theres portals down here, maybe thats how the rats got in. Toras mused as Tristol

whispered a few phrases in draconic and then began to float off the ground.

Be back in a minute, I just want to check something out... The aasimar said as he drifted

quickly over towards the doorway, opened it and peered through.

Tristol laughed with glee as he stared through to the other side and then vanished through

it. A few moments later his head reappeared through the doorframe and he was smiling.

Amusing architecture on this side or not, its an actual door onto the Infinite Staircase. Give

me a minute here. Be back in a second.

Tristol dashed back through the door and paused on the other side, looking up at the dis-

orienting but awe-inspiring sight on the other side. Out into a featureless void spun the stairs

and landings of the Infinite Staircase off and out of sight in every direction, each of its landings

holding a single door that led off to places of inspiration, culture, art, creativity, and passion.

And he had just found such a doorway leading into a very mysterious place, and he wanted a

way to find it again without having to beg Jeremo for permission to walk around without an

escort.
517

Cant turn this opportunity down. Lady of Mysteries be praised, but certainly wont be me

to let this slip by. Tristol said with a giddy grin as he whispered a few words and inscribed his

personal arcane mark into the corner of the doorframe.

There. Now youll be easier to find later from this side of things and spare me from red tape

and favors.

That said, Tristol stepped back through and hovered in midair in the open void of the replica

Staircase in the depths of the Jesters Palace.

Well, He said to the others, If we need another way out of here, theres our ticket.

Clueless nodded, Damn good idea.

Tristol only smiled at his good fortune and wondered idly what the information might be

valued by certain persons in Sigil if he ever needed some information from them, or a spell, or

some arcane knowledge they might be willing to trade.

And so as he continued to smile inwardly to himself, they slowly made their way down the

stairs and onto the next level of the underhalls. As they stepped out from the stairs, they emerged

into a circular chamber of wood and rose colored marble, the walls adorned with tapestries that

still glimmered with magically preserved images of wild beasts and scenes from the legends of a

dozen worlds.

Fyrehowls ears immediately perked, and Tristols did as well a split second later.

What? Florian asked with some alarm as she handled her holy symbol gingerly, half ex-

pecting a swarm of rats to burst into the room.

... music. I hear music. Fyrehowl said with slight confusion.

Tristol nodded as well, Same here. Down the larger hallway.

Florian glanced at Skalliska, So, which way now? Youve got the map.

Skalliska tossed the map to Nisha who then tossed it over to Clueless.

Hell if I know. The map doesnt have anything on this level. I shows this room yes, but it

shows it as having four exits, not three like weve got now. Were on our own at this point. The

kobold replied.

Clueless pocketed the map and looked over to Fyrehowl and her perked, attentive ears.

Alright, the music is coming from, Fyrehowl pointed down one of the passages, That

direction.

Cranium rats dont play music do they? Nisha asked randomly.

Not to my knowledge, no. Skalliska replied as she glanced down the hallway in that direc-

tion.
 518

Because if they do, well, theyve really been practicing. Nisha said, continuing to ramble

about cheese and musical instruments for rodents.

Please tell me that whatever is making the music is magical? Because frankly I dont treasure

the idea of someone else down here practicing their musical skills in a warren of forgotten tunnels

and chambers. Thats just not healthy. Toras said as they all started to walk towards the source

of the sounds.

Not healthy at all. Besides, thats not one instrument I can hear. Thats a full orchestra, or

at least most of one. Fyrehowl said as her ears continued to twitch as she began to distinguish

between flutes, horns, and a variety of stringed instruments.

That sounds almost like music that youd play at an overly fancy party... Florian said as she

strained to listen to the song as it filtered through the otherwise deathly silent, walnut paneled

corridor.

Toras snickered, Someone needs to tell the Marauder that theres a secret party down here

and that she wasnt invited by the cranium rats. Shell go berserk and solve the problem for

us....

Clueless chuckled, Id put my money, and my satisfaction, on the rats frankly... Im going

to shave that b*tch one of these days...

Heh. Theres an idea... Nisha said with a grin. The moment that she did, Tristols tail

reflexively curled out of sight under his robes and Fyrehowl started putting some distance between

herself and the tiefling.

Ten minutes later they emerged out of the hallway and into a larger chamber with a tiled

mosaic on the floor that depicted the Ladys Ward in Sigil as seen from the Palace of the Jester,

though not one of the buildings seemed even remarkably familiar with the exception of the singing

fountain.

A series of smaller passages led off from the chamber, with the sounds of music leading off

from one of the halls to the right. Suddenly, Fyrehowls ears perked and swiveled to the opposite

direction.

Guys, get ready, theres something coming this way. She said as she drew her sword.

Expecting a tide of hive minded rats to swarm at them from the tunnels, they were shocked

when the last thing they expected appeared out of the passage and into the radius of their lights:

a Dabus.

What the hell? Fyrehowl said as she immediately lowered her sword and stepped to the

side.

The Dabus was carrying a trowel and a bucket of crushed morter as it drifted silently out of
519

the passage and into the room, simply passing through as if it were just crossing the street in

the Lower Ward to patch a pothole in the cobblestones. It barely regarded the groups presence

as it passed by them, though it did slow down when Nisha waved hello.

As it slowed down, a symbol of a (stone Well), (-W), (+ O) appeared over its head, and then

it simply passed by, ignoring them and going about whatever business it had. The group was

left in puzzled silence as they watched it depart back the way that they had entered the room.

It said hello! Nisha chirped with glee as everyone else was largely disturbed to see a Dabus

so far below ground.

Why would a Dabus be underground? Clueless openly asked.

Skalliska shrugged, Popular rumor is that the Dabus live in hidden warrens underneath the

streets and emerge every day to do what work they need to do. Nobody has ever found one of

the places, or managed to follow one of them back there, but they do seem to all emerge up out

of the Great Below and then return there at times. Maybe theres a larger connection between

the labyrinth here and the sewers and tunnels of UnderSigil?

So where now? Toras asked, Eventually well wander into those rats again, but frankly

Im curious now what all is down here that got their attention in the first place.

Same here. Clueless replied.

The entryways to the passages that branched out from the room all seemed to have labels

over them, either a symbol or a set or words. Among them was a symbol of musical instruments,

another had an open book and the draconic word for history, and several other similarly vague

descriptors.

The history label immediately appealed to Clueless, Skalliska, and Tristol, and so because

of that, and the eerie undertone to the music filtering down the other passage, they entered its

corresponding entryway instead. The walls were largely blank and the passage thin, but soon it

opened up into a long, wide chamber.

The room was simple enough, a short gallery with another exit on the far end that seemed

to lead into another chamber of similar construction. Along the walls, in regular spacing, were

elaborate mosaics that depicted the symbols of the old factions at the time of the Faction War.

All of them glowed faintly, though all of them seemed to have had the color leached out of them

except for the symbol of the Transcendent Order and to a lesser degree, the Bleak Cabal. The

symbols of the Harmonium and the rest of the factions were a shade of gray.

The ones that were killed, the ones that lived, and the ones that got mazed I guess. Toras

said as he looked at the mosaics.

Is anyone else disturbed by the fact that these are the contemporary factions, and this place
 520

down here was built probably several thousands of years ago? Some of these factions didnt exist

that far back. The Harmonium is fairly recent even... Clueless asked with an odd expression.

And yeah, of all of them, Rhys is still alive. But its like you think Toras, why is the Bleak

Cabal not darkened out? Fyrehowl mused.

Not true. Skalliska said as she pointed at the symbol for the Bleak Cabal. Factol Lahar

went completely insane the week before the Faction War, the Grim Retreat as they would have

called it. They stuck him into the asylum and he didnt get mazed. Rather, his replacement did.

Poor guy.

Lahar the barmy, or his replacement? Nisha asked.

I meant his replacement that got mazed, but might as well apply to both of them. Theyve

got two other former factols of theirs bottled up in the Gatehouse as well: Esmus and Tollysalmon,

and theyre even crazier. Apparently the Bleakers, or rather the former Bleakers, dont like to

talk about it. Skalliska said with a shrug.

Clueless looked at the faction symbols again, trying to puzzle out the meaning. Alright, the

ones that are normal colored are the ones with living factols. And actually, the others arent all

the same color.

Sure enough, the symbols for the Harmonium and Fraternity of Order were a darker shade of

gray than the others. Sarin had been killed by an arrow, and Hashkar had been stabbed to death

the same week. They were very much dead. The other faction symbols seemed to represent those

factols who had been mazed, or rather had been acted upon by The Lady. The lot of them had

been mazed, except for Nilesia who had been flayed at a later period, and then Darkwood whose

fate was... complex.

Weird that they have Nilesia and the others in the same category. They got mazed and she

was flayed. Fyrehowl said with a shrug.

It still creeps me out that stuff from the present, more or less, is here down in a place that

predates all of them... Clueless said with a shiver.

It might just be that those are the ones that all fell afoul of The Lady. Toras suggested.

Florian nodded, Seems to be the case.

Tristol was staring intently at the symbols of the old factions. The patterns of magic woven

into them were extraordinarily powerful, and seeming to shift and change by the second as if

they were nearly alive with active spells.

Im not entirely sure what they are, but theyre seriously magical, and active. So I wouldnt

suggest touching them. Odd though, it almost reminds me of sensory stones in a way.

So what happens if I touch one? Nisha asked with a jingle of the bell on her tail.
521

Im not entirely sure what happen. Why? Tristol replied.

Because I just did. Came her reply as they all stared at the symbol of the Athar.

The odd, abstract symbol of the Lost swirled with a halo of colors and a figure seemed to

form in the center of the room, flickering into existence from the light shed by the faction symbol.

The figure nodded sagely to them as he took on more and more solidity by the second. He

was dressed in the robes of a high ranking member of the Athar, his head was nearly bald, but

his face was calm and soothing, like the look of a man who had lost his way utterly and then

found it again.

And then Terrence spoke, Blessings of the Great Unknown to you all. Welcome to this place,

a moment in time snatched from the jaws of oblivion and penned down for posterity. I am what

was and what is, here even when I am no more. Ask of me what you wish and learn what you

will of what I am willing to give.

Chapter 46

Seven heads immediately turned to stare slack-jawed at the former factol of the Athar. The aging

apostate of Mishakal, the former shepherd of The Lost, was solid and seemed real enough as he

stood and examined his guests. He was dressed as a priest, though he lacked a holy symbol, and

a gossamer trail of white light seemed to tether his body to the symbol of the Athar that hung

upon the wall.

Who are you? Florian asked with uncertainty.

You seem to already know the answer my child. But, He smiled and paused for a moment,

You would know me as Terrence, factol of the Athar.

Hows the maze thing working out for you? Toras said with a grin.

Nisha kicked Toras in the leg while Clueless gave the fighter a stern look.

Terrence took the mocking question in stride, Thats one of the things that I find myself

unable, or unwilling to speak of. Her Serenity put me there for a purpose, and I suppose that I

may one day fully understand it. But till then, and till I am free of my sentence, I will not speak

of it.

Wont or cant? Fyrehowl questioned.

Wait, Clueless asked, Are you actually Terrence, or not?

Thats a complex question on both accounts. Terrence said with a sigh. I am all that

Terrence was and is. What I... what Terrence thinks and knows, so do I. For all purposes, and

from my perspective, he and I are both the same; different aspects of a single person. If you

had to define in strict terms like Hashkar would, you might think of me as a magical construct

somewhat akin to a sentient mimir or sensory stone, linked somehow to the mind of a living

person.

Not much difference between you and him then. Skalliska said respectfully.

Indeed. The factol said with a smile as he began to pace the room.

And so it is the same with all of my fellow factols, though Rhys and Lahar are both free

522
523

of our sentence, and Sarin and others have passed beyond the veil and into the embrace of the

Great Unknown.

Florian rolled her eyes.

Think me a fool if you wish. But Ive stood where you are now, cleric of Tempus. Ive had

my faith broken and destroyed, only to find it again. Sooner or later you may come to the same

conclusions. Terrence said with a mixture of sympathy and candor to the cleric.

Not likely. Florian replied.

That was what I thought at the time too.

Anyways... Clueless said, breaking up the argument that was brewing between the chief

priest of the Lost and their own cleric of Tempus.

Surely you have questions for me? Otherwise I would seek to return to my penance.

Terrence said with a tired sigh.

Who else is here? What is the purpose of this place? Tristol asked, his ears perked and his

mind hungry for the knowledge.

All of us that have been from time to time. The factions put in place following the Great

Upheaval, and others that have come and gone. Those of us who are dead will be more frank in

our responses since we no longer care for the most part, and those among us who are still alive will

be more selective in what they are willing to answer. And as for this places purpose? Well, its

a repository of knowledge. Sigil has a tendency to swallow its past and wholly digest it, leaving

nothing behind for scholars to examine. Whether this is by design, or simply happenstance over

the past three millennia, I cannot say, but this place was designed to remember all that has

passed, and remember it through the eyes and voices of those who made this history; those who

made this city what it is.

Tristols ears were fully perked as he mentally absorbed what Terrence had said, and Clueless

seemed just as raptly at attention as well. Nisha on the other hand had summoned forth a copy of

the mazed Xaositect Factol, the githzerai Karan, and was engaged in a nearly incomprehensible

babble of scramblespeak with him.

Clueless licked his lips and asked a question, Do you know what was asked of you when an

elf cleric spoke to you inside the mazes recently? He was sent there by a yugoloth, controlled and

forced into it all. What would he have been looking for from you? Because after we managed

to free him from the loths control, he said that you had refused to answer their questions

adamantly.

Nisha, stop making faces at Factol Karan. Toras said halfheartedly while the tiefling was

busy standing on her head and giving the githzerai factol a series of loud raspberries.
 524

I cant wholly answer that, things being what they are you understand... Terrence furrowed

his brow. But I can guess what they would have been curious about. Theyd probably have

tried to find Factol Ambar to ask him the same question. He wouldnt tell them either if I know

him at all. Nor will I answer that question now, youre not ready for it, and I wont risk the

knowledge spreading from you to those who would abuse it.

Damn... Clueless said.

But yugoloths you say? Thats worrisome. They hold the gods in contempt, so why...

Terrence shook his head. Ive said enough of nothing. This topic wont go any further than

this. They may have threatened my life in the maze, but they didnt get a word from me. Kill

me and I simply go to a better place than what awaits them beyond the veil.

Thats fine sir. Thank you for talking to us anyway. Tristol said with a courteous smile.

Would you too terribly mind if we ever came back and talked to you about other things?

Clueless asked.

Terrence smiled like a kindly grandfather being visited by his relatives, Not at all. Till that

time...

And with that the form of the factol shimmered and withdrew back into the symbol on the

wall. Ten minutes after that, Nisha had her fill of babbling with her old factol and picking on

Sarin and Hashkar. The group let her have her fun, and the tiefling was positively bubbly as

they walked towards the next chamber.

I keep forgetting just how much fun that guy was when he was still around. Except of

course when he quit being factol because we were all too crazy or not crazy enough. Ahhh...

nostalgia. Nisha reminisced with a grin.

Alright, Im curious about what other factions Terrence seemed to suggest that this place

had information about. Tristol said with a knowledge hungry gleam in his eyes.

Ooooh... maybe I can pick on the Sodkillers! Nisha said with just as hungry a gleam in

her own eyes.

They chuckled and strode towards the door and into a gallery almost identical to the first.

Lining the walls were still the symbols of the factions, but some of them were gone and replaced

with others. The Harmonium was missing, as were the Mercykillers. The latter was replaced by

the Sodkillers and the Sons of the Mercy: once and future factions.

Do you guys recognize these? Fyrehowl asked as she pointed at two unfamiliar symbols.

Skalliska squinted her eyes and looked at them. The Communals and the Expansionists.

... why does it show the expansionist factol as still being alive? Fyrehowl said with curiosity.

Ive heard this one. Tristol said. Vartus Timlin, their factol started the faction and made
525

it the most powerful in the city in a very short period of time.

Sounds like Darkwood.

Tristol chuckled, Almost. Well, eventually the other factions got together and agreed that

something needed to be done about him and his faction. So they supposedly petitioned The

Lady to do something about him since they considered Timlin and his faction a threat to Sigil,

and more importantly to them, a threat to themselves.

Petition The Lady? Nisha perked an eyebrow and giggled.

Florian raised a finger, The Twelve Factols. That inn in the Ladys Ward. The statues they

have are about the meeting of the other factols regarding Timlin.

Exactly. Skalliska said.

Well, whatever came of that, Timlin announced in the next week his intention to take down

The Lady. How he intended to do so was an open question for history, but one evening he said

that he was going to take a walk to clear his mind. Well, he never returned and rumor was that

hed been mazed. Tristol said as he motioned towards the symbol on the wall.

And? Clueless asked.

Well he apparently was because the Takers and the Mercykillers broke into his maze about

six years ago with the intention of stealing the nigh legendary sword Timlin was said to possess.

They went in with the knowledge of the mazes exit and never came back out. Timlin popped

out into Sigil not a day older than when he first entered the maze and he left by the first portal

he found and could activate.

How long was he in there? Florian asked.

About two thousand years... Skalliska said to a chorus of winces and slow whistles.

What about the other group over there? The Communals? Fyrehowl asked the aasimar.

Im not familiar with them, Tristol said with a twitch of his ears, Skalliska?

About the same here. I just know that they believed in sharing... everything. And eventually

they demanded that The Lady share control of Sigil with them. A day later they and their entire

faction headquarters were mazed.

They nodded to the kobold as she finished.

Tristol motioned to the symbols on the wall, And of course, the Dusties are still here the

same as ever.

Theyre supposedly the oldest of the modern factions. How old, I cant really say. But

apparently as old as Timlins bunch. Skalliska said as they continued walking.

The next chamber in, the floor was dusted with a carpet of swirling fog, almost like the

metaphorical mists of time swallowing up history. Of the symbols on the walls, the only one that
 526

was truly recognizable outside of what seemed to be an earlier incarnation of the Fraternity of

Order, was that of the Dustmen, with Skalls faction symbol glowing with the soft indication of

his status of having been mazed. Of the others, all of them were dead or mazed.

Wait... Clueless said as he recognized one of the symbols. Well theres the Incanterium. I

wonder if Shekelor might have something to say.

You sure its a good idea? Fyrehowl asked.

Since when has that stopped him? Tristol deadpanned.

Hes crazy I tell you. Nisha whispered conspiratorially in Tristols ear.

Haha. But seriously, I have a few questions for him if hes willing to talk. The bladesinger

said as he approached the symbol of the ancient faction.

Meanwhile Nisha had ruffled through Tristols spell components and pulled out a small glass

vial with a live spider dancing around inside. And so while Clueless walked up to speak with

Shekelor, the Xaositect rattled the vial around while softly mock shouting, The SPIDERS!!!

AAHHHH!!!

A soft chorus of laughter echoed around Clueless as he touched the symbol of the Incanterium.

He ignored it and thought back to his reasons he had for asking the Magicians factol a question.

It had been nearly a week previous and he had been randomly musing over the golden heavy

magic that he had recovered from the Tower Sorcerous. He had very nearly used some of it on

the magical tattoo on his back, and on his sword as well, but hed hesitated at the last moment

and decided to hold off till he knew a little more about the material and its history. That the

Keepers were interested in it made him even more wary, and more interested as well.

And so, given the thoughts in his head at the time, he had used a legend-lore spell to divine

information on the nigh unbreakable globe that had contained the heavy magic itself. Normally

such visions gave a random glimmer of disjointed scenes and impressions surrounding a topic.

But this time it had given almost a stereo playback of two scenes with the old Factol at stage

center.

***

The first of the scenes had been from Shekelors point of view. He had been inside a dust

caked ruin or cave. Examining some unknown script that ran in circles around a series of pillars,

he brushed off the top of a cask or vessel of some sorts. It might have even been some sort of

canopic jar, given the surroundings, but when he disintegrated the stone lid there was a familiar

looking globe of golden liquid contained inside.

Shekelor had removed the globe and seemed surprised at it; openly wondering about what it
527

was. He hadnt been looking for it and seemed to have found it by chance and considered it an

oddity.

The next scene showed the mage, obviously years later, sitting in his study within the heights

of the Tower Sorcerous. His desk had been covered in various tomes and manuscripts, and the

globe and its golden interior had taken a prominent place at the center of that organized chaos.

Open and showing the signs of frequent use was a book titled, Laws, Order, and the Uti-

lization of the Sublime Loopholes Therein - Darius Garmundi, 1st factor of the Brotherhood of

Order.

Not bad. The concept is similar to what Ive been plumbing here in my spare time. Still,

its not much more than a curiosity as far as Im concerned. You pull your things out of raw

probability from places that dont exist till you make them so, and I create things de novo from

the raw magic that permeates this world. Itll be the death of you one of these days for certain...

Shekelor pushed aside the book and looked at his reflection swirling in the golden depths of

the orb in the center of his desk.

But I have my eyes set on larger prizes. Ill see the bladed whore on her knees before this

is over. She has a weakness. Otherwise why would she have simply imprisoned my predecessor

rather than killing him? Ill find out when I find him. And Ive got a damn fine idea where you

are...

***

The image of the Incantifers symbol pulsed with magic and a moment afterwards a seemingly

living Shekelor stood before them. The mage was dressed in robes of black and gold but otherwise

simple in their decoration. The man had no need of pretension or elaboration of his person, his

power spoke for itself and it had been unquestioned during his centuries long life.

Shekelor looked at the group that had summoned him into existence with an amused scowl

on his face. The look and demeanor he conveyed wouldnt have looked out of place on the muzzle

of the Oinoloth.

So... He said calmly as he stroked a finger over his closely cropped beard and turned his

dark eyes towards Clueless. You expect me to answer your questions like a mimir of sorts, or

perhaps sit and passively tell stories like Swalkkur?

Well, I had a question for you, yes. Weve been inside the maze that the rest of your faction

was consigned to.

Shekelor chuckled, Have my two foremost puppets killed each other yet? I was always

waiting for one of them to take the initiative.

 528

Well, yes actually. Clueless answered.

Which one? The corpse or the whore? Mewling children, both of them...

The lich. We helped him.

Shekelor nodded to himself, Not bad. Shed have killed you. So would I, but shed have

done so just to feed. Id have enjoyed it.

So kind of you... Clueless said as he rolled his eyes.

The mage grinned like a fiend.

An orb. Full of golden liquid. Heavy magic. We found it and I have it.

Shekelor chuckled, Found it did you? They ransacked my chambers like fiends in an or-

phanage of angels a few years after I went looking for the Labyrinth stone. Never found it,

but...

Where did you find it? And what all can I do with it besides the obvious? Clueless asked.

The wizard scoffed, Find that out yourself whelp. I wont coddle anyone. Not in life and

not in death. You want power you go find it your own damn self because Ive always been too

busy looking for the same to help the competition.

So what did you find down there in Pandemonium? The bladesinger asked, changing the

topic of conversation.

Shekelor paused and seemed struck by a terrible recollection of something in his memory. He

visibly shook for a brief moment.

Something else. Pain. Horror. Death. Wonder. Majesty. Glory. Take your pick and go

look for yourself, obviously my end was somewhat ignonymous in Sigils annals of deaths of the

powerful. And to think, my entry didnt end with my being flayed by Her Serenity. Irony if there

ever was such a thing.

Clueless glared back at him. The orb though. You didnt make it. You found it. Did you

figure out what it was?

Enough that others were jealous. I figure youve met them as well if youve been using it.

The mage said with a sneer, And Im right arent I? Your reaction says it all. They wont stop

you know. Theyll hunt you down and theyll find you till they have what they want. They dont

sleep. Of course, neither did I, and they were nothing more than an annoyance to me. I guess

youll find out if youre up to it, and you arent anywhere close to where I was.

Clueless didnt get a chance to respond as Shekelors simulacrum vanished in a flash of light,

banished by itself apparently.

Ass of the highest order. Clueless deadpanned.

What is it with super powerful wizards and arrogance? Toras asked.

529

Dont look at me! Tristol said defensively.

Youre a super powerful wizard with a tail, I dont think you count. Nisha said as she

tapped the bell on its tip.

Clueless sighed in frustration as he stared at the Incantifers symbol. The mage wasnt going

to be of any help to him if that was any indication of the mans personality.

Guys. As interesting as this place is, I really think that we need to get moving. Florian

said.

Clueless and Tristol both cast sullen glances at the cleric.

I take it youre grumpy over Terrence? We can wait here if he and you want to kiss and

make up. Nisha said with perfect innocence, punctuated by a jingle of the bell on her tail.

Haha. Hardly, Florian said with a genuine chuckle. Terrence isnt bad. Hes just wrong.

But yeah, shes right guys. The rats wont just sit around forever and wait for us to find

them. If we sit here and talk to the dead for hours on end theyll come hunting us down after

they regroup. Toras said with a nod of his head towards the door at the far end of the gallery.

Alright... Both Clueless and Tristol said as they cast forlorn glances at the collective knowl-

edge contained within the walls.

***

Something watched and smiled, footsteps echoing down the forgotten hallways as an echo of

the past. Actions were taken by malign, methodical intention, but as yet only by instinct. The

weight of the years was long and heavy, and what was observed was yet as if though but a dream.

The rats were changing that and the actions were becoming more overt and planned. The

intelligence behind them was stirring from slumber and half formed ideas were lurking in its

mind, none of them pleasant for those who had invaded its somnolent exile.

In the darkness, something stirred, and it acted.

***

Where are they?! The Us wondered openly as the psionic trail of their hunters and soon to

be victims simply ended at a blank wall. There had been a trio of passages there moments before

but they had seen nothing.

It mocks us. Behind and in the walls it is watching us and laughing...

The walls gave no reply to the fury of the rats at being denied their prizes.

Irregardless, they will emerge eventually. We will meet them below and kill them when they

find their way down to that place... whatever it is...

 530

There was uncertainty in the voice of the collective as they pondered what they had found in

the depths as they swarmed like a tide of bodies over the lip of the crevice and down the miles

below to the vaults.

***

The gallery was followed by another that was mostly nondescript. Vague patterns in darkness

and light upon the walls seemed to suggest another set of even older factions, or perhaps their

identity was known to whoever built the history chambers but never integrated into the spells

that gave it life. Another possibility was that the chamber was destined to contain details on

whatever factions arose -after- the modern factions were all relegated to the dust of another era.

Several twists and turns of the corridors and they found themselves walking through a massive

banquet hall decorated with the trappings of opulence. The room would not have looked out of

place in the mansions of the Golden Lords of Sigil even in its dust-shrouded state. The tables

were still set for a meal with unlit candles, the dust of what had once been flowers and fruit

displays, and place settings of silverware and napkins still covering them.

Well at least theres no vampires or yugoloths down here! Nisha said as she was pocketing

the silverware on the table.

Are you sure you should be pilfering the place randomly? Skalliska asked.

Theyre dead. They dont care.

Thats not always the case Nisha... Tristol said as he tapped the bell on her tail.

The tiefling didnt respond but instead starting making faces and a soft, Woooooooooo....

noise like the groaning of a ghost or specter.

Toras glanced over to Florian, You can turn undead right?

Hmm? She replied.

In case Nisha actually pisses some of them off down here?

Yeah, not a problem...

Tristol and Clueless just looked at each other and chuckled as Nisha pocketed a few ivory

napkin rings.

Outside of the faded opulence of the banquet room, there was little of interest and they

simply took one of the hallways branching off from it and kept on walking. Fifteen minutes later

however the corridors seemed increasingly familiar and they had yet to encounter any further

actual rooms.

Guys? Weve been this way before. Fyrehowl said with a glance over towards Skalliska.

The kobold looked around, Youre right. We just came through this way a minute ago.
531

There wasnt any turn in the hallway though. Nisha said.

Yeah, I know. The kobold said as she tried to get her bearings set again.

And the last time there wasnt a room at the end of the hallway. Fyrehowl said as she

peered ahead.

The walls were reorganizing themselves silently as they continued walking.

Ok, nobody touch anything. Florian said.

Sorry I took your silverware... Nisha said plaintively.

Sh*t... Clueless said bluntly as they walked into the room that stood at the intersection of

eight different corridors all identical to the one they had been walking through. The floor of the

intersection was paved with a glittering mosaic of the placid, serene face of The Lady of Pain.

Im not touching anything... Nisha said as she moved behind Tristol and Clueless.

Umm... one second. I want to try something. Clueless said as he warily edged around the

edge of the mosaic of Her Serenity, careful not to touch it.

Once on the other side of the mosaic, the bladesinger spread his wings and darted down the

passage with a shout of Be right back!

Geez I hope so. Fyrehowl said warily.

... Clueless stared blankly as he suddenly emerged from another of the intersecting passages.

Space isnt supposed to work that way Clueless. Skalliska said as she looked at where he

had gone compared to where he had returned.

I didnt turn at all. I just went along in a straight line. Wonderful... He muttered as he

darted off down another passage.

A minute later he was back in much the same fashion as before. All of the corridors led back

to the same room. They were trapped.

Tristol whispered the words to a spell and examined the latent dweomers within the room.

Nothing made sense. The mosaic was ... different...

You alright there Tristol? Florian asked.

The mage shrugged with confusion, Im fine. But there are colors I dont recognize covering

that mosaic. Its bizarre. The magic is just all wrong.

That isnt good. Skalliska said.

Clueless! Something dangerous and stupid for you to do! Go for it! Nisha shouted.

Clueless smirked, though he was already moving towards the mosaic.

Nisha made no further comment except for a puckish grin.

In case something happens, you might want to step back. The half-fey said as he prepared

to step onto the mosaics surface.

 532

Huh? was his only comment as the eyes of The Lady opened with a blinding flash of white

light and enveloped him.

The others slowly recovered and blinked their eyes, focusing on where Clueless had been

standing just moments before. He was gone and the eyelids of The Lady still glimmered with a

trickle of light from where they had opened. Clueless was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 47

Fyrehowls eyes were wide as she gazed at the fading nimbus of light that surrounded the face

of The Lady.

Guys... f*ck...

What she said... Nisha said without her usual flippancy.

Dont look at me, Tristol said nervously, I dont have any better of an idea of what

happened than you do.

Not like we have any other way out of here... Skalliska muttered under her breath before

switching into an obscure kobold dialect and adding some additional, and very colorful, thoughts

on the matter that included numerous references to Im not getting paid enough for this and

Dammit I cant make fun of Her.

So. Who wants to go first and join Clueless? Toras asked, very obviously not taking a step

forward.

Florian sighed. Fine...

The cleric edged towards the mosaic with a plaintive look, clearly dreading touching it. For

all she and the others knew, it was simply a death trap and nothing more. But otherwise it was

a likely death by dehydration or starvation, given that the halls wrapped back on themselves.

Hmm... doesnt look like anything is happening. Florian said as she stepped out onto the

tiles of the mosaic.

Theres... Florians voice was suddenly snuffed as she vanished in a burst of white light as

the eyes of The Lady opened and shut without comment.

Oh hell, we all have to do this now dont we? Toras asked rhetorically.

Meanwhile Skalliska was still softly cursing in a variant of undercommon.

Me next! Nisha said as she jumped headfirst towards the mosaic.

Gaaah! Tristol exclaimed as the tiefling vanished an inch before she would have hit the

ground face first.

533
 534

And still Skalliska cursed softly in undercommon, only now she was kicking the wall with her

foot. It ended when Toras shoved her onto the mosaic.

That really wasnt needed you know. Tristol said to the fighter.

No, but it sure as hell was fun. And dammit, if Im about to be incinerated, mazed, or killed

by something creepy, Im having fun before I go out. Toras said with a laugh, right before he

stepped into a flash of light from The Ladys eyes.

Tristol and Fyrehowl glanced at each other.

So is the cadence telling you this is a piss poor idea? Tristol asked the cipher.

Its not saying jack. Im scared sh*tless for reasons all my own. Some things you dont need

to be able to feel the inner workings of the planes to know that theyre a bad idea.

Aaaand this would be one of them right?

Yeah. Pretty much, yeah. Fyrehowl replied. You or me?

Tristol shrugged and stepped forward, vanishing in a flash of light like all the others.

Fyrehowl sighed, glanced around and then down at the serene, emotionless face on the mosaic.

Oh hells...

And then she was gone. The mosaic of Her Serenity was unchanged and placid, with only

the eyes slowly closing and sealing off their inner light. And then, it too was gone.

***

If this is death, or if I just got mazed with all of you berks, Im going to be really bored and

unhappy. Skalliska said as he picked herself up off of the floor and glanced back at Toras.

Toras just grinned puckishly as he and the others glanced at their surroundings.

They stood in another room, the walls made of dressed and fitted stone. A single passage

stretched out as the only exit and a pale light suffused the area from no specific location. It was

cold but the air was still and stagnant, at least till a voice rang out in their minds.

Welcome to the Maze of the Jester. There is but one exit from this place. Find it or perish.

Maze of the Jester? Skalliska asked openly.

That wasnt Jeremos voice... Fyrehowl said.

Jeremo didnt have that title before he took over the Palace of the Jester did he? Clueless

mused.

Just a guess, but whoever built this little funhouse was probably one of Jeremos predeces-

sors. Florian said, hazarding a guess.

Im not getting paid enough for this. Skalliska said as she started to walk off down the

passage. But Im not getting paid at all unless we get out of here. Come on.
535

The others glanced around, shrugged, and having no other recourse they followed after the

kobold down the passage. A short time later, the hall eventually reached a fork.

Alright, I say we go right. Nisha said with a chuckle.

The others followed her gaze to the left passage where a massive block of rusted iron blocked

most of the passage. Several skeletal limbs jutted out awkwardly from under the iron.

Funhouse... The kobold muttered as they glanced at the bodies, at least two or three, whose

desiccated remains lay crushed by the several tons of metal.

Well, at least we know to expect traps... Nisha said as she started paying more attention

to where she was walking.

Anyone have any way to get through that block in the other hallway? Otherwise were

pretty much stuck going the way Nisha suggests. Skalliska asked.

Because Nisha is always right. Clueless said.

Except when shes not. Tristol commented.

Now youre catching on. The tiefling said with a chuckle.

The kobold considered just how impossible it would be to move the rusted block. Honestly

it looked like it hadnt been moved in centuries. All that remained were bones and dried flecks

of blood spattered on the stone.

Alright, we go to the right. Toras said.

We may have blundered into a broken down funhouse guys. That trap didnt reset after the

last time it killed whoever those poor berks were. Stuff may not work or it may just be automated

by magic. Hopefully theres still a viable way out. Thats all Im hoping for. Skalliska mused

with a worry. Definitely did not get offered enough jink for this.

As they progressed down the open passage, the hallway turned to the right abruptly and

opened into a small chamber. A single monstrous figure dominated a platform in the center of

the room. Its appearance generated a flurry of startled shouts and a number of blades being

drawn before they realized that it was inanimate.

Not enough jink indeed... Clueless speculated as he gazed up at the statue.

Life sized and intricately carved, looking half alive as if it might animate at any second, the

statue was a perfect model in steel and gold of a Bebelith. The demon spider and hunter of

Tanarri glared down at them from eyes fashioned in chips of crystal set in sockets of gleaming

gold. Its mandibles were wide as if about to devour its prey, and its legs were spread as if it

might suddenly leap up off of the platform it was nestled upon.

Wow... Skalliska said as she mentally began to appraise the worth of even a fraction of the

statue.
 536

Hey Tristol? Theres something written on the base of the dais here, can you translate it?

Toras said as he pointed to a series of verses written beneath the golden fangs of the leering

monstrosity.

Nobody touch it, alright? I just have a bad feeling about this... Fyrehowl said as she

cradled her sword in her arms.

Tristol walked over to the statue and examined the verses, all of it written in a dialect of

Abyssal. He translated:

Long we live, and long we weave. Till we have filled this space. Then, as before, we will

leave. To hunt another place. Our task ends when the weak are gone. Then fill new spaces with

our spawn.

Yeah, not touching it... Tristol said as he finished reading the poem.

Neither am I actually. I cant find any traps, nor is it magical as far as I can tell. But...

no. Skalliska said with regret as she turned away from the hulking, elegantly grotesque statue.

As they walked away and further down the hallway, the crystalline eyes of the fiend glittered

in the light, and somewhere, something smiled and the walls moved in accordance.

Thirty feet further, the hallway opened to another room.

Do. Not. Touch. Florian said as they gazed inside.

Within, the chamber was supported by three columns, each decorated with carved scenes of

war, strife and death. Each bore the image of the Reaper, astride a nightmare or skeletal horse

collecting its allotment of the fallen and ushering their souls to torment or paradise. Bas-reliefs of

battles, executions, plague and famine decorated the corners of the chamber drawing a macabre

appreciation. But there in the center of the chamber, lying prone atop a slab of cold black

marble lay the broken form of a Marut. Its armor was broken and battered, covered in furious

gouges and slashes that sunk deep into its metallic skin. Likewise pitting by acid and flame, it

lay in state. The severed head of the Inevitable lay next to the body, ripped and twisted free

rather than cleanly cut. Carved in a variant of draconic and infernal, a single, ironic refrain was

repeated on the slab and on each of the three columns:

Whether by age, plague, war, or the hangmans noose, the inevitability of death

waits for none.

Chapter 48

Dont touch anything... Florian said, directing her statement to Nisha, Clueless, and Skalliska.

Hey, they killed a marut, I cant exactly complain about whoever built this place. Nisha

said as she did a quick impression of an inevitable, and then an inevitable keeling over dead.

What exactly did Maruts enforce? Toras asked the others as he examined the jagged, rent

metal at the point where the maruts neck had been. I know that inevitables are pretty much

mindless constructs who go out with specific orders in order to punish people who break specific

universal laws.

Nisha stuck out her tongue.

Death. Tristol said. Everything is supposed to die eventually. Thats a natural thing and

people who cheat death for any reason risk a marut coming after them to remedy the situation.

This one failed...

Id say so. Clueless said as he moved around the room to avoid the dead construct.

The delicious oh irony. Nisha quipped in scramblespeak right into the maruts insensate

ear.

Dont taunt the dead Nisha, Florian said.

For the second time in a day or so: Hes dead, he doesnt care. And if he gets back up, the

manifest irony will kill me anyways.

Anyway, theres nothing else here, and I cant find any traps or passages. So lets go ahead

and move. Skalliska said to the others.

Clueless was bothered though, If maruts are supposed to make sure people die when they

should, might it be safe to assume that its target might still be walking around somewhere?

Down here?

Florian glanced at her holy symbol, Lets not think about that too much.

Fyrehowl and Tristol both stood looking into the next room, or what they could see of it

through a short, connecting hallway. Fyrehowl was tensed and Tristols tail was bottlebrushed.

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...what? Clueless asked warily.

Its not too late to turn back is it? Tristol asked.

As they gazed into the next room, nearly thirty statues of Dabus stared back at them. Each

was carved in immaculate detail, but each in a different shade of stone. Only a thin border of

stone surrounded the field of statues.

And we find a pattern: dont touch anything. Florian said with a poke into Nishas ribs.

No such thing as patterns. Nisha added defiantly.

Florian chuckled, Ok, patterns or not, we all scoot around the edge of the room and nobody

touches and of Fells petrified, retarded cousins. Deal?

None of them disagreed in the slightest. And so, one by one, they slowly worked their way

around the room and to the single exit on the other side. Once they were all collected together

at the exit they gave one last disturbed glance at the Dabus collection and then continued on.

As they turned the corner, the hallway opened into a small, featureless white chamber with

only two objects in view: a single chair and a hovering chessboard complete with all the pieces

for a new game.

Told you so. Nisha said with a smirk. So much for dont touch anything.

No exit. Skalliska quipped.

Who can play chess? Toras asked as he indicated with a face that his own skill might not

be up to snuff.

I can play wizards chess, but its not completely the same game. Tristol ventured.

The others glanced around and shook their heads.

Better than the rest of us. Clueless said as he pulled out the chair for Tristol to sit down

on.

Tristol raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath before he sat down on the chair. As he

did so the board slowly turned to orient itself with the white pieces facing him.

Alright, white is mine. Guess Ill be going first. The aasimar said as he reached out with

his index finger paused above one of his queens pawns.

He moved the pawn forward and immediately one of the black pawns slid silently across the

board to block and oppose his move. Tristol furrowed his eyebrows and considered his next

move. It was a slightly different game than he was used to playing, but it was still chess at its

most basic and he knew how to play. However he was out of practice and it was really going to

depend on how good the unseen other player was.

Tristol brought a knight into play and a black bishop slid across the board in turn. Another

pause and then he moved his queen out, followed several turns later by a kings rook. Pieces
539

were traded in turn largely for no advantage but then the mage managed to capture one of the

white bishops without losing a piece or compromising his position.

Looks like youve got an opening there Tristol. Florian said.

The aasimar nodded sagely, but his ears twitched with nervousness and his tail was tapping

against one of the legs of his chair. Clearly he was still worried despite his momentary gain

against his opponent.

So I do. I still dont know what happens if I lose though...

Florian paused and looked concerned, Sh*t. Yeah youre right.

Meanwhile Skalliska was suddenly looking up towards the ceiling for any traps. There were

none, but it didnt wholly alleviate her nerves.

Check. Tristol said as he threatened the black king with a bishop.

The black king saved itself by moving a pawn to block the way. However Tristols next move

removed one of its knights from play. From that point on the game was largely over. Tristol lost

a rook but took the black queen in the process and slowly ground the other side down to little

more than a surrounded king when he finally called out, Checkmate.

As soon as Tristol finished the game the board drew back several inches and a doorway

appeared in the far wall opposite them where none had previously stood. Tristol had won and

so they had their way forward; hopefully they had their way out.

The next chamber was dark and cavernous, home to a giant planar orrery and models of the

various planes of existence. The only illumination came from the glowing crystalline details of

each of the planes, and each seemed to rotate in turn, allowing them to gaze at them in a slow

progression of details. However as they gazed at the crystal, steel and bejeweled representations

of the planes and their layers, something wasnt quite normal about it.

Arcadia still has three layers up there. Skalliska stated, pointing at the layer which had in

the past decade been sent hurtling into Mechanus by the misguided actions of the Harmonium.

Thats not the only one. Some of them have layers missing, or extra layers. Some of the

layers of planes are given slightly different names even. This thing is sodding old... Fyrehowl

said with admiration.

Clueless was staring at the mist filled interior of a globe that represented the trackless sea

of the ethereal. Deep within its depths, jewels hovered and danced, representations of the

demiplanes that dotted the ethereal depths like foam upon an endless ocean shore. And then

two of the demiplanes moved, drawing close to the surface and then retreating: One of them

was black and shadowy with tendrils of black mist trailing like tendrils across the space to the

globe that represented the prime material. A sense of dream emanated from it and skeletal faces
 540

seemed to press and strain against its glassy surface.

The other was glimmering and double sided, one luminous and golden, the other dim and

silvered. Clueless grinned as he looked into that particular globe and felt a sensation of fey

laughter echo from within, at once both alluring and whimsical and also bitter and contemptuous:

home.

Well, at least nothing is leaping out to kill us. Florian said as she glanced at the door on

the other side of the chamber.

Tristol nodded, Aye. And as much as I might love to just sit here and scribble down some

notes on the differences between this and the planes as they are now, we dont have the time to

spare really. A shame.

As they left the dimly lit chamber and its model of the planes, the exit led them to an

intersection of two hallways. They glanced down each of the three possible exits but they snaked

out of sight and no real detail could be garnered without actually venturing down them. Nisha

glanced at Fyrehowl, wondering if the lupinal had any feelings one way or the other about the

choices.

Not a clue. Do your thing and pick randomly. Thats probably about the best we can do.

The cipher replied with a shrug.

We go right! The Xaositect said as she went to the left.

Clueless chuckled as he and the others followed her down the corridor. They didnt walk far

however as the hallway ended at a sealed doorway less than fifty feet later.

The door was made of gilded wood and carved with an ornate passage. Several glyphs were

also cut into the surface at seemingly random points along with faded paintings of ashen men

and women who all seemed to be asleep. Skalliska walked up to the door and narrowed her eyes,

glaring down her snout at the symbols.

Ok, I recognize them. But damn theyre old. She said without touching the door.

Whats it say? Tristol said, equally recognizing the singularly antique quality of the dialect

of draconic used in the passage.

Skalliska paused and read over it once more, then spoke the passage to the others aloud,

Sleep long and sleep silently Brothers of the Dreaming, lest you awaken and tempt the Bladed

One to end your immortal days.

A silence descended over the group and Toras was already backing away from the door. The

mention of Bladed One in the context of their current location was simply too much to expect

any of them to actually venture past the door, whatever was behind it. Quickly, and without a

glance back, they all walked back to the intersection and took one of the other routes.
541

Tristol glanced at Skalliska, Any idea of who or what a Brother of the Dreaming is or was?

The kobold shook her head, Not a clue. Sure Im curious, but given what the door said Im

not willing to break it down just to satisfy my curiosity.

Effective warning then... Florian said with a chuckle. Just add that on your tomb if youre

buried in Sigil and you can be sure that no berk is going to break into it.

I dont plan on dying of old age in Sigil. Toras said with a pat of his hand on his sword.

I dont plan on dying of old age anywhere. I cant. Fyrehowl said.

I dont plan on dying at all! Clueless said.

A minute later they all ascended a staircase and emerged into the very center of a much larger

room; and it was far from empty. Radiating outwards from them in a pattern seemingly modeled

after the Great Wheel were statues, nearly a hundred in all, each in perfect, lifelike detail.

Archons, guardinals, eladrin, modron, slaadi, and all of the fiends and the lesser examples of the

natives of the planes all stood in stony glory within the vaulted chamber, all staring at them.

Creepy... Florian said.

Wow. I dont recognize all of these even. Tristol added.

Toras and Clueless drew their swords. Not taking chances on if any of these are alive...

And indeed, most of the figures seemed to have been carved in poses most befitting their

nature, some even as if they might have been caught and transmuted to stone or metal. And

then Florian touched a statue of a vrock...

Sh*t! She screamed as the fiend was immediately enveloped in a flash of light, burst into

motion and lunged at her with a murderous shriek.

Heads snapped and weapons were suddenly drawn as the Tanarri howled in rage and raked

its claws across the clerics midsection. Far from a statue, the thing had either been turned to

stone or simply been held in some form of temporal stasis, preserved like an insect in amber

through the long years.

Rising up with a crimson swath spattered across its wings, the fiend was enveloped in a cone

of bitter cold from Fyrehowls outstretched hand and ragged beam of energy from Tristol. It

screamed in mindless pain and rage as the spells blasted it free from its bloody quarry and dashed

it across the floor. When it died it did not revert to stone; it was an actual vrock.

Holy breasts of Sharess! What in the name of Tempus was that for?! Florian bellowed out

from the floor, looking at the battered corpse of the fiend. No! Seriously! That was a sodding

statue!

Toras helped her up from the floor and healed most of the wound across her torso. Florian

whispered an incensed prayer to Tempus and finished the job as she glanced in irritation, and
 542

then wariness at the multitude of statues that dotted the chamber. The others immediately

jumped to the same unhealthy conclusion.

Oh hells... Clueless said as he stepped back from a perfect representation of a Glabrezu.

Every sodding one of these. Cr*p... Skalliska whispered with wide eyes as she glanced at

the cold marble form of a Gelugon that towered over her less than two feet away.

Nisha shook her head, Not all of them.

Why do you say that? Tristol asked.

Because nothing happened when I threw myself into the arms of the incubi statue over there.

Hey, forbidden love and all, and its not like Im crazy enough to try the real ones. Too deadly,

and theyre the type of guys who never go for second dates. Nisha said with a pout as she gave

the seductive looking statue a smack on its rear.

Toras blinked, speechless.

Theres protection for that sort of thing you know. Clueless said abruptly.

Toras blinked again.

...or so some Sensates have told me. The half-fey added quickly.

Fyrehowl snickered as she glanced at the various celestials and fiends, half tempted to touch

the guardinals. However she held back, unsure as she was as to if they might be controlled by

magic even if they were actual members of her race held in stasis.

Ok. So some of them are real and some of them are just statues. Some of them are made

of gold, silver and other valuables. Thief bait and curiosity killers... cute. Florian said with a

shake of her head.

Yeah yeah yeah... dont touch anything... Nisha said with a pout.

Meanwhile, Tristol was glancing at the fiend statues with a perplexed look on his face. I

dont really recognize all of them though. There are some of the statues on the Baatezu side that

arent actual fiends that I know of. Theres a nupperibo, and then one of them with tentacles,

and one larger than that with... spikes... sprouting out of its back.

The mage motioned to the bloated forms of those fiends, and how the Baatezu near to them

seemed antagonistic in pose and expression. The archons cattycorner to them also seemed posed

defensively; it all made little sense.

Clueless was glancing at the gleaming metallic forms of the various Rilmani, largely at the

golden face of the aurumach and the silver of the argenach.

Heh. Never seen any of them before. Heard of them, but never seen them.

Skalliska glanced up at them, You probably wont either. Argenachs are supposed to always

go around in disguise, and most Rilmani will probably never see an aurumach. Thats what the
543

golden ones are called.

And then the curious silence was broken by a sudden, What the hell?...

All eyes suddenly focused on Fyrehowl.

What the hell is that -thing-? Fyrehowl asked as she pointed to a looming figure that stood

mostly in shadow behind the collected figures of each of the yugoloth subtypes.

It was carved of sickly gray marble that was streaked with imperfections, spots and minute

flaws that gave it a tired, aged, decrepit appearance. It had a smug grin across its skeletal, vaguely

reptilian or goat-like muzzle, and sunken, dead white eyes. Its arms were raised dramatically,

and given the source of illumination in the chamber, the light streaming down through the dusty

air gave it the appearance of holding puppet strings that trailed down to the yugoloths that

stood in front of it.

What kind of yugoloth is -that-? The lupinal asked.

If a fiend could look old, ancient by comparison to the others, this one did. It was carved

in a marble whose patina of spots and inclusions seemed like age spots and open sores across

its sallow, parchment thin hide. Standing, cloaking in shadow as it was, it was heads above the

other loths and exuded a palpable menace simply by its posturing.

For the love of Tempus himself, dont touch it. Florian said as they gathered around the

base of the figure and examined a phrase carved into the marble base that it stood upon.

And do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.

Chapter 49

Tempus doesnt need to worry because Im not going near that thing... Nisha said as she

backed away from the statue of the Baernaloth.

Clueless glanced at Tristol and then Tristol glanced at Fyrehowl, but none of them had any

knowledge of what type of yugoloth the statue was meant to represent. But even without that

knowledge, the thing gave them a cold feeling.

It isnt a real one, theres no dweomer on it. Tristol said as he peered at the largest of the

yugoloth statues with relief in his voice. That ones just a statue.

Still doesnt answer what it actually is though. One of the unique loths? A former Oinoloth

maybe? I guess it kind of looks like Anthraxus... Florian mused.

Not sure, but that little refrain does seem to summarize their nature... rotten hearted little

bastards... Clueless stated.

I dont recognize some of the ... things... mixed in with the Baatezu either. And I dont

have any intention of touching them to find out anything. Tristol said.

Alright... Skalliska said as she glanced at the exit, Shall we forgo any mammalian curiosity

to do something dangerous and dumb and perhaps start moving again?

Toras smiled and patted the kobold on the head as he walked past her to the exit. She nipped

her teeth at the air.

As they walked into the next chamber their sense of dread vanished and was replaced with

an equal amount of amazement and wonder. The room was a corridor, really a walkway, which

hung suspended through the center of a massive model of the torus of Sigil itself. Each of the

streets, all of the buildings and even the razorvine was modeled down to the last cobblestone.

And the model was slowly rotating to give those standing on the walkway a chance to examine

every one of the wards in turn.

Whoa... Clueless said with a giddy grin.

They all stared transfixed with the level of detail on the diorama, and then they noticed

544
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suddenly that the city was crawling with illusory figures of the inhabitants: tieflings, humans,

fiends, celestials, rogue modrons, and all the others right down to the dabus patching holes in the

roads. Enraptured by the tiny moving figures making their way through the city they realized

that it was a living model of Sigil as it currently existed. The illusory people were doing the

same things that their real counterparts were doing in the actual City of Doors.

Oh cool! Theres Kylie the Tout! Nisha said with a giggle as she pointed to the ubiquitous

guildmistress of the Touts guild as she strolled through the Lower Ward.

Hmm... Clueless said as he pointed up towards the tiny sign outside Akins shop several

streets over. I wonder if you can see inside the shop and find out what hes really up to?

Florian laughed, Yeah just pop the roof off and look in. Probably catch Akin taking a bath

or feeding starving kittens or something amusing like that. Hes a nice guy.

Fyrehowl gave a wry grin, Hes different. Ill grant him that.

They chuckled some and continued to glance around at the various wards of the city, every so

often managing to pick out notable individuals of the city. However they did notice two things:

there was no figure of The Lady present at all regardless of how many times the city rotated

around them. They passed it off as probably a good thing. And then there was the fact that the

Dabus seemed to look up at them as they watched them working...

Nervous glances were exchanged.

Maybe its just something enchanted into the magic of the model? Clueless mused nervously.

Creepy. Very. Florian said.

Nisha squealed and pointed at the tiny illusory figure of Factol Rhys as she walked out of

a building in The Ladys Ward. The tiefling waved at the factol with a giggle, and then the

tiny figure of Rhys paused and looked around as if she had noticed or felt that she was being

observed. Nisha immediately stopped and looked over to Fyrehowl.

Fyrehowl smiled and had a similar look of amazement in her expression as she answered, I

wouldnt put it past her to have noticed that. The last time someone tried to assassinate her she

acted to stop it before the berk had released the arrow from his bow. She just stepped out of the

way of one, caught another and kept right on talking to the people she was with. She doesnt

think about it, she just acts instinctively, and she feels that all the time. Youve seen me go into

a trance. Rhys never leaves that state of mind.

Nisha nodded, but the idea that the model might have some actual connection to the city

and its inhabitants had made them wary of looking at it too closely. After a few more minutes

of looking and then gleefully finding their own inn and the spelljammer sticking out of its roof

they smiled proudly and passed through the model and out the exit.
 546

Ahead, the passage branched in two directions, and much to Nishas content the group chose

one of them at random to proceed down. Moments later they discovered that the other passage

sealed itself off the moment they had made their choice.

Lovely. So much for going back if we dont like this one. Skalliska muttered as they con-

tinued.

They walked for several more minutes and noticed a slight dip in the ambient temperature,

and then a slight trace of moisture on the floor as they approached a larger room at the corridors

end.

Fog? Toras asked with a perplexed expression.

The hell with the fog. I smell trees... Fyrehowl said with a sniff at the air. Evergreens.

And sure enough, the corridor opened into a massive, dimly lit natural cavern that resembled

nothing so much as a forest plucked up from a prime world and deposited inside an underground

labyrinth. The ground was no longer stone but thick, moist, dark soil. Mist cloaked the ground

and the thick verdant treetops rose out of sight above them. The air was moist and fresh but

cold, and outside of the trees there were no other signs of life. A true forest would have contained

the sounds of small animals, birds, insects and the like, but all was silence as cold as the fog that

shrouded the trees up to knee height.

Clueless was grinning like a fool. Well damn, this is just impressive. Whoever set this up, I

mean, they had to provide for actual water down here and Ill presume that theres a day/night

cycle in here as well.

Its trees. Nothing special, theyve got some stunted ones in the elf ghetto in Sigil. Big

deal. Skalliska said with a bored tone to her voice.

Actually, yes it is special. Clueless quipped back as he walked over to the nearest stand of

massive pines. Because if youll excuse me for a few minutes, Im going to talk to the trees.

Talk to the trees? Huh? The kobold said with confusion.

Tristol chuckled, Hes part fey.

The grinning half-fey walked over to a cluster of trees and sat down next to them, looking

up into their branches. Since he had lost his memories to the yugoloths he hadnt had the

opportunity to use his innate ability to converse with trees till now.

Hello there. Clueless said as he called out to the pines with his mind, making the connection

with them as he laid his hands on the trunk of the closest tree.

Hello. The trees answered back collectively.

I didnt expect to find a forest down here, its very nice. I was wondering if you knew

anything about this place or what things you might have seen before down here. Clueless asked
547

them.

It has been a long time since anyone came through here except for the two. You are the

first in a very long time. It is good to see you here. Welcome. The trees responded back.

Two? Who are they? He asked curiously.

The tall one, the Holder of the Keys. And the little one, his servant, the one who tends to

us, takes care of us, brings us those who come here.

Brings you...?

Food. Sustenance. Richness of the soil.

Hmm? What was that? Clueless asked them back.

Those who have passed through here before. They come back to us. The little one brings

them back. They nourish our roots.

Clueless paused suddenly, a cold feeling rising at the edges of his mind as he pondered what

the trees were telling him.

Show me if you can. Clueless said to the trees, half wanting to know and half dreading the

answer.

A series of sensations flooded into his mind from the trees. The disjointed memories and

sensations were slowly filtered into images by his mind and he watched from the perspective of

the trees as something approached them out of the fog. It was small, perhaps half the height

of a human and dressed in a hooded robe under which no details could be seen. And it was

dragging something behind it, something the trees were happy to have delivered to them. The

small figure seemed to slither across the ground without any motion under the robes to suggest

walking, and it began to bury what it had carried: an elf, its face frozen in a look of horror in

death, mangled almost beyond recognition.

Clueless jumped at the images as the tiny figure pushed the corpse down into the earth,

feeding the trees nourishment that was otherwise absent in their isolated ecosystem. Its long,

heavy sleeves gave no indication of arms or a distinct form. It was almost fluid in how it moved...

As the images faded from his mind, Clueless looked down at where he was sitting. The soil

was thick and rich with organic material, and what he had originally taken to be stick, cones

or pebbles in the soil were in fact bones, hundreds of them. The ground was littered with them

including a series of phalanges sticking up out of the earth where the hand of some previous

unfortunate had been buried to nourish the trees.

Were leaving. Now! Clueless jumped up from where he was sitting and gave a worried

look at the mounds of earth that surrounded each of the trees in the forest whose purpose and

origin he knew all too well.

 548

What? Florian asked as the others gave worried glances at the bladesingers sudden change

in attitude and expression.

Dont ask. You dont want to know. This place was designed as a deathtrap.

Clueless pointed to the bones scattered within the soil of the forest and then without comment

made for the exit door at the far end of the cavern. The others noticed with obvious discontent

and quickly followed as fast as they were able.

The trees were hoping that we were going to be more fertilizer. The half fey said while they

proceeded up the passage and left the cold chill of the wood behind them.

Evil trees? Nisha asked with a weird expression.

Clueless shook his head, No, just pragmatic. Theres no real ecology down here, so whatever

poor berks died down here in the past ended up getting buried for mulch in there to keep the

forest alive; creepy but practical. Whoever made this place though...

Ahead of them again the passage branched and they took the left fork. Several hundred feet

later it ended abruptly at a set of polished wooden doors. Muffled sounds of laughter and revelry

could be heard through them. Confused glances were exchanged.

Nisha flicked her tail side to side and mused, And now is when Jeremo pops out and goes,

Haha! It was aaaallll a joke! Hehehe! ?

Oh if only... Clueless said with a hopeful grin.

Id kill him. Toras stated with a chuckle.

Remind me never to play any jokes on Toras from now on. Nisha whispered to Fyrehowl.

You just dont take jokes that well. Florian said to the fighter. Lighten up some.

Oh Id laugh at it yes. But Id also be hacking him apart at the same time. Jokes dont

include rats trying to fry my brain like a cracked egg. Toras said with a firm smile as he opened

the doors.

Beyond the doors was no dungeon, no passage, no trapped chambers of death and dismem-

berment. Beyond the doors was a massive grand ballroom decorated in an antique style that

would have put to shame the chamber that Jeremo had held his own party within.

What the hell? Florian said as she looked at the figures within.

Nearly a hundred semi translucent people cavorted across the floor. Dancing in joyous revelry

to put a Bacchanal to shame, they were dressed in rich but ancient and outdated clothing, easily

centuries or more out of fashion for Sigils elite. They danced in rapture to the sounds of a

translucent orchestra and they seemed to be aware of the entrance of guests.

One of the translucent figures broke away from the dance and approached the group with

a radiant expression. She twirled one and inhaled deeply from exhaustion as she strode up to
549

Clueless.

More guests for the Jesters high revelry. Welcome, all of you are welcome. The players are

struck, the cups are ahigh and well not stop till the moon is broken neath the bends.

Clueless smiled back at the woman who seemed to be some manner of aasimar. Her accent

was old and her version of Sigils cant was equally antique. Still, there was something about her

that struck the half-fey as attractive.

Greetings mlady. I would be pleased.

Fyrehowl protested as the bladesinger took the womans hand and began to dance with her

to the tune of the translucent players. Other dancers called out to them to join in the dance but

they resisted as best they could.

This isnt right, whatever it is. Fyrehowl said in muted tones to the others. We need to

get Clueless out of there and leave. This doesnt feel right at all.

Clueless smiled at the woman as he took her hand and began to dance with her. Still, as

much as he was enjoying himself he wasnt sure why he did so so readily. It was as if he was

watching himself laugh and chuckle and enjoy himself without actually being a part of it. And

then he began to notice himself starting to fade into the consistency of the other dancers.

The half-fey winced and tried to divorce himself from the sounds of the music, the laughter

of his dance partner, and the shuffle of his feat to the spectral players. It was beguiling and it

was seductive, but it wasnt right. As he fought the effects of the dancers around him he became

aware of the shouts of warning from his companions and then the trance was broken.

No! Come dance with us! Dance with us forever!

Clueless ignored the woman and stumbled back to his fellows as they made for the door on

the other side of the spectral revelers. Clueless was nearly transparent but as they closed the

door behind themselves and shut out the sounds of the music and laughter, he slowly regained

his consistency.

You alright? Florian asked Clueless.

Just too many weird things happening down here. I dont like this place anymore. He said

as he shook with a cold feeling.

Heh. I could have told you that an hour ago. Skalliska said with a frown.

The air grew warmer as they left behind the spectral dancers and their grand high revelry

while Clueless regained his color and healthy pallor. They continued and eventually the passage

branched into several other directions that they took at random. Very quickly they noticed that

the quality of the stone was becoming more and more elaborate and the passages wider at the

same time. Fyrehowl was also glancing over her shoulder at the oddest moments.
 550

What is it? Clueless asked her.

Just the weirdest sensation that something is following us... The cipher replied.

Clueless shrugged as they turned another corner, and then he saw it. A tiny robed figure

that turned its hooded face in their direction for a split second before it vanished around the

bend in the passage. It was the same thing that he had seen in the memories of the trees.

What in the bloody hell was that? Florian said as she held up her holy symbol, thinking

it a wraith or specter of some manner.

Clueless was about to explain what he had seen in the visions from the trees, but then he

saw it again as it peered out from an intersecting corridor at them. Where its hand should have

been on the wall, there was only its heavy sleeve and a mass of wriggling tentacles. The half-fey

coughed, startled by the things appearance and paled as it then walked, almost slithered, with

unnatural speed across the corridor to vanish out of sight.

Run. Run now.

Chapter 50

Run. Run now.

And they did. The passage continued to grow more and more elaborate with stone replaced

by marble and stained wood paneling like the grandest chambers of the Palace of the Jester.

The ceiling of stone was replaced with high vaulted ceilings of crystal and stained glass through

which light streamed down from above like simulated moonlight.

What the hell is that thing?! Tristol shouted as they dashed down the corridor blindly.

Clueless answered as they ran, I dont know. But I saw it in the memories the trees showed

me. Whatever that thing was it was delivering bodies to the trees like a caretaker. Its not

human or anything else remotely close.

Five minutes of running later and they were noticing the same side passages reoccurring

almost as if the corridors were herding them in a specific direction. The hallways continued to

become more and more grand and nearly spotless without a speck of dust, age or decay. And

then they saw it in the center of the widening passage.

In the center of the corridor was a monument or tomb of some sort. A massive block of white

marble topped with a life-like statue of a man cast in either bronze or iron in high relief. The

block of stone seemed to lie atop and partially encase a massive oblong box or sarcophagus of

black marble encircled with a set of seven silver or platinum bands, each sealed with an ornate

iron and silver lock. The figure looming atop the apparent tomb was smirking at them in so

lifelike a pose that they paused their run and stared at it.

What the hell? Toras said as he looked at the statue of the man atop the tomb.

Wow, hes taller than you are Toras. Nisha said as she too looked at the statue.

He was perhaps seven feet tall and dressed in an elaborate and archaic dark cloak and

greatcoat that curled around his boots almost like a prosaic form of wizards garments, though

the mans build would have been more fitting upon a fighter. He stood ramrod straight, and

in one hand he held a staff and in the other an open tome or codex. Looking up to his face,

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obscured above the nose under the edge of a wide brimmed hat, the man was charismatic in a

way that Jeremo himself would be hard pressed to approach on the best of days. The man was

smiling, smirking almost; a knowing look that could have held multiple meanings.

Tristol was looking at the base of the statue and the words carved into the stone there: The

Ladys Jester.

The base of the statue was carved with images of a tiny figure, draped in a heavy robe, its

head cowled, and its arms folded patiently as if it were waiting. The form gave no true features,

but they had already seen it and they knew that it was nothing natural. The figures all seemed

to be staring at them ominously; and what more, as they circled the tomb each of them saw the

statue always turned exactly towards them, its enigmatic smirk always looking down at them

sardonically.

Clueless broke away from staring at the face of the man whose gaze might have been equally

at place in the parlors of Sigil or the courts of Baator.

That sounds like he, whoever he was, didnt take that title from anyone. Wow, umm... well

I think we know who built the Palace of the Jester.

And this labyrinth. Skalliska replied.

And... *CLICK* Clueless trailed off as one of the silver and iron locks on the side of the

sarcophagi popped open with a sudden, unnerving, and heavy click as it clattered discordantly

to the marble floor.

...Nisha? Clueless said without turning to look.

...not me. Nisha replied almost immediately. She wasnt even close to the tomb.

The lock is how many centuries old? Coincidence.

*CLICK*

All eyes went to the side of the sarcophagi where a second of the great silver locks had

clattered to the floor untouched by any of them. They glanced at each other and then back up

to the statue of The Jester, where for the first time they noticed the second figure that curled

about the mans ankles like a bizarre familiar: a small thing, dressed in a loose robe that covered

its whole body except for the tentacles that sprouted from its open sleeves as it peered out from

behind the leg of its master.

*CLICK*

...coincidence... Skalliska said as she began to edge away from the sarcophagi and warily

look up into the grinning face of The Jester.

And then, without preamble, they saw the figure of a tall man, swathed in black standing

some fifty feet away from them back down the way they had come. His face still largely shrouded
553

by the brim of his hat, they could see the glimmer of teeth and that same enigmatic smile on

the face of the statue that equally looked down upon them.

*CLICK*

Three seals remained upon the casket when they turned and ran from the tomb and from

the unmoving shade of the man who had constructed the Palace in the first place. As they ran

they heard the remaining seals break and open in smooth, equally spaced sequence. They never

looked back and they blindly ran, faster than when they had seen the mans familiar, whatever

it was.

***

Behind them the man smiled and chuckled to himself before reaching down to pat his hand

across the cowled head of the smaller figure that had appeared next to him from out of nowhere.

Like a favored pet it pressed into the gesture of affection and then soundlessly they both vanished,

but the man was still darkly smiling with an interest that was now sparked and active.

***

The air grew warmer as they ran and they soon noticed a dusting of sand across the floor

that was crisscrossed by footprints. Further along there was more sand but there was no real

way to determine how old they were. For all they knew they could have been millennia old or

only a few hours.

Clueless glanced behind them as they momentarily slowed as the details of their surroundings

changed.

No sign that either of them is chasing us down. But for all I know they could just step out

of the walls. I think were safe for the moment.

Oh ouch... Fyrehowl said as her keen eyes fixed on something in the center of the passage.

Hmm? Oh... Florian said as she and the other noticed the same feature.

Another trap, this one sprung already, stood before them with the corpse of its last victim

still suspended upon it. A set of nine silvered pikes, glaives or spears stood upright with a corpse

impaled on at least six of its points cleanly through the chest. The force of the pikes had lifted

the deceased up to head height above the passage and the sand was discolored with its dried

blood. The man had been bled to death from the puncture wounds, one of them probably going

into his heart, aorta or other major vessel to spill pints worth of his blood across the sandy floor.

They warily approached the corpse and glanced at it. The body wasnt rotted or desiccated.

Outside of being pale from blood loss the corpse was fresh. Toras looked over the body and
 554

commented on the man having been obviously a swordsman... and then the corpse twitched and

opened its eyes.

Sh*t! Its undead! Toras shouted a second before driving his sword into the corpse.

Blood dripped down the fighters sword, pulsing slightly from the fresh wound in the corpse...

the man had been alive.

... Toras pursed his lips and looked at the fresh blood on his sword. Oh hells...

He was alive?! Fyrehowl blurted out.

Tristol whispered a few words and glanced at the pikes the man had been suspended upon.

They glowed a complex series of colors, difficult to understand, but the end result was definite.

So it would seem. He was alive. Barely. Those pikes were keeping him alive, healing him

whenever he began to slip away. The mage said with disgust.

Toras grew pale.

Toras dont feel bad. What you did was better than what he was going through. Florian

said as she put a hand on his shoulder.

And he was working for Jeremo... Skalliska said as she picked up the mans now dead and

limp hand. There was a familiar signet ring on his finger, identical to those that they wore

themselves. The man had been a member of the previous group the Ring Giver Factol had sent

down into the depths of the palace.

Florian glanced at the others for confirmation and then began to chant over the mans corpse

to invoke the power of her deity to bring him back to life. Moments later his corpse began

to softly glow, there were the distant sounds of swords clashing upon shields and faint calls of

warriors to battle and then he opened his eyes.

All the gods above bless you... He began to cry as he whispered up to Florian and then to

Toras, saying the same blessings over and over again. He had been at a state of death for days,

conscious the entire time; the agony must have been unimaginable...

Who are you? Another of Jeremos hires? Florian asked the man.

He kissed her hand as she helped him to his feet. Yes. My name is Jerimin Rovalis out of

Fortitude; Jeremo hired some of my fellows and me and then put us in with another group. Sent

us down here. I may be the last one alive though.

What happened? Clueless asked.

The rats. He said with a distant voice and hollow eyes. The rats were upon us almost

immediately after the doors were sealed behind us. They swarmed and we ran. We lost the map

soon after and then we lost track of each other as we blindly ran through this place. I havent

seen the rats since I was pulled into this deathtrap.

555

The others nodded and glanced warily behind themselves back up the passage as something,

a figure or the shadow of a figure seemed to cross paths with it further up. They could talk later.

We can talk later Jerimin. Nice to meet you, my names Florian and youre with us till we

all get out of here alive. Florian slapped him on the back and flashed her ring from Jeremo.

Jerimin nodded and asked them for a spare weapon if they had any to give to him. Im

pulling my weight if Im going along with you. You saved me and I want the change to repay

that debt.

Toras nodded and handed him a spare blade, unremarkable but perfectly serviceable. Jerimin

thanked him and they continued walking, though they soon regretted the act.

The passage opened up into the basin of an arena, a subterranean coliseum strewn with sand

and sawdust and dried blood: gladiators had lived and died here while those above in the stands

had watched. Three massive portcullises stood in the marble walls of the area and atop walls

thirty feet high stood rows upon rows of benches.

The exit back out suddenly slammed shut as a glittering crystalline wall, not unlike a wall of

force, flickered into existence and sealed off their only true point of egress. Then a low droning

noise like the sound of a horn reverberated through the air of the arena and the stands were

suddenly flooded with either the illusory images of or the specters of long dead spectators, citizens

of Sigil dressed in archaic clothing, silently cheering or heckling those living or dying for their

pleasure below.

Ah... sh*t... Florian said as she glanced up at the laughing, jeering faces of the long dead

amoral socialites of Sigil of old.

Clueless was looking up too, and for a moment he would have sworn that he saw a single

more substantive figure standing there among the crowd: a tall man in swathed in black and

gazing down with that damning, knowing smile. And then he was gone, vanished like a figment

of the imagination of a hunted man.

The dust and sand that covered the arena floor began to stir and swirl with unseen currents of

air and the three sealed gates swung wide and shimmered with the sudden activation of portals...

From one of the portals emerged two creatures that seemed composed of living darkness.

They had either two or three heads, a lashing tail or pair of tails, and they seemed to phase in

and out of existence as they charged out of the portal with a dim reddish glow in their eyes.

From the next portal came a glittering metallic beast wrought in steel or adamantine with

the head a madman, the body of a twisted lion, and a tail that was studded with an exaggerated

array of bristling spikes.

Finally, from the third and largest gate, the one at the center of the opposite wall of the arena
 556

came an impossibly large figure. Standing partially hunched over, it still rose to triple Torass

height with its cloven hooves the size of shields on their sides and its twisted bulls head making

it look like some nightmarish Minotaur of the Abyss. A Goristro, one of the living siege engines

of the Tanarri, it screamed a bellow wrought with rage and indiscriminate destructive anger as

it charged.

Oh sh*t! Theyve got a Goristro?! Tristol said unbelievingly as he launched into a flurry

of spellcasting.

The shadow critters are mine. Fyrehowl and Toras you go for the Goristro and keep it away

from the casters. Florian you smite anything that gets past us. Clueless said as he flicked his

wings and darted towards the pair of umbral creatures with his sword swinging and a spell upon

his lips.

Nisha darted to the side as Toras and Fyrehowl charged the Goristro in a valiant but perhaps

unrealistic defiance of shear scale; the Tanarri was massive by comparison, but not for long.

Florian didnt charge with the cipher and the fighter, but instead called out a prayer to Tempus

and hurled it at Toras who instantly doubled in size as the power of the clerics spell coursed

through him.

Clueless darted between the sporadic lashes of the shadow creatures tail and slashed at one

while hurling a bolt of lightning at the other. As the first of the pair jerked in the grip of the

electricity it was also struck by a pair of explosive-tipped bolts from Skalliska who stood across

the arena and out of immediate harms way.

Tristol hurled a beam of pale green energy at the adamantine manticore and it struck dead

on and burrowed a hole into the beast but failed to fully affect it, enraging the mechanical beast

rather than killing it. Its human face snarled and glared at the wizard as its tail whistled through

the air and loosed a volley of spikes not unlike javelins.

Toras slammed into the Goristro and struck it a glancing blow with his sword as it punched

its shoulder into his chest and sent him flying backwards. Fyrehowl slashed and hacked at its

legs on the other side of it and left furrows and gouges in her wake across its hide before it aimed

a kick for her that she narrowly avoided. The fiends blood rained down on the dusty floor of the

arena but it only seemed to make the beast all the more rabid for slaughter. That was the case

at least till a roaring column of holy fire descended down upon it from Florians outstretched

hand.

Oh lord! Smite that unholy f*ck! The cleric bellowed out at the top of her lungs with glee

and holy conviction.

Nisha meanwhile was somewhere dangerously on the other side of the Tanarri as it was
557

engulfed in flames.

Tristol and Skalliska dove for cover as the hail of spikes from the manticore shot through the

air. Skalliska managed to avoid them but one of them, a ragged spike of silvery metal a foot long

and an inch wide lodged in his thigh. The mage gritted his teeth and threw another spell at the

mechanical beast, conjuring forth a wall of stone several meters high to block off its line of sight

and sparing them from another such immediate attack.

Meanwhile, one of the umbral beasts was dead and Clueless was slashing like a man possessed

at the other despite having taken several bites and lashes from their heads and tails in the process.

Another combination of spells and swordplay and the second was dead as well, and not a moment

too soon as the manticore slunk with a predatory gleam in its glimmering eyes around the other

side of the wall that had blocked it from the casters.

Meanwhile Florian had turned her attention to healing Tristols wound as Toras, Fyrehowl,

and the Goristro traded blows. The fighters jabbed their swords into the Tanarris flank as it

gored them with its horns or swung at them with its hammer-like fists, and then it stumbled as

one of its legs seemed to buckle and give way. Toras stepped back and swung at its suddenly

unprotected chest, and Fyrehowl jammed her blade into its lung as it fell to one knee. Nisha

darted out from behind the beast with her sword bloody and trailing remnants of the Goristros

achilles tendon.

Gaaah! Clueless shouted as the manticore let loose another volley of metallic spines to

hurtle through the air.

The bladesinger tumbled through the air as he tried to evade the deadly shower of spikes. He

didnt entirely succeed and several of them lodged in his side or grazed him through his layers

of magical protection. He landed in a defensive crouch behind the corpse of one of the umbral

beasts as the manticore came out fully into the open just as Toras and Fyrehowl finished off the

Goristro.

Florian charged the creature to avoid giving it the opportunity to fire off another cloud of

spikes from its tail and the strategy seemed to work as it leapt at her, fiercely biting and clawing

as she approached within range. It was then distracted as Fyrehowl and Toras charged it from

its other side, joined moments later by a still injured Clueless. Still, despite their numerical

advantage, the monstrosity was preternaturally quick despite being a construct and it seemed to

resist the damage inflicted by most of their weapons that were all edged and did only marginal

damage to its thick metallic hide.

Minutes later, bloody and hurting, they finally inflicted enough damage upon the adamantine

manticore that it collapsed, gave several spasms with a sound of metal against metal, and then
 558

lay still and motionless. They had it down but the cost was high given the multitude of wounds

that it had been able to inflict upon them all and healing them all would likely drain Florian of

most of her ability to heal all said and done.

A low droning horn echoed out above the arena once more and the spectral crowd above

them continued to jeer and silently mock them.

Oh no... not more of this... Fyrehowl said wearily as she and the others half expected more

portals to appear for the purpose of belching forth more horrors against them.

Then, as one, the spectral crowd began to disperse from the stadium as a single portal, the

one that had issued forth the Goristro, appeared in the arena and nothing leapt out to attack

them. It seemed that they had passed whatever mocking test it had been, or at least they

had survived and were simply being shunted off to some other portion of the labyrinth and the

deathtraps that awaited them there. That said, they gave it only a moments thought however

before they jumped through the portal.

***

Finally free of the arena and its jeering specters of some bizarre and malign fragment of

Sigils past, they crept onwards through the passage as Florian slowly healed their wounds as

they walked and limped along, finally glad to have a moments respite.

Eventually as they progressed they found themselves standing within another chamber, this

one roughly as large as the arena had been, but it was not thankfully another such trial. The

huge chamber, which they seemed to have entered near the top, had a low ceiling that descended

down into a depression by way of broad, shallow stairs ringing the room.

In the center of the chamber, situated at the heart of the depression was a gigantic binding

circle with a number of chains set into the stone of the floor with large iron rings. They appeared

to be loose and unoccupied, the circle long since having been vacated.

Looks like something flew the coop. Nisha said as she glanced at the chains on the floor.

Something within her blood screamed at her that the chains were made of cold iron.

Cant say I mind. Hell it might have been that Goristro actually. Tristol said as they

descended the steps.

The chains rattled with subtle movement.

Or not... Florian said as she paused her descent.

Something like an electric crackle ran through the dry air of the chamber and the chains

shifted as if an occupant was suddenly active and aware of their presence. There was a low,

bestial growl and a serpentine hiss as something shimmered and faded into view within the
559

circle, bound in the chains.

The fiend was roughly 12 feet tall, heavily muscular and dressed in ornate bronze platemail

with a sash of copper colored fabric and a long gray cloak. Its skin was a dusky red and its head

was like that of a massive dire wolf while a second head like that of a equally monstrous serpent

sprouted from its shoulders as well. Both heads turned to regard the group...
Chapter 51

Woah! Hello there... Florian exclaimed as her hands went reflexively to her holy symbol and

the handle of her axe.

Toras muttered under his breath, Dont look at the fiend children. Just ignore him. Smile

and wave if you must, but keep walking.

The Molydeus tilted its feral lupine head while its serpent head softly hissed and tasted them

on the air with the rapid, grotesque, and obscene flicker of its tongue. It tasted weakness. It

tasted uncertainty. It tasted fear. And it tasted opportunity.

Greetings mortals... The voice was the howl of a war dog and the grim orders of an execu-

tioner at once, inhuman and terrible.

Greetings to you as well. Tristol said, without lifting his eyes up from the elegant and

intricately inscribed binding circle that contained the fiend. It was old and it was impeccable.

And who would you be? Florian asked the beast.

The wolven muzzle of the Molydeus lifted its black lips back in a difficult and forced smile as

the serpent head lowered itself to the ground in humble greeting, still tasting the air.

I am Garthranix, one of the legion of the Molydeus, guardians of the Tanarri, enforcers of

chaos and bloodshed of the lawful, prolongers of the Blood War.

This isnt a good idea... Toras complained again, the second time loud enough for all of his

companions to overhear.

The ears atop the fiends primary head swiveled and perked in the fighters direction. It

sneered.

Say nothing till you know the circumstances of what binds me here. I am bound here with

words of iron and power, but I cannot starve. You are lost, you are tired, and you are only

mortal... I can help you perhaps.

Toras and Fyrehowl scoffed, Clueless raised an eyebrow, Florian gave the fiend a wary look,

Tristol paced around the circle without saying anything, and Nisha held onto Skalliskas tail to

560
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stop her from walking off without the rest of the group.

How can you help us? Clueless asked.

The fiend nodded both of its heads and spread its hands in some manner of gracious gesture.

I am bound to not reveal the reasons or initial conditions of my binding here till I am free from

the labyrinth and have guided another out of my own free will.

Garthranix rattled the massive iron chains at his wrists and ankles. I am also bound that I

cannot free myself from my own chains. Another must voluntarily release me, in return for my aid

or not, and that I must...speak the truth while bound here thusly. It is most ...uncomfortable...

The fiend sneered at the very idea of being held truthful by magical means. It all seemed to

sorely conflict with its chaotic mind.

So you can lead us out of this place if we release you? Florian asked.

Yes.

And you have to tell the truth while youre bound in there? Skalliska said before swatting

at Nishas hand on her tail.

It rolled its wolfs eyes and the serpent head yawned. Again, yes.

Then why do we even bother letting you out if we can just ask you how to get out of here

and you have to answer truthfully? Toras asked.

The fiend smiled, Because I could simply say nothing and watch you either starve, die of old

age, or be slaughtered by any number of the beasts that roam these halls. And I would enjoy

doing so to be perfectly honest.

Oh...

Florian smacked the fighter in the back of the head.

Clueless stepped forward till he stood at the boundary of the circle. We let you out on the

condition that you lead us out of this place and dont harm us now or afterwards, nor do you

hurt our relatives or descendants.

Agreed. The fiend said without hesitation as the serpent head leaned closer with its tongue

lashing the air like a master to a beast of burden.

Garthranix leaned in closer towards the wizard and bladesinger, and very carefully and slowly

asked them a question. Do you break the boundary of the circle and remove my chains out of

your own free will, devoid of magical compulsions or force? Do you free me by your own hands

by choice?

Tristol looked at the runes of the circle, all of them wrought of iron and molded into slots

cut into the stone of the floor. Portions of the decorative designs that focused them were carved

into the stone without any inlay of metal and could be defaced to break the circle. There was
 562

no evidence of any retributive wards either.

Clueless glanced at Tristol for some sort of confirmation before he nodded to the fiend and

gave his reply. Yes, we do this of our own free will.

The Tanarri closed its eyes and smiled as if from the sudden rush of a drug. A moment later

Tristol motioned for a series of lines for Clueless and Florian to deface and break the circle. As

soon as they had, the chains on the fiend began to smoke, then fracture, and then crumble to

dust.

There was a single awkward moment when the fiend abruptly stood up and strode past them

towards the exit on the far side of the chamber. They were worried that it had lied and would

suddenly attack them, but he did no such thing, rather he simply stood waiting next to the exit

door impatiently, both snarling and hissing at them softly.

See, not so bad at all. Clueless said with a shrug towards Toras and Fyrehowl. They seemed

largely unconvinced still.

All right, now you can run off and be first into the traps. Nisha said as she released

Skalliskas tail. The kobold however was no longer moving quite so rapidly towards the exit,

what with the towering fiend standing next to it.

And so with the hulking Molydeus leading the way, the group passed beyond the chamber

and through a mazework of passages and corridors. The fiend moved with speed and prescience

through a number of minor traps and obstacles, showing a very obvious knowledge of the layout

of the labyrinth to an extent.

Certain portions of the maze have changed since my imprisonment here. Garthranix mut-

tered back to them, turning his wolven head to speak while the serpent looked forwards. You

will have to take your chances at some point if I am uncertain.

Tristol raised an eyebrow. Alright. Let us know when.

Behind him, Toras, Fyrehowl and Florian exchanged glances. The fighters and lupinals

expressions seemed to indicate a told you so to the cleric without them actually saying it.

Toras was smiling smugly as they approached a small room at the end of the current corridor.

The fiend paused and looked at the trio of exists from the chamber. Three archways opened

into dark passages. The first archway was of polished jade, dulled with time. The second was of

glass that was flecked and chipped, and the third was of gold that was slowly flaking away from

a lead interior like the gilding of an ancient icon.

I am unfamiliar with the archways leading out of the room. They will eventually reach the

same point, but I cannot say what properties the exits themselves have, if any. Nor would they

be likely to affect me in the first place. You however...

563

Garthranix sat down and smiled as he waited for them to decide.

Tristol reached down into one of his pockets for a bent copper piece that they had earlier

decided was Tristols lucky copper. He didnt find it where hed last put it. Nisha however

pulled it out of his ear with a flamboyant ooooooooooh magic and then tossed it a few feet

down the jade passage.

There was a crackle of magic from the corridor as the copper sailed through.

Heh, and youre going to go get the copper back now. Tristol said to the tiefling as he

crossed his arms and tried to look imposing. Pick my pocket and see where it gets you.

A copper richer? She said with a grin as her tail flicked side to side happily.

Behind them the fiend snarled loudly.

Tristol ignored the Molydeus as he answered Nisha, Get it back and well try the next one.

The archway was a dispelling screen, so it wont hurt you.

Nisha grinned and whispered a few arcane phrases under her breath. I love magic.

She gestured her hand out towards the copper on the ground, gesturing for it to respond to

the magic she had invoked. Instead of flying to her hand, there was instead a crackle of magic

from the archway as it dispelled her cantrip.

And we now know it resets itself. Clueless said.

Nisha frowned and slunk through the archway to retrieve the copper, muttering a soft, Pike

it as she walked back and handed the coin to Tristol.

Tristol took the coin from her as she backed up a few steps and he tossed it through the glass

archway. Nothing happened at all.

Nothing obvious at least. The mage said with a shrug as he walked over and picked up the

coin and promptly tossed it down the leaded gold archway.

Hmm, nothing there either. Tristol said as the coin plinked down the dark passage with no

obvious effect. He was very nearly ready to walk down to retrieve it when something tossed the

coin back at him. Inside the corridor, the darkness opened its eyes and charged at them.

Tristol immediately fell back behind Toras and Fyrehowl as something like a squat, six-foot

tall toad with jet black skin ran babbling out of the corridor with a gleaming black, smoking

sword brandished over its head. It was partially transparent and wispy looking, and it glowed

with the telltale flicker of conjuration magic. It may have looked like a black slaadi, but it was

more like the crafted astral puppets of the cranium rats than a true harbinger of chaos.

Garthranix smiled and did nothing as his mortal comrades surrounded and rapidly took down

the solitary creature. It was all over quickly, though Toras did suffer a blow from the creatures

sword and he was stumbling after it died and evaporated to leave nothing of itself or its weapon
 564

behind.

Fyrehowl shot the fiend a scathing look. You could have helped us.

Could have. I could have helped you. I was under no obligation to do so celestial. Both of

its heads stared her down till she turned away and back to Toras.

Guys... I cant see. The fighter said as he held onto Florians shoulder to steady himself.

Florian winced as she looked at Torass eyes. The sword blow had struck him in the side, not

the face, and so whatever was causing his blindness was magical and not actual physical harm

to his eyes.

The cleric sighed, Its magical, and Im out of anything that could help. I used most of my

best spells against those things in the arena.

Stop looking pleased. Abyssal filth... Fyrehowl said as she glanced back at the still idly

lounging Molydeus. It gave no reply.

Clueless waved away their concern as he reached into a bag of holding at his waist and pulled

out a slim, light blue staff.

Dont worry at all. Remember all the stuff we got in the Incantifers tower? Well this wasnt

in there, but my share of that all went towards buying this.

I adore you. Florian said as she took the proffered staff of healing. A slight prayer to

Tempus later and she invoked the power of the staff and restored Toras sight to him once again.

Ill stop making jokes about you and the Sensates now I promise. Toras said to Clueless as

he blinked his eyes and smiled in thanks.

Clueless shrugged and put the staff away for later. Dont mention it. And if the jokes are

funny Im sure my girlfriend would love to hear them actually.

The sudden snarling, hissing twofold voice of the Molydeus broke the feeling of camaraderie.

When you are done expending resources on the weak, I am ready.

Skalliska rolled her eyes and Fyrehowl made no comment. The fiend was simply trying to

goad her into doing something most likely to do what it could to circumvent what bound it from

its normal actions in their presence.

Alright. Fine. Down the central archway. Tristol said as he pointed. And you first.

The fiend stood up and walked through the glass archway and they followed in turn. The

blank and dusty hallway continued for some time before it forked. The fiend paused and directed

them down one fork as opposed to the other, and again at a subsequent fork in the passage.

Eventually it ended in a series of two rooms, their doors facing opposite to one another.

The one on the right. Garthranix said without further commentary as motioned to the

doorway.
565

The others followed his cue and stepped into the relatively small chamber and glanced at the

interior. It was small and circular with a high vaulted ceiling and long panes of colored glass

set into it. Shafts of glimmering, colored light streamed down from above like daylight through

cathedral windows. A soft bubbling sound of water filled the tiny room from a fountain in the

rooms center.

Reluctantly the fiend stepped in after them. The fountain has something to do with getting

out. Thats all I know.

Punctuating his statement, the doorway glimmered and a slab of crystal seemed to materialize

in place, sealing off the exit. A split second later a multicolored wall appeared, sandwiched over

it, and something else as well that snuffed a portion of the faerie fire on Cluelesss wings: an

antimagic field that overlapped the prismatic wall blocking the entrance...

Fyrehowl looked at the fiend who simply shrugged as he looked at the fountain.

I dont know everything about this place. Besides, the fountain not the doorway is what

matters.

The wandered to the fountain and glanced down at the separate spouts and their common

basin. As he looked at the fountain curiously a sudden telepathic voice echoed in the minds of

all of them: Drink but one sip of one of the founts and find your freedom through the door with

safety, read the riddle, know the signs and hearken the Rule of Three

And then the fiend vanished. Fyrehowl sighed and turned to say something to Clueless about

fiends, except the bladesinger was no longer there. None of her companions were there in the

room with her; she was alone with the bubbling fountain, and the door and its suicidal exit were

there as well.

Likewise, all of them were standing in their own version of the same chamber, each of them

having just seen their companions vanish to leave them alone with the fountain, there to examine

it and make their own decisions. Garthranix meanwhile was smiling. Alone in his own version of

the room, his dual heads stared at one another, mutually pleased, as he held out his hand and

called to the weapon bound to his essence...

Separated from one another, they each spent their time cursing the situation, pondering the

telepathic message, pondering if they would survive a trip through a prismatic wall, or in one

tieflings case, singing and tossing coins into the fountain for ten minutes till they realized that

everyone else was gone.

The fountain itself was unique in that it had three separate upper waterspouts, each with

a collecting basin that spilled out into a common lower pool as they each bubbled over. The

common basin was made of marble and the water was pure and glistening. In fact, the bottom
 566

pools water was perfectly normal, if aside from a slight metallic taste. The upper basins then

were all identical, except for the material they were crafted from: one of silver, one of copper,

and one of gold.

Around the bottom of that common pool of the fountain, inscribed in the random tile mosaic

of its base, and repeated upon the ground ringing the fountain as well was a riddle, or a refrain

of some sort.

Of gold I am, and by gold Im plied, drink of copper and find no peace, but drink of me and

find release.

Copper gilt, and burnished bright, bright as sun where there is no night, wise men chained

and wise men seek, bubbling visions not for the weak.

Silent flow and silent passage, archon, guardinal, eladrin drink, cross chaos and order, but

good alone, tainted of evil, drink and atone.

***

In his own chamber the fiend snarled and braced himself as he drank from the fountain of his

choice.

***

Nisha, once she realized that everyone was gone and that she had to drink, she flipped a coin

that shed snagged from Tristols pocket. Eventually she realized that a two-sided object wasnt

going to handle a three-sided decision in any real way, and, befitting the Xaositect, she picked

at random and gargled from the copper fountain.

***

I like gold, and its talking about release. And well, Im stuck in here. Skalliska thought to

herself as she glanced at the riddle and the fountains. Well, gold it is.

***

Fyrehowl glanced at the riddle and then at the fountains. No question here...

She smiled and took a sip from the silver fountain.

***

Three fountains, three planar rivers. Duh. Clueless said as he pondered his choice. Please

please please, nobody drink from the gold one...

567

***

Like Clueless, Tristol had reached the same conclusion: Styx, Maat, and Oceanus. Neither

wanting to end up a bereft of his memories or a delusional if sometimes prophetic madman, he

drank from the silver fountain.

***

Florian said a prayer before she drank from the silver fountain since it seemed to be the least

hostile choice unless there was a trick somehow. Tempus, I pray that I dont end up dead for

this...

***

Toras glanced down at the water and the riddle. I should have listened to Tristol more on

this stuff... oh hells... your fault Nisha if anything goes poorly.

He took a deep breath and drank randomly.

Chapter 52

Toras smiled as he felt a sudden invigorating sense rush through him as he drank from the silver

fountain. The water was utterly pure and tasted almost sweet to the tongue as it left him feeling

healthy and refreshed.

The fighter stood there smiling in the bliss of his drink, only noticing then that the others

had suddenly reappeared in the room as well and that the prismatic wall that had been blocking

the exit was gone. That was when the double-headed axe buried itself in his chest.

The Molydeus roared with a force that distorted the air as a gleaming brazen axe flashed

into substance in its hands seconds before it cleaved into Toras and sent him flying across the

room with the sheer power behind the swing. The fiends lupine mouth was dripping blood and

water and its serpentine jaws on the other head were bared wide, flashing hollow tipped fangs,

each dripping with venom.

Confusion turned to horror around the room as the others suddenly realized that the fiend

was no longer bound to them, that the fiend probably had never been bound to them, but had

only waited till it could have them separated and possibly weakened by circumstance before it

could slaughter them.

You said you couldnt hurt us!! Tristol screamed as he backed away from the guardian

Tanarri as it hefted its axe once more.

Than you are fools! The Molydeus screamed at him with one head while the other laughed

with manic pleasure. You assumed that I was telling the truth! You willingly released me!

The bloody axe whistled down again, narrowly missing Florian, but cleaving several inches

free from the top edge of her shield.

Sh*t! The cleric screamed as she too backed away from the fiend. She was outmatched;

she was sorely, terribly outmatched by it. The Molydeii were few, but they were feared by the

rest of the denizens of the Abyss, even by Balors, empowered as they were by the Abyssal Lords

themselves, and one of them lusted to wallow in their entrails.

568
569

Fyrehowl and Clueless looked at one another with honest fear as they drew their blades and

approached the Tanarri from opposite sides in an attempt to separate it from Tristol. The fiend

allowed them the opportunity as it continued to attack Florian while one of its heads frothed in

psychotic anger and the other laughed with disturbing glee.

While the two attempted to flank the fiend, they also saw two things that the Molydeus

had probably been banking on: Skalliska was wandering around the room with utter confusion,

glancing one way and then the other before huddling in a corner and screaming, and Nisha was

only slightly better off. The tiefling was giggling hysterically as she sat on the edge of the fountain

and pretended to have tea with some imaginary factol of an imaginary faction. Whatever Nisha

had drunk, she was hallucinating worse than a sensate in the Gilded Hall of Arborea.

Florian gained a momentary respite as both Clueless and Fyrehowls swords lanced out at

the fiend. The cleric backed up and began to chant the words of another prayer to Tempus. As

she did so, the lupinal and bladesinger both scored shallow wounds on the Tanarri, but both

wounds seemed to already be in the process of knitting themselves shut.

Separated from immediate danger, Tristol concentrated and whispered words of power as he

hurled a spell at the approaching fiend. It failed spectacularly. His spell never took effect at all,

like hed simply hurled water at a giant sponge.

The wolven head turned to him, blood spattered foam dripping from its black lips, Despair

little mage. Watch while I slaughter your companions and you can do nothing to save them.

You are ineffectual, your magics naught to one who has stood before the rebuke of Lynkhab and

given orders to Balors born before your world was risen from the void.

Tristol backed away as the serpentine head reared back to give a hissing cackle and seemed

to ignore the attacks that it faced. Half of Fyrehowl and Cluelesss blows simply failed to affect

it when they hit, and the other half were slowly regenerating. The fiend seemed to honestly feed

off of their growing despair, allowing them to hurt it simply to experience their dread as they

did far less damage to it than expected.

Meanwhile Florian paused in her casting as she noticed how ineffectual Tristols magic had

been. There was no sense in trying to directly affect such a beast with her own spells if it

had simply devoured those of a wizard who numbered among the most powerful she had ever

personally met. No, something different was required, and this was keenly in her mind as she

turned to where Toras lay slumped against the wall, alive but terribly injured, and momentarily

ignored by the Molydeus.

The fiend was still laughing and gloating when she cast her spell to no apparent effect. A

moment later Fyrehowl abruptly paused in her dance of swordplay to extend a hand and engulf
 570

the fiend in a glittering cone of frost. Given the fiends disregard for their attacks, it didnt

dodge, and whether by luck or honest power, the celestials invocation seemed to actually work.

Distracted by the burning cold, Clueless scored another series of shallow blows against its

flank before he was thrown backwards by a wild backhanded slash from the fiends axe. But

even if his own attacks did little more than inconvenience the Molydeus, it was distracted and no

longer playing with them. The fiend grimaced and the expression on both of its faces reflected

its change of heart as blood flecked ice melted from its hide to run in bloody rivulets onto the

ground.

Florian was preparing to cast again as Fyrehowl barely dodged a heavy slash from the fiend,

but she didnt have the chance as the serpent head of the Tanarri flashed forwards and spat a

foaming, sizzling gobbet of venom directly at her face. She only managed to deflect the attack

by dropping her casting attempt and raising her shield to deflect it.

But between themselves they had distracted the fiend to the point that it was ignoring the

three persons that it considered no longer a threat: the bloody form of Toras on the opposite

side of the room, a hallucinating Nisha, and a confused and terrified Skalliska. The first of those

assumptions by the fiend was a mistake however given Florians last successful spell.

With a scream of holy rage, a still badly injured Toras reared up behind the fiend who had

completely missed him as he had stood up, brandished his weapon and charged it from behind.

The fighter plunged his blade nearly a foot into its side, sinking deep into the flesh, muscle and

viscera exposed between the edge of two heavy plates of its armor.

Perhaps because of Florians spell, perhaps because of Torass rage, or perhaps even due to his

sword in and of itself, the Tanarri was massively injured by the blow compared to any previous

physical attacks. The sudden surprise attack was also not being regenerated at the same rate as

its other injuries, and it was suddenly focused on the fighter.

Garthranix bellowed with rage and swiveled around to backhand the fighter with his fist.

Toras ducked the poorly aimed blow and sunk his sword in deeper before the fiends serpent

head struck and sunk its fangs into his shoulder. He shuddered from the venom but ignored

the pain as he drew back his blade, and with another righteous scream of fury stabbed into the

junction of flesh between the fiends two separate heads. It bit surprisingly and astoundingly

deep, just as much so as his surprise attack that had caught the fiend from behind, and honest

disbelief washed over the lupine heads eyes for a moment before it released a thunderous scream

of agony.

The guardian Tanarri contorted in a spasm as great torrents of blood washed out in waves

from its wounds and it dropped its axe onto the ground and sank to its knees. It babbled
571

incoherent promises of death and pain as its serpent head jerked side to side and a glaze passed

over the eyes of the other. Toras himself dropped to the ground as the Tanarri convulsed one

last time and both it and its axe dissolved into a putrid wave of random discolored filth and a

brief chorus of screams that lingered in their ears for several moments.

As soon as the beast was dead, Florian was immediately at Torass side to purge the poison

from his system and Clueless was there not a moment afterwards to heal his wounds. Even

after the half-fey had healed him, Toras just lay on the ground for a moment with a smile

plastered across his face and the occasional chuckle towards the slowly evaporating remains of

the Molydeus. The others left him there, allowing him the time to bask in the realization of

what he had done.

Florian? Can you do something for Nisha and Skalliska? Fyrehowl said as she looked at

the still babbling tiefling and the terrified kobold who was huddled against the wall and giving

furtive glances at the remains of the fiend.

The cleric shook her head, Maybe. Depends on which fountain they drank. One of them

was Styx water and the other I wasnt sure about.

All eyes turned to Skalliska.

The kobold quivered and blinked in abject confusion, Why are you all staring at me? Where

the hell am I?!

Clueless sighed, Yeah, that would be Styx water.

Florian inhaled deeply before answering. She could have been worse. She still knows who

she is; she just might not remember anything from the past few weeks. This might be painful,

because theres nothing I, or anyone, can do to bring that all back as far as I know.

Tristol sat down next to Nisha and the tiefling handed him an imaginary cup of tea.

Care for some tea fuzzy head? My friend Akin and his girlfriend Shemmy were just telling

me about the gumdrop fortress in the butterfly fields of the Abyss. Doesnt it sound lovely?

Fyrehowl gave a start and looked oddly at the tiefling as she went back to sipping tea with

her hallucinatory friends.

Nisha could be worse. Hell, shes almost normal as it is. Tristol said as he gave a soft

chuckle while he played along and sipped tea as well when Nisha handed him a glass.

The tiefling gave a furtive sideways glance and whispered to Fyrehowl, Now, about Akins

girlfriend... Sure shes nice and polite and all, but shes a guy you know. Im not sure if Akin

knows that. This is awkward.

Fyrehowl quickly turned around to avoid snickering openly.

Clueless? The healing staff might be helpful right about now. Tristol said.
 572

Florian waved the bladesinger and the staff away, Wont work, but I can handle it.

She whispered a soft prayer to Tempus and invoked the spells power on Nisha to purge her

mind of the unwanted influence. Nisha paused, blinked and paused again as her lips first pursed,

then gave a slight smile as she went right back to her teatime chat with her imaginary guests.

Yeah, shes back to normal. Tristol said as he got back up and smiled down at her.

He looked over at Skalliska who still sat in the corner looking worried and confused. He also

glanced over at Toras who was also still sitting on the floor with a triumphant grin and looking

almost as astounded that he had taken down the fiend as the fiend probably was as it hurtled

back to the Abyss that spawned it.

All of them also became dimly aware of Jerimin, the man that Toras had inadvertently killed

and who theyd resurrected, standing off to the side with a look of utter dumbfounded shock

and disbelief. Hed effectively melted into the background after they had saved him and he was

stupefied by what hed just witnessed.

After he had regained his senses and Fyrehowl had helped him up off the floor, Toras wandered

over to the man and slapped him on the back. I do this all the time actually; both the killing

things that I shouldnt be able to, and getting horrifically injured by them in the process. Its a

pattern with me sometimes.

The Natterers fellow employee just looked up at the fighter and returned a feeble smile. You

wont see me complain sir.

Toras just smiled and slapped him on the back again.

Skalliska was looking terribly confused however as once again she plaintively asked, Where

am I and whats going on?

Clueless looked at the others. Ill handle this.

The bladesinger sat down next to the kobold and began to chat with her about what she did

and didnt remember. As it turned out, shed lost nearly two weeks of memories to her ill choice

of fountains to drink from. She didnt remember that Jeremo had hired them, nor where they

were, and it was difficult to fully explain to her all that she had lost.

Just trust us on this and stay with us for now. When we get out of here either one of the

others or I will make a sensory stone of the major events of the past two weeks and well let you

go through all of it. Youll be fine.

The kobold nodded slowly, That should work. But damn it all, this is going to be hard to

understand before then.

A few more minutes were spent with all of them mentioning more of the events that Skalliska

had lost recollection of, and between them all they managed to fill in most of the holes in her
573

memory even though she would never recall her own experience of those events herself. But

she was better, Nisha was back to being Nisha, and the fiend was dead. With those three

things resolved, they exited the chamber to see what their experience had netted them and if

the Molydeus had been telling them the truth in any form about how they could escape.

Walking out of the room, it seemed as if it might have been as they emerged into an altogether

different place than from where they had entered. A single long corridor stretched out before

them towards a door at the far end, perhaps a hundred feet off. They shrugged and slowly

proceeded down, making sure that there were no traps along the way as they did.

Halfway down the passage they did find something, but not a trap or any sort. Along one

wall were a series of mosaics each showing a rustic pastoral scene in late autumn or early winter.

At the edge of a thick wood at the top of a hill stood a tall, dark cloaked man hefting a hunters

horn. Stylized wisps of wind and blown leaves extended through the air from the wood and

curled towards another figure that seemed to be running in full flight from the dark man through

a field of wheat or tall grass. The figures expression was of stark terror.

And again with the creepy... Nisha said as she backed away from the wall.

I for one am all for just walking on and leaving this. Toras said. Anyone else?

Clueless however was curious, and his curiosity was finally overriding his previous fear.

Tristol stopped and looked suddenly at the bladesinger. Clueless, what are you doing?

Clueless ignored him as he tapped the tiny bubble of heavy magic at his neck and called

to mind a legend lore spell. Moments later the mages warnings meant nothing, as Clueless no

longer heard them when he activated the spell and the world melted away.

What the hell?

Clueless opened his eyes and went rigid. He was no longer in the labyrinth, no longer casting

a spell and touching a mosaic on a wall. Normally when he used that particular divination upon

an object he might see flashes of images, flickers of events, sometimes mental playbacks of the

past, but not this time; he was standing there at the edge of a dark wood, waist high in tall

grass.

The glow upon his wings suddenly snuffed itself and the half-fey felt cold, bitterly cold, and

not just from the chill wind that rustled the grass with the gelid promise of winters arrival.

The half-fey was afraid and disturbed, not honestly sure if what he was seeing was real or

just an effect of the spell that he had cast. But given that, he remained as calm as possible in

light of what would transpire as a figure emerged from the wood and gazed out with a pleased

smile at the fields that stretched out before him.

He was tall, and built like a man with something more than mortal blood running through his
 574

veins. There was no sound as he moved into the light other than the soft crackle of dry kindling

underfoot as he strode out of the woods and drew forth a large and ornate hunters horn to place

against his lips.

Clueless looked up at the man who stood only a few feet from him. What is it that youre

hunting?

The Jester didnt answer him with words, but he lowered the horn and then pointed with his

hand out into the fields before returning the horn to his lips.

A sudden, terrified scream rent the air above the sound of the horn as a figure burst from

the edge of the woods and into the fields where Clueless was watching to where the Jester had

pointed. A single man, panicked and haggard, his clothes torn and tattered by the impact of

branches and the snarling of briars in the underbrush, he ran as fast as he could while casting a

terrified glance over his shoulder.

The sharp, ascending note of the horn, pure and clear on the chill autumn wind, caused the

frantic screaming of the running man to increase in pitch and severity. But with the call of the

horn, something else emerged into view, something answering the Jesters summons.

Clueless watched, silent and seemingly rooted to the spot, calm but disturbed, as the scream-

ing man stumbled and fell into the tall grass before rapidly getting back to his feet and running

again as something gave pursuit. Whatever it was, like a trained hound or a falconers tame bird

of prey, it leapt forward through the tall grass at its masters bidding, tearing off with frightening

velocity and without a sound after its chosen victim and cutting a swath of grass underfoot in a

jagged zigzag path towards the fleeing man.

Clueless did nothing but stand there and watch, feeling the windblown grass brush against

his clothing and the chill of the wind slowly insinuate itself into his flesh. This was no magic

granted memory of the past; this was something much more frighteningly real.

Try as he might to outrun his fate, the screaming man could not evade what pursued him

as it cut through the fields with only the sound of crushed grass to herald its passing before it

was upon him. The man bellowed out a final horrified scream for help as he pitched forward and

vanished below the surface of the field. The screams ended abruptly as the grass was ravaged

with bright splashes of crimson far more vivid than the shade of the turning leaves on the trees.

Up above the scene, still standing upon the hilltop at the edge of the woods, the Jester

looked down upon the slaughter. He looked down at what his servant had done at his behest

in punishment for whatever transgression the doomed man had committed to offend him so, if

indeed the man had done anything at all. And then the Jester turned and looked directly at the

half-fey who had watched the hunt. He smiled and Clueless felt a brief shudder but he remained
575

calm and neither flinched nor looked away, rather just looking up back at him and then slowly

back towards the fields as something returned to its master.

The tiny robed figure, his pet, familiar, or something altogether more sinister, Clueless

couldnt say as it crept out of the tall grass to stand beside its master, keening its head to

the taller man. As it moved towards the Jesters outstretched hand, there was a disturbing and

constant ripple of movement from under its robes that hinted at a wriggling, unruly mass kept

constrained only by the fabric.

The Jester allowed it to touch or brush against his hand like a hound nuzzling its master,

and where it did, the mans hand was coated red with the blood of its kill. The Jester smiled

down at the figure and stroked his bloodied hand over its head, and Clueless would have sworn

that the creature quivered and gave some manner of alien, vaguely content animal murmur.

Clueless then blinked and shook his head as he suddenly stood back in the corridor in the

labyrinth. His companions stood around him with expressions of concern and worry that soon

turned to words of comfort or berating as he mentioned what he had felt when, according to

them, he had simply gone insensate and unresponsive after touching the mural.

The bladesinger gave only the sparsest of details from what he had witnessed inside his mind

or perhaps inside of the mural, but one thing was still lingering on his thoughts as his companions

began to walk towards the end of the corridor. The Jester had spoken but one phrase before the

spell ended, You amuse me.

Clueless was still shaken and a pale shade of white, the blood leached from his face, but a

grin was still present when they walked on down to the end of the corridor and the yawning

doorway at its terminus. Spooked and intrigued at the same time, the bladesinger looked back

at the mosaic. The figure of the tall man was gone from the image.

The doorway at the end of the passage opened up into a small, cloistered chamber whose

walls were formed by walls that resembled pillars of frosted glass. There was no apparent exit,

though there were three pedestals in the center of the room that rose up to perhaps waist height.

Atop each of the pedestals were blocks of clear crystal with vague humanoid forms suspended

inside each of them. No firm details could be made out.

Skalliska approached the pedestals, largely free as she was of the sense of horrific danger and

fear that pervaded the maze, none of which she remembered. The kobolds hand reached up to

the first block, touching it warily. The crystal was bitterly cold to the touch but free of ice or

condensation.

The things in here are alive. She said with a perplexed expression. I can feel a heartbeat

when I touch the surface.

 576

Cautiously the others approached to examine the blocks.

Theres something on the pillar over here on the wall. Nisha said from across the room

where she stood, looking at the frosted, opaque surface of the pillar that stood opposite the

entrance like some oversized icicle.

What is it? Clueless asked her.

The Xaositect gave an exaggerated groan before she read it to them. Release two of the

three occupants, come what may, and the exit shall be given to you from this place.

Lovely. Florian said as she rolled her eyes and glanced more closely at the pedestals.

Some form of bizarre writing was carved into the surface of each, two distinct languages and

scripts in fact. Below the lines of script there were two small gemstones on the surface: one

green and one orange. On each of them, the green gemstones were glowing.

Anyone know what this says? Or even what language these are? Toras asked curiously.

Skalliska glanced at them and then looked back at him, Not a clue on the first one, but the

lower one is gith, and a damned old dialect of it.

And it says? Tristol asked.

Skalliska went from one to the next and read off the names in sequence:

Parrashket - Fourth consort and bodyguard of Vlaakith, aid to Her Glory, Gith the Un-

shackler.

Fartellas - 9th Disciple of He who divided the sky, walker in the footsteps of those who

contemplate freedom.

Sithfallen - Mind lord and Savant of the 354th house of the Jaded of Penumbra

Tristol blinked, Umm...

Sh*t theyre old! Toras exclaimed.

Sh*t theyre important! Clueless said.

I want to choose! Nisha said as she dashed back over to their side of the chamber.

They glanced at one another warily before giving way to any commentary on the choices

facing them.

Im not letting out a damned mind flayer. Fyrehowl said as her ears flattened back against

her skull.

Im not sure if letting out two types of gith, different types of gith, is going to be so hot

either. Clueless said.

The wall doesnt say anything about letting them live... Skalliska said with genuine malice

as the others turned to her. We let the Illithid out with just enough time to see the swords

sticking through him and realize that hes dying. And then I want the head.
577

Thats disgusting. Fyrehowl.

Lets get into moral issues later... Florian said.

The lupinal shook her head, Moral issues nothing. She wants to cook it and eat it. I made

the mistake of asking about her prime world once.

Skalliska gave a smile and looked at the entombed Illithid like one might glance at frozen cuts

of cattle at a butcher.

If we let the Illithid out we not get the chance if he melts our brains out of our ears first.

Hes old and we dont know how powerful he might be. Tristol objected.

It. Skalliska said, It. Illithids dont have gender. Or rather, theyre both. Sort of like

yugoloths.

Florian had a sudden terrible thought involving Akin but she shook her head vigorously and

dismissed it.

Fyrehowl winced, I really dont want to go thinking about fiend gender or Illithid gender,

please, thats disgusting...

Nisha sipped at her cup of imaginary tea from before as she glanced at Fyrehowl. Told

you.

Well, a githzerai is less likely to just try and kill us for no apparent reason than a yanki or

mind flayer. I think we can agree on that. Florian said as she glanced at the blocks of crystal.

Tristol slumped down on the ground with an exhausted expression. Well, how about we sit

down and rest for a minute before we actually make a decision? Im almost out of most of my

useful spells, and I know Florian is as well. Weve been walking through this deathtrap for how

long now without a pause? I think we need it, and we should take the time to really consider

the choices we have here.

The others nodded and agreed. They were all tired and they had yet to actually rest, even

briefly, since they had entered the underhalls of the Jesters Palace, or wherever they were

currently. They needed to regain their spells, rest sore muscles, and put a decent amount of

thought into the latest whimsical and likely deadly puzzle they were presented with. They would

make their decision after a few hours of rest.

Chapter 53

Hours, and several changes of watch later, the group woke and stared back up once more at the

trio of crystalline prisons. None of them had moved during the three separate watches that they

had held, despite Skalliskas worry that the Illithid would wake up at any point and devour their

brains.

Clueless spoke first. So I think we can agree to let the githzerai out first? Theyre less likely

to attack us for no reason. Then we can maybe ask him if they know anything about the others.

Hell, for all we know the Illithid is a pacifist and the other two are psychotic. Florian said

wistfully.

Still, be ready in case anything happens. Toras said as he reached forward to touch the

orange gemstone on the base of the githzerais pedestal.

The moment he touched it there was soft hum from the crystalline block and it grew more

and more transparent by the second. Gradually it faded from sight and its inhabitant slumped

to the ground and seemed to awake with a start as if he had been asleep and deeply dreaming.

The githzerai glanced up at his surroundings and immediately adopted a defensive stance of

sorts. He was dressed in simple brown robes and only a single gemstone adorned him, seemingly

attached to his forehead. He blinked coal black eyes and took in the details of where he was and

who stood before him with caution. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity as his sense

of danger to himself faded since the group made no move to raise weapons or harm him.

He coughed, clearing his throat, and then asked something in an archaic form of gith. Getting

no response from his incomprehensible question he paused, seemed to concentrate for a moment,

and then he spoke again. While none of them recognized his words, they knew precisely what

he was saying somehow.

Who are you and where am I?

Fyrehowl spoke to him first in celestial, though there was an odd undercurrent of the words

that seemed to oddly resemble what the githzerai was speaking in.

578
579

Were trapped in this place as well. Somewhere within the City of Doors, far beneath the

streets under a place known as the Palace of the Jester.

The githzerai nodded and scowled. I had come to Sigil for reasons of my own, hoping to

find allies among the representatives of the celestials or others.

He furrowed his yellow skinned brow and sighed. How long has it been? Did Gith devour

my people? Did she ruin us all in her madness of blood, revenge, and empire?

It has been... it has been a long time. Fyrehowl said slowly, Some of those events are

legends to us.

He winced and inhaled deeply. What has become of us? Do not spare me harsh details. I

need to know this.

The lupinal nodded. Your race remained split in two. Your people, the githzerai, fled to

Limbo and there they remain. Giths followers, the githyanki, they traveled to the Astral plane

and theyre still there. No one knows where Gith is, vanished or perhaps dead; the race is ruled

by the lich queen Vlaakith, a descendant of the original.

Slowly they explained to him, Fartellas was his name, what had transpired since those times.

He calmly took in the details, though he seemed rattled by mention of the githzerai Wizard-King,

Zaerith Menyar Ag Gith. Following their conversation he stood up and paced the room.

Clueless asked him in modern githzerai, We were hoping that you could help us. In order

to leave this place we have to release another of those who were imprisoned along with you.

The zerai understood him but waited some time before answering.

I was alone when I came here. The duplicitous hypocrite who was responsible for me being

here would have put them here out of irony. He glanced at the crystalline columns. One of

Giths followers and one of the most hated slave masters, bastard spawn of Illsensine. Release

the githyanki and let me speak to her. If there is conflict, it is not yours to interfere in. Do I

make myself clear?

They nodded and backed up as the zerai pressed the glittering orange gem below where

the githyanki was held in stasis. As her prison walls evaporated, they exposed a bony female

githyanki. Her skin was as sallow as the rest of her kind though she had a series of elaborate,

glowing tattoos scrawled across her flesh and a flowing, never still sword of silvery metal in one

hand.

The zerai backed up and presented his open palms to her when she looked up and saw him. He

spat out something in their ancient language and she paused from where her hands had gripped

her sword. She snarled at him and spat back at him in return. Names were exchanged, and

while they did not know the other, they did seem to vaguely recognize the other by reputation.
 580

They seemed to argue for some time, and the words Gith and Vlaakith were repeated

over and over again like curses. At some point the githyanki dropped her sword and screamed

at the top of her lungs in what seemed like agonized disbelief. She began to weep.

Fyrehowl shook her head, She was a handmaiden or bodyguard, perhaps a consort even,

to the first Vlaakith. He told her about Gith, what we had told him about her vanishing. She

realized that her mistress betrayed the mother of their race. She may have suspected back so

many years ago that Vlaakith was planning something, but now she knows...

The githzerai made no move to help her up or console her, but he stepped back and pointed

to the Illithid.

This is going to be bloody. Skalliska said as she moved to get a closer view. She was eager

for the coming slaughter.

Fartellas, the githzerai, and Parrashket, the githyanki, calmly approached the crystalline

block that held the Illithid, some noble of long ago Penumbra. During their time imprisoned,

both of the children of Gith had been asleep, dreaming away the centuries. When Fartellas

pressed the orange gemstone and released the Illithid, all knew immediately that something had

gone differently, gone terribly wrong for it.

In the split second before the monks hand burst through the illithids chest and its head

was cleaved in twain by the antipaladin, there was a mind rattling psionic scream of terror and

madness that erupted from the squid-like head of the mind flayer. The Illithid had been awake

and conscious for all of the eons of its entrapment; it was insane beyond any measure of the

word.

Fartellas whispered some benediction to himself, a prayer, as he let the illithids sickly blood

drip from his hand. Opposite him, Parrashket ripped away the head of the kill and stepped

away with her grisly trophy held by the dangling spinal column.

There was an unpleasant silence as both gith looked at one another for some time. Some

unspoken communication or rapport passed between them both and they nodded to one another.

The githyanki hefted the illithids head and held it next to her own as she turned towards a

suddenly visible exit from the room. This is done. If ever we meet again it will be different. I

must go now, I have ancient sins to punish.

The githzerai nodded to her, neither showing anger nor sympathy. He understood clearly

that if they ever did meet again, one of them would die.

So it must be.

The githyanki passed through the door and vanished in a flicker of light.

Tristol jerked upright. That was a teleport.

581

They glanced at one another and immediately made for the same exit that had flickered into

appearance on the far wall, set within the frosted glass surface. They werent going to pass up

a chance to escape the confines of the whimsical but deadly labyrinth they had been trapped

within.

Fartellas cleaned his hands of the illithids blood and followed them out of the chamber,

giving one last scathing look at the walls and freely showing his contempt for the individual who

had trapped him there so long ago, ushering him to his palace under false pretense as one of the

great benefactors of gleaming Sigil. The Jester of old, that black-cloaked Tartuffe would have

made a saint of Baalzebul, and he was probably still alive and laughing. The gith spat on the

floor and followed his rescuers.

***

As soon as they passed through the door there was a vague sense of something watching them,

and oddly enough something being satisfied with them, willingly letting them go, releasing them

from where it had entrapped them. But still, as they left, that same eye was yet turned in their

direction as it continued stirring from slumber. He was intrigued.

Alright, were out of that damned funhouse finally. Florian said, followed by a loud curse

in Tempuss name.

Indeed we are. The githzerai said, as he closed his eyes and sighed with relief. Then, after

a long pause, pregnant with silence, he thanked them. Thank you for releasing me. I fear from

what you have told me that my own people have wandered from the path of my mentor just as

much as the githyanki have been led astray by first Gith herself and then by Vlaakith and her

descendants alike.

Youre welcome to come with us. Were all still stuck in the tunnels and passages down here.

And what were hunting are former servants of the Illithid deity. You could help us with what

you know. Fyrehowl said as she bowed to the githzerai monk, an original disciple of Zerthimon

himself.

My path is my own, and I need time to gather my thoughts before I decide what to do.

There is much to ponder before I act.

Clueless stepped forward. Im curious though. About what you know, about the time youre

from. So much of that is myth and legend to us. Id like to learn from someone who was there

to witness it.

Then sit and I will answer.

Fartellas gestured and sat down on the cold stone and talked to them for some time. He

told them of Gith, of Zerthimon, how the two had been lovers and bitter ideological enemies
 582

both before the war with the Illithids was won and how afterwards there was no reconciliation.

He spoke of Zerthimons agony over his actions that split the race of Gith in two and caused so

much misery, but that it was better for all of creation than the blood laden crusade that Gith

would have placed them all upon.

So many details he gave: descriptions of battles, the grown and engineered living weapons of

the Illithids, the siege of Penumbra itself, and the spread of the revolt to all the far flung worlds

of the empire in the prime, the ethereal, and beyond to even the whispering, hidden cities of the

astral and the forgotten city of Slaan in the depths of the inner planes.

So much that he knew first hand was either a mystery to planar scholars or so far lost and

forgotten that they didnt have the questions to ask to obtain them as answers. But he told them

as much as they wished to hear before he spread his hands and stood up without preamble.

I may see you again. I may not. When I am able, if I am able, I will send you a more proper

way of thanks. But for now I must find myself in a world in which I may no longer be relevant,

no longer viewed as a leader or one of the enlightened. I may have to free my people a second

time from ourselves. Goodbye.

And with that he nodded to them all and silently walked off down one of the passages

that spread out before them, eventually to make his way back up to Sigil far above them. They

watched him go with some measure of awe reserved for pieces of living history, proxies, archfiends

or gods. They didnt know if they would see him again.

Nisha scuffed a hoof on the stone and looked up at the others. So... what now?

What are we here looking for again? Skalliska asked plaintively.

Rats. Clueless said. Were here hunting rats. Maybe trying to find out what it was down

here that they were looking for too.

Tristol nodded. And we dont have a clue where they are, just down here somewhere and

probably waiting to jump out at us when we least expect it.

And curdle our brains like expensive cheese and... Fyrehowl paused and glanced down the

passage. ...does anyone else feel that?

The rest of the group paused and looked intensely in the direction they were walking. At first

they felt nothing, but then gradually they became aware of what the ciphers own preternatural

senses had told her of: there was a cool, fresh wind blowing at them faintly from that direction.

Cautiously they moved forward down the passage and up to the source of the chill.

Whoa... Tristol said as he paused at the lip of the shaft and looked down. A gentle breeze

wafted up from the darkness below to rustle the fur at the tips of his vulpine ears.

They stood clustered around a twenty foot or so wide shaft that plunged down into darkness
583

beyond the range of their vision or their lights. The walls of the shaft were smooth, featureless

stone and a spiral staircase was notched into the lip that curled around the sides as far down as

they could follow.

Hey Tristol, gimme that lucky copper again. Nisha said as she fumbled in one of the mages

pockets with a free hand and continued to stare down into the gloom.

No! Get your own, I dont want to... *plink*

Tristol sighed as Nisha dropped the copper down the shaft with a flick of a finger. It sailed

out of sight and they watched and waited for a sound that it had hit bottom. No sound reached

up to grace their ears.

A minute later Fyrehowl nodded softly. I heard something, but it might have just been the

wind. I cant say how deep that goes.

So, who wants to go down there? Skalliska asked as she glanced into the shaft.

Fyrehowl sniffed at the air again. The rats have been this way. Recently.

Toras fingered the hilt of his sword. That settles it then.

Jerimin looked up at the fighter and then down into the darkness. He hesitated and was

about to voice an objection.

Well let you out when everything is safe. Toras said as he held open the mouth of a bag

of holding. Drop the sword, check for sharp objects and then into the bag with you.

***

Twenty minutes earlier at the same spot, thirty or forty cranium rats peered over the lip

of the shaft. Their whiskers twitched in the wind and their exposed braincases crackled with

flickers of psionic energy.

This is the source of what we have felt. The power that has lain hidden under this place.

The lurker in the walls has kept us hidden from it thus far, but here is it before us.

The rats, hundreds of them, blinked in unison as they communed and pondered across their

interconnected minds. The being within the underhalls had mocked them, stymied them without

ever revealing itself, and the Natterers hunters who had hurt them so were still at large, sheltered

in some manner by that former entity. But regardless of that, they stood congregated at the edge

of what they had come seeking and they were not willing to risk losing access to it, whatever it

actually was.

We are intrigued. We are delighted with curiosity. Revenge against the Natterers pawns can

wait till we have found what it is that this place hides in the bowels of the city. It will be ours

and we will make the Godbrain suffer.

 584

The hivemind of vermin swarmed and rushed forwards. Like a living wave the legion of rats

hurled themselves as one over the sides of the shaft and down into the depths for whatever waited

for them below.

***

Has anyone paused to ask themselves just who actually built all of this? Tunneled down

into Sigils bedrock and built all of this fun? Toras asked wryly.

Skalliska held up a finger and pointed to the smooth, gray surface of the shaft. Sigil doesnt

have bedrock. It has Sigilrock, and if youll notice, thats what this goes down into or has been

for the past twenty minutes while weve been walking.

How far down are we? Weve been walking forever... Nisha said with a groan. Id rather

be back up there hallucinating. That was kinda fun.

About a mile or so down I think. Fyrehowl said.

How is that even possible? Clueless asked. I mean, going down were technically going

into the ring of Sigil. How thick is the ring? Theres got to be a limit of how far down we can

go, right?

The others had no answer, and as far as the bladesingers last question, they werent sure if

they wanted to know the answer. Twenty minutes later the rock changed.

What the hell... Skalliska had stopped dead in her tracks to stare at the walls of the shaft.

The gray, chalk-like Sigilrock had transitioned to a dense, almost metallic mineral, vaguely

reminiscent of something biological: the spongy tissue of a liver or a lung or the hollow of a long

bone. But yet it was stone, still hard and cold to the touch as the walls of the shaft made a fluid

transition from one type of rock to the next.

Anyone know what that is? Toras asked curiously.

Ive never seen anything like it before. I dont have a clue. Skalliska said with a shrug.

There was a rumor though, that in portions of the Great Below near the Ditch, somewhere

around where Tattershade, the Lord of Sigils wererats was lairing, that they found, or claimed

to have found, an abandoned Dabus warren. There was something in the rumor about stone that

was alive, or stone that didnt act like normal Sigilrock. I didnt put any truth in the matter

though; it was probably just to spook anyone who might intrude into Tattershades so-called

kingdom. I never liked having to deal with his people at all in the past.

The insinuation of that rumor, and any possible link to what they saw in the transition of the

stone as they progressed further and further down the stairs, it largely snuffed their conversation

with each other. As they continued deeper they had only the darkness above, the darkness
585

below, and the cool wind that rushed about them from the umbra like the shallow breath of a

god, pensive and frightened, hiding in the depths.

Admitting it or not, they were all frightened.

***

Four miles down from the top of the shaft they reached the bottom. The stairs extended into

a small chamber with a series of smooth arches leading off in several random directions. The

cool breeze that had wafted up the shaft blew in soft gusts from the various passages.

Heres your copper back. Nisha quipped as she picked up the coin where it lay against a

wall. Its a bit bent from the fall, but oh well.

Tristol accepted it back with a chuckle. So who wants to pick this time? He glanced down

the various passages that led away from the stairs.

Anyone but a fiend this time. Florian said.

Toras smirked. That wasnt fun. Not till the very end it wasnt.

Nisha looked up from where shed taken a seat. Im part fiend, does that count?

Skalliska was already moving towards one of the exits. For now yes. And Im making a map.

Thats something that weve been damn remiss about doing so far. Though who knows if itll

work at all down here, if this is even considered part of the Jesters Palace and all.

Florian nodded, Good idea.

Ten minutes later they walked back into the same room.

What the hell? Skalliska said in disbelief as she looked up from her rough map. This cant

be the room we started in. We walked in a straight line and didnt take any of the intervening

passages we found. We didnt turn any corners and there werent any portals in the way.

Maybe its a similar room and not the same one? Tristol mused.

Cant be. Nisha said, picking up something on the ground. Heres a copper piece of my

own that I left.

Than why is it bent just like mine? The mage asked as one of his ears twitched.

...you werent supposed to ask that. The tiefling said as she handed it back to him.

Skalliska tossed the map up in the air and took a seat by the stairs. Alright. Fine. This

place doesnt want to behave like normal space should. Lovely. Im up for wandering. Anyone

else?

Thats worked for us so far down here. I dont see why not. Fyrehowl said with a shrug.

And so they wandered. Several times they ended up back where they started or seemed to

follow the same path despite having started and ended up on different sides of the chamber with
 586

the stairs. After some time however they did stumble upon a unique room, and it was not empty

by any means.

The chamber was surreal in its contents: what initially appeared to be a rough-hewn block

of stone sat in its center. It was a golem, or perhaps a half-finished statue cut from black marble

and shot through with shimmering veins of gold.

Whatever it was, it was surrounded by some manner of warding circle that took the form of

runes written into the floor that shimmered and faded in and out of sight. The symbols didnt

actually touch the stone; they floated above it like Dabus rebuses, seeming to exist only partially

in phase with the stone of the floor they hovered above in a constant flux.

Looking warily at the symbols that made up the circle they could make out three distinct

and separate rings of runes, one of them fading into nothing while two others remained manifest.

When they shifted, the two extant rings seemed to rotate several degrees counter to one another,

and always they remained blurry. In fact they seemed to grow fuzzy and indistinct upon exam-

ination, only gaining detail in half glances out of the corner of ones eyes. They blurred almost

as if the eyes couldnt focus on them or they defied definition. They hurt the eyes to stare at

them. They were the same sets of symbols that had been present upon the solidified protomatter

filaments that wound round the exterior of the mazes of Her Serenity within the depths of the

Trackless Sea.

F*ck if Im going near that, whatever it is! Clueless said bluntly as he backed up from the

silently shifting rings of runes.

Even without any further explanation from the bladesinger, the others slowly realized that

same connection between the runes and what they had previously witnessed in the weblike

manifestations that cloaked the maze in the deep ethereal.

Tristol whispered a few words and glanced at the circle and the figure within. His vision

didnt change, despite the spell taking effect.

Its not magical, whatever it is. I dont have any idea what it might be. No idea at all...

Fyrehowl was spooked but cautiously approached the shifting rings. There were several things

laying on the ground near the ring that the others hadnt noticed, and she had smelt the acrid,

copper scent of spilt blood.

Seven cranium rat corpses lay at the edge of the outermost ring of symbols, all of them

unmoving and dead. Where they had touched the circle they simply ceased to exist, heads and

limbs severed and simply gone. It was as if they had plunged into a prismatic wall, testing it for

vulnerabilities, or blundered into the serrated shadow of The Lady.

Fyrehowl shuddered and backed away from the deadly trio of flickering circles.
587

The rats have been here. They tried to step through the circle. The lupinal motioned to

the corpses at the edge of the wardings. They died.

What is that thing in there? A statue? A golem or something? Toras asked curiously.

Tristol? Skalliska? You know anything resembling that?

They both shook their heads in the negative.

Is this what the rats were down here looking for? Florian asked as she walked a slow circle

around the figure, making certain that she didnt tread near the deadly barrier.

Clueless shrugged. Maybe, I dont know. There might be more things down here.

Im not so sure I want to go looking for them though... Fyrehowl said, perhaps a bit of

ciphers intuition seeping into her mind if not yet her actions.

Florian stopped and glanced not at the wards, but at the ground in front of the odd figure

held within their bladed embrace.

Theres something written on the floor in front of this thing. In Chondathan, my first

language...

Tristol walked up next to her, looked at the lines of text and shook his head. No, its in

Halruaan.

Unless Halruaan looks like celestial, than no. Fyrehowl said as she glanced at it.

And so it was with all of them. The lines appeared to have been written in whatever language

the seven of them spoke best, and still, despite those things, Tristol saw no emanation of magic

from the wards, the golem, or anywhere else in the chamber outside of his companions and

himself.

Gathered together around the three deadly rings surrounding the statue they read the refrain

at its base:

In silence, in solitude, entombed here in the depths of Her Serenitys vaults I wait. Patient

as the Great Spire and fearing none, for I see where others do not. Only by our Ladys Will does

darkness cloud my eyes as I wait for HUBRIS to shake the Heavens and Hells.

Her Serenitys Vaults?... Fyrehowl asked warily. I dont think we should be down here.

Toras backed away from the figure in the center of the room slightly. Ive already been in a

maze once. I dont want to ever be in one to call my own, thank you very much.

Clueless asked a question. Who or what is Hubris?

Pride? SIRBUH spelled backwards all ominous like? Nisha said with a chuckle.

Florian patted the Xaositect on the head. Not a rhetorical question Nisha.

Skalliska mused. Well that might be a name. Maybe of this whatever it is thats sitting here

in the circle. I dont know.

 588

Whatever it is, the cranium rats seemed interested in it, and gave up trying to get to it. I

mean, if that passage is actually suggesting that whatever is down here was put here by Florian

lowered her voice, ...you know who... than I dont think the rats were going to get into it.

The cleric received some nods in reply. It seemed like a sensible enough notion.

But since we know the rats are actually down here, or were at some point, I think we should

at least look around some more. Yes its creepy but still. Clueless replied with a gesture to one

of the three archways out of the room.

And so off they went through a nondescript maze of passages that seemed to continually loop

back on themselves in defiance of any sort of spatial laws. Twice they ended back up in the room

with the stairway and its miles high shaft, and another time they ended up back in the room

with the warding circles in which they had started. In fact, none of the passages seemed to lead

to the same destination twice or even to follow the same path each time they would take it.

Not even marking the passages with chalk, ink, paint, or string remedied the situation. The

marks they made would vanish, appear in different places, or make no sense at all if one tried

to follow them in a straight line. And all the while, Tristol noticed not a drop of magic to be

present.

Eventually however, they did find a second unique chamber. The room was roughly the same

size as the previous one, and again a single object stood at its center. A three-sided glass obelisk

perhaps seven feet tall, it hovered above the floor by several inches. Odd symbols hovered above

its surface causing discomfort and pain to the eyes if they were focused upon.

Periodically the obelisk turned to expose a different one of its faces to each of the three exits

from the chamber. As it did so the runes seemed to shimmer for an instant but otherwise they

remained the same.

And again, just like the last chamber, a half dozen cranium rats littered the floor around

the object, their blood and gore spattered explosively about their forms but leaving the obelisk

untouched by even a single drop. And still Tristol saw no evidence of magic despite everything

else they beheld.

Dont look too closely at it. Trust me on this one. Bleeding eyes arent fun. Clueless said.

Florian nodded and pointed to the rats. And dont touch is an operative term again. Thanks

to the rats for illustrating this for us.

They stared at the odd, hovering object for some time before shrugging and pondering the

exact reason for its motion and its changes when it did move.

Clueless stood and looked at the obelisk and then at the exits. Maybe theres a pattern to

what rooms the exits lead to depending on which side of the obelisk is facing each of them? Its
589

an idea.

Perhaps. Its worth a try. Ive still got string and chalk. Skalliska said as she avoided

glancing at the object.

Actually Ive got your string and chalk. But same difference. Nisha said as she handed

them to Skalliska.

The kobold gave her a look and then walked towards one of the entrances.

Some time later they had wandered in and out of the same featureless tunnels, the entrance

to the current warren, and the other previous chamber they had found. Eventually they gave up.

There was no apparent pattern to the exits and the position of the obelisk. There was however

a detail of the obelisk that they had not before noticed.

Within its translucent interior, when it shifted its position, there was a flicker of an image

within that seemed to linger, ghostlike, for a split second before vanishing. Three separate images

that were present in sequence, one for each time the object turned and the runes shimmered.

Clueless and Nisha looked at one another as the first image flickered and was gone. They

had both seen it before. A marble standing stone there in the gloom of the second layer of the

Gray Waste, one of the Loadstones of Misery. When the obelisk had cycled fully and returned

to the Loadstone image, it was subtly different. Another cycle later and it was different once

more. Three Loadstones in all, each of them present in the crystalline interior of the hovering

monolith.

The second image within the interior was the otherwise familiar Infinite Spire within the

Outlands. Oddly though, Sigil was absent at its summit in the obelisks image.

Well, theres one we recognize. Sort of, theres just no Sigil. Fyrehowl said.

So whats the pattern? Sort of spires or big rocks on the planes? There isnt a third one.

Skalliska said with a shrug.

The third was one they didnt recognize: some column of gleaming, burning moonlight rising

up out of some body of water or a calm ocean. For whatever reason its appearance seemed both

calming and guilt forming, as if they had seen something that wasnt meant to be seen. Or

perhaps it wasnt guilt, but rather a sense of longing or a sense of regret at something that once

was, but was no longer.

That almost looked like Thalasia. But theres nothing like that there. At least nothing that

I know of. Fyrehowl looked confused at the very notion. None of the others could really question

her though being that of them, she was the only native of Elysium. If there were something like

that there, certainly she would have known about it, no?

With a bit more confusion they wandered out of the chamber and blindly sought another one.
 590

Two unique chambers, each with three exits and a single object in the center, and they always

kept finding their way back to the spots that they began. It only seemed to stand to reason that

there would be a third unique room like the other two that would fulfill the rule of three, center

of all, and unity of rings as they seemed to be present in each. But of course, the only truth

about the rules tended to be that they usually never truly and easily applied unless you went

out of your way looking for them, if even then.

Nearly an hour later of aimless wandering though, they finally noticed an incongruity in the

soft gusts of wind and a bit of light from the end of one side passage. The air seemed colder and

fresher than anywhere else, and the light was almost natural seeming. Curiously they looked at

one another and then turned down that particular passage. At the end of it was an archway,

much like those that had graced the entrances to the other two previous unique chambers, or

vaults as they might have been. But something was distinctly odd about what they could see

through the entrance, and near the rear of the group as they walked, Fyrehowl was increasingly

nervous and skittish.

Tristols voice choked up as they passed through the portal. This isnt possible...

Above them there was no ceiling of rock or stone, but only an empty, open sky that stretched

out into a featureless blue-green nothingness. Underground, four miles below the streets of Sigil,

they looked up and saw the sky above them reaching out over the walls of a room that was

otherwise like the other two, save what was there that should not have been. They all walked

into a courtyard in the depths of Sigil open to a sky that should not have existed.

Opposite them, perhaps a hundred feet away, was another archway that stood separate from

the courtyard. The arch was obviously a portal of sorts, though it did not register as one, nor

did it flicker with the telltale glow of magic, but another of the nondescript tunnels was visible

through it.

A cold wind drifted down from the expanse of sky above them, the source of the breeze that

had crept up from the vaults and the miles long staircase that had led them there, wherever

there was.

But the void above was not what frightened them by comparison. At the very center of the

courtyard, atop a low pedestal, stood a life-sized statue of Her Serenity, The Lady of Pain. Cut

from the purest white marble, blades of glimmering silver sprouted like organic, living things from

the stone. The marble seemed to actually transmute from rock to metal where they emerged,

seemingly having been grown rather than made. Not a speck of dust marred the statues surface,

nor any marks of age or weathering, and like Her Bladed Majesty, its gaze was unreadable,

emotionless, and implacable.

591

...We... we shouldnt be here. Clueless said with an almost frightened solemnity.

Skalliska had a worried tone to her voice as she asked, How is there a sky here? Were miles

underground and we havent gone through a single actual damn portal down here.

Is it possible to come out on the other side of the ring and look... out? Florian asked as

she stared up into the infinite blank reach of the cold, cloudless sky above them.

Skalliska whispered several words and began to float up from the ground. Theres one way

to find out. Im going to go look.

Skalliska, I dont think you should, uh, be doing that... Fyrehowl said as a warning before

she glanced back at the statue of Her Serenity.

The others nervously milled about as the kobold drifted up to the top of the courtyard and

looked up into the sky and over the edge of walls that anywhere else would have touched and

bordered upon a ceiling. What she saw took her breath away. The stone surface extended out

infinitely in a flat plane in every direction without any hint of curvature. The cold expanse of

the sky gazed down over all of it without an end in sight. There was no hint of clouds, or ground,

or the spire.

Skalliska gripped the edge tightly and glanced back at the others. Theres no spire. Just

the sky and a flat surface of rock over the edges that just... goes on...

Tristol looked up at her, his tail was tucked between his legs and his ears were flat against

his head. Come on down now. We should leave.

She didnt object, and still holding on to the stone she drifted back down to the ground and

consciously avoided looking at the statue of The Lady at any point during her descent.

So, how about we leave now and see if we can find the rats on the way back? If theyre down

here, I dont think they should be and I dare say that they cant do anything they shouldnt...

Clueless said as he glanced once more over at the statue.

Good idea. I havent said anything about it, but guys... Fyrehowl paused and sounded

actually disturbed. Nothing down here feels right. The Cadence... I cant describe it at all.

Please, lets leave.

The cipher turned towards the archway that wasnt a portal but yet was, intending to leave,

but then she stopped and abruptly turned towards the other exit across the courtyard. She had

barely the time to scream a warning to her companions and roll for cover as The Us, all of them,

hundreds upon hundreds of cranium rats, burst through and into the courtyard with nothing but

hatred seething across their raging, undulating carpet of eyes, teeth, claws and brains.
Chapter 54

Fyrehowl dove and rolled for cover as the rats poured into the courtyard. Already there was a

hum in the air as a great billowing sphere of flame seemed to collect and flicker into being above

the Us, their hatred taking physical form, tethered by crackles of psionic force to each of their

brains.

While the flickering sphere of flame continued to build and collect, gathering its strength

above the hive, a wave of rippling psionic force washed out in front of them, crashing into Toras,

Florian, and Clueless before fading. A raging chorus composed of tattered, random fragments of

angry, visceral screams could be heard lashing out from the minds of the cranium rats.

Killers of Us... Die!... Kill you... Feast on your thoughts! ... We... crack open your skulls

and drink!...Hatred...Death!

The group staggered to their feet from where they had fallen, they hastily cast defensive

spells, or moved into a wider stance to divide the attentions of the swarm. Only Fyrehowl was

quick enough to act immediately as she thrust out her hand and the air crackled with a billowing

cone of utter cold. It slammed into the rats flank and shattered dozens of them with its frozen

touch, burning others with the sudden exposure. It also goaded the rats into acting perhaps

sooner than was wise, their fury overriding their otherwise godlike intellect.

The gathering sphere of flame above the hive lanced out in a half dozen directions, streaking

into the midst of the rats enemies and detonating with ferocious power. But the rats had

unleashed their rage too soon. It was too unfocused, and one of the beams missed the lupinal

and coursed past her, streaking further into the courtyard, an errant missile moving towards the

statue of The Lady. It struck the marble midsection of the serene figure, and erupted in a roar

of flame, broken, clattering fragments of burnt stone and shards of molted silvery metal.

Time seemed to stop.

The minds of the collective paused, horror etched on their expressions and their mental

patterns; they waiting for something to happen. Be it The Lady Herself appearing to obliterate

592
593

them, cast them into a maze, or something worse, it was an unknown quantity, and they did

nothing, could do nothing, but watch.

Fyrehowl blinked. Whatever feeling she had felt from the Cadence simply did not make sense

to her at all.

The others also watched from where they had fallen or taken their stand, waiting for the

rats attack. The smoke cleared, the fire sputtered and died, and there was the sound of moving

stones and clinking metal; the broken fragments of the statue were being pulled back like bits of

iron to a magnet.

They all watched, spellbound and terrified, even the Us, as bits of stone and metal met, fused

like drops of oil, and rolled back to the broken base of the statue where the marble hem of The

Ladys robes brushed the ground. The smooth base of the statue rippled like a sculpture of water

held in a solid, seamless form, the broken pieces merging with it, fusing with it, and it began to

regenerate like a living thing. Within moments the enigmatic gaze of the statue of the Bladed

Queen stared back at them as before, pristine and terrible, deadly grace repeated in stone and

silver; not a mark remained of the damage.

Time began again.

Clueless thrust out of his hand and began to chant as his wings fluttered and drew him up

above the melee. A column of roaring flame descended upon the hive, flickered against some

warding that soaked it up like a sponge, but left several score of their kind scorched and enraged

by pain.

Toras stepped in front of Florian, willing to take any blow directed against the cleric as she

invoked the power of her deity. A raging, holy twin of the half-feys conjuration blasted down

upon the rats, more heavily the second time.

The next moments were an agony of psionic lashes, bursts of pain directed against the minds

of the hated enemies of the Us. A greenish ray scored the ground and burst against the chest

of Toras, knocking him over and threatening to consume him before he managed to resist it. A

ball of electricity erupted from nothing in the midst of where Skalliska, Nisha, and Tristol stood,

and a ripple of force nearly hurled Clueless against one of the courtyard walls. But through it

all, nothing again came even close to the baleful gaze of the statue of The Lady.

Tristol saw the overwhelming force that the Us, as a single collective, was hurling out at them,

moment by moment, and he knew that if it did not end soon, they would not survive. Then he

remembered something: a metallic rod that he had taken from the possessions of the Incantifer

Archmage, the insane wizardress Areya Fenthellis, known as the Spellbreaker. He gripped it in

his hand and began to cast.

 594

The bolt of lightning was not any more especially powerful than normal, but it was a potent

thing nonetheless, and there were hundreds of rats, none of them more than inches apart from

one another. The lightning arced, the air was ripped with the scent of ozone, and as the first

bolt struck one of the members of the Us, it forked, struck two, then forked again, and again,

and again, flowing out over the hive, each separate lance of current striking more than a single

target, the bolts overlapping in which rats they caused to shudder, dance, ignite and burst.

As the spell ended, a hundred, maybe two hundred members of the hive were naught but

bone and ash. The air was rent with screams of agony both real and mental. The collective

was in shock with the sudden loss of perhaps a third of its number, and the concurrent drop in

its own faculties and intelligence. Too much pain. Too much loss. They could not stay or they

would lose more, and they had lost far too much. They had to run. They had to flee and escape.

The thoughts were incoherent on the air as the remaining members of the hive turned and

ran for the archway they had first come through, running and trying to find their way to the

stairway back to the Palace of the Jester, and from there to the unmapped warrens and sewers of

Sigils Great Below. Of course, their enemies that they left behind were in little better condition.

Oh you dont want more? Come back, we can try again! Toras said, rather ineffectually,

as he winced against the pain. He lay there on the ground with his breastplate punched through

by the rats magic, a warm stain slowly spreading outwards.

Tristol, youre a saint. An oftentimes very destructive one, but a saint nonetheless. Florian

said as she stood up, wincing as she did.

Dont look at me. The mage replied incredulously. I didnt think itd work, but I was

running out of options. A few more seconds and theyd have turned the rest of you to ash, and

I wouldnt have been too far behind.

Nisha meanwhile had snagged several of the roasted cranium rats and tossed them into a bag.

Evidence for Jeremo she called it, and the others found it not a bad idea at all.

So this opens the question. Where did the rats end up going? Clueless said.

Fyrehowl gave a shrug. I dont think theyre down here. I cant really say why though. Its

just a feeling. And that said, I really, truly dont want to be down here any longer than I have

to.

They all gave an uneasy look towards the statue at the courtyards center.

Yeah, lets get out of here. Tristol said.

Not even Nisha made an objection as they made their way back to the stairs. It took them

nearly an hour, during which time they stopped to rest and heal most of their more serious

wounds. As they finally found the correct path back to the central chamber where the stairs
595

entered, they found a trail of bloody footsteps and one or two more rat corpses; stragglers who

had died in their flight back towards safety.

The stairs themselves were a canvas of blood from the hundreds of passing rats. It was

obvious that they had fled upwards, and probably wouldnt stop once they reached the top.

Jeremo seemed to have his problem taken care of.

Skalliska looked up the stairs and whimpered.

Hmm? Skalliska? Fyrehowl asked.

How long was the way down here? The kobold asked.

About, what? Two miles or so? The lupinal replied.

Skalliska whimpered again.

Oh for the Foehammer... Florian stammered.

Sh*t. Toras said bluntly as he realized the implication.

I love my wings. I really do. Clueless said as he started to hover and ascend the stairs

with Fyrehowl floating behind him for as long as her spell would last. The others grumbled and

trudged behind them on foot.

***

The long, slow climb up those miles of stairs was terribly difficult, but it was all the more

liberating when they finally emerged over the lip of the crevice and out into the normal expanse of

the Great Below. They variously staggered and collapsed around the edge, panting and breathing

deeply of the still, stagnant air as the cooler, fresher air from below wafted at their skin and

brushed at hair and fur. Now of course they knew the source of that chill wind, or perhaps, all

things considered, they knew less of the nature of that source than they did before.

Remind me to send hate mail to the Planewalkers Guild. Toras mumbled.

Excuse me? Skalliska said as she lay there against the cold stone floor. Why?

The Infinite Staircase. Tristol said between catching his breath. Thats where theyre

headquartered.

Hate mail for promoting the idea of stairs. Toras said, half a laugh and half a wheeze.

Mother-F*cking stairs...

Just think of kicking Seamus down them. Nisha said.

For a brief moment before they all got up and activated their rings that Jeremo had given

them, the bemused smile that played across Torass face was priceless.

I never bargaaaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhh! Toras said to himself, mimicking the dust mephits

nasal and annoying voice for a moment. Oh, in a perfect world...

 596

***

The glow of the teleport quickly faded and they found themselves there at the bottom of the

stairs up into the Palace of the Jester proper. It was right where they had started, and Jeremo

was sitting there on the stairs, twirling his crown around one hand like a toy as he smiled down

at them.

A perfect world? The Natterer said curiously as he glanced at his employees.

Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself. Nevermind. Toras said.

Have you been waiting for us this whole time? Florian asked with some shock. She hadnt

expected Jeremo to be there for them whenever they finally finished what he had tasked for them

to do.

The Jester waved one hand while brushing his hair out of his face with the other.

No no no, hardly no, not at all. I had a ring keyed to those I gave you. As soon as you came

back it brought me here. So... what news?

He had a keenly interested, gregarious expression on his face as he looked at them all and the

various healing wounds and scorched equipment they carried. Quite obviously they had done

more than just wander about for a while before giving up. And unlike the previous group, theyd

come back.

Problem solved. Clueless said. At least for now. Theyre down about a third of their

number.

Nisha tossed out one of the rats that she had collected down below. Jeremo winced at the

smell of cooked meat and burned fur.

With a loss like that theyll likely try to build their numbers back up before doing anything

else like this. Fyrehowl said. I think youre going to be rat free for some time.

Oh, and one other thing. Toras said as he opened up his bag of holding and dumped first a

desiccated corpse, and then a living person out of the interior. Out of the bag with you. Were

back up top finally.

Jerimin clambered out of the bag and onto the floor. He seemed more than a bit claustropho-

bic regarding where he had just been, and it took him several moments to realize that Jeremo

was sitting on the steps and kicking his heels out back and forth. As soon as he saw him and

recognized him, Jerimin straightened out and gave a bow.

Factol!

Jeremo waved off the formality as unnecessary.

Well, you at least made it back alive. The Natterer said. Cant say too terribly much
597

about this other fellow here. Not good. Any idea on the other three that went down with you?

Umm... no sir. Jerimin replied. I cant really say. We were attacked by the rats almost

immediately and were separated from that point on. I wouldnt have made it out expect for these

fine fellows you sent down after my group. I owe them a debt, and you know how we handle

that.

Quite seriously. Jeremo said with a smile. Obviously his hireling was also a member of the

Ring-Givers.

You dont want us to go back down there and try to find those other people in that first

group, do you? Florian said curiously.

Not your problem. I sent them down there and Ill pay another group to go recover them.

Jeremo replied. Besides, with the rats not an issue for the moment, or at least chased off

till they recover their numbers, the place should at least be less dangerous, if still not entirely

coherent. Plus itll give me a chance to have a confirmation that the cranium rats are indeed

gone.

Sounds fair enough. Skalliska said.

Anything I can get you? You look like you just walked halfway across the city. Jeremo said

with childlike curiosity.

Thats about right probably. Toras replied.

Youd be surprised. Fyrehowl said.

Jeremo cocked his head to the side. Somehow his crown stayed on, despite the ridiculous

angle it usually sat at.

Tell me about it over a drink and something to eat. You deserve to relax and Ive got a

kitchen staff thatll make you anything you want. Besides, I want to hear about what all you

found. Follow me. Jeremo said before hopping up to his feet and motioning them forwards. A

number of servants collected the corpse as well, presumably to take it to a cleric to have the poor

sod raised from the dead.

And so for several hours they relaxed as best they could while Jeremo lavished them with

anything they might want. The Natterer also never stopped talking for more than a scant few

seconds when he wasnt listening to an answer. He simply prattled on and on for all the time that

they were in his company, though his questions all did have relevance to what he had employed

them to do; the man was simply talkative.

Eventually though, Jeremo was finally exhausted of questions for them, or at least he had the

sense to stop, offer them their payment, and let them be on their way with his thanks. Toras was

still grumbling about stairs, Clueless was oddly quiet, and Nisha was playing bitey bitey brain
 598

zappy rat at odd intervals, and the Xaositect still had the rats that shed collected, though none

of the others had noticed apparently.

But, within the hour they were back at the Portal Jammer for a chance to finally and wholly

relax in whatever way they cared to. Tristol promptly took a nap, Nisha vanished to wherever

she cared to vanish to, Florian said her daily devotions and passed out, Skalliska went back to

her research that shed been working on the prior week, Clueless, still spooked, tended the bar,

Fyrehowl left to go meditate, and Toras just sat and watched people in the taproom.

For the next twenty-four hours or so, life progressed normally for them without any oddities.

***

Clueless was still thinking back to their time in the depths of the Jesters Palace. Not to the

cranium rat hive, not even to the eerie contents of the Vaults they had stumbled across. The

half-fey was thinking nervously to the scenes that he had witnessed when talking to that grove

of trees there in the labyrinths, the tomb and its smirking statue, and the events he had seen

inside the murals depicting The Jester.

The bladesinger was wary of that still, and he was continually looking behind him as he

walked through the streets of the Guildhall Ward, making his way towards the Great Bazaar.

Hed intended to simply go and have a drink at a place reputed, in his outsiders way of knowing

such things, to be a place where members of the Free League met. The faction wasnt really

a faction now, nor had it ever been if you asked members, and so there was no formal way of

getting into the group or learning about it. Clueless figured that if he felt certain things about

the world that they apparently did as well, and made himself present in places that members of

the group frequented, one of them might take notice and clue in the clueless, so to speak.

But damn if he couldnt stop being paranoid and spooked by what had happened down there

in the warrens beneath the Jesters Palace. Every wizard he saw wearing a dark cloak, every

halfling with a covered head moving about the crowd, anything even remotely similar in form

to the Jester and his... companion... familiar... thing... was raising his heartbeat up a notch

reflexively.

He turned a corner into the sprawling, organized chaos of the Great Bazaar, and then he

stopped dead in his tracks. They were here in Sigil. Almost like they were waiting for him, the

two of them. Standing no more than ten feet away, an overly tall man in a long cloak and a wide

brimmed hat stood at the edge of the sprawl of tents and stands. Standing at no more than to

his thigh was a smaller figure in enveloping, drab colored robes.

They both turned, and for a moment Clueless nearly bolted back the way that he had come.
599

His eyes went wide with sudden terror.

The half ogre in the cloak glanced down, said something not heard over the din of the crowds,

and laughed at his companion. The monk looked up at him, the edge of his stereotypically

dwarven beard showing out of the lower lip of the robes hood.

Oh son of a... Clueless said as his pulse returned to normal. He cursed somewhere between

to himself and at the pair of berks who happened to be dressed in the absolute wrong way for

their respective heights as might be possible given his current mindset.

I need to stop being so damned skittish. Ill be sitting in this place and be so nervous that

half the crowd will think that Im a Hardhead plant, and the other half will assume that Ive

been using too many drugs in the Civic Festhall.

He shook his head and continued on into the sprawl of the marketplace, trying ever so hard

to divest himself of those lingering thoughts about what hed seen and who hed spoken to down

there in the depths of the Great Below.

***

A day later, and back in the Portal Jammer:

We have a letter. Two of them. Toras announced as he placed one down in front of Skalliska.

And another free sample from Seamusxanthuszemus, but Ill handle that in my own time this

week. Toras said with a roll of his eyes.

But this first letter is for all of us... He added as he put it down in the center of the table

to stare at like it was a venomous snake.

Fyrehowl groaned when she glanced at what was written in gold foil on the envelope. To

the owners of the Portal Jammer, the sincerest apologies of The King of the Crosstrade.

Oh for the Foehammer... Florian said as she snatched it up, ripped off the top and looked

at the text of the letter. Ten jink says she hasnt written her own missives in a century.

The cleric cleared her throat as she read it out loud, Dear fellow landowners of Sigil, very

nearly my peers perhaps.

Nearly her peers? Clueless said with an offended tone.

I havent bathed in the gutter lately, so Im not a peer of hers. Tristol said with a frown.

I dont frequent Tanarri brothels, so how could I be a peer... Fyrehowl remarked with a

snort.

Hush! Florian said with a faux smack of her hand. Let me finish. This is good. And by

good I mean so laughingly fake, pretentious, and put on.

 600

The letter read: Dear fellow landowners of Sigil, very nearly my peers perhaps. I must

sincerely apologize for the horrific events of the past week that put such a pall over the celebration

held by the esteemed Jeremo the Natterer, my friend for some time now even before his ascension

to Factol of the Ring-Givers. It is such a terrible thing that some persons sometimes lose

their sense of social rank, their ego grows too over inflated beyond their means to support it

legitimately, and they feel that by causing a scene at the expense of others that they might

elevate their own standing in the eyes of those who might have previously called them a peer. I

was shocked (shocked!) by the horrific attitude and subsequent actions of Zadara the Titan. I

simply cannot fathom what was going through her mind when she disrupted Jeremos party so.

The letter went on in a similar fashion for another two pages, not once making mention of the

Marauders screaming outburst, public attack on an otherwise dismally perceived Dust Mephit,

and her attempted murder of the Titan. Mostly it rambled on and on in five jink words about

how horrible Zadara was.

Well, at least some good has come out of it. Florian stated.

Oh? Toras asked.

Skalliska was, by that point, ignoring them and reading the letter addressed to her. Whatever

the contents, it had her peering intently at it, scratching her chin in curiosity and pursing her

lips.

Indeed. Its made me remember just how much blistering disdain I actually have for the

b*tch. Back me up on this one Clueless. Florian said.

Clueless smirked and nodded, Such a lovely women... He muttered, before his tone became

more vindictive.

Im going to see her shaved. He said, holding a hand to his collarbone and moving it down

to his navel. From here, to here. In public. I swear to you, thats what Ill do.

Not bad... Fyrehowl said with a chuckle. Maybe put it into little patterns like some of

the wealthy folks in the Ladys Ward do for their puppies?

Florian grinned. Not bad? Thats genius. Tempus would approve.

Skalliska had put down the letter shed been reading and wandered over to the bar, blissfully

ignoring the commentary by her companions. Once there, she walked around to the back and

chugged nearly a third of a bottle of wine. Clearly something had gotten her attention in what

shed read.

***

The Oinoloth stood in the bowels of Khin-Oin, walking on a platform high above the spawning
601

pits, the fossilized sacral vertebrae of the Wasting Towers foundations riding high above him like

a mummified firmament over the hell beneath. Below the gaze of The Ebon and his collection

of scribes that followed him like mewling puppies, they watched the processes of the pits several

hundred feet beneath them. In the bubbling and roiling toxic expanse of the pools below,

Mezzoloths were formed and created; their essence ripped up from the very flesh of the Waste,

their bodies extruded from the bloody innards of that which birthed them.

Vorkannis smiled through air thick with bursts of flame, electrical discharge, and noxious

fumes from below as the newborn fiends rose to the surface and slowly formed, becoming more

and more distinct by the minute. He smiled more when the air was ripped by thousands of pained

screams. In that moment, the newly born yugoloths began to slaughter one another, killing and

slaying in an orgiastic fratricide. As the screams of the dying faded away, only one of them from

each monstrous vat was left alive to climb up and out of the pool where it would take its place

as a cog of multiversal evil.

Hundreds of thousands of such spawning pools rose in the distance in the vaults there below

the ossified foundations of the Wasting Tower, below the vaults, below the tributaries of the

Styx, and below nearly thirty miles of ash, dust and solidified evil. It was one of three such

places where they burrowed deep, worrying the flesh of the plane, ripping up the bloody, raw

moral effluvium and forging it into their own shapes. It was more efficient that way; it allowed

them to complete the process in quicker time than simply waiting for the mezzoloths to break

free from the surface up above on Oinos, or crawl out as whimpering, hungry newborns on the

banks of the Styx. This method ensured that only the strong and merciless survived.

It was one of three such places: Just like the great machines, the infernal devices that tapped

the furnaces of Gehenna beneath the vaults and archives of the Tower Arcane; just like the cage

wrought of misery and bound souls within the hollow interior shaft of the Tower of Incarnate

Pain. They were things of beauty in his eyes.

He allowed himself that moment of pleasure before moving onwards with his underlings.

They turned and approached a new pool at the periphery of the spawning pits, one that was

constructed to his elaborate specifications.

As they approached the pool, a pair of nycaloths flanked the Ebon as ceremonial guards, and

a group of arcanaloths followed after him, in awe of him and giddily attentive to his instructions;

they hung on every word he spoke. Several steps behind them, three ultroloths followed along

silently as well, watching, observing, and learning with more subdued attention that the jackal

headed fiends.

They, the arcanaloths, were scribes, cogs of evil, but of late they had been more headstrong
 602

given that one of their own ranks had assumed the position of Oinoloth. The Ebon didnt treat

them any differently than had previous Oinoloths. He did not elevate that caste above their

traditional position, his bizarre promotion of The Manged notwithstanding, nor did he look

down on the Ultroloths. Very early on however he had made it clear that any Ultroloth who

harbored even a speck of disdain for his nominal caste would not be long in this world. The

corpses that still hung from the spires of Khin-Oin, swinging in the wind like grotesque fruit

from a withered tree, they attested to this fact. To The Ebon, caste was nothing, only power

and fitness mattered, and he would be an iconoclast if that served his own goals and those of

their racial creed. Those who argued otherwise ceased to exist. The Ultroloths remained silent

as they followed behind their Oinoloth and his sycophants.

The pool was a basin of iron bound with rings of jet stone that flickered with a pale green

light from some manner of mineral inclusion. Intricate runes covered the outside rim of the vat

and down deep into its interior, deep carved spaces filled with still liquid mercury, too heavy

and too dense to leak from their hollows and into the boiling contents of the pool itself. A single

figure grew and gestated therein, and The Ebon and his following stopped and watched it in

silence.

You have questions burning in your brains. The Ebon said without looking away from the

vat where the sickly light from his eyes reflected back in tiny, guttering pinpoints of red. You

are uncertain of the manner of sorcery I have used. You are uncertain of what manner of creature

I am growing. And each of you is too fearful to be the first to ask what all of you are wondering.

Those arcanaloths who possessed tails hung them between their legs under their robes, but

still they did not answer their Oinoloth; they were afraid more than they were curious.

You should all be well acquainted with the process that goes on about us for miles and

miles. That process has not changed in millennia, and is unlikely to change unless We determine

that it necessary to change the very nature of the least of our kind; to change the nature of the

mezzoloth. In this instance, no radical changes are required. Purity is something to be striven

for; it is an evolution of form gained by conflict, strife and painful learning. Misery makes you

whole.

He gesticulated back towards the mezzoloth vats in the distance.

It is undesirable to make them different than they are now. That would defeat the progres-

sion from one caste to the next, the slow purification of the self that most of us have undergone.

It is this painful process of learning, this unhallowed passage to maturity that causes many to

look down upon those of higher caste who are born into their station rather than rising to the

top and surviving by skill and merit.

603

He looked back and nodded in approval as a single mezzoloth emerged from out of one of the

nearby vats. It had just slaughtered its birth mates and earned itself the right of existence: The

Ebons example in microcosm.

One of the arcanaloth scribes, one who had been born into his caste, shook slightly at the

Oinoloths implication. He shuddered, his tail jerked spastically between his legs in terror, and

he remained utterly silent.

But this creature is different, in both form, purpose, and ontogeny. The Ebon said, as a

tendril of shadow from around his feet curled up and seemed to point like an exaggerated finger

at the body in the vat before them all.

The crooning arcanaloths and silent Ultroloths alike pushed forwards to gain a closer look.

All they could see of the creature growing in the interior of the vat was a mass of semisolid

tentacles and an eyeless face that seemed to be merely braincase and gnashing teeth. Whatever

it was, it was nearly double the size of the largest nycaloths, perhaps bordering on the scale of

a Goristro Tanarri, but it was agonizingly thin, like a lepers idol or a starving godling.

A few curious souls asked him questions, and he smiled as he answered them.

Oh I have made it from the essence of the depths, a place I am well acquainted with, but I

have not given it the capacity for independent thought as of yet.

They asked him more questions, clarifications of intent, when the beast would think on its

own, and other more prosaic items. The Ebon flashed ivory fangs.

I require obedience and instinct from this creature and its type, not independence. I have

need of puppets, perfection without fawning and idolatry. The Ebon glanced at the scribes who

flocked around him. And I have need of abilities not possessed innately by any extant yugoloth.

And so, I make them myself to suit my needs for each given task and I scribe my mandates upon

their minds and their most basic essence. While you are mirrors of perfection, seeking to emulate

it, I am making tools to be held by the one who sees only these distorted reflections surrounding

him.

None of them replied, especially not the Ultroloths. Eventually though, one of them asked

another question.

How will you implant conscious thought into the creature? Is it more a construct of flesh

and bone, an infusion of positive energy, negative energy, or will it develop some rudimentary

thought patterns of its own as its organs develop and its brain grows more complex? One of the

arcanaloths asked tentatively. You said that you had not given it the capacity for independent

thought, as of yet. Does that mean that it will require some form of vital spark before it

develops in that direction? How will you accomplish this?

 604

The Ebon turned and faced the scribe. The others around him backed away.

You will suffice...

The lesser fiend was hurled towards the spawning pool, suspended above the burning waters

with a simple thought on the part of the Oinoloth, the same thought stripping the fiend of

its contingencies and protective wardings as if they were tissue paper; meaningless to one such

as Him. The Ebon said nothing, made no movements or gestures as he caused the arcanaloth

to be ripped apart, flensed and butchered in such a way to maximize its agony. The shadows

that swirled about his feet like a cloud of plague spores reached out to pull at flesh and viscera,

pulling out and stripping it of something more basic than its physical body. The scribes infantile

screams, his begging, his pleading for mercy that would never come, they poured, funnel-like into

the hitherto lifeless body in the tank, pared, plucked, and tapped by the Ebon to fuel its birth.

The creature of brain, fang, claw and obedience, it slowly stirred to life as The Ebon began to

whisper in the words of the Baern.

***

Skalliska was potently drunk by that time and she had staggered over to a table and fallen

promptly asleep in a puddle of her own drool. Nisha briefly considered playing some manner of

prank, but a stern look from Florian ended her fun before it began. Still, Skalliskas letter lay

otherwise unnoticed where she had left it back on the other table.

The envelope had been addressed to her. It was unsigned, and neither did the paper carry

any identifying marks. It simply began by saying, My friend, you will find this interesting

in relation to your current crises of faith. You have been searching for clues relating to the

pantheon of your old home world upon the prime. In the Outlands, within the Mausoleum of

Chronepsis, there is a portal formed by the bounded space between an ancient, ragged archway

of ivy covered stone near to the hourglass of a great red wyrm of some renown. The portal may

be activated only through the permission of the deity himself if one has the will to approach him.

This portal leads to the Astral, and from that point, two days travel will bring you to the godisle

of Abiormach. Seventy hours hence will find you atop the corpse of Ibrandul, and another five

hours will find you at the godisle of Maanzicorian. From the deific corpse of the Illithid god of

secrets, forward from his head another day and you will find what you have been looking for.

Answers await you there. Perhaps some you hope for, perhaps others that you dread. You will

discover this yourself.

Chapter 55

The tiny silver bell above the door jingled merrily. Florian smiled as she walked into the cluttered,

eclectic and quirky confines of the Friendly Fiend where it seemed that Akin was in the midst

of unpacking several boxes and rearranging the contents of one of the shelves.

Come in! Come in! The loth said as he turned at the sound of the bell.

Hey there Akin. Florian said as the fiend recognized her.

Just browsing today Florian, or perhaps looking for something particular? I do try to keep

my customers happy and coming back as best I can.

Youre a sweetheart Akin, Florian replied. And frankly youre a much needed contrast

to miss ... oh you know who.

Akin winced. My apologies again for that unpleasantness. I cant really say why she feels

the need to be that way, I really dont.

No need to apologize pal, youre not in the same category as she is. I wont tar and feather

you by reputation based on her.

Akin smiled courteously and began to unwrap a number of items for the open shelf space.

Anything new? Florian asked as she scanned the shelves for anything that had been added

since the last time she was in the shop.

The smiling arcanaloth perked up considerably as she asked, taking his mind off of his decid-

edly more fiendish Sigilian compatriot.

Lets just say that Ive got space on my shelves all of a sudden and I have to find something

to fill them with. He said.

Oh?

He leaned in closer. Now I hate to talk business and money with a customer, but I like you,

and youre part of the reason actually for this all. I have been getting a -ton- of business from

word of mouth advertising just because of those darling little animated dolls that I was selling.

All of you down at the Portal Jammer have been using them as a lure and conversation piece

605
 606

of your own, and its rubbing off on me since I sold them to you in the first place. Cant say I

blame you, I found them rather cute.

Florian grinned. Well thats great to hear that youve been getting something out of that

as well.

Now, theyve been selling so well that Ive had a hard time actually getting my supplier of

them to make enough to keep up with demand. Its gotten to the point that Ive been considering

trying my own hand at making a few of my own. It seems fairly simple enough and Im not

really any slouch when it comes to crafting little bits of magic here and there.

The racial reputation actually rubs off in your favor there Id think. Florian said.

The fiend shrugged. Actually, and dont spread this around. But ok, Ive actually made a

few of them already to tell the truth. Just one or two, but theyve really, really turned out well.

However, for the moment Im going to wait till the demand rises a bit higher.

Akin looked a bit guilty by the admission.

Its business, its not evil. Florian said as she reached out and patted him on the head

briefly.

Theres a difference? At least thats the line the Baatezu use. He replied as he leaned in

ever so slightly to her hand like an oversized puppy.

Youre not a baatezu Akin. Too... fuzzy... for that. Among other things. She said with a

grin.

Akin smiled and withdrew his head despite the fact that he seemed to enjoy it. It just

wouldnt seem proper to have another customer walk in and see that.

Suffice to say, Ive got a couple that Ive made, and one or two that I know that youll

enjoy particularly. Ill be putting those up for auction in the next week or two. He said as he

rummaged around in a box, looking for something that didnt seem to be there. And, uh...

the auction is likely to be invitation only just to prevent a few persons from possibly throwing

another tantrum if they dont particularly care for my sense of humor. All in fun you realize.

Florian nodded as he emptied the box and finally turned it over and gave it a shake.

And where did you go you covetous little bauble you? He said. Apparently the box wasnt

a good enough lair for you.

Florian gave him an odd look.

Sorry, thought something was in here, but hes not. Akin said with a twitch of his whiskers.

Ill be right back, just need to go to the back room and get something. Do take a look around.

Florian browsed along the shelves as Akin went to retrieve that nebulous something from

the back room of the shop. Among the items she saw were a number of random trinkets from a
607

dozen odd planes: dust collectors, knickknacks and gewgaws, though some of them might work

as portal keys or foci if you knew enough about the plane they originated on. Most of the things

that Akin sold usually had more than an obvious use, not that he advertised them as such. His

clientele usually bought from him as a seller of curiosities simply for the novelty of their purchase,

or his wiser and keener clients bought from him because of what wasnt there at face value.

Hmm, what the heck is this? Florian said as she glanced at an item laying, partially wrapped

in oilcloth, with bits of frost collecting on its edges.

She unwrapped the object as she heard the Friendly Fiend humming some random ditty to

himself, the tune filtering out from the back room of the shop. Inside the oilcloth was a piece of

bitterly cold, translucent black metal set within a steel frame of sorts and with a brass handle

that seemed magically warded against itself being cold to the touch. It was a razorblade, or so

it seemed.

Akin walked out from the stock room carrying a few bottles of various tagged contents and

a tiny stuffed figurine of a red dragon. The tiny chromatic drake was perched atop a tiny pile of

gold and glanced covetously from side to side every so often.

Grrr! Roar! Snarl! It said in an unnaturally high-pitched voice for a dragon. Akin put it

down on his front desk next to the service bell and patted it on the head.

Oh thats cute. How much? Florian said as she grinned.

Not this one. The fiend said. This was a bit of a first attempt for me, and hes rather

cute. So Im just going to keep him around for a while as I try to make a few more, but I already

mentioned that I think.

Florian snapped her fingers in defeat. Oh well. But anyway, whats this thing here?

The cleric held up the odd looking razor.

Its a razorblade, but it can also be used as a paring knife, or probably for meaner things as

well if youre into that. Its made from a shard of Ocanthan ice. Somewhat like metal, somewhat

more like ice. It wont melt, not with the enchantment on it, and its very very sharp.

Florian had a sudden evil thought.

You know what? Akin said. I really should put that in a case or at least put a warning

label on it. Id hate to see someone hurt themselves with in.

Dont bother. How much is it?

Akin shuffled over and glanced at the razor and its cloth wrapping. There didnt appear to

be a price tag.

Hmm, no price tag. Oh well, how about I let you have it for say, 75 jink? Its a bit hard to

come by and its rather nice. Does that sound fair?

 608

Were shaving Shemeska.

Plus I know that your inn has been doing a brisk business, and... Akin paused and blinked.

Excuse me?!

Clueless does. He hates the bitch. And he mentioned the other day that he wants to see

her shaved like an expensive lapdog in the Ladys Ward. And I think Ive found him a nice little

razorblade for the job as a present.

Like I said, 50 jink sounds about right for it. The fiend said without skipping a beat.

Florian grinned.

And how about I throw in a bar of arcadian soap with it too. Akin continued as he took

the razor and put it into a giftbox. Rather nice stuff, smells like wildflowers from the first layer

of the plane. Plus it strikes up a -really- nice lather, great stuff for a close shave Im told.

The loth was getting out wrapping paper and a bow to pretty up the box like a birthday

present.

Youre a sweetheart Akin. Do you have any sensory stones for sale?

Oh? The jackal headed shopkeep asked. Yes actually. Just above the petrified treant leg

in the corner. Theres a stack of them next to the wind up armanite racetrack toy.

How much? Were going to record this when we make it happen.

Akin paused again and tried to suppress a blush and a giggle. Ten jink.

How much for two? Im making you a copy.

Akin pursed his lips, inhaled deeply, raised his eyebrows conspiratorially and began to whistle

with a grin plastered across his face. He took the two sensory stones, the bar of soap and the

razor, and wrapped them up in the box, frilly bow and all. He slid it across the counter to

Florian and took her money.

Dont leave yet, youve got change. The loth said as he counted back coins. You gave

me too much. It was all only 40 jink for everything. And I wouldnt want to have a dissatisfied

customer.

Did I mention how much I like you Akin? Florian said as she took her present for Clueless

and her change. I really do. I cant when or if well make this happen, but youll have a copy

of it once we do.

I wouldnt know anything about it. Akin said with an innocent smile and shrug. But

you have fun with your purchase as Im sure you will. Visit me again sometime. Its always a

pleasure. Oh, and tell Nisha that Ill have some smokepowder in sometime next week for her to

pick up.

Florian paused at the mention of Nisha and smokepowder, but she shook her head and put
609

it out of her mind.

I will. And you take care too Akin. Ill be back next week or so to check on those animated

dolls. The dragon is adorable.

She snagged a mint from the tray on Akins counter as she left before the tiny animated

drake claimed it as its hoard. She was smiling more so than she had in a while as she walked

out of the Friendly Fiend and into the much less pleasant streets of the Lower Ward. Back in

his shop Akin was still smiling, giggling, and shaking his head as another customer walked in.

***

Clueless sat in his room, looking curiously at a pair of rubbery black goggles. The odd pair of

eyewear had been knocked from the face of one of the Keepers that had assaulted them recently,

but it hadnt turned to muck after its wearer had died. Given that the enigmatic beings had

seemed keenly interested in the golden globe of heavy magic that he had found in the Incantifers

maze, the bladesinger wanted to learn a bit more about who they were and why they were after

him.

The golden liquid was warm and thin between the fingers of his left hand as he held the

goggles in the other and concentrated upon calling the proper spell into his mind. As it had

done before, it did so again, and visions of the past flooded into his mind.

A short balding man with a beard stood in either an office or a lab, stacks of books piled

on tables around him, and chalkboards covered over in arcane scrawlings. He had a devious

look upon his face and something was circled on the board, some formula or theorem. There

was a symbol on some of the books, an odd symbol of a knife and a book. It bore an uncanny

resemblance to the symbol of the Fraternity of Order.

That spell eating bastard isnt the only one who can work wonders. The man said as he

rubbed his hands together and seemed to concentrate, staring off into space at something that

only he seemed able to focus on. But hed never believe me even if I told him. He would, but

Id have to tell him the loophole that isnt, and thatll never happen. Course it didnt work in

Sigil, still not sure why, it should have. But now that were in someplace a bit more conducive

to meddling, lets see what we can do...

The spell couldnt convey what all the ancient sage saw or did, but it implied that either he

reached somewhere that simply didnt exist, making it so and drawing something out of it, or

he imagined something that didnt exist and never had, and then found a place, a reality where

they did exist, and yanked them out and into our own. Wherever it was, it was... different...

Keepers. First one, then another, then a dozen and then more. The sage, wizard, whatever
 610

and whoever he was seemed ecstatic about his creations, or what hed brought forth into the

world, and they in turn seemed to answer to his beck and call like extensions of his will. They

obeyed, but they simply didnt fit. They didnt belong.

How many he eventually called, Clueless wasnt sure, but it was evident that he was using

them as spies and saboteurs. Hed sent them out to gather secrets, both suspected by him and

anything that others might try to keep for themselves. Shekelor had their still living, severed

heads sent back to him; called them an interesting creation, wonder where you found them.

They dont seem right. What have you found? They remind me of something, but I cant really

say what. You have me perplexed, and that is rare enough in itself. Consider yourself...

The spell skipped, jumped track somehow, leaping forward in time to another pivotal moment

in the Keepers history. Youve gotten too many people interested in you. Youve been too high

profile in your tasks for me. I want you to make sure that no one ever finds out where you came

from and what you are.

True to his instructions, that they did. They slaughtered him on the spot and his secrets

died with him whoever he had been. The Keepers, wherever they had originated, were still in

the world. They were still carrying out their warped versions of a dead mans orders, still finding

secrets and taking them, hoarding them, and keeping them safe for no reason other than it was

what they did. But their maker, or their finder, had known Shekelor and had sent them after

something of his at some point in the far-flung past. And they were still alive, still looking for

it.

The spell ended abruptly and Clueless looked immediately to the globe and its golden liquid.

That was what they were looking for, still after so many years. They would never stop.

***

Back in the main room of the Portal Jammer and later that evening, Toras sat by himself

at one of the back tables, smiling and nursing a pale Bytopian ale as he watched the customers

filter in and out of the tavern. Clueless was at the bar itself, taking and filling orders, and

chatting up random people. Over the past day a few of the people that had stopped to chat up

the bladesinger had worn symbols of the Free League, or had the same tattooed on their bodies

somewhere. Toras had noticed it when he had been playing bouncer for the inn, but he hadnt

said anything. After all, if Clueless was joining a faction, at least it wasnt the Takers or the

Mercykillers.

Besides, if he was hanging out with free leaguers, it probably meant that he wasnt going

constantly hanging out with Sensates and whatever they tended to do, inhaling drugs or having
611

orgies or whatever it was they did when you got a bunch of them together in one place. The

fighter didnt know particularly much about the intricacies of the factions, or the groups who

used to be factions as it might be. As long as they didnt mess with him or mess with people

who didnt need messing with, they were fine as far as he cared. At least Clueless wasnt running

with Xaositects though, they already had enough randomness in their lives with Nisha, though

she did it in such a way as to be utterly endearing, if occasionally dangerous to all involved.

Toras? Why is there blood on your hand? Florian asked with some concern, jolting the

fighter out of his thoughts as he relaxed over his drink.

Oh man, I thought I washed it all off. Toras replied as he picked up a napkin on the table,

dapped it with condensation from his drink, and wiped it off as best he could.

That doesnt answer my question. The cleric said.

Toras shrugged. I got into a fight.

Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow as she took a seat. Clearly she had heard the conversation thus

far.

I got into a couple fights actually.

Why? Florian asked. With who?

Fyrehowl snickered. She knew what had happened; shed seen it happen before.

Toras gave a guilty smile.

Well you dont look hurt at all. The cleric said. Did you clean yourself up mostly before

you came back here or was it just that lopsided? Tell. What happened?

That guilty smile was still there. Over at the bar, Clueless was watching and listening. Like

Fyrehowl, he seemed to know already what had happened, either from previous incidents or

about the current one.

I was in the hive... Toras admitted. ...picking fights with muggers, thieves, and pimps.

Florian took a deep drink from her ale.

Why? She asked. Eventually youre going to run into someone thats tougher than you,

or who has too many friends. Beat up the wrong criminals and youll have gangs all over the

inn. And Tempus forbid you piss of anyone in one of the organized underworld groups.

Fyrehowl briefly made her best impression of the King of the Crosstrade.

Toras waved it away. Im smarter than that. Besides, I doubt she has her claws into

pickpockets and smalltime pimps.

Yeah, Fyrehowl mumbled. Shes only into the high priced callgirls you know.

How long have you been doing this? Florian asked.

Toras shrugged. About a month or so? Its fun.

 612

Florian took another drink. What, are you trying to work your way up to fiends or some-

thing?

Toras had that guilty grin again.

For the Foehammer! Florian said with an exasperated sigh. Just be careful. I dont want

to find out that you were tossed through an ooze portal by an osyluth after you got too cocky

down there.

Breaking the course of the conversation, Fyrehowl turned her head to one side to look at

something, a moment after Nisha walked past.

Why does she have a cranium rat on a stick? The lupinal asked bluntly. And why was

she making squeaking noises?

Wasnt that one of the ones that we showed Jeremo? Toras said. One of the rats I mean.

Tristol meanwhile had walked into the room and noticed them gathering together. He pulled

up a chair and sat down to listen.

Squeaking? Florian said with a confused chuckle.

Its Nisha, dont ask. Fyrehowl explained.

Well, that explains why she wanted a scroll of gentle repose from my stock of scrolls. Tristol

said. I let her borrow stuff from there if its not too terribly expensive and she doesnt burn

the inn down in the process.

Better than smokepowder. Florian said with a shrug.

Tristol shuddered. Mystra forbid she ever gets her hands on alchemical explosives.

The mage paused and stared hard at Florian. She didnt? Did she?

Talk to Akin. Im not at fault here. Florian replied.

Tristol and Toras both looked worried.

You guys look like you just pissed off a lich. What happened? Skalliska said as she walked

up to the table.

Nothing hopefully. Tristol said. If wake up in a smoking crater one day, ask us again.

Anyway, Skalliska said. I had something to ask all of you. Everyone is here except for

Nisha, so I figured I might as well ask.

Nisha is around here somewhere playing ratcatcher or something. Fyrehowl said.

Skalliska nodded. She seemed a bit nervous about whatever it was that she was going to ask

them. As she was about to say what it was that was on her mind, Nisha wandered past again,

cranium rat on a stick in hand, only it was now wearing the Factol Darius dolls wimple.

Florian motioned to the tiefling.

Hey Nisha, what are you up to? She asked, eying the cranium rat.
613

Hmm? Nisha replied. Oh, me and Factol Squeakums were just going over faction business.

Its faction stuff. You wouldnt understand.

...I... see... Florian said.

Nisha, put the rat... Toras said patiently but firmly.

Factol Squeakums. She corrected him with a poke of the rat and its factol hat into his face.

Put Factol Squeakums away and sit still for five minutes, Skalliska had something to ask us

all I think. Fyrehowl said to her.

Why? Whats the fun in that? She replied.

Because if you do Ill tell you what Akin told me to tell you about smokepowder. Florian

answered.

Nisha jumped into a seat and assumed a demure and polite posture.

There is method to my madness. She said with a smile. Except when there isnt of course.

You had something for us Skalliska? Clueless asked as he finished up at the bar and took

a seat with the others.

The kobold nodded and pushed a letter to the center of the table.

I got this in the post the other day. She said, gesturing to the letter. And you all know

how Ive been searching the Great Library and just about every sage worth their coppers here

in Sigil to try and find anything, anything at all, related to the old pantheon of my original

homeworld on the prime.

Toras nodded. You were telling me about it.

Tristol looked at the letter as Skalliska continued.

Well, that letter gives a location for a portal in the Outlands, somewhere within the domain

of Chronepsis.

The hourglass dragon. Nisha said. Factol Squeakums nodded his assent.

Yes, the big hourglass collecting dragon. Skalliska replied. Well that portal leads to the

Astral. Once there, the letter has instructions and details for how to reach what it seems to

claim are the godisles of some of my old pantheon.

Fyrehowl nodded. So some of them might be dead, but if theyre not there, than youve got

some of them that are still alive.

It would be closure at least. Clueless said.

And I take it that youd like our help in finding this place? Florian asked.

She and the others left out saying Is there gold involved?, though it was very much hanging

on the tips of their tongues.

 614

Or at least your help in making sure that this isnt a complete setup on someone elses part.

Those are never fun. Clueless added. ...bitch...

Nothing on the letter to indicate that she sent it. Besides, Skalliska hasnt ever done anything

to her. Tristol said. Hed scanned over the letter for any glyphs, symbols and signs that it might

contain any form of magical trap or tracking dweomer. It didnt as far as he could tell.

Im up for it. I could use a break from Sigils air. Clueless said.

So, were agreed? Skalliska said hopefully.

I dont think anyone here minds. Florian said. Youre a business partner and youre our

friend. Given that what youve got there doesnt have any detail on who sent it, or why they

sent it, I think that it might be wise if you didnt go alone.

The others nodded their agreement.

I think that settles it then. Skalliska said with a smile. Well start off in the morning?

Anyone here ever been to the Astral before? Tristol asked.

I have. Not that I remember it though. Clueless replied.

Ive been there briefly. Skalliska said. Youre fine so long as you dont anger the Githyanki.

Its pretty barren, all things considered. Its probably more empty than the ethereal, and I think

that youd all mentioned having been there in the recent past, before you met me.

Aye, that we did. Clueless said. So it shouldnt be all that much as long as whoever sent

you that letter isnt out for you. You dont have any past enemies you know of, do you?

Not that wouldnt just burst into my office and try to kill me there. Skalliska said. No,

this seems legit, if a bit mysterious.

Well thats reassuring to some extent. Sort of. Florian said. But yeah, that settles it I

think. I dont have much that I need to put on hold for this. Just let us set up people to work

extra shifts here in the inn while were gone and well get together to leave in the morning.

Ill handle the shifts for the staff. Clueless said as he walked back over to the bar.

Nisha had already vanished, though shed left behind something scrawled on a napkin with

a goofy looking cranium rat face doodled on it. Ha ha! Im not really Factol Squeakums! Im

an anarchist and I dissolve this faction! Muahaha!

Skalliska ignored the Xaositects behavioral, possibly mental quirks. She was smiling, and far

too happy to finally be close to gaining some closure on something that had been bothering her

on and off for years.

***

From Sigil to Tradegate was a simple excursion, a normal method of leaving Sigil in order
615

to reach the outlands. As far as they were concerned for the most part, Tradegate was the

best match for their tastes of a combination of being safe, friendly, and having enough of a true

organized town past the end of the gate from Sigil. From there it was a short teleport between

gate towns till they reached the nearest to where Chronepsiss domain lay. They marched out

into the wilds of the Outlands that morning and walked through a largely featureless terrain of

fields and forests, broken only by rolling hills and the occasional stream.

Upon nightfall they set up camp and slept well, all except for Skalliska. The kobold stayed

up most of the evening and into morning, listless and simply not tired. She couldnt sleep. She

was too tense to drift away to sleep when she stood so close to finding some of the answers that

shed been longing for. Did any of her worlds pantheon survive? And if they did, would they be

any of those that she would care to worship? She finally fell asleep to the sound of crickets and

the far off glimmer of a spire butterfly or two, there in the wane light of early morning upon the

Outlands.

The next morning they broke camp after breakfast and marched off into rougher territory

that had seemed to spring up almost overnight. They hadnt noticed it the previous day, and

perhaps their belief, their intention to reach a specific spot in The Land simply drew them to it,

or it to them. Who could say?

The ground was more rocky, growing more and more mountainous, and every so often the soil

would tremor, possibly from the distant influence of the Caverns of Illsensine there somewhere

unseen beneath the soil of the plane that took those who were balanced and those who simply

fit nowhere else. They avoided trekking further in the direction of the baleful domain of the

Godbrain, but it did give them a better idea of their location in relation to the domain of

Chronepsis. And indeed they made their way to that deitys home near mid-afternoon.

There was no great sense of entering something different, something greater than the raw

surroundings of the Outlands. There was no sign, no grand entrance, and no servitors of the

deity barring their path or shouting a welcome or warning. But oh how they immediately knew

when they were truly standing within the confines of Chronepsis domain.

...Wow... Tristol said with utter amazement as he looked out over the realm of a god.

The valley stretched out as far as the eye could see, rolling hills punctuated only by the

crumbling, ancient rubble of a vast cathedral. Here and there, pillars of marble rose up from the

landscape like the tallest of trees; arches vaulted across the sky and skimmed the clouds where

they still stood intact. In other places great chunks of stone littered the ground where they had

fallen, overgrown by moss or lichen. It was as if the valley itself was a great sanctum, miles long

and wide, built by titans with ranges of mountain as its outer walls to buttress its majesty in
 616

a way that no carved structure could. But no titan had ever graced this place but as a visitor

perhaps.

Everywhere they looked they saw them: hourglasses. The ground was covered in those sand

filled timepieces on open ground and on top of fallen stone. If the place took the form of an

ancient holy sanctum, they would be its worshippers.

The hourglasses were arrayed in all shapes and sizes, some brilliantly ornate and carved from

gold and studded with jewels while others were simple constructions of glass and wood. Some

were larger than a giant and others were smaller than a closed fist. But most all of them were

counting down their allotted currency of time, be it with sand, golden dust that shimmered as

it fell, or something more like solidified starlight that twinkled and shed a ghostly luminescence

as it dropped away into the lower basin of the glass.

They were the lives of dragons, one for each and every one of them that lived or -would-

ever live, each counting down their days till the dragon passed into death and shed its mortal

coil, cares and concerns, tragedies and joys alike. Chronepsis was the draconic god of fate, time,

death and destiny, and the timepieces were his wards and possibly his petitioners as well, each

counting down the life of every dragon in the myriad planes of existence.

Somewhere within the domain of the god would be an hourglass that they would recognize,

some dragon of legend perhaps, and near it a portal to the astral. But somehow they would

need to find the deity; petition Chronepsis himself. To use the portal, even once they found it,

they would be required to ask his leave and gain his permission before it would trigger. And

as they gazed out over the hourglass sea, listening to the rustle and trickle of sand from each,

somewhere in the distance within the depths of the ancient ruin of columns, archways, galleries

and sanctums, Chronepsis himself lay in wait, and some things are easier said than done.
Chapter 56

Nisha stared through the blue interior of an hourglass and grinned. Her face was distorted by

the shape of its contours, and the tiefling giggled as she made faces at herself just to see her

own warped reflection looking back at her. The timepiece was a large steel bound hourglass that

sparkled with tiny flickers of electricity as each and every grain of sand fell from into the bottom

of the vessel. The sand in its base swirled like a desert storm, and every indication would have

pointed that somewhere on the prime material plane, a blue dragon was living, breathing, and

slowly aging towards their last days.

The proverbial gears inside Nishas head were grinding together like the sabotaged guts of

a Modrons clockwork paradise gone horribly horribly wrong. She giggled whimsically as she

turned her head sideways and continued to stare at the tiny flicks of sand as they filtered down

through the bottleneck.

I wonder what happens if you turn one of these over? The Xaositect mused openly. Does

a dragon somewhere start aging in reverse? That would be really awesome if they did.

Disturbed and worried faces turned towards her.

Or what happens if you stop the sand from flowing? Do they just pause and stop moving

with nothing happening to them till it starts again? Nisha was full-out rambling to herself,

oblivious of anything else. Or maybe they just live forever. And then what if you break one by

accident? Does a dragon somewhere just keel over and die? That wouldnt be good. And what

does the hourglass of a dracolich here look like?

Dont even think about it Nisha. Toras said preemptively.

Nisha grinned knowingly at them through the distorting glass of the blue dragons vessel.

Never considered it. I just wanted to see your reaction. Her distorted image laughed. Xaos

and self preservation arent mutually exclusive. Im random, not insane.

Its hard to tell sometimes though. Tristol remarked.

Then Im doing my job right. She grinned just so and jiggled the bell on the tip of her tail.

617
 618

Clueless chuckled. We should probably stop goofing around and look for either this archway

or whatever famous dragon has an hourglass next to it.

Awww... Nisha said.

Besides, The bladesinger said. Skalliskas already walking away, so its probably a good

idea.

And so they did, catching up with the kobold and searching for the portal. They wandered

more or less, and the domain around them seemed to subtly change as they did. In one moment

there would be a tree, the next moment a weathered statue of a rearing dragon, and in another

mount a great hourglass just as tall as its predecessors. The landscape was dynamic, but always

with the same feel of age, nobility, quiet tranquility, and acceptance of the inevitable.

An hour later they found what they were looking for. Skalliska stood at the base of a great,

weather archway of ivy-covered marble and glanced at its bound space with eyes that sparkled

with the magic of a spell.

This looks like it. She said.

The others were looking less at the archway than at the towering hourglass that stood only a

few meters away. It was massive, wrought of ruby colored glass that seemed blown and sculpted

into shapes of smaller dragons, caught within its confines and struggling to break free, or swirling

as images and inclusions within its sanguine matrix. The base and handles that bound the

towering timepiece were wrought of gold and took the shape of four columns of stacked dragon

skulls of all types and sizes.

This was the life made manifest of a Great Wyrm, or maybe something more. And whoever

they were, they were dead and passed beyond. The base of the monstrous hourglass was cracked

and shattered, and a carpet of black gemstones spilled out onto the marble and grass of the great

sanctuary it occupied like an archbishop among the penitent.

Wow. Tristol said as he looked at the massive hourglass.

Thats the second time today that youve said that you know. Nisha said with wide eyes.

Ive been counting.

Tempus forbid, thats huge. Florian remarked. Id hate to have seen the dragon it was

connected to.

Its probably not a great idea to mention another deity in the home of one. Clueless whis-

pered. Just my advice.

They glanced at the base of the hourglass where a series of draconic runes stood out in relief

against the golden base, partially obscured by the spill of black diamonds from the interior.

Florian knelt and brushed them aside.

619

Malystryx... She said. Ive heard that name before.

Krynn. Skalliska said.

Tristol rolled his eyes and muttered something about stupid rules and stupid moons. Cant

get themselves a real goddess of magic.

Nisha poked the wizard in the ribs.

The cleric shrugged and picked up one of the stray gems that had served as grains of sand for

the lifespan of the great dragon Malys, once Red Dragon Overlord of Krynn. No sooner had she

picked it up and formed the intention of taking it as a unique souvenir, when the air trembled

with a resounding NO that washed over the landscape and caused the hourglass sea to rattle

with the displeasure of a god.

Florian dropped it immediately with an obedient whisper of Yes sir...

Where there had previously been only an hourglass strewn plain of rubble, there was suddenly

a great depression in the landscape, easily hundreds of feet across, and at its center, nestled

amongst a horde of draconic souls in hourglass form, was the Great Watcher himself. The

draconic deity of fate, time, and death was huge, with scales the size of shields and the color

of an overcast sky that loomed with the threat of a storm. A slow curl of smoke rose from his

nostrils to flutter away and disperse from a breeze where there was no wind, and his eyes seemed

more potent and piercing than the greatest of mortal mystics and seers combined.

Chronepsis looked up at them with both eyes open and utterly alert, but otherwise he had

not moved. The hourglass sea around him was once again perfectly still and tranquil with only

the slow rise and fall of his chest and the perpetual trickle of sand to break the silence.

Ask. The god said patiently after a moment of pregnant silence.

Fyrehowl prodded Skalliska forward.

Great Watcher, She began. I and my companions, weve come to your domain in search

of a portal, and in search of you actually. It leads to the astral and a place where I hope to find

the fate of the gods of the pantheon of my former homeworld.

Chronepsis eyes stayed locked on her, but the others felt observed in a way that made them

seem utterly transparent.

Ive been searching for this information for years. She continued. And now, finally Im so

very close. But, great sir, I need your permission for the portal to activate. And I beg of you,

please.

Chronepsis gave a heavy sigh and nodded his head.

You have my permission. He said. It is for the best anyway. Go, find what you are looking

for. Perhaps the honored dead will find their deserved rest.
 620

Skalliska gave a bow and stumbled with a protracted string of praise and thanks. But the

god wasnt listening really. The great dragon, be it Chronepsis himself or only an avatar, his

great eyelids were already closed and the rise and fall of his chest had resumed a normal pattern

of deep slumber.

I think we have what we need. Florian said as she glanced at now lichen-covered archway

across from the great ruby colored hourglass.

Skalliska nodded and hesitantly approached. The portal swirled with a blue-white glow as it

activated, Chronepsis permission given to allow it to function. The kobold hesitated still and

took a deep breath.

Whats the problem? Toras asked with genuine sympathy.

There isnt, not really. She said. Im just nervous and elated at the same time. Im worried

about what Ill find on the other side, and the anticipation has my gut in a knot. Yeah, Im

afraid.

Yeah, but youll have some answers. He replied.

The kobold gave a silent nod.

Besides, Florian said from behind them. Chronepsis was kind enough to give us use of

the portal. He might appreciate it if we used it and didnt bother him anymore.

The cleric glanced back. And sorry sir about the gem. I apologize again.

Chronepsis was gone however. The great depression in the landscape in which he had lain,

surrounded by the hourglasses of a hundred thousand dragons lives, it had vanished into thin air.

Where he had been there was only a series of rolling hills and crumbling pillars, each decorated

with the slowly sifting sands of the lives of innumerable mortal dragons, and each ticking away

their allotted time till death brought them home to this place.

Come on. Its time to go. Fyrehowl said as she tapped the kobolds shoulder.

Skalliska looked back and tipped her hat graciously towards the distance. Manifest or not,

Chronepsis would see the gesture, and she meant it in all thanks. Smiling, and with her heart

thumping in her chest, she stepped through the portal and the others followed soon after.

***

There was a burst of cold and they were suspended in space, a perfect, pure nothingness:

the silvery void of the astral plane. All around them stretched a silver-blue expanse of manifest

thought; what conceptually might be considered the backstage of the outer planes. In the distance

their vision faded into a silvery, swirling fog, disturbed only by the sparkles of a random color

pool in the void, or the wormlike cyclones of astral conduits that crossed the expanse of the
621

plane, ferrying the dead to their reward or travelers from plane to plane.

Clueless beat his wings ineffectually. He didnt move an inch beyond the slight forwards drift

from the momentum of their step through the portal in the outlands.

How do we move? The bladesinger asked. Anyone been here before? Skalliska? Nisha?

Skalliska was moving forwards slightly, and then she stopped, turned to face Clueless and

just hovered there motionless.

How do you do that? Toras asked.

Tristol looked at Skalliska. Your trip, you can explain.

The mage wasnt having any difficulty at all, and it seemed like only he, the kobold, and

oddly enough, Nisha, were the only ones who seemed to be aware of how to control their motion

within the void.

There isnt anything here thats real. Not anything physical, not unless it was brought into

the plane by a portal, or by the death of a dead god.

Ive heard about that actually. Florian said. That if a god dies of lack of worship or

theyre killed by a another divine being, that they appear on the Astral as a hunk of rock.

More or less, yeah. They petrify and drift as islands of rock in the void. Sometimes theyll

take on some shape or feature that resembles what they stood for in life. And thats why were

here really.

But about movement? Toras said as he began to tilt sideways.

Ah yes, that. Skalliska continued. Since theres no real matter here, theres no air to fly

against and no gravity to pull you down towards anything. Everything here is just based on

thought and perception.

So if I concentrate enough I can think myself into flying somewhere? The fighter asked.

Pretty much. She replied.

Clueless took to it quickly, though he still flicked his wings out of habit as he moved forwards

and learned how to control his speed and direction. Hed probably known how to do it at one

point in his life, but clearly, given past circumstances, hed since forgotten it.

Florian and Toras took a moment more and then they both seemed quite capable of the act.

It might not be as fluid as those who had done it before, or simply came naturally to it, but

theyd improve the longer they practiced.

Anything else we should know about this place?

Dont touch color pools unless you want to jump to another plane. Dont mess with ugly

yellow looking humanoids with liquid swords, and...

 622

Wizards go crazy here! Nisha said with far too much of a grin as she concentrated and

tumbled in erratic motion around the others in a wide circle.

That too. Skalliska said. Magic is more powerful, more pure, and its a rush like a shot

of good alcohol. Now Ive never had a problem with it. And before you ask Florian, it only

applies to arcane magic. Im not sure why though.

Im a wizard too you know. Nisha said with a wider grin.

Tristol patted her on the head.

We couldnt probably tell the difference. He said.

The others didnt tell him when the tip of his tail turned purple a few minutes later once

they began to move off in the direction that Skalliska directed. Nisha grinned like a fool as she

realized that the raw belief of the astral could be manipulated in ever so slight ways, just like

the probability of the ethereal deep, or the chaos of limbo. It would be fun...

***

Roughly two days of travel later, and a few color changes to Tristols tail, they hovered within

the slight gravity well of an oblong, vaguely humanoid slab of black basalt rock. A vague sense of

sadness surrounded the corpse of Abiormach, and they did not approach it. But still, they had

a landmark, and they had made the first leg of their trip without incident. In fact, they hadnt

seen a single living thing in the entirety of those three days. The astral was truly desolate as a

plane: beautiful perhaps, but largely vacant of life.

They hung there in the void above the corpse and looked at Skalliska. She glanced at her

map and plotted the direction towards the distant godisle of Ibrandul. It would likely take them

another three days to reach that dead Torilian deity according to her map.

Isnt this a city in Baator? Toras asked, pointing down towards the coal-black corpse of

the dead god.

Fyrehowl nodded. That it is. On the 4th layer, Phlegethos.

The Baatezu claim that the citys foundations are built on the corpse of the deity, and that

Asmodeus killed him.

Then if the corpse is there... why is there a godisle on the astral? Nisha asked with a

perplexed expression.

Cant say. Might just be Baatezu propaganda. Skalliska replied.

Not that theres eeeeeever any of that. Fyrehowl said with a smirk. Never, not ever,

hardly ever.
623

Or that thing in Baator might be a physical corpse, Skalliska continued. And this here

might be a sort of metaphysical aspect of the dead god become solid on the astral.

Either way, its a dead evil deity and were not here to worship it or cry tears of remorse

at their passing. Florian said. Theyre probably better off this way. Now where are we off to

next?

Next weve got a couple days travel till we reach the corpse of Ibrandul. Skalliska said.

Since when was Ibrandul dead? Florian asked.

That was what I said originally. The kobold replied. But apparently they are. And well

find out here once we reach it.

Without further discussion they continued off swiftly into the silvery void towards the godisle

of the former Torilian deity of caverns.

***

They proceeded at that brisk pace for another three days. Their only break of the silvery

monotony of the plane were the sporadic blotches of color that heralded the openings of color

pools, the astral equivalent of portals. Every so often the distance would be darkened by the

presence of another unnamed deific corpse, the lines of astral conduits stretching from horizon to

horizon, but little else. Vacant and sterile it all seemed, but it was utterly peaceful in its absence

of anything foreign.

Eventually the godisle of Ibrandul loomed out of the silvery mist, a vague serpentine shape

like an elongated dragon. Another of the honored dead in its final resting place, and one that

would, like all the others, eventually be forgotten in every way except that they had once existed.

And here I thought that Ibrandul was still alive. Florian said. Hells, I know he still has

worshippers, and theyre still praying for spells just as much as I am.

Well, Skalliska said. That -is- Ibrandul, the corpse even looks like him.

Florian drifted closer into the gravity well of the godisle, her curiosity perked. Shed seen

worshippers of the apparently dead Torilian god back in Amn only a few months back. It simply

didnt make sense that they would still worship him if he was dead, plus still granting prayers.

It all made sense when she touched the surface.

Not audible before she landed upon the rocky surface, something roared through her ears like

a distant, rolling clap of thunder from stormclouds on the horizon. A voice, the last plaintive

and agonized roar of a dead god.

SHAAAAARRRRRR...
 624

Florian blinked and shook her head in sudden understanding. Yeah, that might explain

things a bit. Damn, she killed him.

Back up and above the godisle, the others were bantering as Skalliska tried to work out their

next course.

Well, at least we dont get hungry while were here. Nisha said.

Say that when we leave. Youll feel like youd be willing to eat your shoes. Skalliska replied.

The Xaositect looked at her hooves.

I dont wear shoes. She replied. Unless you mean the horseshoes, and those are made of

metal. I dont think Id ever be that hungry, unless I was a rust monster. And I dont feel like

being a rust monster today.

Tristol laughed.

You dont mind that do you Toras? Nisha stuck up two fingers to the side of her head like

antennae, grinned lustfully and looked at the fighters sword and armor.

He stuck out his tongue. Bloody rust monsters. Theyre like some evil, vindictive gods

cruel joke on the multiverse.

Clueless clutched his swords hilt protectively. Agreed.

Well, Skalliska said as she looked up from the map. Weve got about...

What the hell is that? Fyrehowl interrupted, pointed to something dark looking fast out

of the silvery mist in the distance.

It was a ship.

Sh*t! Githyanki! Hide! Skalliska blurted out as she recognized the profile of a yanki astral

carrack.

Hide where?! Toras shouted in dismay a moment before moving closer to the godisle below.

Tristol, Clueless and Skalliska had simply gone invisible at the first sight of the approaching

carrack. Florian was still down on Ibranduls corpse, and Nisha was bolting down towards the

godisle to join her a step after Toras, but Fyrehowl hadnt moved.

Guys? Hold on. Look at the ship. The lupinal said called out to them.

The carrack was rapidly approaching them yes, but as they watched it, they saw that it was

slowly tumbling awkwardly along one axis. The ship was adrift.

They watched it approach closer, and they saw that there was not a soul to be seen aboard

its main deck. To compare it to a sailing ship upon the prime, the vessel was dead in the water.

Tristol, Clueless and Skalliska faded back into view as their spells wore off, and the others

drifted back up to rejoin Fyrehowl as she continued to peer at the ship.

Who wants a ship? Clueless asked bluntly, much to Nishas delight.

625

Wonder what the hell happened to them... were pretty much out in the middle of nowhere.

Skalliska said. Theres no yanki cities within a weeks travel of here. I made certain of that

before we came. I half expected to be attacked when we went through that portal in the Outlands

to be honest.

Fyrehowl nodded. Seemed prudent, especially since you dont know who sent that letter.

Has to be a kink in that somewhere.

At the least we can board the ship, make sure that its really abandoned and all. Clueless

said. And perhaps theres something onboard that we can salvage to make it worth our time.

Nisha grinned and was joined by Skalliska in the sentiment.

Approaching the vessel from the top it was clear that it was not originally a military vessel,

but rather a transport or a merchant vessel. The magical sails hung useless, their knots having

come loose in the time since it had been abandoned, and nothing moved across the deck except

the clap of an open door as it moved back and forth with the tumbling motion of the ship.

Creepy. Tristol said as he whispered the words to a spell.

The mage peered at the vessel, his eyesight enhanced to detect even the faintest lingering

dweomers, particularly those left in place for wards or traps. He saw nothing upon the deck; the

magical spectrum was just as deathly quiet as everything else.

Once aboard the deck itself they paused to reorient themselves to the motion of the ship, and

to slow the course of the ship as best they could. In the absence of gravity in the astral there

was no reason to feel that they were spinning, and so after those moments or concentration it

appeared that Ibranduls godisle itself was moving with respect to them.

The top deck of the ship, perhaps a hundred feet from stem to stern showed no signs of

conflict or struggle. It appeared as if the crew had simply abandoned the ship for no apparently

reason. It was deeply disturbing, and their eyes kept darting back to Fyrehowl. They reasoned

that if the Cipher felt that things were ok, that theyd be fine. It was like making vacation plans

outside of Sigil on short notice whenever Factol Rhys abruptly left town for whatever reason.

Cautiously, deck-by-deck they searched the ship. Everywhere it was the same: empty corri-

dors with doors open and unlocked, but with nothing at all missing except any sign of life. They

crew was gone, food was left on tables to go stale as if theyd simply gotten up from their meals

and walked off into the silvery void on the influence of some astral siren song in the depths.

Theres no sign of attack at all. Tristol said. No blood, no lingering traces of spells.

Still doesnt explain where the crew is. Florian said.

Hell, doesnt explain why this ship is all the way out here. Skalliska said as she stared at

a cargo hold still stocked with bags of what looked like flour and bricks of a bland but edible
 626

fungus the yanki were known to cultivate on certain godisles of former deities of agriculture.

Nothing was stolen, nothing except the crew it seemed. But they found some answers, or

hints of answers, when they examined the captains quarters.

It too was as empty as an athar reliquary, but Clueless found what he was looking for, even

if the captain himself was gone.

He or she might be gone, but the captains log isnt. The bladesinger said as he examined

a thick leather journal that seemed to be wrapped in a purplish hide of sorts: Illithid.

Interesting... He said as he skimmed the last weeks worth of entries.

Whats it say? Toras asked.

Clueless looked up from the journal of the Githyanki captain. Whatever had happened they

hadnt been attacked by anyone interested in plunder. The ships holds were fully stocked with

what the captain had recorded at their last port of call: food and materials from the prime

material, maybe some other goods from an outlying Githyanki city. But there in the Captains

records from their last stop was something out of the ordinary.

They had picked up a singularly interesting passenger: a Knight, a high ranking one at

that. She had effectively taken command of the ship and caused it to divert course, apparently

commandeering the vessel in her hunt for several traitors who would deny the will of our Queen.

Beyond that, the Knight had given no further details to the captain, nor to the crew. The captain

spoke in awe of the woman and the silver sword that she carried. She was no rank and file soldier,

and even though she came with no others of her kind, the captain seemed to feel that she didnt

need any.

Clueless related the details to the others and they nodded.

And according to the logs last entry, He said, The ship has been adrift for a while now,

about a week if I read their notation for dates correctly.

Skalliska said nothing as she glanced at the logbook. Before it had been set adrift, the ship

had been traveling in roughly the same direction that they themselves would be heading as they

neared the godisle of Maanzicorian. That was a bit much to be coincidence.

Any ideas? Florian asked.

Skalliska shrugged. If she was hunting someone like that, its either because they stole

a sword like the one she herself had, they consider them holy, or she was chasing a renegade

member of her own race.

Would make sense. Fyrehowl said. Especially when the log mentions her chasing someone

who had denied the will of the Lich Queen. Sounds like she was hunting a gith who had, for

whatever reason, forsworn Vlaakith.

627

Nisha perked an eyebrow curiously.

When githyanki get powerful, eventually their Queen eats their souls. Skalliska explained.

They consider it an honor and a requirement. Sometimes though one of them doesnt like the

idea and they run.

Might be what this Knight was doing. But it still doesnt explain the missing crew. Clueless

said. But if you dont mind, Im going to try something.

Oh no... Tristol muttered. Hed already felt a bit exhilarated when he had cast even minor

spells while on the plane. The scant bit hed incanted had left him giddy to an extent, though

it wasnt a bad feeling.

Dont go craaaaaazy. Nisha said.

The bell on Tristols tail, the one hed never noticed her tie on it, jingle softly.

The half-fey nodded and smiled as he tapped the bead on his neck and called the spell into

his mind. Oddly, it didnt seem different despite being on the astral. Perhaps the pure magic

of the astral simply didnt come into account since he was drawing the power from the liquid

itself and not from the plane.

But regardless, the spell filtered into his senses and he watched events in the ships past flash

before his mind. Theyd indeed been attacked, but it had been utterly by surprise, and aided by

apparently potent magic. Theyd never seen it coming before at least a dozen other githyanki,

armed to the teeth, had appeared on the deck and inside the ship by magic. And it was not only

another group of Githyanki. There was another being with them.

A Rakshasa had been with them, watching the seizure of the ship with patience and ap-

parently having cloaked his force from sight before it was too late for the ships crew. The

tiger-headed fiend was oddly colored for his kind, a stark white fur with black stripes as opposed

to the orange and black of a typical member of his race. And hed smiled when they dragged

the crew up to the deck and hurled the Knight to the ground in front of him; he seemed to be

expecting her.

The spell ended without any further information, leaving Clueless both curious and disturbed.

He relayed the details to the others, but like him they were as equally disturbed and no closer

to an explanation.

Renegade githyanki in league with a Rakshasa? Florian said. Strange bedfellows.

So long as theyre not going to mess with us I dont care if they eat the crew. Toras said

with a shrug.

I doubt it. Fyrehowl said. This looked like a targeted attack, not just an ambush of

anyone that might be passing through. If we dont interfere with them I doubt that theyd go
 628

out of their way to go after us, a fiend with them or not.

Clueless nodded as he glanced around the captains cabin. He walked over to where the

captains last meal sat half eaten, and picked up a clean bowl and filled it from a pitcher sitting

off to one side.

I want to see where they went. No need for us to get mixed up in this if we can avoid them.

Glancing down at the bowl, he whispered the words to a spell of scrying and waited for an

image to appear upon the liquid surface. Nothing happened.

Tristol glanced at the bowl. Oh thats not good.

No its not. Clueless replied with a frown. The spell worked but Im simply not getting

anything. They might have gone off plane, or theyre more likely to just be warded against a

casual scry.

Dont fret, you only saw them through a spell. The mage said. Youd have had more luck

if theyd left anything behind to focus on.

But they were pretty smooth about it. Clueless said.

Dont worry. If we happen on them later, well at least know that theyve got a fiend with

them. Tristol replied.

Clueless nodded as he disposed of the bowl of water and canceled the spell.

And if we get attacked by regular Githyanki we can probably save ourselves trouble by

telling them about this. Fyrehowl added.

True. Skalliska said. They may be xenophobic, but theyre insane when it comes to loyalty

to their Queen.

They discussed it some more there in the empty interior of the ship, but came no closer to

having any real answers to the questions that were lurking in their heads, especially Skalliskas.

Eventually they left the ship without taking anything; there really wasnt anything of value to

them that they could easily cart away.

Once back out of the drifting vessel, they looked to Skalliska to point them in the direction

of Maanzicorians godisle, the next leg of their journey. She did so, but she was deeply worried

that they would find more than they bargained for along the way. After all, it would only take

them another five hours to reach the corpse of the dead Illithid god of secrets.

But off they went, vigilant and doubly prepared for any sudden assault of ambush along the

way. But truly, given the nature of the Astral there really was nowhere to hide and wait to

ambush anyone, nor was it possible to simply spot an ambush and evade it given that the plane

was an empty void. What would come would be what would come, thered be little way to avoid

it.
629

***

Five hours later they stood and looked at the mountain suspended in the silvery void in the

distance. It was empty, just as empty as the drifting carrack had been. But something was off.

Something simply wasnt right.

They paused and gazed at the godisle of the dead Illithid god of secrets. It looked normal; a

twisted, gnarled figure with a vaguely squid-like head, roughly a half-mile from head to feet. The

surface was rough, but largely free of the marks of age that the dead gods of the astral tended

to accumulate over time as they slipped further and further into oblivion.

What the hell is that? Fyrehowl asked as she turned to look at something in the distance

as it passed out of a bank of silvery mist nearly a mile past the godisle itself.

The creature was itself massive, a hulking being that seemed comprised of a slavering maw,

a single massive eye, twin arms that ended in wicked chitin pinchers, and a body that spiraled

off behind it as a gleaming silver chord off into infinity in the silvery depths.

It was circling the godisle of Maanzecorian, observing it, never looking away from it. It was

looking for something.

Thats an Astral Dreadnaught. Skalliska said breathlessly.

It was terrible to behold, but it didnt even seem to see them as they stood there watching it

in the distance. It was solely preoccupied with the seemingly vacant deific corpse.

What do they do? Florian asked.

It wont bother us. Tristol said. If anything astrally projects, theyll go after them mer-

cilessly. But if youre here in the astral physically, they just ignore you. No one knows why

really.

Skalliska nodded. And they also seem to prevent anyone from desecrating the corpses of the

dead gods, like followers of an old rival deity, and they prevent anyone from building on them

invasively, mining them, etc.

So then why is it here? Toras asked. Theres nothing here.

Not sure. Clueless said.

Something isnt as it should be about this place. Fyrehowl said. I can just feel it. And

whatever it is, that -thing- feels it too.

The Astral Dreadnought continued to circle the godisle, always keeping to around a mile out

from the corpse. And it always kept looking directly at the surface. When the group approached

closer, they immediately knew why the Dreadnaught was there.

Holy... Toras said as he and the others passed through some sort of tangible barrier sur-
 630

rounding the godisle itself, just under a mile or so out from the surface.

Mystra preserve... Tristol added as he too saw the activity upon the surface of the ravaged

corpse.

Two buildings of githyanki architecture hung like bloated moons in orbit within the godisles

gravity well. Four separate githyanki astral carracks were moored on a platform that linked

the two buildings. They were the least of what had attracted the attention of the Dreadnaught

however.

Upon the surface of the dead god, a large gleaming tower rose up from its foundations sunk

deep into the chest of the deific corpse. The tower gleamed white and seemed to emit a spherical

pulse of energy every few seconds. The bursts of energy erupted out and formed an ephemeral

shell at the boundary of where the Dreadnaught lurked and waited, smelling but not seeing that

which it hunted.

Maanzecorians petrified flesh, which from a distance and beyond the confines of the glittering

barrier, had seemed unmolested, was utterly ravaged. The dead gods surface looked as if it was

being strip-mined. A swarm of figures, githyanki and some other manner of humanoids, goblins

perhaps, sprawled across the surface. Collectively, they appeared to be ripping up hunks of the

dead gods flesh. Deep ruts and furrows raced across the corpse giving the appearance of bleeding

wounds, or the ragged flesh of a fresh kill being slowly dissected and hacked apart before being

consumed. They were mining the corpse of the god.

Chapter 57

Back back back! We dont want to be seen! Florian said.

They withdrew back beyond the border of the illusion that seemed to cloak the godisle.

Hopefully it worked both ways they figured, shrouding the persons and constructions beyond,

and likewise shrouding anything outside from detection from within.

Ok, not anticipated. Toras said to Skalliska. Later on we give you to the bloodthirsty

tiefling.

Muahahahaha! Nisha said without skipping a beat, rubbing her hands together as she

latching onto Torass random comment like it was second nature. And for her it just happened

to be.

The others warily glanced at one another before looking down for a reaction from Skalliska

regarding what she wanted to do. The kobold wasnt looking at them however as she glanced

down at her map again.

There had indeed been no mention on it of anything like this surrounding the corpse of

Maanzecorian. But there was something else, something that had not been on the map previously:

a new section of script and a small glowing symbol.

Guys...? The kobold said. Theres something new on the map.

Let me guess, the friend who sent you that letter and map knew exactly what was going on

here, and now theres a catch to this? Toras asked with a smirk.

Yeah, you could say that. She replied.

The new passage of text on the map read as follows:

When this is visible you will have come within two miles of the corpse of Maanzecorian, or

at least what is left of him. Yes, I and those I serve were aware of something involving this

particular godisle, and several others. However, we did not wish to have our knowledge of this,

nor our involvement made aware to those unknown persons responsible. As such, you provided

a convenient, if unwilling means for me to gain firsthand information on this place and those

631
 632

involved. When needed, I have provided a summoning symbol upon the map which will call me

to you when you wish to talk face to face. For your aid in this matter, we can discuss terms of

your payment then. - Yours in service to Tiamat and Bel

I dont like being used. Skalliska said with a frown. You want to talk, well talk now.

The kobold reached down and pressed the tip of a claw to the glowing symbol of Baator upon

the parchment.

Dont! Florian said. You want the githyanki down there to see us?

It was too late however. The symbol on the page gleamed with emerald light and briefly

caught fire, singing the ink into the surface of the paper as the spells latent energy was expended.

Most definitely you dont wish to be seen. The voice came out of nowhere to address them.

Weapons were drawn almost immediately as they scrambled to locate the source of the voice.

There was an amused laugh in response.

No, put those away. Im not with them, nor am I going to raise their attention to you. I

take it that youve been following my letter Skalliska.

They paused and waited. Skalliskas eyes narrowed.

There was a brief shimmer in the air as a figure dismissed their invisibility. A woman with

pale white skin, sea green eyes, and a pair of white-feathered wings. She was dressed in a plain

white tunic and skirt, a few bits of jewelry and nothing else. The woman smiled and fangs

appeared over her ruby lips: an erinyes.

Greetings. She said as she flexed her wings.

The baatezu looked around, briefly sticking her head past the barrier, then frowned. Hmm,

I didnt think that youd have summoned me so early. But, too late to change that. A bit of an

explanation I suppose would be in order.

Tristol pointed down towards the godisle and its illusion cloaked inhabitants.

What about...

She waved a hand. They cant see anything beyond the barrier that keeps -us- from seeing

-them-. Its powerful but it isnt perfect, even if I have no idea how theyre powering it.

So who are you? Skalliska asked cautiously.

My name is Marissa the Serpent Touched, a servant of Bel, the Warlord of Avernus, and

also in this instance a servant of Tiamat.

What does this have to do with me? The kobold replied.

Nothing really. The Baatezu said. But given your interest in looking for dead gods, it

gave me a chance to have someone else look into certain regions of the Astral. It allowed Lord

Bel to keep his hands free of this.

633

And what is this? Fyrehowl asked.

Thats the question on a great many peoples minds. She said. On one hand the Githyanki

are concerned with a number of traitors that seem to have banded together and then vanished

from the scopes of the Knights tasked by Vlaakith to hunt them. Vlaakith seeks to devour their

souls obviously, and she is enraged over this failure to find them by all accounts. Likewise, this

has gained Tiamats interest. The five headed Queen, by way of Ephelemons pact with the

Githyanki race is curious as well. By way of Tiamat, Bel has expressed interest as a way to

improve relations with that goddess.

Yay entangling alliances. Clueless said.

Indeed, theres no other kind. Marissa replied. But what we find here is most disturbing,

because I do not know what they are doing.

How did you even know about me? Skalliska pressed. How did you know that I was

searching for my old pantheon and would eventually be looking for astral corpses, just so you

could send me passing over a few that held your own interest? Answer me that if you would.

Your deity, Kurtulmak resides within Baator. The Erinyes replied. Its as simple as that.

Kurtulmak is not my deity. Skalliska spat.

The god of kobolds would disagree. She said with a shrug. But regardless of your feelings

on the matter, and his, I really dont care mind you, information flows readily from those deities

within the Pit to its overlords. Your name was passed on to us by Kurtulmak who seems to have

wished you to see the fate of your old pantheon in the hopes that it would bring the wayward

lamb back, so to speak.

Skalliska snarled.

But you came to my lords attention, and Tiamat expressed her own interest. Marissa said.

From there I was tasked with prompting you onto your current path. And now, here I am

asking for your help in this. What is your price?

Ive been asked that too many times before. Clueless said with a shudder.

How do we know we can trust you? Toras asked.

Because of what I am. She said, looking hurt. Im not a Tanarri or a Yugoloth. I want

to formalize our working relationship, do this on a firm contractual basis so we know where we

stand and what we are and arent obligated to do.

Considering what you are, Fyrehowl said. Lets keep the formal agreement as informal as

possible.

Marissas ears perked as the lupinal continued.

Lets consider this a favor for a favor. We help you find out whats going on down there,
 634

help you fight them if needed, and in return you, or your lord, owe us a favor in the future of

equal merit.

My lord will hold to this. The Erinyes replied with a nod. A favor for a favor then. Are

you all in agreement with this?

They looked at one another for a long moment, but there was no dissent. Of them all, Nisha

stuck out her tongue at the Erinyes after nodding in the affirmative, and while Fyrehowl was

suspicious of the fiend, she gave her assent.

Well then, Toras said. Whats your idea for what we do next?

Marissa glanced down at the corpse and then back towards the Astral Dreadnaught slowly

circling at a mile out.

Id like to get a look at the tower theyve built on the surface, and the surface itself. Whatever

theyre doing well find out down there, and I also suspect that something in that tower is whats

keeping the Dreadnaught at bay. Remove that and the Dreadnaught slaughters them all.

But if it did that, youd have to pick through the rubble to find out any answers. Toras

said.

Indeed. She replied with a sigh. So thats out as an immediate option.

Besides, The fighter said. Theyd be all over us in a minute if we went directly down to

the surface. Its crawling with githyanki and those other things; didnt get too good of a look at

them, they looked like goblins maybe.

Clueless nodded. Then we sneak into one of the two buildings in orbit, find out what we

can, and try to take down whoever we find.

Thats really the best option I think. Fyrehowl said.

The Erinyes stretched her wings slightly. She seemed unused to the lack of gravity, or the

lack of an atmosphere in which to use them.

I suggest that we be invisible when we first approach the building. She said. And then

pray to the Lord of the 9th that they dont have any warlocks capable of still seeing us.

Tristol, Clueless and Skalliska provided the spells from their own limited number of castings,

and Marissa blinked out of sight on her own accord. They agreed to go towards the building on

the left, cautiously enter and take care of any guards while their invisibility was still active.

With that, they launched through the glistening barrier surrounding the godisle, and then

shot towards the two buildings suspended in the gravity well. Despite their paranoia about being

noticed by the githyanki below them, there was no indication that they had been noticed. On

their way however, they did manage to discern a bit more detail: the githyanki were forcing

goblins into manual labor on the surface of the dead Illithid god. They had a Rakshasa after all,
635

was it too much of a stretch that they would then have an ample supply of goblinoid petitioners

from Acheron? It seemed likely, even if that still didnt answer the question of what that Rakshasa

was doing there on the Astral, on Maanzecorians godisle, in the first place.

They skirted past the row of four githyanki carracks on the metal bridge between the two

buildings. All of them showed signs of battle damage, likely inflicted when they were seized from

their original crews by force, or in battles against other githyanki perhaps. They were a motley

collection by any standard, comprised of a merchant vessel, a heavily armored but lightly armed

treasury ship, a scout vessel, and a larger dreadnaught that bristled with catapults, ballistae,

and a number of odd metal tubes with fire scorched ends.

But they would worry about the ships later. As it was, none of them seemed occupied, all

of them tethered to the dock. They passed them by and stood collected outside the entrance

to the leftward building. The door was wooden and seemed to be only barely reinforced. The

githyanki had not seemed to anticipate or even worry about a siege or any sort of attack, given

that they were almost wholly shielded from outside attention and notice.

They quietly drew their weapons and waited. Nisha pushed the door open and glanced

through with a mirror in her hand. Four armed, but bored-looking githyanki warriors sat within

the room beyond. The tiefling withdrew her hand and whispered what she had seen. It took

little more than that and the door was kicked open to the utter surprise of the gith defenders.

Bleeding wounds erupted across their bodies before their attackers had even faded into view. As

their invisibility spells dropped, the gith were either already dead or bleeding out onto the stone

of the floor. But one of them had shouted for help.

Clueless slit the giths throat with a single, smooth slash of his sword.

Sh*t. Get ready if he was heard. Toras said as he raised his sword.

Fyrehowl glanced at the staircase that led up from the single room that occupied the ground

floor of the building, and then down at another stairwell that led up into the other half of the

tower, githyanki architecture being what it was in the Astral plane. The attack however would

come from neither of those places.

There was no warning before the arcane flashes of dimension door spells lit the room and

nearly a dozen githyanki appeared in their midst screaming with rage. There were at least nine

warriors, but with three other individual gith that appeared distinct and more of a threat. Of

that trio, there was a lightly armored yanki with a pair of long daggers, a gish, there was a

robed warlock, and there was an ornately armored githyanki who wielded a massive two-handed

sword like it was weightless: a knight, one of the so-called githyanki anti-paladins.

There was no time to shout a warning, nor time to regroup and think over tactics. It all went
 636

to hell in the space of a few chaotic seconds. All they did was react on instinct.

Fyrehowl of course was used to such action, and it was almost as if she had started to move

before the githyanki had arrived. A series of sword slashes disemboweled one of the assaulting

githyanki warriors a moment after he appeared.

Tristol backed away and hurled a spell at one of the warriors who stood poised to swing

his blade at Cluelesss back. The warrior froze in place in an instant, his flesh turned to solid

stone with a single incantation from Tristols lips. Clueless still ducked and only a split second

later realized what had happened. He gave an appreciative glance to the wizard before hurling

a lightning bolt from the tip of his own sword against the gish that was charging forwards.

The others did less obvious things: Florian chanted a blessing upon them all, Marissa simply

vanished from sight, Skalliska began to move faster, and Nisha immobilized one of the gith

warriors with a wand.

It was harder on them from that point on. The gish wasnt so much as singed by the

bladesingers spell as it semi-cartwheeled and semi-levitated, diving out and over the path of the

bolt of electricity. The warlock meanwhile stared in shock at one of his fights having been turned

to stone, and a moment later he hurled a column of ice showering down on Tristol and Skalliska.

The two of them managed to evade the worst of it, but the frigid burns were painful and

distracting. Still, Tristol hurled another spell of petrification at another warrior adjacent to the

gith warlock.

By then however, the knight had closed ranks with Toras and Clueless both, not looking

intimidated in the slightest. The anti-paladin had no need to worry. She was surrounded by a

dozen lesser warriors, and they were confident in their own supremacy, both racial and in terms

of skill.

The knight struck first, screaming out some invocation to Gith and empowering her blade

with a reverse of the same holy power that a paladin might use to smite an evil foe. It struck

and Toras spun away to the side from the force of the impact. He hadnt been expecting that,

but in a testament to his own ability to recover, he was picking himself up off the ground soon

thereafter and slashing back at the knights legs.

The next seconds or minutes, they all lost track of it, was a flurry of blades and spellcasting.

In the end it took Clueless, Toras, and Fyrehowl combined to finally take down the githyanki

knight, and not without injuries of their own to show as a result when they turned their attentions

away from the lesser warriors.

At the same time as they were occupied with the knight, Florian had waded into a number of

those other gith that were harrying her companions, hacking at them mercilessly with her axe.
637

Somewhere below waist height, Skalliska was darting and slashing at legs, exposed heels, and the

back of their knees. More than a few githyanki were hamstrung before Florian dispatched them

with a cry to Tempus.

Tristol, after having petrified two gith, had made himself a target, and only a lightning bolt

at close range had kept a number of the githyanki from charging him directly. That however did

not prevent the gish from getting to within a direct, unimpeded line of sight.

The gish drew a pair of long daggers and prepared to throw them at the aasimar, but by the

time he had moved his arms back to throw, it was too late for him. With an obscene scream

of fury, the erinyes spread her wings and dove onto the githyanki. He let out a startled, frantic

scream as she landed on his shoulders, gripped his head with her claws and wrapped her wings

around his body, obscuring it above the waist. There was a thrashing and an erratic spray of

blood, then the gish twitched and collapsed.

There was a peal of thunder as a bolt of lightning struck from the warlock and onto Toras,

Clueless, and Fyrehowl. The githyanki wizard was screaming invectives at them while the wave

of electricity shot towards them as they stood over the corpse of the knight. Clueless shot up

towards the ceiling with a quick flicker of his wings, only receiving a few minor jolts from the

larger area of effect, but Fyrehowl and Toras didnt so much as move. In fact, the two of them

smiled back at the warlock as the spell coursed through them and caused them not the slightest

discomfort.

A few feet away from the panicking warlock, Marissa stood up from the corpse of the mangled

gish and folded back her wings. Blood coated her mouth and her hands. She scowled at the corpse

with disdain as she licked the blood from her lips and hands, cleaning herself with compulsive

detail. The warlock watched her and changed his course of action considerably.

Shouting out something in githyanki, he called out to the three remaining warriors who moved

and stood before him like a wall, cutting him off from the erinyes and the warriors he had just

seen kill the knight. That done, he turned and bolted up the stairs in full out retreat. Marissa

screamed out a mocking insult in Infernal as the spellcaster fled. The three other githyanki that

blocked the stairs were dead a minute later.

Oh hells, theres no way that were letting him escape. Florian said as she hefted her axe

and made for the stairs.

The others ran after her, up to the second floor of the building. No sooner had they gotten

within sight of the top of the stairs than there was a thunderous roar and a belch of flame swept

like a wave down and over them with the smell of brimstone. Two goblin petitioners, a smoking

metal tube as large as themselves, and the grinning warlock faded into view.
 638

As the smoke from the tubes blast cleared from the air, the stairwell was covered in blood

and soot. Tristol was nearly unconscious, Toras and Florian were both badly injured, and only

Skalliska and Nisha had seemed to avoid the blast in any way at all. The warlock was still laughing

at their plight when a fireball detonated on top of him and the two petitioners, catching the yet

unused powder charges alight and setting them off directly in their midst.

For a second time in as many seconds, the staircase was awash in blood.

The warlock blinked through a bloody haze and staggered to his feet. The goblins were dead

and his body ached with burns and the grapeshot charge that had left bits of metal dug into

his flesh. He hadnt expected that; hed hoped that the cannon would kill or disable all of the

intruders. It had to have been a misfire from the cannon, or a bit of powder had caught from

the first blast and smoldered atop the other charges. Hed seen their wizard nearly killed, and

hed never expected that they would have any others capable of hurling any spells that might

have touched off the powder.

The warlock screamed as Fyrehowl and Clueless walked out of the smoke, swords raised. His

pain ended shortly thereafter.

F*ck... Toras said bluntly as he staggered to get back up. He was badly wounded as it

was, and the surface of the stairs were slippery with his blood, his companions and the rapidly

evaporating guts of the petitioners.

What the hell was that? Skalliska shouted out from where shed landed at the bottom of

the stairs.

Bloody gnomish contraption. Tristol cursed.

Hmm? Florian said as she was already calling prayers of healing into her mind.

Its a cannon. The aasimar replied as he stumbled up the stairs to look at it. Alchemical

explosives and either a ball of iron, or smaller pellets of the same.

Either its something from Acheron, Marissa said. Or they just picked up the things from

a planar arms merchant. Theyre not unknown, not to me, weve used them in the Blood War,

but theyre not up to snuff compared to what a single wizard can do.

You can train idiots to use those however. Tristol said before wincing in pain from his

injuries. It doesnt take the years to train a wizard to do the same effect by magic.

Enough. Marissa said as she picked gore from out of her wings and glanced about. There

might be more. And some of you need to heal yourselves before doing anything else.

There arent. Clueless said from up above. Theres two other rooms up here, and theres

no one around.

The Erinyes nodded. Pray that no one heard all of this...

639

The minutes passed as they recovered from their wounds, either by potion or scroll or prayer,

and while they expected another set of githyanki warriors to appear out of nowhere, screaming

for their blood, none came. Improbable as it might have been, they hadnt been noticed outside

of the defenders of the current building. And that building, as they searched its rooms, was

occupied only by them and the corpses of the newly dead.

The building was fairly spartan, typical for githyanki architecture. There was a barracks for

the githyanki warriors, and a separate room that was likely to serve as the same for the goblin

petitioners. Then there were the cannons. In the top chamber of the tower sat five of the iron

tubes and a small supply of powder and shot. They didnt seem to be in use, or planned use.

Most likely they were to prevent attack and siege, but with the magical shroud that cloaked

them from detection, what was the use of it?

The only chamber of interest though was the shrine.

Hey guys, Florian said as she looked into the chamber. What do you make of this?

Hold on. Clueless said. Nisha, you want to check the door for wards or traps?

Already did. The Xaositect replied. Nothing there.

Florian nodded and stepped into the room. She was rewarded with a surge of electricity

that arced from her head and left by her feet before it knocked her backwards. She blinked and

moaned before her head cleared enough to let her feel lucid again.

Nothing there huh? Florian asked over towards Nisha.

Nothing I saw. She said obstinately. And I checked it. There wasnt anything there that

I saw. Id have told you if Id noticed.

Dont worry Nisha. Toras said. You missed one. No problem. Just play it safe from now

on and double check the doors.

Nisha frowned with a bruised ego, as her tail twitched and the bell that hung from its tip

jangled with irritation like the tip of a rattlesnakes tail.

The small room was bare except for an elaborate rug covering the center of the room, and a

shaft of silvery light that descended down from a plug of crystal set into a circular hole in the

ceiling. On either side of the chamber there were two altars, but they were mirror opposites of

one another.

On the right there was a gilded shrine to Gith, complete with panels depicting her victory

over the Illithids, and the flight of the Githzerai to Limbo. The glimmering idol of the Great

Liberator was surrounded by lit candles and the burned out remains of blocks of incense and

bits of blood. It was something clearly in use by the inhabitants.

Doesnt the Lich Queen dissuade actual worship of Gith? Clueless asked.
 640

In a way, yes. The Erinyes replied. This is out of the ordinary.

What was truly out of the ordinary however was the other altar. It was covered in the dried

remnants of spittle, and the idol of a female githyanki lich with burning eyes, bedecked in gold

and carrying a scepter in the shape of red dragons head, it sat in a puddle of urine. Cracks

ran down portions of the panels of the altar, the impacts seeming consistent with blows from

githyanki fists and heels. The altar of Vlaakith the Lich Queen was an object of detestation.

Holy... Fyrehowl said.

Nothing holy about any of this. The Erinyes replied with a smirk before taking a deep

breath and seeming honestly astounded by what she saw.

Theyve turned against the Lich Queen? Clueless said. Why?

Not a clue. Florian said. But the knight that almost took you apart down there was

probably looking at having her soul devoured if she ever stepped foot back on Tunarath.

Thats one reason. Toras replied.

Things get more interesting. Marissa said, musing to herself out loud. Renegade githyanki

who by all appearance have forsworn Vlaakith, banding together with an Acheronian fiend,

mining the corpse of at least one dead power... why?

Speaking of which, you know, weve still got that fiend from Acheron whos strip-mining a

dead god... Florian said. Hes still alive around here, and its probably only a matter of time

before were found out.

Fyrehowl nodded.

Were damned lucky that the yanki on the surface dont realize that we just cleared out

one of their towers up here. Were screwed if all of them turn on us at once.

So... Nisha said. What do we do now since theres still that freaky handed tiger walking

around like Florian said?

They nodded to one another, conspicuously ignoring that Skalliska was shoving no fewer than

three of the cannons, and as much powder as she could fit, into a bag of holding. As soon as the

kobold had finished ransacking the powder keg, they descended back down to the ground floor

and picked over the bodies for what useful items were present. None of them once considered

looting the shrines of Gith and Vlaakith.

We cant risk going down to the surface to look at that one tower, Clueless said, as he

looked at a dagger the gish had held. Not yet anyway. We should probably go after the other

building up here in orbit before we even think about the surface.

Agreed, Marissa said as she flicked an errant drop of blood from her fingertip. We cant

risk the presence of spellcasters behind us. And theyre accorded status among the gith enough
641

that they wouldnt likely be serving to herd petitioners down on Maanzecorians corpse.

They glanced across to the second building and the bridge that linked it to the first. If they

ran, they probably wouldnt be noticed.

Preemptive wheeeeeeee! Nisha whispered a moment before she bolted across the neck be-

tween the two buildings.

The Erinyes flickered out of sight as she exited the building, followed soon after be an invisible

Clueless. The others made up for their lack of such wards by running as fast as they could. Suffice

to say, Fyrehowl was the first to the other side despite having been the last out of the door.

Thirty seconds later, they huddled in the shadow of one of the carracks there tethered to the

bridge, nestled inside the doorway to the second building. Skalliska peered warily down at the

figures on the corpse of the god far below. It did not appear as if any of them were yet aware

that anything was amiss high above them.

Theyre comfortable in their security. Marissa whispered with contempt. Theyve kept

the Dreadnaught at bay, and no one can tell that there is anything amiss on the surface. They

have no need to expect anyone. Baator does not suffer the incompetent.

Hows the door? Clueless asked.

Nisha glanced at it and the doorframe for a few long moments before giving a shrug. The

door didnt appear locked. In fact, it didnt have a keyhole or a lock at all. It was a simple latch

and nothing else. And as far as the tiefling could tell, it wasnt trapped in any way.

The tiefling tentatively opened the door and swung it open. The crackle of discharging magic

made them jump back. Something lanced between them and stung their eyes before it flickered

out of sight, but nothing seemed to happen.

The tiefling shot an agonized look at her companions. She honestly seemed on the verge of

tears since for the second time in under an hour she had simply failed to notice a lurking ward.

Her grief turned to anger almost immediately and she began to quietly sulk, avoiding looking at

any of her companions.

Tristol felt bad for her. To an extent he felt like he should have been helping her out in

looking out for wholly magical wards. Of course, given the Xaositects already wounded pride,

that might mess with her own sense of worth and ability if she needed help. Still, the warding

hadnt affected them as far as he could tell. Presumably theyd all resisted its intended effect,

or it was something that wasnt meant for them in the first place.

Something wasnt right. Fyrehowl felt a nagging feeling in her gut, but she couldnt really

discern what it was in the slightest. Still, she felt no different.

Past the door was a large, open chamber with a curving stairwell along the outer wall, rising
 642

up to a chamber above. The air was warm, the illumination was bright but not harsh, and the

room smelled of faint incense. No githyanki lived here. The walls were made of richer material,

the wood paneled floors carpeted, and decorative accents applied wherever it would have been

appropriate. Everything spoke of wealth and nobility: the tenured position of any powerful

Rakshasa.

The cautiously walked into the chamber and looked up above at what seemed to be a massive

library in the upper chamber. Fyrehowl noticed oddly that the others had put away their

weapons.

From above, a mellifluous voice called out to them.

Please, step inside. Its much more pleasant in here I assure you. Standing on my doorstep

expecting a block of iron to fall on your heads if you enter without my approval. Tsk tsk tsk.

Theres no lock for two reasons: Im a reasonable man, theres no need for you to expect me

to slaughter you like I was some Tanarri. I have culture that they lack. And secondly, I have

absolutely nothing to fear from any that might wish to speak with me.

They hesitated and looked up. The richly robed figure of a white furred Rakshasa stood at

the lip of a balcony above them. The fiend looked down on them as he smoked a large pipe from

the corner of his mouth, and held a cup of tea in one of its backwards paws.

Get off of my doorstep like reasonable people. He called down to them calmly. I extend

you my invitation and welcome, be polite and mannered and accept it.

Tristol and Fyrehowl only vaguely realized that the others had considered it and moved to

ascend the staircase. Marissa had a confused look on her face, which she quickly suppressed as

she motioned the wizard and cipher to follow.

The upper chamber was dominated by an ornate and well-stocked library. In the rooms

center was a small table, a number of chairs and divans, and a bubbling samovar of what smelled

like chamomile tea. The Rakshasa had already taken the largest chair and was sipping at his

cup, motioning them to sit as well.

Simply out of habit, Toras concentrated and tried to detect the presence of evil, wondering

if the fiend had any associates lurking nearby. The fiend glowed, and so did everyone else with

the exception of Tristol and Fyrehowl. But somehow, that didnt so much as phase the fighter.

There was no sign of lurking assailants, and the Rakshasa had politely invited them to sit. What

harm was there in that?

Before they realized it, they had made their introductions to the charming and well-cultured

fiend and were sipping tea along with him. Marissa was playing along without pause, but Tristol

and Fyrehowl were just sitting there holding their cups with dumbfounded looks on their faces.
643

And who would you be? Clueless asked.

You may refer to me as his Lordship Siddhartha, He said, as he removed his pipe from his

mouth and a cloud of scented tobacco drifted lazily away. Noble of the House of the Blackened

Paw of Acheron.

I must profess that I didnt expect quite so much of a formal welcome, devoid of violence.

The bladesinger stated appreciatively.

That would be impolite. Siddhartha replied with a soft feline chuffle.

But you cant really be pleased at what weve done to the gith that you had working for

you. Toras said.

Am I pleased regarding my warlock, gish, and knight that you seem to have killed? Sid-

dhartha sniffed at the air and frowned. Their scent lingers on you, as well as their blood. No

matter. I can find more where they came from. Theyre chattel, worthless compared to my goals

here. Just a means to an end.

And those goals would be? Marissa prompted in a polite voice.

The Rakshasa ignored her.

Still, I confess that youve done me a favor in a way. If my servants died by your hands,

they were not fit for the work I had entrusted to them. Ultimately youve done me a good deed,

and I properly must thank you for it.

A pleasure to be of service. Clueless said.

It was actually rather fun. Nisha said with genuine malice as she raised her teacup in a

salute to the fiend. I dont have too much opportunity to slit throats like that. Thank you.

Tristol blinked. Hed never once heard the tiefling actually speak out like that. Hed rarely

even heard her sound angry. This wasnt the Nisha that he knew, nor were the others acting like

themselves either. The symbol on the doorway, it had to have altered their state of mind, made

them more agreeable and willing to talk.

And with that, they descended into polite chitchat and small talk. Nearly an hour later,

Tristol realized that the Rakshasa had spent most of his efforts in trying to convince his magically

influenced comrades that he was up to nothing untoward at all, without giving them any specific

details. In fact he was even openly suggesting that they join him, given that he had open spots,

what with his best githyanki being dead and all. But as the hour progressed, the tiger-headed

fiend was growing increasingly more agitated as he was unable to persuade them all to his point

of view and his whim.

Whatever spell had affected them all, made them open to influence, it probably had a time

limit of an hour, or very close to it. That hour was rapidly reaching its conclusion and the fiend
 644

wasnt happy. It was likely that their apparent change in morality might be permanent if they

did agree to his terms before that limit was up, and if not, than there would be blood spilled. It

was not a short wait for that result.

And if we have already had a better offer from elsewhere? If we dont wish to work for

you? Marissa said politely, much to the other fiends displeasure. Being such a polite gen-

tlemen, surely youll wish us farewell on a pledge to not spread word of your work here atop

Maanzecorians corpse?

His whiskers bristled and his tail was twitching in agitation behind his cushioned chair.

You must realize that I cannot allow the knowledge of my activities here to escape beyond

the confines of this godisle. The Rakshasa said bluntly. Marissa clutched the side of her head

and winced like a drill was boring into her skull. Especially when it would leap to the ears of a

second rate draconic goddess and to the Lord of the 5th.

Bel? He scoffed and sneered, black lips curling up over ivory fangs. Your motives and

allegiances are entirely transparent my dear. And to the rest of you, from the moment you

stepped within the confines of my warding about this place you were never going to be allowed

to leave intact. To think otherwise is the depths of foolishness.

And so my dear erinyes, The Rakshasa said with a rough hiss. It has been an hour, and

I grow tired of your prattle.

And with that, he flicked the fingers of a backwards paw at the other fiend and snarled

an invocation. The erinyes scream was brief as she spontaneously combusted, leaving behind

naught but a pile of ashes where she had been sitting. The Rakshasa seemed entirely indifferent

to the entire affair originally, calm, proper and mellow, but having been growing more ill at ease

by the moment, he was starting to fray at the edges.

The fiend sighed and put down his still steaming teacup on its china saucer. He seemed

entirely bored with the situation, like it was nothing to him at all to simply execute a greater

Baatezu. And for the others, they were simply fools beneath his station.

The only exits out of the library were directly over the edge of the balcony, or by way of the

stairs down to the ground floor. Without word from the Rakshasa, or pause in his conversation

with them, a wall of force shimmered into place a few feet before the balcony and a second

githyanki warlock appeared behind it. A moment later, blocking the way down the stairs stood

a ground of four goblins, each holding smaller versions of the cannons that they had seen before,

crude constructions of iron and wood.

The Rakshasa stood up, took one last puff of his pipe and exhaled the bitter smoke at his

guests.
645

Your attention has been appreciated for our time together, He said with a tone of finality.

But I regret that we were unable to reach some matter of agreement. A pity.
Chapter 58

The others didnt immediately act, but Tristol and Fyrehowl were under no such restrictions.

Tristol had already called a spell into his mind and a moment later he hurled it at the wall of

force that blocked one of their routes of egress. A thin greenish ray shot from his outstretched

finger and disintegrated the wall without pause while he brought a second spell to mind.

Fyrehowl had drawn her sword and raced towards the goblins. She was nearly there already

when they lowered the barrels of their weapons and fired, swallowing her and them both in a

cloud of powder smoke.

Clueless snarled and drew his blade while Toras calmly invoked an innate power of his celestial

heritage, summoning a holy aura to surround and protect him and his companions. As the shining

light of the spell enveloped him and the others, it had a secondary effect as well: it dismissed

the effects of the Rakshasas symbol of persuasion entirely. They blinked in some momentary

confusion as they came to realize just how fully they had fallen under magical influence, and as

they paused, the Rakshasa and its pet githyanki acted.

Given the innate resistance to magic that all Rakshasa possessed, the githyanki warlock felt

no compunction against simply hurling his spells into the midst of the fight; they simply wouldnt

affect his liege at all. The mage whispered an invocation and hurled a blistering cone of frost

directly into the melee since the wall of force was no longer blocking any direct, line of sight

spells.

The spell hit hard, blasting all except Tristol and Fyrehowl with full force. And for the latter

of those two, she was still unseen within the confines of the cloud of smoke loosed from the

goblins weapons. The only positive aspect of that last detail were the screams of goblins that

could be heard, though the exact results could not yet be seen.

The Rakshasa smiled and pointed his hand at Florian, the cleric being the one opponent

capable of blessing any crossbow bolts, the bane of any Rakshasa. The fiend gestured with that

outstretched finger, and whispered a single word: Die.

646
647

Florian stumbled as if she had just been punched in the gut. She doubled over and coughed,

straining her eyes and wincing as the spell washed over her but failed to realize its full potential.

The cleric steadied herself on the haft of her axe as she shuddered and slowly recovered from the

spell. It had left her sick and in pain, but it had not killed her as intended.

Tristol, having seen the potency of the Rakshasas spellcasting, and his full willingness to

hurl about death spells like they were mere cantrips, cast his most powerful spell in memory. A

rainbow of colored light erupted from the aasimars hand as he cast the prismatic spray, a single

beam striking the githyanki mage and two separate beams striking the Rakshasa.

The warlock managed half a scream before it died in his throat and a contingency activated,

whisking him away by magic to some predetermined safe harbor. It would do little good though

if it was known only to him however; the prismatic spray had turned him to stone.

As the two beams struck the tiger-headed fiend, he seemed a mixture of politely impressed

and dismissive of the threat. He had nothing to fear from the mage. However the two swordsman

charging towards him... they did matter. Clueless and Toras both slashed at Siddhartha, both of

them scoring several hits, though some manner of protective spell on the fiend seemed to negate

a large amount of the damage.

Florian invoked a prayer to aid her companions as the Rakshasa calmly stepped back and

placed his still smoking pipe to his lips. In the midst of the battle it seemed almost comical, but

then he triggered some spell latent upon the item and a shockwave of sonic energy erupted in a

circle around him. Clueless and Toras were both hurled backwards by a wall of sound that took

the form of a thousand screaming souls like something dredged from the depths of pandemonium.

Behind them, the smoke had cleared and Fyrehowl emerged over the dead bodies of the

goblins, though she herself has bleeding from a number of deep wounds their alchemical weapons

had inflicted upon her. She gave a bestial snarl at the Rakshasa before charging towards him,

soon to be joined by Clueless and Toras again.

Siddhartha attempted to retreat to a safer position, but he never made it, and soon his

protective magics began to fail and the slashes upon his flesh began to bleed more and more.

His smug attitude began to rupture into concern, and then to hatred as he cast another spell.

The Rakshasa threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs. The air rippled

around him as if a portal to Hell had ripped itself open within his larynx, and its insane petitioners

had wailed their fury and misery out into the world through him. It wasnt the roaring of a tiger or

any other great cat, but a scream like a damned, tortured soul venting its hatred on the living.

Tristol recognized the spell with widened eyes a second before the tidal wave of necromancy

engulfed them all, and both Clueless and Nisha dropped dead.
 648

Tristol panicked and cast the first spell that came to his mind, a rather simple spell to conjure

a force effect onto a simple weapon. It was quick and it was reactionary, and the fiend was already

badly injured. Without any training in combat, but just a measure of gut instinct and pure,

random luck, he slammed the end of his staff into the Rakshasas head. The fiend jerked and

imploded, vanishing in the sudden activation of some sort of contingent planeshift or teleport.

Tristol dropped back and sat down in one of the fiends chairs. His heart was pounding and

his veins felt as if on fire from the massive expenditure of spells he had cast, an oddly pleasant

feeling as he realized that they had won. He only then realized that both Nisha and Clueless

were lying there, cold and still, snuffed out by the Rakshasas parting incantation.

Sh*t... He said, echoed by Toras and Florian.

Florian, can you...? Fyrehowl asked the cleric.

She shook her head. I didnt memorize anything of the sort today. And what I have isnt

perfect. Theyll be alive again, but its going to take something out of them. They wont be

quite up to their normal selves for some time. Theyll take time to recover.

A sullen mood descended over them all as they looked down at the pair of corpses. But

no sooner had they felt depression hitting hard, then there was a sudden flash of light and the

sound of ice grinding upon ice. They abruptly looked up, half expecting more githyanki, or a

rejuvenated Rakshasa, but it was something altogether different.

An imp, tinged green and smelling of seawater, it slowly approached them and held out a

bag nearly as large as it was.

The Lord of the 5th, Prince Levistus, pays his debt of service to you for aid rendered.

Florian accepted the bag as the imp gave her a polite grin. Well, as polite as a naked fiend

with a scorpions tail waving behind it leisurely could be.

You should find these an appropriate favor for a favor. The Imp said as he glanced around

at the carnage that despoiled the otherwise gentile surroundings. Then, without further com-

ment, it vanished in the flash of a planeshift, called back by the Archdevil who had sent it.

Whats in the bag? Skalliska asked as Florian glanced inside warily.

The clerics eyes widened as she withdrew a scroll case and two flawless sea-green emeralds

the size of her fist.

Holy... Skalliska said as she glanced at the gems.

Florian had an astonished grin on her face as she opened the scroll case. She seemed to

already anticipate what was waiting for her within.

Gawk while you can Skalliska. These gems wont be here for much longer. Theyre just

components...
649

Toras nodded as he came to the same realization as Florian had. The gems were simply the

material component to a spell that was far above and beyond any of their capability to cast

on their own, but if they were provided on a scroll, than their power would simply need to be

channeled and directed.

Wish me luck, this is beyond my normal ability. Florian said as she took the first gem and

its bundled scroll and began to chant over Cluelesss corpse.

The strain was evident as she began to read from the scroll. The gem in her other hand

began to glow, and crackles of energy leap from her, to the scroll, to the gem, and then down

to Cluelesss body. Florian winced in pain more than once as she finished reading, but her

concentration held as finally the gemstone crumbled to dust, the words on the scroll faded away,

and the bladesinger opened his eyes.

Welcome back. Fyrehowl said as she helped Clueless up to his feet.

What the hell was that? He asked. And... I dont feel any different.

That was a 9th sphere spell... Tristol said. A Wail of the Banshee. The Rakshasa killed

you and Nisha with it before...

Is that b*stard dead? Clueless said, interrupting Tristol.

Tristol paused and looked away as Florian began to chant over Nishas body.

Looked like a planeshift or a teleport. Fyrehowl said with a sigh. Yeah, he got away. But

there wasnt anything we could do about it.

Ten jink says we see him again. Skalliska said.

By that time Florian was finished, and once again her concentration held, but it had clearly

taken something out of her. She was tired and had to sit down as the spell took effect and Nisha

opened her eyes.

Ive been doing this a lot. The Xaositect said as she regained awareness. Im hanging out

with the wrong crowd I think. You all keep getting me into bad situations with bad people. And

those people, they keep killing me.

Toras helped her up off the floor.

You know, you could have just walked off after we were done with the whole blackmail and

forced employment thing. You didnt have to stick around with us.

Yeah, I could have. She replied. But then who would get you into trouble?

But didnt you just say that it was our bad influence that got -you- into trouble? Clueless

asked.

Nope. She replied.

Thats not making sense Nisha... Skalliska complained.

 650

Shhh... Nisha whispered to the kobold. Logic and me, were not on good terms, youll

make them feel bitter.

The tiefling flashed a smile and Skalliska felt confused.

Florian coughed.

So what do we do now? The cleric asked as she slumped in one of the Rakshasas chairs.

Well, Marissa isnt exactly with us anymore... Toras said as he gazed as the scorch mark

on the floor where the Erinyes had been sitting earlier.

So that brings up a question I guess, Tristol said. Do we still bother with the githyanki,

or anything else around here?

They glanced at each other questioningly.

Id say yes. Clueless said. Nisha and I are alive again.

Florian nodded. Id say we should, if just to make it clear that we were thorough in fulfilling

our end of that bargain. The Erinyes did, and Id say we owe it to her patron to see this out as

much as we can.

Plus, Fyrehowl said. We dont want to just leave and have them, or the githyanki here

respectively deciding to come after us for reneging on a deal, or for revenge.

There was a sudden crackle of energy in the air of the library and a flash of light. But

it wasnt heralding the presence of any new threat, rather it was something leaving. In quick

succession, a number of items around the room that had been in the possession of the Rakshasa

and the warlock who had served him simply winked out of existence, called back to some safe

location for their owners to retrieve them.

Tristol cursed.

The b*stard marked them with a summoning rune. Nothing we can do about it now though.

Skalliska sat down next to Florian, hopping into the chair that the Rakshasa had previously

been sitting in.

Aye. She said. Had we known it, we might have stowed them in a bag of holding, but even

then Im not sure they wouldnt have simply vanished the moment we took them out again.

I take it this means that those two are still alive? Florian asked.

Maybe. Tristol said. They might have been contingent spells, triggered when they were

killed or incapacitated. The warlock isnt going to be using them anytime soon though.

Why is that? Fyrehowl asked.

The spell I hit him with, The wizard explained. The part that affected him right before

he teleported out by a contingent spell, it turned him to stone.

Clueless winced. Yeah, that would do it.

651

It might be a wise idea to try and scry where they might have gone after everything here is

squared away. Skalliska said, glancing to Clueless and Tristol.

And pilfer the library of all its worth. Nisha said. Sooner, rather than later.

They glanced at each other and then began to quickly loot any materials that seemed relevant

to why the Rakshasa was there in the Astral, records of what they had been doing, anything else

that struck them as interesting. But there wasnt much. The library was mostly fiction and dry

histories of the planes, tales of wars on the prime material, tales of wars in Acheron, and reams

upon reams of lore relating to dynastic succession within a number of kingdoms, both prime

material and planar. It was the library of a cultured nobleman, and anything that would have

been specific to his actions in the Astral had been summoned back to him already, regardless of

what state he might be in.

Nisha was unhappy of course, though she did take the samovar when the others werent

looking. Eventually though the others suggested that they wouldnt find anything else outside

of a few books that seemed to indicate a loose record of supplies and other arrivals to, and

departures from, the godisle. They would look at that later, but in the meantime, there was the

surface, and the tower that it held.

***

The Rakshasa appeared in the flash of a teleport in a dimly lit chamber elsewhere upon the

Astral. Hed felt the momentary disruption as his essence poured through the wardings and the

continent sized hell of the astral storm that raged beyond the walls of that place, his sanctum,

his shelter, the place where he returned now in abject failure.

Siddhartha tightly clenched his eyes, she would not be pleased with him. She would be insane

with rage. He took his breaths of sterile air, charged with magic, while he still could in relative

peace as he sat down and simply waited for what would come.

Several githyanki were staring at him, more servants, exiles and fugitives who had joined them

under his or the others command. They stared at him with worried, questioning expressions on

their faces. They hadnt expected to see him, not so soon, and not in so ragged of a condition

even as his body began to heal itself from his physical injuries.

They continued to stare in the intervening minutes as his possessions began to appear around

him, summoned back to his person by magic he had placed in them some time ago. He turned

his eyes upon them and a wordless communication passed in between: leave him be and do not

ask.

The githyanki were well aware that his return meant conflict, and that meant failure in some
 652

way. They, just as well as he, knew that those two things would draw the ire of the other one,

the second Rakshasa, his sibling. Siddhartha said nothing to them as he collected his things and

put them to one side. He sat there silently, consumed with a bitter resignation, as his mind was

set to vibrating with a distant mental touch. She knew. She was aware that he was here, she

knew what that meant, and she was unhappy.

He could have mentally called out to her, answered her questions preemptively, made his

excuses, given his explanations, but that would serve no purpose. He would suffer, the failure

would be extracted from him in a toll of blood and agony, and her answers would be ripped from

his mind before she released him to rectify his failures, to take revenge.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head submissively as the door to the chamber opened. The

scent of poppies drifted on the air as his counterpart, if he could use that term so loosely, stepped

into the room. The githyanki looked and immediately lowered their gaze from hers, those eyes

gleaming like luminescent jade in the dim light, aflame with fury. Padded feet tapped across the

floor and claws clacked against the stone in rhythmic pattern there in the darkness as a deep

feline purr transposed to a feral roar.

To Siddharthas coming admiration and patent surprise in some cloistered, sheltered portion

of his mind, his capacity for, and understanding of pain, would soon be expanded and redefined.

***

Much to Tristols grudging approval, Clueless had insisted on providing an area of invisibility

for them all before they made their way out of the building and down to the surface of the

godisle. Clueless had brushed it off, said he had had the spell earlier, but it had slipped his

mind to use before. Tristol, knowing the truth, said nothing though some tiny portion of himself

wished that it could have been the one doing the spellcasting. The spells during the fight had

felt rather good, pleasurable almost.

The invisibility had held when they drifted down from the buildings high in orbit, and down

to the surface of Maanzecorians corpse. None of the githyanki below, and certainly none of the

goblins had noticed a thing.

Thankfully though, there were no guards positioned at the tower itself, and the doorway at

its base was out of immediate line of sight of the teams of goblin petitioners and their githyanki

taskmasters.

The tower was built of a rough base metal, not anything mined from the godisle that it rose

up from. Looking at it closely, Tristol and Florian both agreed that the material was probably

created by sorcery and then molded into the desired shape from the foundations up. Given the
653

two to three story high rise of the tower, like a spear that had gored the dead god, rising up

like a spike from its chest, it would have taken either considerable time to craft, or a potent

spellcaster.

The door was likewise of solid but unrefined construction. It suited its designed purpose, and

would have probably stood up to a battering ram, but it was nothing so fine as the interior of

the buildings that hung above it in orbit.

This wasnt built to be permanent. Toras said. This just calls out functional and not

much else.

Ive got to agree with you there. Skalliska said as she studied the exterior of the tower. If

a Rakshasa had intended to stay here with this, theyd have made it look pretty.

And refined and worthy of their noble presence. Clueless said smugly. B*stard killed

me...

As they speculated on the tower, Nisha was already looking closely at the door itself. She

looked at something cut into the surface briefly, snatched her hand away and made a face at it.

Eww... She said before taking out a file and chipping away it for a moment.

What was that Nisha? Fyrehowl asked, her ears swiveling at the earlier comment.

Oh, nothing. The tiefling replied as she leaned on the door, covering up the now ruined

symbol with her hand.

Eventually the others glanced at her.

So, are there any wards on the door? Florian asked.

None. Nisha replied.

Florian paused and asked again. Are you -sure- that there arent any wards on the door?

This time Im actually sure of that. Nisha said. Ive already died here once, and yes this

has apparently gotten to be a habit with me and spellcasters, so if you want Ill open it and you

all can stand back.

No, we trust you. Tristol said. If youre sure of it, well stand right here.

Skalliska was already moving back, and would have gone back further, except Toras grabbed

her and held her in place.

There was one glyph. A symbol like before, just different. The Xaositect said with a shrug.

A symbol? Which kind? Clueless asked her.

Death. Nisha said without a bit of worry. At least I think it was death symbol...

Skalliska tried to break free from where Toras was holding her. And to be honest, he was

considering if the kobolds idea wasnt all that bad of one.

Oh, bah. Nisha replied, moving her hand off the inactive symbol. I already defaced it. If
 654

I hadnt, wed have triggered it by now, and youd all be dead. So trust me when I say that Ive

got it.

Clueless looked up at the symbol on the door, expertly deactivated as it was.

Not bad. The bladesinger said as they swung the door inward.

No sooner had the door opened then they were nearly incapacitated with an overwhelming

stench of blood and decay that rolled in a nauseating wave from out of the dimly lit interior of

the tower.

Fyrehowl winced and tried to cover her nose, more sensitive than the others. Tears streamed

down from her eyes as the cloying reek washed over them all.

Oh gods... Florian said, gagging. What the hell is that?

Tristol snapped his fingers and conjured a glowing ball of light in the center of the towers

interior as they cautiously moved within, fighting the acrid stench. They stepped into a charnel

house.

What the... Skalliska openly wondered as the light of Tristols spell illuminated the source

of the smell.

The tower was hollow, with no stairs leading up or down, though high above, near the top of

the towers interior, a stable platform seemed to hover in place. From that platform, something

shed a pale silvery light down to illuminate the raw, pitted and petrified godflesh of Maanzecorian,

a half dozen mangled githyanki corpses, and the walls...

Nearly every inch of the interior of the tower was covered in blood and spattered gore. The

walls of the tower were literally painted in a mixture of what appeared to be the blood of the

defiled, mangled githyanki corpses and ink, all of it scrawled into bizarre patterns across the

exposed walls. Bloody Rakshasa footprints traced across the floor in trails between the bodies,

body parts, and the walls, as if the githyanki had been kept alive and made to witness before

more ink was required, thus precipitating their slaughter, one by one.

Nisha made to throw up, Tristol whispered a prayer to Mystra, and even Toras paled as they

took in the full scope of it all, what was there, shielding the corpse of Maanzecorian from all

prying eyes.

The carnage wasnt random, not in the least. The wash of blood that coated the walls in

a sticky, rotting patina on a metal canvas was actually formed of individual letters. Infernal,

Abyssal, and even some Draconic runes, they raced in mad, swirling patterns across the walls.

Collections of the smallest runes, themselves minuscule, in turn formed larger glyphs, and those

formed words. A bizarre litany of poetry, its component letters forming a massive collection of

disturbingly intricate wardings of frightening potency, it danced and cavorted across the walls,
655

written in blood and gore from the castaway bodies of the githyanki.

A spattering of bile might form the letters to a series of spells, the sentences curled and

twisted with a length of viscera, blood and bits of liver, to form the portion of a larger letter in

a higher order object, it then forming the start of a word in a mocking, repetitious poem. There

were at least 4 separate orders of spells, poetry, and abstract patterns that decorated the walls

in mad progression. The dead Githyanki were tossed like refuse on the floor, discarded bottles

of ink or paint, garbage left in the wake of an artist; but their hollow eyes, those who still had

eyes, were all positioned to look up upon what their deaths had created.

In the face of the Tsunami I spit with my last dying breath and curse the divine.

Forsaken, I spill my lifeblood to spill yours, oh Maanzecorian.

I dance upon your grave, and sh*t upon your tomb.

Belief can be shattered, and so can you.

Your body our bread, your ichor our wine, suffer death to not come unto you, for such is our

kingdom, Oh Maanzecorian.

I laugh at your fall oh Maanzecorian, brought low by the dead to join them.

By your death another ascended, but indignity does not end there oh keeper of dark and hidden

things.

Stripped of your riches and plundered of your essence, I laugh and I dance.

I sing and I shudder.

Bare wide the gates of your hell, for you are not alone in your fall, Oh Maanzecorian.
Chapter 59

They stood there stupefied at the sight of it all, mouths open, eyes wide, just gawking at it even

as their eyes watered from the acrid, coppery ammonia tang of blood and festering flesh.

Nisha swallowed hard as she stepped further into the room, the others followed behind her

as they took in the full magnitude of the gory details that sprawled across the walls.

Where the hell did this all come from? Toras asked.

Clueless pointed to the ravaged githyanki corpses.

No. Toras said. You think the Rakshasa up there did all of this? A tea sipping perfectionist

who might have you flogged for not using a coaster under your drinks at dinner. This is messed

up, like hed gone insane.

Tanarri interior decorators... Nisha said, wincing at the burning, cloying stench.

No, I see where youre going. It doesnt entirely make sense, not from what we saw of him

before. Clueless said.

Whoever did this was pissed at someone or completely f*cking insane. Florian said. But

I think were safe to assume that a Rakshasa did in fact do this...

The cleric pointed to the bloody footprints that tracked across the rocky godflesh of Maanzeco-

rian, and to the paw prints on the walls. There was no mistaking the shape; they were distinctive

enough to be certain. But it raised the specter of not one, but two Rakshasas.

Take a look at this. Fyrehowl said as she looked down at something on the floor.

Two things actually: a gleaming silvery sword that was impaled several inches into the floor,

and the severed head of the githyanki who had once wielded it.

Thats her. Clueless said as he looked at the head, the silver sword, and the ravaged body.

Who? Skalliska asked.

The githyanki knight who had been traveling on that derelict ship we came across. The

bladesinger replied. She fits the description the captain of the ship wrote in his journal.

Beheaded with her own sword... Fyrehowl said, wincing.

656
657

Theres the irony. But she did find what she came looking for. Toras said with a frown.

A hell of a way to go however. Gods above what that must have been like...

And then theres whatever is above us. Fyrehowl pointed up where something glowed with

a faint silvery-blue light on a floating platform nearly two stories up.

Clueless looked down at the Knights sword, impaled in the floor. It was beautiful.

Hmm... The bladesinger said as he looked at it, then curled his fingers around his own

sword, the only one he had used in perhaps decades, maybe longer.

The githyanki blade was one of the liquid metal blades of the githyanki, one of the so-called

silver swords. The githyanki considered them to be holy artifacts, and the secrets of their

manufacture were jealously guarded by the gith who crafted them; some were even said to be

created by the Lich Queen herself.

Clueless touched the other sword briefly, considering taking it even more briefly. Glittering

jewels floated within the flowing matrix of the silver swords hilt, and the letters of a githyanki

hymn ran along the center of the blade, true artistry in contrast to the bloody horror that

spattered the walls.

Finally though, he moved away from the dead knights sword and shook his head. He was

more than happy with his own blade, and more importantly, he was comfortable with it.

The bladesinger turned away from the sword impaled in the ground and joined the others in

looking up towards the platform above them.

So then, shall we check it out? He asked.

Sounds like a plan to me. Fyrehowl said as she covered her nose with the sleeve of her

robes. The smell was seriously making the lupinal wince, even more so than any of the others,

and she was eager to hopefully escape from the range of the gagging odor.

As so as they turned to ascend towards the platform, where all of the bloody poetry seemed

to spiral up towards and converge, Florian had a nagging thought stick in her mind. What if the

githyanki corpses were undead, or might animate if the towers wards were interrupted? What if

the Rakshasa-come-bloody calligraphist had used their victims as something more than simply

inkwells?

You alright Florian? Toras asked, noticing the pause on the clerics face as she glanced over

her shoulder at the bodies.

Florian waved away the fighters concern.

Yeah, just a dumb thought I had in my head. She said. Nothing to worry about.

The moment they began to break free from the gravity well, half a dozen eyes opened...
 658

***

Silently, with a minor mental struggle against the gravity of Maanzecorians corpse below

them, they ascended up to the floating platform. It was spartan, but while the platform itself

was simple, the bloody writing upon the walls proceeded the entire distance up from the floor

and onto the vaulted ceiling of the tower. There, directly above them, pointing to a pedestal

in the center of the platform, the ceiling inverted into a sharply descending spike. The bloody

script wrapped around the spike like a dagger pointing at a victim. And indeed, in a manner of

speaking, a powers corpse did indeed lie below.

Atop the platform and below the spike in the ceiling was a simple metal pedestal, though its

smooth shaft was painted reddish brown in elaborate, ascending patterns writ in blood. Hovering

an inch off the pedestal itself was a plain iron bowl filled to the brim with a shimmering silvery

liquid, glowing with the pale wan light they had seen from below. Tristol looked at it curiously.

His reflection played across its surface, polished like a mirror. It was liquid metal, almost like

mercury in a way, and similar perhaps to the liquid metal used by the githyanki for their Knights

swords.

In fact thats exactly what it was, the enchanted silvery metal known to the Githyanki

artificers as godsblood. The githyanki extracted the liquid from the bodies of certain dead gods

by a technique considered sacred and holy to their race, and never shared with outsiders.

But then the surface shifted and changed, for a moment clouding over like drops of blood

had fallen into water to dilute and disperse, clouding the previous purity of the surface. In that

moment the bloody painted lines on the pedestal, bowl and interior of the tower itself all seemed

to converge on the bowl and its liquid interior, completing the unholy dweomer like an artists

signature upon a masterpiece with a mental impression of the disjointed, collective screams of the

dead githyanki below. In the space of a second they witnessed the githyanki being slaughtered

through the eyes of their killer.

Tristol stepped back, white as a sheet.

And then, without a sound, it was gone and the bowls interior was but glistening metal once

again.

They heard them first; the snap of bones locking back into dislocated sockets, the wet slump

of organs shifting in chest cavities open to the air, the intake of breath into slashed or torn

throats, the clatter of broken armor as it moved, and from one of them a snarl as it retrieved its

severed head and ripped its sword free from its godflesh scabbard.

Oh sh*t... Florian said as she whispered a prayer to detect the presence of undead.
659

The clerics eyes went wide.

They all turned and looked over the edge of the platform, but it was the worst thing they could

have done. Below them, looking up, the beheaded corpse of the knight pointed its glistening,

silvery sword as its eye sockets erupted in a greenish flame. The other six corpses were on their

feet as well, and they each stared upwards, eyes burning with an utter hatred of the living. Six

puissant gazes each polluted by a death at the hands of an evil great enough to linger on past

the original unholy act, they stared upwards...

Florian clutched at her chest and toppled over the edge of the platform. Skalliska crumpled

and dropped to the edge, lifeless.

The others looked into the eyes of the githyanki bodaks and felt something reach out from

the eyes, wrenching into their chests, seeking their souls to snuff them out like candles.

Gaaaah! Toras shouted as pain flooded through his body for a moment before receding.

The same cries of pain came from the others, but also when the shouts were finished, they

were all still breathing, all still alive.

They stood there in shock at the sight of Skalliska laying still and cold at the platforms edge,

and Florians body some forty feet below, sprawled on the ground with her neck twisted at a

freakish angle.

Tristol went first, turning his gaze from the bodaks and hurling a tiny, sparkling bead down

towards them, narrowly avoiding Florians body at the same time. The ball of fire erupted

amongst the undead and caused them to snarl and shriek with inhuman voices.

Dont look at them. Avert your eyes and they cant affect you. Toras shouted.

Below, the solitary death knight cackled and pointed its sword at the fighter even as Clueless

repeated Tristols previous spell and Fyrehowl loosed a frigid cone of ice upon the pack of

shambling bodaks. Their aim might have been poor, their nerves shot from the shock of watching

their friends die only moments before, but it was sufficient to leave all but one of the bodaks

burnt or frozen, dead once more, upon the floor of the tower.

The death knight was untouched. The spells had either failed to affect it, or never touched

it, the magic simply being absorbed like water to a sponge. And the unliving blasphemy was

laughing at them as it returned their efforts full force.

Toras was hit first, and then Fyrehowl and Nisha as well. Erupting from the glistening,

flowing metallic tip of its silver sword, a roaring column of black fire lanced up towards the

platform where they stood. They dove for cover as best they could, and Clueless and Toras both

jumped over the edge to fight the creature in close combat.

The remaining bodak was simply standing there, looking down at the crumpled githyanki
 660

bodies around it, then at the bloody walls. It screamed and clutched its head, then it ran

its fingers across the mass of unbleeding wounds that had caused its death originally. It was

remembering what happened to it and how it died. It was reliving the death of its fellows and

then finally its merciful own.

Taking the initiative while the last bodak was stunned, not wanting it capable of using its

gaze against her companions once more, Fyrehowl flung her sword at its head in a single fluid

movement. There was a sickening crunch, a sound of bone and flesh crumpling as it fell to the

floor, and then the clatter of metal on stone as her sword hit the stone a moment later.

Lacking anything that could cross the distance, and being rather ill equipped to fight the

undead, Nisha simply stepped back and cringed. That of course lasted all of a few seconds

before she hopped on top of Skalliskas body and began to yell at her corpse about how she was

never going to go on any of her bloody adventures anymore. They were too dangerous. And

too gross. And they smelled. And they had undead! She was going to stick to less dangerous

pastimes... like tickling Slaadi or drinking in Tanarri bars!

Meanwhile, on the surface, Toras and Clueless were both fending off the blows of the undead

githyanki knight. While they would have been a formidable foe in life, in death they were as

much an unholy terror as possibly the creature than had fashioned them as a watchdog for all

intents and purposed. The death knights style of fighting was bizarre, and its sword was never

the same shape from moment to moment, slash to slash, and stab to stab. They could only guess

as to where exactly to block, or parry.

Still though, they had the odds in their favor, and eventually sent the pitiable creature back

into deaths embrace more surely perhaps than the corpse of the god whom they fought upon.

Clueless put his foot against the death knights chest and freed his sword from where it had

become lodged in the undeads spine in his final, killing blow.

Told you that you were better than any damn silver sword. He said to his own sword like

an old, cherished friend before impaling the knights sword back into the ground.

Florian can raise them. Nisha said as she descended down with Skalliskas body held by

the tail.

Toras looked at her like she had a hole in head.

Nisha dropped the kobold and looked at the clerics corpse.

Wait... She said, her tail drooping. Sh*t...

Yeah... Fyrehowl said as she too descended down. Our only cleric is dead.

And we have bigger problems than that however. Toras said. Bodaks.

Which we killed. Clueless replied.

661

Fyrehowl winced as she realized what Toras was implying.

Oh hells... Clueless said.

Yeah. Toras added. Weve got just under twenty four hours to get them raised from the

dead or consecrated, or else theyll be raised for us, and not exactly in the way we want.

Well what about all of this up here?! Tristol shouted from above.

Nisha danced about nervously.

Do what Id do! She shouted up to the aasimar.

How the hell should I know what youd do?! Tristol shouted back down. Since when are

you predictable? I dont know what youd do.

Neither do I! Nisha replied. Then in a softer voice, Thats disturbing, aint it?

Tristol didnt reply as he glanced down at the magic flowing through the pedestal. The sheer

complexity of the wardings on the tower that extended out for nearly two miles, it boggled his

mind, and the raw power floating through it was like almost nothing he had ever seen. He

didnt have a clue where to begin in unwinding the dweomers and dispelling the wards, and that

assumed that he was powerful enough to accomplish that to begin with.

He glanced down over the edge to where the others had gathered Skalliska and Florians

bodies, removed anything sharp, and dumped them both in a bag of holding. Tristol fidgeted

nervously, much more so than perhaps he should have. The feel of the spells focused a few inches

away were almost intoxicating, and the feeling was at once both distracting and enthralling. He

simply couldnt concentrate on what he needed to do.

To hell with this. He said, opting instead for whatever it was that Nisha might do.

Tristol kicked the pedestal as hard as he could, a spur of the moment action that seemed

appropriate at the time. Not that he was really thinking, and in that Fyrehowl might have

approved, but it wasnt as if hed had any great perception on what was appropriate or not, he

just did it randomly for lack of any better idea.

The bowl of liquid metal rattled and tipped over the side of the pedestal, wildly careening

to one side and spilling its contents over the spirals of bloody tracings, poetry and designs that

it had previously been channeling and amplifying. As simply as that, the godisles warding was

broken irrevocably.

A tremor raced through the tower and the bloody script scrawled upon its walls began to

smoke and sizzle. Sudden, terrified screams could be heard dimly through the entryway.

The Dreadnaught... Fyrehowl said bluntly.

They looked at one another and bolted from the building.

The surface was a scene of absolute pandemonium. The githyanki were in full flight, abandon-
 662

ing their goblinoid slaves and scattering about in confusion. Some of them were simply vanishing

in the glow of planeshifting magic if they were capable of it, and others stayed still in shock and

terror, but most of them were making for the two buildings tethered in orbit, and the astral

carracks docked along their connecting bridgework.

That was the worst thing that they could have done.

The silvery, timeless solitude of the Astral was broken in that moment as an ear-shattering

roar washed over the surface of the godisle, jarring and terrible to behold. The Astral Dread-

naught bore witness to what had hitherto eluded its sight, flaunting and mocking its charge, and

the beast was enraged beyond all reason.

Its silver chord spiraling back into the infinite depths of the Astral behind it, they watched as

the Dreadnaught, servant of the Guardian of Dead Gods, crossed those two miles with frightening

velocity, hurtling like a falling star towards the buildings in orbit, and the astral carracks that

were just then hurling away the tethers to their moorings. It was too late for them.

The Dreadnaught slammed into the first of the buildings, ripping it fully in half with a single

swipe of one massive arm. The rubble hurtled off into the silvery depths, and the beast opened

its slavering maw as if to roar once more; that it did.

There was no sound. That was the first thing that they all noticed. But something else,

something that erupted from the Dreadnaughts mouth a moment later, they saw rather than

heard. A rippling wave expanded from the Dreadnaught, currents of force slamming into the

githyanki ships, rocking them forwards, sending one of them crashing into the second building

were it erupted in flames as its magazine or magical engines detonated. The flames billowed over

the Rakshasas tower in dribbling spheres as the lack of gravity caused them the ripple and wash

like a liquid through the entirety of the structure.

The flames gutted the tower in those few moments before the wave of force from the Dread-

naught crossed the space between and blasted it into a cloud of broken stone after shredding

the githyanki ships one by one in agonizing sequence. Twisted deck plates, broken timbers, and

shattered stone hurtled off at random, mad trajectories through the void while a fine red mist

drifted up like bloody froth from the largest remaining portions of the gutted ships as they spun

off out of sight.

There could have been no survivors; the destruction was almost absolute. And oddly, the

Dreadnaught never once looked down at the mortals who had broken the wards keeping it at

bay. By luck or intent, its terrible, magic nullifying gaze passed them over and its fury never

gave them worry. Not so for the few remaining githyanki or the hapless petitioners upon the

surface though. In the next, scant few minutes, the Dreadnaught crushed them in its claws or
663

simply devoured them whole, picking them out of the air or scooping them up from the surface

as it passed back and forth over the godisle.

Perhaps ten minutes later and it was gone, back off into the void with only the dead and

its mortal accomplices left upon the surface. In astonishment they looked up after it for some

time, gazing speechlessly at the carnage orbiting within the gravity well of the godisle, a cloud

of blood and ruin.

... Nisha opened her mouth but nothing came out. Whatever she had planned to say, it

simply stuck in her throat, the statement stillborn.

Holy f*ck! Clueless said after some uncertain time in which theyd just stared without a

word said.

There was little else to be said, truth be told. And while they still had the remainder of

Skalliskas original journey to complete, the kobold was dead, and so was their cleric. They had

twenty-four hours to return to Sigil, or anywhere that they might be able to raise them both

before they rose on their own accord as bodaks. Neither Levistus nor any other powerful patron

owed them any favors; this would be entirely their own problem to fix, and time was passing...

With only a cursory check on Skalliskas planar sextant, hoping to find an appropriate portal

or color pool, they shot off into the silvery void without another word, praying that they wouldnt

run out of time.

***

The room was awash in blood. The githyanki watched on as it happened, though truth be

told, they were sickened by it, and they watched only out of fear of their Rakshasa mistress

and her brother who lay immobilized and under her knife, gutted open but somehow alive,

conscious, and utterly silent through it all. He had not said a word as she slowly tore him apart,

inch-by-inch; not a single scream, not even a whimper. Nothing.

She stared into Siddharthas eyes, glowing and quivering against the pain. She smiled and

twisted the knife more. Eventually he would break and he would scream, admitting to his

failure and his inferiority in station compared to her. She flicked the tip of the blade against

the 10th cranial nerve, applying just the right amount of pressure to make it fire. The magically

immobilized Rakshasas gut twitched and jerked, his bowels voiding themselves uncontrollably

upon the floor.

And that is what you are to me now. She said. Sh*t. Filth. Waste.

He looked up at her, somehow remaining conscious through it all, but he did not reply. She

would have her enjoyment and then it would be over. He was too useful to her to be killed. Like
 664

any feline predator, he would be toyed with before she killed him, and there was still far too

much time, far too much to accomplish, for her to care enough to dispose of him. He simply had

to wait and endure. He had no say, he had no choice in the matter, and his failure had simply

given her the opportunity to indulge herself.

She snarled and twitched the tip of her tail impatiently. Her hand held the knife in place

but her mind reached out to caress the 9th cranial nerve, touching it, manipulating its pattern

of information that his brain would interpret as coming from his tongue.

As I said. She whispered lovingly. That is what you are to me now.

He gagged at the taste that flooded his mouth. He said nothing in reply as her snarling, feral

maw came closer and her mind touched his.

I must commend you on your show of endurance. After all, you couldnt appear weak to the

githyanki that will serve you once more after this is said and done. But we have days before

I set you loose to make amends for your failure. Till then however, and shortly from now, all

pretense is dropped, I dismiss our servants, and I begin to take this personally you do realize...

Softly, Siddhartha began to whimper.

Chapter 60

They arrived in Tradegate with barely an hour to spare before the bodaks gazes would have

wrenched their dead companions back to a blasphemous unlife. Initially, the cleric they ap-

proached, an elderly priestess of Garl Glittergold had been reluctant to aid them, given that

they were not worshippers of her patron. Mention of how long it had been since their friends

had died, and just what had killed them, and that the two bodies lay sprawled in a pile on the

clerics doorstep was sufficient motivation however for her to change her mind, and change her

mind quickly.

The cleric had probably not moved that quickly in the past half a century, but with her

ample motivation at hand and soon to rise up uncalled for, she shuffled her arthritic bones like

a woman half her age. The ground was hallowed and the bodies blessed before they were both

pulled back from the beyond.

Despite the priestesses original reluctance, she was well paid for her aid, and after that they

took an evenings rest in an inn that Clueless recommended, and in which he somehow managed

to get them all put up for next to nothing after a brief chat with the innkeeper. Clueless seemed

pleased with himself and spent most of the evening talking with the man and a couple of his

friends while the others called it an early evening and slept.

The next morning they departed back to Sigil and went about taking care of their own typical

activities in the City of Doors, and seeing to anything that might have popped up during their

time on the Astral. And indeed, a number of things had, or soon would.

***

Why does no good mail arrive when were gone doing something outside of Sigil? Toras

asked as he sorted through a pile of letters that had collected in their recent absence.

Eh? Florian asked as she looked up from a mug of ale.

Yeah, I mean that when were not here we just get junk mail and bad news.

665
 666

And employment offers. Nisha chipped in as she tapped against the glass of the bell jar

that shed stuck over top of the Factol Hashkar and Factol Karan dolls.

True, Florian said. At some point we should really sit down and take a look at those two

that we got a while back.

At the least give the sender a yes or a no. Toras replied. Some response to let them know

that were not just ignoring them.

While weve been ignoring them of course. Nisha said with a grin.

Son of a... Toras said.

The letter he held up was dripping some sort of musty grease. The crudely lettered envelope

was labeled Free Sample!.

Werent you going to stuff him in his own hat? Nisha asked.

... Toras didnt respond.

Florian snickered as Nisha began to softly sing Toras is afraid of the mephit.

The hell I am! Hes just annoying and we already told him to remove us from his advertising

list. One more time like this, Toras held up the envelope with some matter of putrefied animal

carcass stuffed haphazardly into it. One more time and Im going to go over there and kick his

ass.

And stuff him into his hat. Nisha added.

That too. Toras said as he tossed the envelope through the fire portal.

Retribution. Nisha said.

Huh? Florian asked.

Mephit retribution. The tiefer replied. Seamus is just being Seamus because you keep

tossing junk into the elemental plane of fire. You ever wonder if maybe you hit a fire mephit on

the head or something at some point and maybe some weird form of mephit solidarity exists and

Seamus is just being a pain in the tail because of something you did in the first place?

Toras looked at her like she had a hole in her head.

Do you actually believe that? He asked.

Not in the least, but I said it anyway. She said with a grin. So what else is there in the

mailbox today?

A couple advertisements, nothing much to say about them, and... Toras paused and held

up a think letter. And a letter from Harnack and Associates, Public Advocates, on behalf of...

what the hell?

The letter was emblazoned with an advocates seal and the seal of the prominent Ladys Ward

inn and tavern known as The Twelve Factols.

667

Florian asked for the letter politely.

This cannot be good. She said with a firm tone to her voice.

And indeed it wasnt.

Dear sirs,

On the advice of legal aides, the owner and proprietor of the first party, The Twelve Factols, the

well known and centuries standing Ladys Ward inn, respectfully demands that the second party,

the relatively new Clerks Ward drinking hole known as the Portal Jammer, cease and desist

using an advertising gimmick that directly infringes upon a similar device used by the first party.

For several centuries, the first party has gained fame and renown for its association with the

carved representations of the 12 factols who met upon the future site of the first party during

the waning days of the then faction known as the Expansionists. These twelve carved statues

have become inextricably linked with the first party and are both a commonly associated source of

advertising and visual symbol of the inn.

It has come to the attention of the first party that the second party has used a series of factol

related figurines in their own establishment in order to garner a portion of the first partys public

name recognition and a source of profit at the expense of the first party. Due to the extreme

similarity between the long-standing and pre-existing use of this device by the first party, it is

advised that the second party immediately cease and desist in the public display of their own

similar advertising tool, and make no further display of them in public.

If this is not met within a tenday, the first party has been advised to seek legal recourse in

the City Courts, including, but not limited to, injunction against use of said device by the second

party, sanction by the Innkeepers Guild, and financial restitution to the fullest extent allowed

by law for those profits gained by fraudulent association with said advertising device of the first

party.

- Harnack and Associates, legal representatives of the 12 Factols

Nisha turned her head sideways and held the Factol Karan doll protectively.

I imagine legal trouble! The Factol Darius doll proclaimed loudly, one of the Anarchist cell

leader dolls having apparently let her out from under her soundproof bell jar.

The hell? Toras said as he stared at Florian and the letter.

Theyre f*cked in the head. Florian said angrily. Uppity Ladys Ward sons of b*tches.

Oh they cant be serious. Toras replied. Its an intimidation tactic. Weve gotten tons

of business lately, and even though were on the other side of the city, theyll just throwing a

temper tantrum.

Yes, they are. Florian said. And Im going to take care of this before it goes any further.
 668

Dont do what Id do! Nisha warned.

What would you do? Florian asked as she grabbed the letter and made to leave.

I dont honestly know. The tiefling replied. But itd be inventive I figure.

Heh. The cleric said with a chuckle. See you all in a few hours. Ill be getting a lawyer

on retainer and then going to the 12 Factols in person.

***

Jurgen Reiersen sat in his office, a small room set off to one side of Deep Hall in the recesses

of the 12 Factols. He was sipping a glass of port and reading a copy of the Tempus Sigilian,

taking his mind away from anything to do with business. Hed spent the majority of the past day

in meetings in the room above Brynn Ohms tavern, the Dancing Dragon, going over Innkeepers

Guild business.

At some point the Black Sails, Styx Oarsman, and powers forbid, the Bottle and Jug will

simply realize that theyre not considered peers and they wont get into the guilds good graces,

or hells, the guild itself.

He rolled his eyes at the very idea of allowing those establishments, and similar, smaller

upstarts in that same class into the fellowship that he himself was a noted member of. It wasnt

going to happen anytime soon, and it worked best to ignore some of them, bully others, speak

kindly and do nothing for some in deft game of hollow promises, and just ignore others entirely.

Obviously one didnt bully the Styx Oarsman... the clientele wouldnt exactly take kindly to

it, but others that worked well, sort of like the legal barrage hed fired off at the Johnnies-

Come-Lately in the Clerks Ward, the Portal Jammer or whatever in Hashkars name they called

themselves.

The Wayfarer was much more pleasant than them. Jurgen muttered. Whyd it have to

change its name, go out of business, and fall into new hands?

The answer was obvious though in some ways: the portals that had been its trademark had

scrambled or vanished during the Tempest of Doors and thus taken away its claim to fame. The

name change to Portal Schmortal hadnt saved it, but the new owners apparently had a better

gimmick.

He leaned back in his chair and gave a disgruntled sigh. The door crashed open a moment

later.

Who the hell are you?! Jurgen sputtered as he jumped up from his chair. Get out of my

o...

The smack of parchment against his face shut him up.

669

Florian glared at him as he snatched the letter off of his face and looked at, then back up at

her, finally recognizing who she was.

Youve heard from my advocates, He said, puffing up his chest. I think thats all that I

need to say. You?

Florian clasped her hands in front of herself before tossing the remainder of the pages of the

letter in Jurgens face.

You have no case! F*ck off!

The owner of the 12 Factols sneered as she left and slammed the door to his office shut.

His desk rattled and his wineglass tipped over, drawing let more ire to his face. Fine, shun his

polite bullying; hed be impolite the next time. He was important, he was rich, and he was well

connected within the Innkeepers Guild, something that they very definitely were not, and would

never be at this point.

Have it your way. He said with a smirk, an idea already forming in his mind.

***

Later on that afternoon, Tristol and Clueless sat in the back room of the inn looking over

the various items that they had taken from the Rakshasa Siddhartha. Unfortunately most of

the fiends possessions that might have shed some light on his intentions and activities on the

Astral had all been called back to him in the moments following his escape. Still though, they

had a name, and they had a book that seemed to be some manner of log regarding arrivals to

Maanzecorians godisle.

Now this is interesting. Clueless said, pointing to a passage in the book. This is written

in githyanki, and it looks like the warlock, not the Rakshasa actually penned this all.

Tristol glanced over and nodded.

Let me know if you find anything in there. He said. Im not having a huge amount of luck

on finding anything about that Rakshasa based on his name or his claimed house.

The aasimar was surrounded on his side of the table by stacks upon stacks of books on

Acheron, Rakshasas in general, and purported histories of the noble houses of their society in

Acheron. It had been slow going, and there had been no reference found to Siddhartha, or to

any House of the Blackened Paw, at least no yet.

Ok, now this is interesting. Clueless said as he read the warlocks book.

The warlock made a record of one Lady Brampandra arriving at the godisle about a month

ago. Clueless explained. And the warlock included some comment on that after the fact. And

I quote, Lord Siddharthas sister arrived today. My request to take part in the warding creation
 670

was denied, as was my request to watch. She told me that I wouldnt understand the process.

Mageling she called me. That her brother has promised me much, and has always kept to his

word, is the only thing keeping me from killing the presumptuous bitch for that insult.

Tristol blinked.

By comparison he might have been. He said. The magic in the warding over Maanzeco-

rians corpse was freakishly powerful, and I dont fully understand it myself. Whoever she is,

shes more powerful than her brother apparently.

Maybe not as sane either, Clueless added, Given how she took apart those githyanki to

use them as components of that spell.

Ive got to agree with you there. Tristol said. And actually, I found something here to

back up what Siddhartha said about his house.

Clueless leaned over to look as Tristol pointed at a symbol of black silhouette tigers paw

surrounded by a halo of stylized flame.

According to this book there is a house by that name, the Blackened Paw, it is, or rather

-was- a minor noble house on Acherons first layer of Avalas. Tristol said as he read from the

book.

Now it doesnt mention any names of the family members, mostly because the notes seem

to say that it was largely destroyed by a more powerful, rival house, at some point in the past

century. Though it does say that its believed that at least some lesser members of the house

did manage to survive and go into exile.

Leaves it open for our brother and sister pair of fiends to be members of that house. Clueless

said.

And it might explain why theyre on the Astral, and not in Acheron. Tristol added.

With a bunch of fellow exiles too, renegade githyanki they were working with. Clueless

said.

Still doesnt give us a full idea of what they were actually doing there with Maanzecorians

corpse. Tristol mused. It might be worth it to go out there again and look around some.

Besides, Skalliska still needs to go see what she originally went out to find anyway.

When shes up for it, I dont have a problem with it at all. Clueless said.

***

Tristol sat with Fyrehowl, trying to relax and rest his eyes after his earlier book combing

with Clueless. The mage was musing over what it all might mean, but his musing was really

halfhearted as he sipped from his drink and finally, for once since their time in the Astral, started
671

to settle down into a more calm state of mind.

So whats your opinion about the whole mess with the 12 Factols? The lupinal asked. I

dont really think theres all that much similarity between our dolls and their statues. Theyre

not all the same factions, and none of them are the same people.

Tristol nodded and took a drink, not noticing as Fyrehowl surreptitiously glanced over his

shoulder and then immediately glanced back to him as if avoiding staring at something in that

direction.

Well, Florian can handle that. The mage said. From what shes told me before, back on

Toril she, or one of her relatives had some manner of schooling in law. She can handle it.

Fyrehowl stood up, still consciously avoiding looking behind Tristol, towards the entrance to

the inn.

Somewhere to go? Tristol asked.

Yeah... Fyrehowl said. I remembered that I had a practice session at the Great Gymnasium

in a little while. What with all of the stuff going on today, it nearly slipped my mind. See you

later!

Fyrehowl turned and walked upstairs, never once looking behind her. Plausible deniability.

You dont have to say hello and feign politeness if you never saw the person in question...

Tristol had a sense of dread all of a sudden. Cipher abruptly leaving the room without any

real plausible reason, not ever good. His tail bottlebrushed when he did slowly turn to look

towards the entrance, and sadly he made eye contact.

The King of the Crosstrade stood in the doorway to the inn.

Tristol squinted his eyes in a moment of painful anticipation. This couldnt be good.

The fiend looked at him, smiled and slinked across the room in his direction. The Marauder

was dressed in a sparkling green and teal gown, and bedecked in her typical gaudy array of

jewelry that could have been auctioned off to feed the Hive for months. Oddly, for her at least,

she seemed in a pleasant mood as she made a beeline towards Tristol, followed behind by her

pack of guards and toadies.

Tristol opened his mouth to say something, either a curse under his breath or a feigned

greeting, though he really truly found himself wishing that banishment spells worked within

Sigil. The Marauder didnt give him the chance to speak first as she waltzed up.

Fancy meeting you again Starweather. She purred.

Yes, fancy seeing him again at his own bar. Clueless muttered under his breath as he

watched it all nervously.

So, Miss Marauder, Tristol said cautiously. To what do I owe this visit?
 672

She smiled back at him, looking a perplexing juxtaposition of a perky socialite and a hungry

animal picking out a choice portion of a sun-bloated carcass.

I simply happened to be in this area of the city She answered. And I said to myself that

I just -had- to drop by and speak with you, plus Ive heard a little bit about your inn. Color me

curious.

Tristols tail was still poofed out from his discomfort.

We did so happen to get off on a bad foot last time we saw each other. Didnt we? She

said, a tinge of apology lingering on her tongue.

Tristol opened his mouth but she spoke again after a moments pause.

Yes we did, and I really should apologize for that. She said to the mage.

Drop dead. Clueless thought to himself. Thatll serve as an apology.

But since we did get off to such a poor start, I think I really do need to make a fresh start

with you, get to know you, and find some commonalities.

I... Tristol said haltingly before she once more cut him off.

Walk with me. She said abruptly as she leaned in and hooked an arm around his waist like

she was accompanying him to a dance floor as his date.

Clueless winced and shook his head as a startled and really overwhelmed Tristol stumbled

along speechlessly with the King of the Crosstrade out of the more densely populated center of

the common room of the inn.

I trust that you received my letter of apology. She said, leaning a bit into Tristols shoulder.

Yes, we did. He replied.

Thats good, but I figured that it wouldnt be taken as well as a face to face apology would.

She said. And so Im sorry for having involved you in that poorly conceived showing of Zadara

and my long-running conflict. Its been building for a long time and it simply boiled over that

evening at Jeremos party.

She seemed genuine, and Tristol didnt know what to say.

It really seems unfair to have any lingering unpleasantries between you and I, and your

fellow owners of the Portal Jammer who were there that night, over a spat that you werent and

arent really involved in.

She put a bit of pressure on the arm wrapped around Tristols waist, nearly a polite hug if it

didnt seem so very alien to be coming from a yugoloth.

Plus, I have been hearing interesting news about your inn. She continued, leaning her

head on Tristols shoulder. Seems that youve carved out quite a nice group of regular patrons

in this district of the Clerks Ward, and youve got a unique way of advertising, what with
673

the spelljammer built into the inn, and those dolls of whom Im doing my best to ignore who

happened to make them. It all adds up to a place with promise, and it doesnt deserve the

negative accusations heaped upon you so recently by a jealous berk over in my neck of the woods

so to speak.

Tristols ears perked and he momentarily overlooked that he had a soul-sucking fiend leaning

on his shoulder like a succubi to a virgin paladin.

You know about that? He asked with some surprise.

My dear mage, I know -everything- in this city. She crooned before reaching up to tap a

few painted claws across his shoulder.

I suppose so, but we only found out this morning ourselves. Tristol said.

Reiersen is an idiot and hes been vocal about this latest fabricated hassle to his fellows in

the Innkeepers Guild since before he sent you that legal statement. She explained. Its unfair

what hes doing obviously, and you dont deserve it. Fight it, take it to him, thats what Id do.

She paused and pondered.

Well, no. Actually Id move a Tanarri brothel into the building next to his as a first step,

a polite nudge before I decided to take it personal. Suffice to say hes being a daft pompous fool

without any merit to his claims, and you dont deserve any of it.

Well, thank you. Tristol said with a nod.

It really would be a shame I suppose if anything untoward happened to him... She said

with a smile as she looked up at the aasimar.

Again, Tristol wasnt really sure what to say. Was she honestly concerned about them, or

just showing off her level of potential influence?

Well, it has been pleasant meeting you again Tristol. She said as she removed her arm

from around his side and stepped back to look at him face to face. Ive enjoyed seeing your

establishment, and perhaps Ill take a closer look in the future. But till then, take my apology

for what it was, and lets hope that we understand each other a little bit better now, yes?

For just a moment, Tristol was honestly pleased with what was happening. Though she might

not have been entirely sincere (as a yugoloth could she be?) in her apology, her public show of

regret would at least do something for him and the Portal Jammer simply because of who she

was, and the words she was saying, regardless of the fiends true feelings. And perhaps she did

actually harbor some glimmer of sincerity in her apology.

So, Shemeska said as she flashed as a mouth of fangs at Tristol in a fiendish smile. Can we

let the past be the past, and just forgive and forget all of that previous unpleasantness? Again,

I truly am sorry for it all you must know.

 674

Tristol smiled back and his tail began to swish slightly behind him.

I think we can. He said. It was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.

But it was too good to last, and while Tristol was momentarily caught up in the hope that

she might actually, for once in her life, be acting in a kind way, she shattered that hope and

stomped on it.

Good boy! The fiend said abruptly as she reached up to pet Tristol square between the

ears like a puppy.

She ruffled her hand atop his head, scratching him there between his suddenly drooping ears

like she might have done to a pet for but that one stunned moment before turning around and

gracefully walking out of the inn as if nothing untoward had happened.

Perhaps she was simply that oblivious to others... Tristol thought as he just stood there

stunned by what she had done. But no, no way in hell, he realized, that wasnt just an unthinking

social faux pas on her part. The bitch had built him up and treated him like a child, like a puppy,

there in front of his employees, his customers, and his friends. Shed done that entirely on purpose

to spite him.

Tristol grew red in the face and fumed with rage as the yugoloth walked out the door with

her gaggle of toadies and purchased admirers in tow. A telepathic laugh echoed in his mind just

as she left, though it was faint and might have been from somewhere else in the dull commotion

in the inn, but real or not, it sealed in his mind what her entire purpose had been there just

then.

The b*tch had set him up and played him, just to see him stumble, just to mock him in

public, just because she could. And at the moment, outside of rage and not giving her the

pleasure of seeing him fiercely upset or being foolish enough to do something rash about her

petulant, childish abuse, there was precious little that he could do to counter it.

Hes been back in Sigil for less than twenty-four hours and already it had gone from relaxing

to pissant, and the night was not yet over.

***

Clueless opened his eyes in the dark, stepping back from the proverbial wall of sleep. Some-

thing was not right. The room was filled with a soft silvery glow from its single window, and the

hair on the back of his neck was erect with that prescient feeling that he was not alone.

The bladesinger was on his feet in an instant, and he knew then that he was still asleep as

he looked through the window and saw the bizarre, otherworldly scene beyond.

Through the open window there was not Sigil, not the Clerks Ward, but rather the silvery
675

void of the Astral Plane. The view turned slightly as he watched it, as if his room itself was free

floating in the gravity well of the stripped corpse of Maanzecorian that he saw distantly below,

tethering the room to it proximity.

He looked around for signs of anyone else within his room, but it was cold and empty, devoid of

any intruder in both the imagined surroundings and his mind it was all playing out in presumably

as he slumbered. Still, wary and nervous, he walked the few feet over towards the window and

stared out at the void beyond the windowpane.

Clueless found himself scanning over the fine details of the godisle below as a hand closed

over his shoulder, firm and heavy and sudden. He immediately gave an involuntary shudder but

held rooted to the spot, unable to turn around immediately. There was a very intense sense that

the hand holding onto him, the being whose hand it was, could simply and effortlessly intrude

into his dreams, passing into them unbidden, implying a certain sense of power...

In the reflection off the glass of the upper half of the window, not one figure, but two stood

next to him, looking down and occasionally out into the space beyond, one much larger and

overshadowing the other, smaller one. A tall man in a heavy black greatcoat and wide brimmed

hat, and his formless, robed servant: the Jester and his companion.

Clueless inhaled deeply and calmed himself as he watched the dim reflection of the smaller

figure incline its cowled head to follow his each and every small skittish movement as it stood

obediently next to its master. The taller man released his hand from the bladesingers shoulder

and clasped them behind his back, and stood there watching the Astral for a few more silent

moments before speaking.

Most.... Curious, He said, more with contemplative amusement than worry, the winds at

work upon the silver void and the powers at play. So many new things you bring to my attention

in your travels into which I peer but every so often in my boredom.

The Jester smiled at the bladesinger.

Im glad you find it amusing sir. Clueless replied.

I did say before that I found you amusing. The Jester said before motioning towards the

window and the scene upon the Astral.

I will admit to a bit of personal interest here. He continued. How quaint to see Maanzeco-

rian and so many others fall into eternal slumber before myself. How... unfortunate ...for those

seeking to plunder his corpse to involve not only the Githyanki but now the Baatezu as well.

The fiend in exiles clothing, the Rakshasa, will have much to account for wont he?

The mans servant curled a robed cuff about his hand briefly like a familiar or a child to an

adult.
 676

I also wait to see the repercussions of your letting free my githyanki prisoner of oh so long

ago. I fear she will not like the changes in her society that will be readily apparent to her. She

may strike out in anger and find her death quickly, or flee to fight another day and bring her

society to its knees eventually. But, as I said, curious the winds at work upon the silver void

and the powers at play. So many variables to take into account.

Clueless listened curiously. He wasnt really afraid, more curious than anything else. But

whatever questions he might have wished to ask, he didnt have the chance, not yet anyway, as

the Jester paused and chuckled knowingly at something he might have sensed.

But... alas we are not alone, He said. For another seeks to intrude here, and I shant be

rude to them and obstruct their time or words with you and yours. Till we speak again may The

Ladys Shadow pass you by, or at least may you have the sense to vacate the field before raising

her ire as in my own unique case. Farewell.

The man nodded, tipped his hat towards Clueless, and then stepped towards an adjacent wall

where he vanished in a haze of emerald light, not unlike the fierce glow of a portal. He was gone,

but with an unspoken sense that whatever had transpired there was a private matter and not to

be spoken of to others. It was a heady, implied threat that he did not wish to be known within a

multiverse in which he had so long been vacant. And Clueless was left alone in his dreamscape,

but the dreams of that night were far from over.

***

The Portal Jammer was empty and silent as a tomb. The candles had burned to their wicks

in the common room, the fires were naught but white ash swirling in an errant draft or two. Not

a sound carried through wall or window into the cloistered interior where its owners slept as a

single, pure flame was sparked in the dark recess of the taproom.

They all opened their eyes as a low, bestial growl awakened them from their slumber.

They felt anticipation and dread, but no sense of oddity as they each moved from their

own rooms and down to the common room whence the sound had broken the still of the early

morning. They moved slowly as if swimming through water, their senses dull and incomplete,

details glossed over or ignored where they did not exist within their dreaming, nightmare state.

Together they converged within the glowing interior of the taproom where a figure sat at one

of the tables, illuminated by a single candle that fell over its robed form and reflected ominously

back from its feline eyes. The Rakshasa, Siddhartha sat calmly and patiently there as he lifted

a cup of tea to his lips and drank.

They watched him as he put down his drink, lifted a cloth to his whiskered lips and habitually
677

cleaned himself before turning to acknowledge the recipients of his dream-sending.

The tiger-headed fiend smiled at them, fangs glinting with unspoken promise of violence in

the faint candlelight that shed a wan yellow glow over wood and stone and velvet, fur and ivory

claws.

My near-death is purely a temporary inconvenience I assure you, and a minor setback. I do

not forgive my grudges easily.

They all awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat with only the vague half-remembrance

of a fading dream of what they had all seen in the moments between Siddharthas promise of

revenge and when the spell had ended. They had seen a pair of eyes, green at first in the fading

light, and then flickering as the candle was snuffed and a wave of displeasure and hatred assailed

them with near physical intensity.

They had not seen the last of the Rakshasa. No, not in the least.
Chapter 61

The next morning was a solemn affair once they all awoke and gathered to discuss the dream

of the previous night. Clueless was unusually quiet, but the others didnt take it as a sign of

anything particularly wrong.

Ten jink says that we see something from that whiskered rug-to-be in the next week. Toras

said.

Can I have the hug? Nisha asked. Will it have the backwards paws and everything?

Tristol chuckled.

Well get you something like that even if Siddhartha doesnt waltz into Sigil looking to kill

us.

I really doubt he will. Florian said. Not his style.

Too demeaning to do it himself. Fyrehowl said. He might spill his tea.

Hired killers perhaps? Toras asked.

Seems likely. Fyrehowl replied.

Wheres Skalliska? Clueless asked.

They glanced around, realizing that the kobold hadnt gotten together with them that morn-

ing.

Shes out shopping. Nisha said. She mentioned something about going down to buy

something from Seamusxanthuszemus.

Oh dont encourage that damn mephit... Toras muttered.

Whenever she gets back, whoever sees her first just make sure to mention to her that

wandering around Sigil alone probably isnt the best thing to be doing right now. Fyrehowl

said.

Weve got an angry noble Rakshasa pissed at us, and if he sends people into Sigil to kill us,

which seems likely, we shouldnt be out alone.

Fyrehowl had just finished with that point when a piercing, rattling whine sounded through

678
679

the door to the room. The lupinals ears twitched in instant aversion at the jarring sound.

What the hell is that? She asked as she walked over towards the door.

The sound wasnt fading, though it seemed to fluctuate slightly along with a lower, base

percussion that filtered through the door as well as a growing din of unhappy bar patrons.

By that point the others with less sensitive ears could make out the racket as well, though

none of them seemed happy about it. It was truly atrocious and discomforting whatever it was,

like nails on a chalkboard or slaadi mating calls, both things that nobody, absolutely nobody

wanted to be within close proximity to witness.

Thats not ending. Florian said with a confused expression. Its getting louder. What the

hells going on out there?

Meeting adjourned, Clueless said. If anyone has any other ideas mention them later.

There was no objection and so they crept over towards the door, opened it and walked out

into the main room of the Portal Jammer. None of the patrons seemed happy, many of them

seemed on the verge of leaving, and some of them appeared to have already departed with only

a drink left behind to perspire on the table they had otherwise been occupying.

Are you going to do something about those two dullards out in front of the place? I come

here after I work to relax, not listen to that mess! One of the regular patrons, a mid-level

functionary in the Hall of Information complained loudly.

Were seeing to it sir. Florian replied as she gazed past the man, out the front door and

to the two figures and their angry audience of hecklers out in the street in front of the Portal

Jammer.

Nisha blinked and her tail drooped immediately.

Oh not those two. She said disparagingly. Bleaknicks...

Standing there on a stage made from an overturned rain barrel in the middle of the street

was a garish black-clad figure gesturing with emphatic melodrama as he spouted lines of putrid,

drawn out poetry. Next to him stood another figure all in black seated on a stool and playing a

flute made from some form of fiend skull, occasionally banging a rhythm on a pale white drum.

Two male fensir twins, a type of troll or giant-kin unique to the plane of Ysgard, tall and

spindly with gray skin, pronounced noses and chins and hideous fashion sense, they seemed intent

to perform their wretched craft in the middle of the street there in front of the Portal Jammer.

The speaker on top of the barrel squeaked from the movement of leather boots that went up to

his knees as he motioned from one side to the next and spouted out lines of nonsensical so-called

poetry. His head was shaved and tattooed with a black eclipsed sun and dark rings of wood ash

circled his sunken blue eyes like a depressed mime.

 680

The musician, his brother, was dressed and dolled up in a much less unique way, with simple

black wool clothes, and only a shining silver ring in his nose standing out in any way. He piped

away on his howler-skull flute, the source of the blaring noise driving away inn patrons, providing

musical accompaniment to his brothers poetry. While the fellow had a sense of rhythm, and

actual talent, it wasnt a style suited for public consumption outside of drunks in some of the

avant-garde watering holes in the Hive near to the Gatehouse.

Hey! Florian shouted above the so-called music. You cant play here!

They ignored her and continued, launching into another poem, much to the groans and

catcalls of the crowd.

Ohhhhhhhh Death...

A discordant piping of the howler flute.

Ohhhhhhh Misery...

A rattled bang upon the drum.

You make me laugh!

A skyward wringing of the poets hands. A wheeze and shrill tone from the flute.

You make me cry...

A gloomy droning in lower tones from the howler-skull instrument.

The point of it all...?

The poet, Morvun hung his head and draped his arms in some exaggerated show of grief as

the poem ended.

Listen to me. Florian shouted. You cant play here, youre running off our customers.

Again they ignored her and launched into another poem, Morvuns infamous Death #258.

Of course the crowd never heard them, and they never heard the crowds happy cheer because

Florian grumbled and dropped a spell of silence over the brothers.

Eventually they realized what was going on and they paused, stopped, and moved over fifteen

feet or so till they were out of the magical silence and free to start up once again. And, once

more, Florian responded by dropped a bubble of silence over them again.

This happened three more times before she finally managed to get a response out of the pair

of sullen performers.

Why are you doing this? She asked them.

Well this is where we were hired to play today. Morvun said.

We never hired you. Florian replied. Id have a massive hangover today if I had gotten

drunk enough to willingly do so.

Morvun frowned and looked away dramatically, his ego bruised.

681

Never said -you- hired us. Phineas said. Just that we were indeed paid to play here.

By who? Florian asked, though she already suspected the answer.

Chap who owns the 12 Factols. Phineas replied.

Son of a... Florian cursed. How much did he pay you?

Enough to soothe this tormented genius soul... Morvun said.

Phineas replied with an actual number.

How about I pay you to stop playing? Florian asked.

An affront to my poetic genius I tell you. Morvun replied quickly.

Phineas sighed.

How about I pay you double to perform back in front of the 12 Factols? Florian said, a

slow grin appearing on her face.

Much more practical than his brother, Phineas took the hint, and double the payment, as he

packed up his instruments and walked off with his brother over towards the Ladys Ward and

their next venue of performance.

Not bad. Toras said to Florian. I just hope that jack*ss in the Ladys Ward doesnt just

pay them to come right back here.

The cleric shrugged.

I doubt it. And I hope not. My ears couldnt take much more of that garbage. Tempus

forbid, that stuff was terrible.

Eh, Toras said with a shrug. Well see how it turns out. Cant get much worse than that

mess.

***

An hour later and on the other side of Sigil, Reiersen was beside himself as he marched out

into the street and right up to the two so-called performers that hed earlier hired to play outside

of the Portal Jammer. Hed been sitting and looking over financial figures for the last month

when the blaring racket from up on the street had filtered down to his ears and he realized what

it was. He was not pleased in the slightest.

What the hell do you think youre doing? He said, jamming a finger into Morvuns stomach,

looking up angrily at the so-called poet.

Performing... a bit of sullen irony... a flash of gloom...

Shut up. Reiersen said, jabbing his finger into the poet again. I didnt pay you to run

away -my- customers you idiot. What wasnt clear about where I paid you to go perform?
 682

Nothing sir. Phineas said as he brushed his hair out of his eyes. They didnt care for us

so they paid us more to come back here and perform for you and yours.

WHAT?! Reiersen sputtered in fury.

Quite lucrative actually. The musician said as he readied his howler-skull flute for the next

piece.

The owner of the 12 Factols was seeing red as he smacked at the musicians flute and tried

to push the fensir out of the way.

Well if you dont quit playing that sh*t you call music Ill go hire myself a damn high

hierophant of Ra! And once they have you turned into two sodding ugly hunks of stone Ill have

you carved down into something less depressing and rename my place the bloody 14 Factols!

The two brothers glanced at one another.

How much more you willing to pay us to go back to the Jammer? Phineas asked.

Reiersens eyes went wide and he simply began screaming incoherent threats at them as they

gathered up their meager belongings and left. After they left he stalked back to his office and

began plotting some other way of snubbing the Portal Jammer, though his first idea met with

little success.

Though it seemed like a great idea at the time: hiring some Xaositects to deface the front of

his rivals inn, his attempts to actually hire them all seemed to come to naught. For whatever

reason none of them wanted to work for him, and the most he ended up with was a letter penned

back to him on what appeared to be upside down Fraternity of Order legal stationary. Written

largely in scramblespeak and at least eight or nine languages, the only thing he could make out

of it was a repeated phrase of Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah! and a signature of Nisha, high lord

of Xaos and bringer of frustration to spoiled Ladys Ward tavern owners, except on every 6th

Friday of the month when shes known as Ygorl the cuddliest slaadi.

Ultimately Reiersen decided to simply take the matter to court, maybe shop around for

which judge he could buy off, given that the less than legal but not criminal route wasnt exactly

working. But of course, his actions and intentions hadnt been missed by other persons watching

such things.

***

It was eight hours after peak when they arrived, just as the light had fully slipped over

towards the hazy gloom of twilight and evening. Seventy-five garrulous dwarves, all members of

the same clan and all members of the same massive mercenary and adventuring party. They were

already singing as they moved down the street of that section of the Ladys Ward, congregating
683

outside of the faAade of the 12 Factols, heady with wine purchased in Glorium only an hour

earlier.

With shouts and slurred chanting they gathered there on Dossy Street, raising fists and

weapons into the air amid the echo of their clan name and jubilation over their recent looting

of the horde of a young fang dragon in the mountains south of Glorium there in the Outlands.

They were laden with as much of their wealth as they could manage to carry into Sigil and they

were in a mood to spend it till they passed out.

An hour earlier they had arranged for a massive delivery of ale and wine to the 12 Factols, an

establishment that they were assured was large enough and well equipped enough to handle their

numbers, their tastes, and their intended raucous celebration. Of course, things being what they

were, while the alcohol had arrived in the storerooms and festhalls of the 12 Factols according

to their needs, the letters and reservation of the rooms that they had sent along to the staff and

owners of the establishment had suffered in transit...

Sir? Aranath Neilson asked over towards Jurgen Reiersen.

Aranath was a middle aged aasimar who served as the major domo for any larger festivities

in the 12 Factols, but while he was normally a placid calm amidst any revelry, he had a worried

expression on his face and in his tone of voice as he tried to catch the attention of his employer

as he stood there in the door of his office.

What is it Aran? Reiersen asked without looking up from his copy of the Tempus Sigilian.

Sir? The dwarves we set up for Storm Hall this evening. How many of them were there

supposed to be?

Reierson grumbled and looked up impatiently.

Nine of them. He said, Thats what their letter said when they asked us to prepare a

portion of the room. You should know that already, or am I paying you too much to do your job

poorly?

Aranath didnt reply, and he didnt need to as a low rumble and roar reached their ears.

Reiersens wine glass began to rattle and then tipped over as he hurriedly dashed from his desk,

pushing his employee aside and burst out into the open festhall beyond.

His eyes went wide as he watched the living tide of dwarves pouring down the 88 steps down

from the street and into Storm Hall, shouting singing and already falling over one another onto

the furniture and current patrons as they dashed for the alcohol.

Dance with me sweetheart! A drunken, stumbling dwarf slurred lustfully as he fell onto

Reierson, knocking him over with the seemingly unending avalanche of already tipsy revelers.

Reierson was screaming at the top of his lungs as he could already see the potential for
 684

damage as the first few dozen dwarves began to make their way across the hall in a sprawl of

stumbling bodies, broken furniture, and startled cries of more civilized patrons.

Get off me! You cant come in here! You didnt tell us ahead of time! We cant handle this

many people! This is an upstanding establishment not the Bottle and Jug down in the damn

Hive!

Youre a right fine doxy! The drunkard said as he felt up the inns owner who could only

watch and whimper.

NOOoooooooooooo.....!!!!!

Outside the crash and din of the joyous obliteration of the 12 Factols main tap room, a tiefling

turned and smiled at the fiend standing next to him. Her ears were perked to the sounds rising

up and out of the entrance to the formerly high-class inn.

I saw to the change in the number of revelers the 12 Factols were expecting, The tiefling

said politely to his employer. I saw to inviting others as well. By the end of the evening theyll

likely see over three hundred, and the wine will be supplied to them for free the whole time, at

least till theyre all drunk and wanting more, then theyll probably break into the stocks in the

storerooms down there. It should be amusing mistress.

The King of the Crosstrade simply smiled.

Im such a whore for misery.

Chapter 62

Its a bad idea... Tristol said as he sat and nursed a drink at the table behind where Clueless

knelt on the floor.

Oh Ill be fine. Clueless replied. Considering how much these pissed us off originally, I

think its ironic justice of a sort.

Tristol bit his lower lip. Im not going to argue that its not.

Then dont. Just sit back and enjoy the new windows. The bladesinger said as he finished

calling the spell to mind again. He then whispered the spell as he traced a line of golden liquid

around the edges of one of the front windows of the Portal Jammer.

Tristol wrung his hands. Its not the spell, I know where that came from. Its you painting

with bloody heavy magic like its a common spell component you might pick up in the Market

Ward!

Well then dont ask about it and dont watch. Clueless said with a grin as the spell crys-

tallized into place, glittering as a permanent and one-way force wall solidified within the window

frame.

Over the past hour, hed been replacing all of the glass windows in the Jammer with perma-

nent walls of force, each of them the one-way force walls that Bartol Trenevain, the fire genasi

sorcerer, had received as partial payment for his work for the Marauder back when he had been

blackmailing them all on her behalf. On top of being more sturdy and easier to clean of the

general grime and soot that carried on Sigils wind, they also wouldnt break if Toras, Florian,

or Fyrehowl needed to toss a stubborn drunkard out of the bar and into the street.

So tempted to punch you like Trenevain did that time... Tristol muttered as Clueless moved

on to the next windowpane.

But youre too afraid that Ill blow up myself, Clueless replied, waving a finger covered in

golden liquid. And afraid Ill blow up you, and the entire block of the city, if you do while Im

using this stuff.

685
 686

Like I said when you first told me about that stuff... Tristol continued.

Keep it away from me! Clueless said with exaggerated fright, mimicking the aasimars

reaction from that time.

Dont blame me when you try to do too much and get yourself mazed. Tristol said.

Ive been mazed before. Clueless replied with a smirk as he stood back up.

Your own maze. Tristol said.

Besides, Nisha is probably more likely to get us all mazed than me. Clueless said sagely.

Tristol blinked and pondered that thought.

You know, I dont think I can dispute that. The mage said. Does she know about that

stuff?

Gods forbid, no. Clueless replied immediately.

Good. Tristol said, as not a minute later Nisha wandered in and noticed the new windows,

and their peculiar properties.

So, Tristol asked, as they both watched the Xaositect toss peanuts at people in the street,

only to giggle as they threw them back at her and hit the solid side of the windows. What

ever happened to Trenevain?

Clueless had to think about it for a second.

Well we warned him to stay in Sigil, but to be honest I havent really kept up with him. For

all I know he might have skipped town after that first week following us getting the deed to the

Portal Jammer.

Tristol nodded and handed Nisha a dish of pretzels to toss at people on the street.

Might be something to look into, just to make sure that hes not planning anything to get

back at us.

Ill look into it sometime in the next few days. Clueless said. Hes probably up to no good,

but nothing to mess with us. He learned his lesson already I think.

***

Skalliska blinked her eyes as she stepped out of the portal from Parts & Pieces and into the

brighter light and commotion of the Market Ward. Well, brighter by comparison with the gloom

that the dust mephit proprietor seemed to prefer in his shop.

The portal closed behind her and she noticed a few passerby shoppers and merchants winced

and glancing in her direction, presumably at the lingering smell of dust and rot carried on

the efflux of air from Seamuss more recent, and fleshy, sales. The kobold paused and scowled

halfheartedly at the offended expressions she received, and probably would be seeing later on that
687

afternoon once she walked back to the Clerks Ward and her companions noticed her purchases

from the mephit, and any lingering smell.

Toras can go blow himself. She said with an amused shrug.

Honestly the smell didnt bother her all that much, and you could find much much worse

simply walking through the Hive and the Lower Ward, yet they didnt pick on Akin for where

he lived. Plus Akin didnt sell exotic bones on the cheap like the mephit did. Toras had simply

gotten off on the wrong foot with Seamus, or something like that. Still, no need to worry about

it at the moment. The day was still young and shed be taking the bones she had purchased to

a number of craftsmen to get their estimates for the work she wanted done before she went back

to the Portal Jammer. By that point any lingering evidence of Seamuss wares would likely have

evaporated.

And with that she hefted the bag of bones over her shoulder and walked off towards the

Guildhall Ward. As she did so, six pairs of eyes were watching her from out of the crowd, and

they paced her for the next several blocks.

Twenty minutes later when Skalliska stepped out of the shop they were still watching her.

Do I get to eat it? The sorcerers familiar asked with a sneer as they both looked at their

mark from cover of magical invisibility.

The tiefling gave no reply to the quasit sitting on his shoulder.

Maybe smoke the meat a little bit, burn it crispy at the edges...

Will you tell that stupid little f*cker to shut up? A heavily muscled ogre standing behind

the tiefling sorcerer said with agitation.

The quasit snarled and blew the ogre a kiss, followed a moment later with an obscene gesture.

Ive got one sack for the kobold here, The ogre replied sternly. Wont take all that much

effort to have a second one for you too.

Both of you shut up. The tiefling sorcerer said with a sigh. You can tolerate each other

for another day or so before we get paid.

Oh he knows I love him. The quasit said, tasting the air with its tongue and darting the

stinger on its tail vaguely in the ogres direction. It had been picking on and taunting the fighter

almost constantly for the past day.

Little tanarri sh*t... The fighter muttered.

The three other human fighters were doing their abject best to ignore the increasingly hostile

banter between the least Tanarri and the Ogre. One of them had a pet sorcerer in its pocket

and the other was three times the size of any of the rest of them.

You can eat him after we deliver back in Colothys. The mage said before snapping his
 688

fingers and pointing into the scrying globe it had focused on their target across the street.

You better be talking about the sodding kobold... The fighter snarled as he moved into

position.

The five of them and the quasit moved out of the shadows and into place, scattered in place

to anywhere the kobold might conceivably flee to if she noticed anything. And then all they had

to do was wait.

Ten minutes later, Skalliska walked out of the shop and they made their move.

Excuse me maam? One of the humans said, walking up to the kobold, dressed and acting

as a stereotypical clueless prime.

Eh? She said, turning around and looking up at the man.

The human seemed rather befuddled, something that shed seen plenty of times before. She

knew his expression and she knew his type. The kobold chuckled and sighed as she waiting for

the forthcoming questions.

Im rather new to Sigil and I seem to have lost my way... The man said, scratching his head

before looking up and the curve of the citys opposite side far overhead.

Where are you looking to be? She asked, feeling more at ease and a bit smugly pleased

with herself and her planar knowledge compared to him.

Yes, He said. Do you know which way I go to find the City Courts?

Skalliska paused and pointed overhead. Well, for starters youre on the wrong side of the

city, and...

The last thing she saw was the smile on the mans face before a burst of white light blossomed

in her field of vision from the leaded sap impacting at the base of her skull. A second later she

was stuffed into the Ogres sack and being carried insensate across the city with the sorcerers

familiar hanging onto the burlap and whispering sweet nothings.

***

Normally Clueless would be the one tending the bar at that particular point in the day, but

for whatever reason Fyrehowl had taken to handling drink orders simply as a change of pace, and

to give Clueless a chance to rest for a day or so since hed been exerting himself lately with the

windows and something else with wardings on the back room. Hed been rather deliberately

vague about what all hed done, and Tristol had refused to answer on his behalf, though he

seemed to know.

For the first few hours everything went well; the lupinal handed out drinks, gave food orders

to the kitchen staff for some of the regular customers, and chatted with some of the patrons
689

off and on informally. Eventually though she noticed a man walk into the inn, glance around

curiously and finally take a seat at the bar.

Can I get you something? Fyrehowl asked him.

The man blinked and looked up at her, he seemed tired and a bit forlorn or down on his luck.

Shed seen his type before, usually they ended up utterly drunk by the time they left the bar.

Oh, no thank you. He said. Im fine... Ill be fine. I just wanted a place to sit for a

moment.

He paused and caught his breath, just sort of giving a blank stare and calmly sitting there.

Is it alright if I just sit here? He asked cautiously.

Yeah, sure. Fyrehowl replied. Its not a problem at all. Sit there as long as you like.

Thank you. He said, bowing his head and clasping his hands together in some manner of

religious gesture. Sutekh bless you.

For another twenty minutes Fyrehowl continued serving other patrons and simply let the

man sit there. He didnt bother anyone, he didnt ask for anything, and he largely just faded

into the normal crowd, not standing out really in any particular way. But as perceptive as the

lupinal was, she couldnt help but eventually notice that he was glancing longingly at the food

the other patrons nibbled at and he seemed more than a bit hungry and generally underfed.

The man was praying silently as Fyrehowl rapped her knuckles on the counter and slid a

plate in front of him. He looked up into the celestials smiling face and then at the sandwich on

the plate.

Enjoy. Fyrehowl said, pushing the plate forwards and into his hands. It took him a moment

to realize that she was offering it to him for free.

Oh, thank you. He replied, taking the sandwich tentatively. I dont have very much money

though, I might not be able to pay for...

Consider it on the house. Fyrehowl said to the man. You look hungry.

Youre very kind. He said with a smile as he took the sandwich, I havent really gotten to

eat much since I came to Sigil.

Why is that? The lupinal asked.

Meanwhile, a dozen feet away, Florian and Toras both sat together at one of the inns tables.

They were both watching the scene unfolding at the bar.

This is why Clueless tends bar usually. The cleric said to Toras. Fyrehowls going to give

the place away if she stays there too much longer. Some poor berk sits down and looks hungry

and she just hands him food.

Shes a celestial. Toras said. You expected differently?

 690

Not really, She replied. But if she makes a trend well have a line around the block

stretching back to the Hive.

True... Toras replied as Florian got up and walked over to the bar.

The man was thin, extremely thin, and he looked like hed been walking for days before taking

a seat there at the bar. He wasnt wearing any armor and didnt seem to have any magical trinkets

about him. His hair was a thin, pale blond mop and his eyes were an unremarkable chocolate

brown. His drab colored, homespun clothes were covered with a sprinkling of dust, the ends of

his sleeves were thread worn, and his pants were patched in various places; worn but well tended.

Florian listened as the man finished the meager meal and explained himself to Fyrehowl.

Ive been on my own for a while, about a week or so. He said. Thats how long it took

me to travel from my village in the Outlands to a portal to Sigil.

Whyd you leave? You dont really look like you took much with you. Fyrehowl asked.

Well... He gave a soft, resigned sigh. Khaasta attacked the village and I hid. They didnt

find me. I just kept quiet and prayed to my deity to keep me hidden. But by the time I knew it

was safe to come out there wasnt anyone left.

Fyrehowl winced.

Id heard of Sigil and so I simply started walking, hoping to make my way here. He said,

spreading his hands. I put my trust in the wisdom of my deity and he whispered to me where

to walk and where to travel in safety. And so here I am.

I take it you served as a cleric in your village? Florian asked him, extending her hand.

Florian of Amn, priestess of Tempus.

Kiro, He said, shaking Florians hand. I guess you could say Im a cleric of sorts. I was a

cleric in training, but my training is pretty much ended at this point. My mentor was killed or

carried off by the Khaasta, and so Im all thats left to carry on the traditions of our village.

Pleased to meet you Kiro. Fyrehowl said, echoed a moment later by Florian.

The man opened the satchel on his back and removed a large, leather-bound book. It was

old and hand mended across its surface, showing the signs of repair over the space of many years

and reverent care at the hands of its keepers. Kiro placed it on the counter and brushed his

hands across the surface where Florian could see the stitch marks from where pages had been

bound by string into the spine.

This is really all that I brought with me aside from a few bits of food, some water, a simple

weapon. But this was all that truly mattered to me, the chronicles of our village, our tales, our

legends and the traditions of our faith. He said. I dont matter as much so long as I can keep

our faith alive. Sutekh has kept me safe and provided for me, and so I keep my faith in him
691

strong.

Florian nodded. I have to commend you then.

Thank you. Kiro said, brushing his hand across the surface of the book. Im not really

sure what Ill be doing now that Im in Sigil. This is a pretty amazing place, its hard to not just

be overwhelmed. Its all so really new to me. But I trust in Sutekh, and he will tell me what to

do.

***

Meanwhile, across the street from the Portal Jammer, and forty feet above street level, a

single person knelt with a heavy heart at the edge of the roof overlooking the front entrance of

the inn. The womans hands were steady as she reached into a satchel at her feet and removed a

series of ornately articulated steel and wooden objects. She fit them together, sliding them into

place and assembling the barrel of the weapon, feeling it nearly come alive in her hands, puissant

with magical and alchemical might.

Her hands were steady as she selected a single iron ball, silver runes etched into its surface,

glinting in the light, and kissed it as she placed it into the rifled barrel of the weapon. Her hands

were steady and her aim expert as she lowered the tip of the weapon over the edge of the room

and narrowed her eyes. And all the while her heart was screaming no and her eyes wept.

She looked across the street, waiting for the moment when she would act, her body and her

hands acting with her skill but not with her own free will. Her actions had not been her own for

a very long time. Choice had been denied to her; she could only obey and watch as she carried

out the will of her masters.

Her right hand loaded the alchemical charge into the chamber, sliding the enchanted shot

into place and she could do nothing but watch as she acted as a tool of death. That same right

hand steadying the weapon in place, taking aim, it burned with the agonizing brand and symbol

of her masters, the source of the compulsion raging through her mind, burning in her blood,

forcing her to act.

She still heard them in her mind, the Rakshasas softly whispering to her and the others

that had once willingly served them for gold, whispering those instructions over and over again,

repetitious, soothing, and seductive. She saw them in her mind still, anchored to the blackened

symbol upon her hand, one of them whispering their wishes, the other one silently watching and

weaving the spells to reaffirm the curse upon she and the others destined to be their unwilling

servants.

Their service had been done and they had returned to them in their palace expecting payment.
 692

Would that it had been that simple. Their service had continued past that point, and though

she had died three times since then, or should have died, should have been allowed to mercifully

die, she was still here, still breathing, still serving them. They would not allow her die.

She wept as she lowered the barrel and watched the aasimar mage step into view through the

open door to the inn below, across the street.

Know that I am sorry. She said, her voice trembling. Know that I am so very sorry for

this.

Aimed an inch above his heart, the cold iron ball, wrought of avalan ore, branded with arcane

sigils, whistled as it cut through the air.

I am truly sorry...
Chapter 63

It is an interesting city. Kiro said, thinking for a moment. Ive never really seen anything so

huge. Its just amazing really...

At that moment Tristol stood up and walked over towards the bar where Florian and Fyrehowl

were chatting up the clueless looking patron. In doing so, he walked in line of sight to the main

entrance to the building. He lingered there for scantly a second before moving to the side, letting

a customer edge past him as they got up from their own chair. Glass shattered, ears rung, wood

splintered and caught fire as something struck the floor inches from where he had been standing.

Tristol stood there, stunned and shocked as he looked at the burning furrow gouged into the

floor. It was oddly silent for him there in that moment; he didnt hear the screams of the bars

patrons erupting in fright or the shouts for him to get out of the way, screams of warning and

incomprehensible bellows from people rushing past him for the entrance.

Tristol! Move! Florian shouted to the aasimar.

He wasnt listening and in the moment he didnt realize that the assailant was probably

aiming for him again. She was.

A second ensorcelled slug of iron and alchemical silver tore into the table behind where Tristol

had stood, upending it and hurling it, spinning, a few feet away with a ragged hole torn in its

surface. But once more, the mage hadnt been standing in the path of the shot that would

have otherwise taken his head from his shoulders. Seeing his inaction, Kiro had glanced around

hurriedly and then tackled the mage to the ground, throwing him out of the way and probably

saving his life.

Tristol came to his senses and picked himself up off the floor as the skinny looking priest ran

a hand through his hair. Kiro seemed a bit shocked at his own actions, almost like the sudden

heroism wasnt normal to him in the least.

They both looked around as the room was a blur of chaos and stampeding people, broken

glasses, spilt alcohol and upended furniture. Fyrehowl grabbed Tristol, dragging him backwards,

693
 694

and Florian pushed Kiro away from the entrance where the unseen assassin was getting aim at

them.

Everyone out of the way of the door!

Get away from the windows!

Clueless grinned and abruptly walked in front of the large, bay window at the front of the

inn. The one man screamed at him and a few other huddled patrons turned away, expecting to

see his brains splattered across the floor in seconds.

Not quite.

The bladesinger craned his neck and peered across the street, vainly trying to see where the

assassin was standing. A split second later there was a loud crack! as something impacted on

the window, newly replaced with force walls, exactly in line with Cluelesss face. He blinked in

a bit of sudden surprise.

Across the street. On top of the counting house. Clueless said. Cant see them directly,

but thats where the shots are coming from.

Nobody run out the door! Toras shouted as a patron was shot in the side as they bolted

from the inn.

Stay here. He continued, holding up his arms and trying to get the attention of the scream-

ing, frightened patrons, some of them drunk. Stay behind something or go into the kitchens or

upstairs and hide till we have this taken care of!

Most of them listened, some of them didnt, but it was the best that they could do as they

quickly gathered together in the back room of the inn to quickly make some sort of plan. Florian

made it a point of bringing Kiro in along with them given his quick thinking before.

Once gathered together they stared at one another with grim expressions and cast periodic

glances towards the door. Every minute or so Fyrehowl opened the door a crack and glanced

out to make sure the assassin hadnt followed them into the inn.

Alright, theyve got us pinned in here. Clueless said.

And whose idea was it not to put in a secondary entrance when we remodeled this place?

Florian asked.

Theyre on the roof across the street though. Toras said. Im going up to our roof and

looking for them. And if they make a move on street level, theyll be getting a nasty surprise.

Jumping off the roof might be a bad idea... Nisha said with a tad of concern. Youre not

me, and you dont have wings.

Ring of feather fall. Toras said with a dismissive shrug.

So alright, youre going for the roof. Clueless said, nodding to Toras. Fyrehowl and I can
695

go out the front door and draw their attention.

Kiro glanced at them awkwardly and waved a hand tentatively.

I just came in looking for a place to sit down and maybe get something to drink...

Congrats, youre involved now. Florian said, slapping the bewildered looking cleric on the

back.

And you got a sandwich out of it too. Nisha said. Our sandwiches come with attempted

assassination plots. New sales gimmick!

Ignore Nisha. Toras said.

Yeah, shes craaaaazy. The tiefling stuck her tongue out as she got up and glanced out the

door again.

Ok... Kiro said meekly. What do you suggest I do?

Well, what -can- you do? Tristol asked.

A little bit of magic. He said. Whatever Sutekh wishes to provide me with. I listen and

he guides me, I cant say much more than that. I just follow what he wishes of me.

Alright, stay back and hang around with Tristol and Florian. Clueless said. Just be ready

to throw spells if you see the assassin or they come down to street level.

Sh*t. Toras said suddenly.

What? Fyrehowl said.

Skalliska. The fighter muttered. Anyone know where the hell she is?

Damnit. Florian muttered. If shes out alone shes making a target of herself, and I doubt

that stupid Rakshasa would be so cheap as to only send one assassin.

Rakshasa? Kiro asked, still looking awkward and folding his hands in a bit of self-conscious

prayer. Just who did you anger enough to kill you?

Long story. Florian said. Youll find out soon enough.

Alright. Clueless said. Weve got a plan, so lets go.

Of course, all good plans never work out exactly as hoped.

Toras was struck in the back by a sword as he emerged from the back room, and as he

stumbled backwards a series of flaming, arrow shaped bolts erupted from the outstretched hand

of another man that lashed out and hurtled into Clueless and Fyrehowl.

Both of the men, one of them human, the other one an aasimar, were dressed in slick, black

armor and carried a combination of equipment that marked them as both fighters and some

manner of magic user as well. And both of them had black tattoos glowing softly on the back of

their left hands: a dark, backward facing tigers paw surrounded with a halo of stylized flames.

It was a symbol that Clueless and Tristol would later recognize as the personal, and former noble
 696

house symbol, of the Rakshasa, Lord Siddhartha.

Toras jerked to the side, avoiding a deeper wound by the slim tapered blade of the first

assassin. He slashed back at the man but missed as the hired killer simply fell backwards and

vanished into a patch of shadow cast by a ruined, overturned table, reappearing across the room,

preparing to cast a spell.

The next few minutes were a complicated blur of frenzied swordplay and spellcasting, but

the way the assassins were fighting was unholy. At some point during the fight, one of them, the

shadowdancer, was stabbed through the heart by Fyrehowl and he died then and there. Only,

he never stopped fighting and a moment later the ragged hole in his chest was sealed and be

began breathing again.

F*ck this. Toras said. Go join the Keepers.

Regeneration or not, the assassins screams were short-lived when he was hurled through the

fire portal on a one way trip out of Sigil and out of range of his intended targets.

The shadowdancer snarled and backed away towards one of the darker corners of the room,

near to where he could easily escape the same fate as his companion, and dart out of range with

his own supernatural affinity for shadows if need be.

Siddhartha will keep sending us. The man said. He or Brampandra will keep sending us

or others till they have your heads on pikes or silver platters. They will not let this matter rest.

The man jerked and dodged a blast of ice and cold from Fyrehowl.

It doesnt matter what you do, you cant kill us. He said grimly. They wont let us die.

Well find out. Clueless answered.

More minutes passed and while they slashed his armor to ribbons, his wounds still healed;

likely a property of the magical tattoo the fiend had engraved on the mans hand. Conventional

fighting was getting them nowhere, and the longer the fight dragged on the more the main room

of the inn was being devastated and the better a condition the assassin was looking.

Finally, Florian grew tired of it, invoked the power of her deity, and slapped her hand across

the shadowdancers chest. The assassin shuddered and dropped to the ground, his life snuffed

out by the force of the spell. They watched though in horror as the tattoo on the mans hand

began to pulse as if were going to restore him to life, or simply take direct control of his body

like an animated object.

Cut his hand off! Fyrehowl shouted.

With a single stroke of his blade, Clueless did just that, but the effect was not what was

expected.

Like a living thing of its own, the severed hand scuttled across the floor like an obscene insect,
697

leaping up with fingers as legs, dangling limp tendons from its severed wrist and leaving a trail

of blood and viscera. The tattoo was still active and still seeking to carry out its creators will.

Holy! Toras said as the hand sprung from the floor and leapt at his throat.

He caught the undying appendage and struggled to keep it away from his neck, but then

realized that as he kept it from strangling him, its fingers were jerking as if it where trying to

cast a spell.

Somebody stab the damn thing and pin it down! He shouted as he slammed it down onto

the surface of an adjacent table.

Nishas sword was impaled through the things animating tattoo a split second later and

finally the gore spattered hand stopped moving as the tattoo itself was gradually mangled by its

own frantic movements to escape its impalement.

Mystra preserve... Tristol said with a mixture of nervous amazement and honest fear.

So was it one of these two who were shooting at us? Fyrehowl asked.

Good question. Toras said as he picked up the corpse and tossed it out the door.

Before the corpse hit the ground it jerked as something struck its chest and sent it spinning

off to one side with a hole punched through it. The force of the blow was such that after punching

into the body from across the street where the assassin was still situated it still had force enough

to crack one of the cobblestones beneath it.

Well... Florian said. That answers that.

They could only nod as they reverted back to their original plan from minutes before.

Ok. -now- Im going up to the roof. Toras said as he bolted up the stairs. Meet you out

there.

Clueless glanced around and shrugged as he saw the hem of Kiros robe vanish around the

edge of the door leading upstairs. The cleric was probably just overwhelmed and spooked by it

all. It wasnt everyday that you saw the dead come back to life to kill you, or severed hands

crawling around with the same intent. Given all of that, it wouldnt have been out of the blue

if hed simply decided to run and hide till it was safe. Besides, that was what those few patrons

who hadnt fled the inn in panic were doing.

Normally the quickest, most preemptively agile of them all, Fyrehowl bolted outside. The

cipher was largely a blur of silvery blue fur and white robes, her sword already drawn and her

ears and eyes keen for any hint of the exact location of the assassin.

The hell...? She said bluntly as she realized that she wasnt alone outside.

Kiro stood in the middle of the street, glancing up at where the assassin was now standing

and preparing to leap down to the street. He didnt seem quite so meek as before, and the lupinal
 698

only then noticed the pair of gleaming swords slung through the clerics belt; she didnt recall

having seen them earlier when he was eating his sandwich in the bar.

But regardless, Fyrehowl shrugged and readied herself to charge the assassin once they

dropped down to the street, but Kiro moved first. Acting out of the blue with a freakish level

of making some manner of gesture or prayer and hurling a bolt of black energy at the killer on

the rooftop. The assassin was struck in the chest and she stumbled in pain and weakness. Then,

only partially recovered, she half leapt and half fell off the building to land awkwardly on the

street below a moment later brandishing a pair of gleaming knives.

***

Three stories above the street, Toras looked over the edge of the roof and smiled. There was

no sign of any further hired killers, and so the one below was ripe for the picking, and Toras

wanted to do it in style. Style however seemed to be the only thing in his mind rather than

common sense, and certainly not that tiny voice in the back of his head screaming in vain that

he wasnt wearing his ring of feather falling.

Not even looking up. Totally preoccupied with them down there. You wont see what hit

you.

Toras grinned to himself as he aimed his sword at the figure of the assassin down below and

hurled himself over the edge of the roof.

Only seconds later with the wind whistling in his ears that voice of reason in the back of his

head finally made itself known. With the ground rushing up to meet him, he realized that his

ring of feather falling was in his other set of pants.

Sh*t...

***

The woman snarled and slashed at Fyrehowl even as a cluster of magic missiles struck her

from Nisha and a moment later a flamestrike conjured by Florian enveloped her. Like the other

two assassins she didnt seem to be bothered by pain, and her wounds were regenerating even as

they fought her.

Why the hell are you doing this? Clueless demanded as he parried a slash from her blade

as she darted away from the lupinal and towards him.

I have to kill you. She said, breathing raggedly. I dont have a choice in this.

The black tattoo on her hand pulsed with a sickly glow and she staggered from a stab to her

midsection.
699

How many of you are there? Fyrehowl demanded.

It hurts... The woman said, her eyes and tone of voice giving a very different impression

than the scowl on her face. We obey him and the pain is lessened. We obey or he sends us

punishment and we do as he wishes regardless.

Fyrehowl was about to say something else when she noticed a shadow falling across the street.

Her ears perked and swiveled at the sound of rushing air and a scream from above. She glanced

up and dove out of the way a moment later when Toras slammed into the street at a speed of

three stories worth of freefall.

The assassin didnt look and didnt pause, and instead stabbed at Clueless before a lightning

bolt from Tristol spun her sideways and sprawling across the street.

We served him before. Willingly. He has no honor, only goals and tools. The womans

expression strained to be anything but coldly merciless.

She was stabbed repeatedly, barely noticing it all, but in turn she left Clueless stumbling

backwards from a half dozen wounds, each of them bleeding far more than they should have

been.

Kill me. She said, even as she flicked a knife into Tristols shoulder.

Please. Please stop this. He wont end this. Ever.

She lunged for where Florian was tending to Toras on the ground, but she stumbled and

coughed as Kiro had managed to dart around behind her while her attention had been on

Clueless.

The skinny, passive cleric withdrew his swords from where they were lodged, side-by-side in

the assassins back. A keen observer might have noted that one blade had penetrated her heart

and the other had gone through a lung - absolutely crippling blows - but after a brief pause and

stumble, her body seemed to tighten and attempt to attack again with unnatural vigor, even as

her head lolled lifelessly.

The woman was dead, but her service to the Rakshasa, like the other two assassins before

her, would not be ended by something so pithy as mortality.

Blood bubbled up and foamed on her lips, a glaze settled across her eyes and slowly her

ravaged body was beginning to knit itself back together with the infernal magic that bound her

into service to the Rakshasa. Willing or not, she would be alive and conscious again in minutes,

but till then her body was still being forced to serve like a grotesque puppet of meat and bone.

Tristol ended it with a spell, hurling a greenish beam of light across the street to strike the

womans chest and disintegrate her to naught but dust and ash. It was a merciful thing.

Sutekh preserve. Kiro said as he prayed over the spot where the assassin had fallen.
 700

Fyrehowl sheathed her own sword while Kiro softly wiped the blood from both of his own,

whispering softly in a language she wasnt familiar with. Hed likely saved Tristols life earlier

and hed gotten himself involved really when he didnt have to, and in the process hed have

drawn the ire of the tiger headed fiend currently with a vendetta against them all. She couldnt

complain at all, and having seen him in action, she had to say that for a cleric he was damn

quick on his feet.

Toras regained consciousness a minute later.

I hate gravity. Came his pained mumble as Florian and Clueless helped him up from the

pavement.

Wow Toras, that was kinda cool! Nisha said with a giggle as the fighter winced and stood

up fully.

That would have worked much better if Id been wearing my ring of feather fall... He replied

to a resigned chuckle from Tristol and Florian smacking her palm across her face.

Hey. He said. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

***

The sorcerer stood in the corner of the buildings darkened interior, softly whispering to

himself. The arcane phrases of the sending spell lilted off of his forked tongue and sparked the

power of the incantation, hurling his subsequent words across the wards of Sigil. There was no

reply from any of the intended recipients on the first team of assassins.

F*ck... He whispered.

Behind him, sitting under a ball of conjured light sat the human fighters, the raw hired

muscle. They were playing cards and largely ignoring everything else. Beside them and paying

attention the ogre was watching the sack and their captive within, making sure that she stayed

bound and gagged.

What now? The ogre asked with a sigh, correctly guessing what had happened. The first

team was dead, or at least incapacitated. In any event they had failed in their task and so made

life suddenly more difficult and more involved for them, the second team.

Hell if I know. The sorcerer muttered. They werent supposed to fail.

They were supposed to kill their targets. The Quasit said, nuzzling up to the side of the

burlap bag where Skalliska was bound and stuffed.

The familiar continued, whispering into the bag where it knew the kobold was conscious and

listening. Then we could cut the b*tchs throat and be done with it...
701

Inside the bag, Skalliska jerked and gave a muffled scream through the gag roughly shoved

in her mouth. The quasit cackled and groped her obscenely, relishing the petty torment.

The ogre aimed a sudden kick at the quasit. There was obviously no love lost between the two

of them. But the familiar jerked out of the way at the last minute and the kick instead impact

the bound kobold and knocked her over with a sudden groan and soft thud from the impact.

Quit f*cking with her, and each other. The sorcerer said as he traced a ring of oil and

crushed cinnabar on the wall to form a bound space. That includes you Scrappletoe. Hes

competent even if hes too lawful for your tastes.

The quasit sneered at the ogre and made another crude gesture with its tail and its mouth.

The ogre ignored the pissant little least fiend as its master whispered the phrase to activate the

portal latent in the newly formed bound space.

The portal arose in a swirl of color and immediately the tiefling whispered another spell of

sending, this time calling out to their collective master and informing the Rakshasa of the change

in the situation. The answer was quick to come and indeed the contingency for failure on the

behalf of the first group had been already anticipated well in advance.

So what now? The ogre asked, brushing a hand roughly over the tabletop where the other

fighters had stacked their wagers and discarded hands.

Plan B. The sorcerer said. Pack up, bring everything with you. Toss the ransom note

into the inn here in the next hour and then skip town. We make the drop off in Cathrys at Lord

Siddharthas palace in the jungles there and then we get paid.

The gambling fighters nodded and put away their cards and jink, rapidly getting their gear

in order. The tiefling glanced at one of them before putting the sensory stone down on the table.

Toss it in through one of the windows and then meet us back at the portal down on Black

Boot lane. Weve a long walk ahead of us.

***

They sat in the back room of the Portal Jammer with the door open and in full view of the

shambles of the main room. Furniture was smashed, alcohol was spilt across the floor and slowly

drying to a fine, sticky layer across the floorboards; the place was a mess by any standard, but

most importantly they were still alive.

I apologize for getting involved in this. Kiro said apologetically with his hands folded in

front of him.

To hell with that. Florian said.

 702

You saved me from having a slug of iron in my chest. Tristol added, looking at Kiro. Dont

apologize. Im sorry now that youve gotten yourself into this mess.

Kiro shrugged. It just felt like what Sutekh wished for me to do. If I helped out, then thats

all the better.

Except now you may have a Rakshasa venting his anger and likely sending people after you

as well. Florian said. And Im sorry for that, because you werent otherwise going to be a

target.

Well if theres any way that I could help you resolve this, I...

Oh, trust me. Florian said, cutting him off. Were going to skin this guy and have him

hung over the bar. Your help would be appreciated.

Hey, I already got promised a rug made out of him. Nisha protested.

And hell, Florian continued. Since youre going to be with us for a while, lets at least

make you feel a little bit at home, especially after what happened to your village back on the

Outlands.

A minute later Kiro was staring at a hastily written but still quite official document giving

him ownership of 1% of Florians share in the Portal Jammer. He didnt know what to say, and

neither did any of the others.

I...I... Kiro said with a bit of a stutter. He was back to the meek and humble cleric that

theyd met him as, the skinny clueless new to Sigil.

Enjoy. Florian said with a dismissive wave as Clueless got up for another drink for himself,

and a stiff one for the new cleric.

However there was little time left for conversation or planning as a loud but muted thump!

echoed from out in the main room. Already up, Clueless drew his sword and walked out to

investigate.

It was a sensory stone, hurled like a brick at the window. Hed seen enough of them simply

by virtue of being involved with a Sensate and so he picked it up and walked back into the inn

after making sure that there was no one lurking outside.

Someone tried to throw this through the front window. The bladesinger said.

Surprise on them. Tristol said.

So what does that broken wristed rug-to-be have to say? Toras asked.

Clueless nodded, activated the stone, and they each placed their hands upon it, soaking up

its recorded message. Siddharthas voice began as an angry snarl that presaged a calm, coldly

cultured demand.

Sadly you are still alive. A pity.

703

At the edge of the Slags there is a burned out shell of a building with a blue domed roof on

the easterly side nearest to the Hive. Come to this location, unarmed and alone, all of you, or

the kobold dies a most... prolonged death.

It is amazing how much pain can be given before the body simply collapses and ceases to

function. And pain is something I am VERY well acquainted with, no thanks to your piddling

mageling aasimar.

Till then...

In the next few moments as the voice of the Rakshasa faded from the stone, there was a

sudden, brief flicker of an image that burned itself in their minds: Skalliska bound and bleeding

in a dark chamber, the red carapace of a Vaath lurking over her, its proboscis snaking out towards

her head.
Chapter 64

Why do I have to carry the scaly b*tch?

That was the first thing that Skalliska heard when she regained consciousness. Her hands

were bound behind her back and she was inside a rough burlap sack hefted over the shoulder of

the owner of that first voice.

She could hear her captors through the material of the bag, and it was the same group of

men that had assaulted her in Sigil.

Because youre the strongest. Came one voice.

And the dumbest... Another voice said, one that that obviously belonged to that damned

quasit.

Scrappletoe be quiet. Came the voice of its master.

But I...

Shut up or Ill make bets against you in the Bottle and Jug on Baatezu night.

That seemed to quell the demon more than a bit.

Shouldve gotten a normal familiar. A rat, or even a little bird. But no... The sorcerers

complaints faded away as he seemed to mess with something.

The quasit bitched and moaned some more, but it was ignored as Skalliska listened more and

tested out her bonds. They were tight, but not impossible to escape from.

A tuft of fur from an animal killed by poison. Interesting portal key...

Sh*t, they were leaving Sigil and going to who knew what plane. She was good as dead if they

did. She couldnt let them, and so Skalliska savagely fought against her bonds, struggling for a

few brief seconds to get loose before she was knocked unconscious by a flurry of heavy punches.

Had she managed to stay still for a few moments more she might have heard her captors discuss

where they were going.

Well missy, serves you right, but hell if I care. We get paid pretty much regardless of what

condition you arrive in. The ogre said as he looked into the bag and tightened her restraints.

704
705

Behind them the portal was open and glowing and the sorcerer gestured them through and

out of Sigil.

Gentlemen, welcome to Carceri.

***

Everyone was looking at Nisha.

Well, they were after a few discordant minutes of violent cursing, some more futile attempts to

scry her location, some time spent closing the inn and cleaning up the wreckage in the taproom,

and the agreement among them all that they were going to immediately make any attempt

needed to find the kobold.

Then they all looked to Nisha.

What? The Xaositect asked, pausing and glancing at everyone, wilting a bit under the

sudden attention.

So... Florian said, looking at her.

Youre our resident expert on the Hive. Clueless said. You know about this place in the

Slags?

That second word there - Slags - not - Hive-. Nisha said, putting the Factol Hashkar doll

on her shoulder and going into lecture mode. Very different.

Kiro looked confused, both from being suddenly thrown into his current circumstances with

people he barely knew, and from not having the slightest clue about what those people were

talking about.

What are the Slags? And whats the Hive for that matter. The cleric asked tentatively,

very obviously out of his element and wholly new to Sigil.

If you would Nisha. Tristol said.

Nisha stuck her tongue out and hugged the Hashkar doll. Back on the shelf the Factol Karan

doll looked sullen and dejected, wearing a comic pout on its face.

Fine fine fine... She said, launching into her explanation. The Hive, where I grew up, its

a giant slum, a shantytown, and altogether icky place with lots of easy marks.

Toras raised an eyebrow.

And by easy marks, Nisha said smoothly. I mean rich fiends who like to make donations

to me to sooth their consciences.

Clueless chuckled and the tiefling continued.

Aaaaaand the Slags are a portion of the Hive thats even worse. She said. But youll find

that out shortly I suppose...

 706

Nisha had, or rather still does have, at least one get away on the border between the Hive

and the Slags. Tristol said.

Hey the land was cheap. She said with a shrug. And by cheap I mean nobody else is crazy

enough to want it.

You make the place seem dangerous, not just run down... why? Kiro asked.

Random least Tanarri, vargouilles, undead, aaaaand cinnamon scented killing machines.

She said, saying the last part rapidly, glossing over it.

What was that last one again? Kiro asked.

The Kadyx. Nisha said.

Which is? The cleric prompted.

Beats the hell out of me. No ones ever seen it... and lived... Nisha said with a melodramatic

shake of her hands and mock fright.

Every so often people show up dead in weird and crazy ways, murdered with extreme irony,

and people just blame this thing called the Kadyx. Nisha explained. Its probably just a bunch

of random murders and an urban legend built up over the centuries.

Well, well not find out hopefully. Tristol said as his ears drooped to either side.

Yeah, its probably just an urban legend. Nisha said before pausing. Or it might be an

unstoppable fiendish horror from the Abyss.

They could only give a polite, nervous chuckle after that while Nisha detailed the route they

would take, the preparations they would make, and what they expected to be waiting for them.

***

An hour later they were walking through Sigils urban wasteland known as the Slags. It was

desolate, marked by dusty ashen soil, odd smells, centuries old rubble and the shells of collapsed

and burned down buildings. The only signs of any life at all were scant numbers of insects,

rats, tracks of some sort of fiend, some scattered bones of dubious origin, and a single cranium

rat that watched them motionlessly from the edge of a ruined fountain, its exposed braincase

glowing ominously.

But nothing attacked them or truthfully saw any need to make itself known as they followed

Nisha through the remains of the Slags, the ugly scar upon Sigil left behind in the wake of its

only known Blood War spillover. The War Eternal had touched even the City of Doors, and once

so marked, the carnage had simply festered and the wound upon the Hive had been abandoned,

never rebuilt and never resettled for a multitude of reasons.

707

Grrrrr! Im the Kadyx! Grrrrrr! Nisha said as she took heavy, long stomping paces behind

the others. Run from my ironic gallows humor and fear my yummy cinnamon breath! Grrrrr!

Kiro looked back at Nisha surreptitiously and then walked up closer to Clueless, motioning

back to the tiefling.

Is she, you know... all there? He asked the bladesinger.

Grrrrrrrrrrr....

Florian snickered, overhearing Kiros question.

In a word: no. She said. But shes ours.

Kiro just raised an eyebrow and glanced back at the Xaositect again.

Shes there enough. Clueless said. Shes not the amnesiac.

Kiro was left to ponder that as the bladesinger didnt answer just who was.

Grrrrr! I am the urban legend that smells like a pastry shop! Grrrr! Nisha gave a few more

emphatic stomps before devolving into a few minutes of giggles.

Shes something alright. The spindly cleric of Sutekh said with a chuckle.

By the time Nisha had stopped laughing at herself, and come to dryly hope that I hope the

real Kadyx doesnt show up, they had gotten deep into the Slags and in sight of the building

that the Rakshasa had directed them to.

It had formerly been a temple of some sort, or perhaps a meeting hall for some organization.

Regardless, it was now an empty shell of beige stone walls, open arches where doors had once

stood, and a domed roof still covered over with blue ceramic tiles faded by the passage of years

and the acrid Sigilian air.

There was no sign of recent usage, or any footprints in the dusty soil to indicate that anyone

else had arrived. Unless they had flown or teleported, and they realized this as they tentatively

approached the open doorway, gazing into the dimly illuminated interior.

Fyrehowl moved in first, and as she entered the empty interior of the building she saw only

the age ravaged walls and floor, its once expansive mosaics worn down since its heyday, and there

in the center of the room a fist sized, octagonal stone.

Guys, theres something like a sensory stone in here and nothing else. She said as she

floated above the floor, wanting to avoid any possible traps that had been lain in wait for them.

Fyrehowl approached the sensory stone and knelt to examine it.

Weird. She said. Theres something else...

There was a spark on its surface and she dropped dead.

***
 708

Skalliska regained consciousness and blinked, trying not to move and alert her captors. They

were slowing down, talking, stopping for some reason.

Thats going to carry us all? Youre barmy. One voice said, muffled as it was by the thick

burlap of the bag Skalliska was in.

Complain about it too much and Ill dump you over the side. Came another voice.

The ogre carrying her moved again and the ground seemed to shift, wobble, rock. There was

the sound of lapping water. They were getting into a boat.

Dump me in the water and youll have a knife between your ribs.

You can try. The second voice said. Who knows which parts of the swamp here are water

and which parts are fed by a Styx tributary though.

Dip in the Styxll do you wonders... The quasit. Now shut up before you attract a leth.

Skalliska held silent and still as her captors boarded the skiff and pushed off from the shore.

An hour or so passed before they began to talk again, presumably because they were getting

close to the location of their employer, or somewhere safe from the normal natives of the plane.

Shed managed to remain silent that entire time, slowly loosening her bonds and managing to

get them to the point that with a quick burst of movement shed be able to break free.

So how much are we getting as a bonus do you suppose?

Hell if I know.

Dont say hell... pissant little plane...

Tell your imp to shut up.

There was a low snarl from the quasit and some curse in Abyssal.

Insult my familiar and you insult me.

Then Ill insult you. One stiff breeze and youd snap in half.

There was a sudden sizzling sound, a sharp cry, and a splash.

Our bonus is proportionately larger now gentlemen.

All thanks to this little bitch in the end.

The quasit leapt onto the sack Skalliska was in, rubbing itself against the burlap exterior.

Tell Scrappletoe to please refrain from getting himself off on something Im holding. You

cant kill me in one shot, not before I could kill you and him both... The Ogre finally spoke.

The ragged breathing and obscene thrusting from the quasit ended abruptly. The fiend hissed

some minor curse and decided to take out its frustration, sinking its teeth into Skalliska through

the bag. The poison was quick and the kobold blacked out in short order.

***
709

Fyrehowl opened her eyes with Florian standing over her and whispering the last fading bits

of a prayer to her deity. Shed been dead, snuffed out. The b*stard had left a symbol of death

waiting for them along with his message.

Son of a... The lupinal snarled as she got to her feet. Thank you Florian.

Not a problem, I understand that first part wasnt said to me. Florian replied. Im just

damned glad Id memorized that today. Its not something I ever wanted to have to use.

Fyrehowl gathered up the stone and glanced at it warily, half expecting another trap. The

symbol engraved on the rock sparked and hissed as its dweomer faded and died. I had been just

out of sight when they entered and set to trigger when they approached.

Snarling and breathing heavily, Fyrehowl activated its message.

Siddharthas voice rumbled out of the stone, echoing around the domed shell of the building,

a petulant, mocking croon.

Alas, The Rakshasa said. Sigil lost its charms to me many years ago, and so Ive taken

the pleasure of leaving for more comfortable regions. Do follow indeed.

The Rakshasa, or its servitors, had left the stone there as a taunt, or as a death sentence

if possible. Now that they stood within the center of the chamber they could see that the tile

patterns upon the floor formed a bound space, presumably a portal to wherever the fiend was

waiting for them; wherever it had Skalliska at his mercy.

The stone is the portal key. Tristol said as he glanced at both of them for a moment,

whispering the words of a spell.

They nodded and drew their weapons. Each of them knew full well that there would be a

likely ambush on the other side. The portal flickered a telling shade of scarlet and they emerged

onto Colothys.

***

Siddhartha stood at the edge of a crumbling marble balcony, carved figures of petitioners

and demons cavorting across surface in high relief: prisoners and torturers. Which one of them

he felt more like at the moment was certainly up for discussion as a breeze smelling of rot and

corpsethorn blossoms drifted up from the scarlet jungle lowlands below.

The updraft ruffled the long hem of his robe as he inhaled deeply from the Gehreleth bone

pipe at his lips. He savored the taste for a few long seconds before his whiskers twitched in

amusement; he felt the portal alarm in the jungle trigger. Seconds later he smiled as he then felt

the pair of symbols of pain at the same location activate as well.

 710

A prelude. He thought to himself. A taste of what I have suffered because of your actions

on the Astral.

He turned and glanced over at one of his servants who stood in the doorway behind him,

motioning for the tiefling to approach as he slowly exhaled a thin stream of smoke from his

nostrils and from between the fangs in his mouth. The pungent tobacco swirled in tiny eddies,

seeming to take the form of dozens of screaming faces caught in the currents of ash and hot

breath.

Prepare a full meal and a set of guest chambers for my guests. He instructed in smooth,

cultured tones that obscured the roiling hatred he felt. They are competent and at least some

of them are likely to survive to reach this place. Make them feel comfortable till I deal with

them.

Yes my lord. The tiefling replied with utmost obedience as she was dismissed. Somewhere,

lingering in the back of her mind was a tiny fragment of free will weeping against the influence

of the blackened symbol burnt into her left hand.

The Rakshasa snuffed his pipe and glanced out from the balcony where he stood. His eyes fo-

cused with a whisper of infernal and a wave of one paw. He saw his paid mercenaries approaching

quickly by way of the boat left for their use; they were only a few miles away.

The sooner you mortals arrive, the sooner I can be done with you and have some satisfaction.

The sooner I have this episode in my penance complete, the sooner Ill be out from under her

yoke.

He snarled with fury, tightened the silk rope around his waist and softly padded out of the

room, the tip of his tail flicking side to side as he sought to calm himself. It would be worth the

wait in the end.

***

They stepped out into the second layer of Carceri: Colothys the Scarlet Jungle. It was

oppressively hot and the jungle surrounded them on all sides, growing up thick in all directions

around the clearing they stood within. They could not see the sky through the roiling, snarled

tangle of trees, vines and all manner of grotesque flowering plants. Bloodthorns, corpseblossoms,

and even more esoteric varieties of deadly vegetation, they seemed to move and sway like cobras

to the piping of a demonic jungle shaman, twitching on their own accord like they could smell

the approach of bodies, soon to be corpses to feed their poisoned roots.

It should have been dark. After all, the jungle blocked out the sky. But the jungle was lit

crimson, like it was painted with blood, not from the sky but leaking up hot and sickly from the
711

ground like the flesh of the plane was hemorrhaging.

They warily glanced around, expecting at any moment for the jungle to come alive with

rampaging beasts or psychotic Gehreleths. Their portal had been one way, and there was no

evidence of a bound space or natural portal there in the clearing they had arrived in. But, as they

adjusted to the bloody red corpse light of the plane, their eyes brushed over another glimmering

rock, another message left for them to retrieve, and a pair of delicately placed symbols.

The pain came quickly and lingered till their vision was dotted with floating, wandering spots

of alternating color and darkness. They lay on the ground with bodies jerking in agony as the

Rakshasas dweomers engulfed them. Some of them managed to resist the immediate wave of

pain, shrugging off the effects in a manner of seconds rather than minutes, but they could do

little but watch the others jerk, spasm and scream, waiting for the spells effects to end.

Im getting tired of this a**hole. Toras said as they all picked themselves off the ground,

wincing at lingering traces of pain in limbs and joints where their muscles had pulled hard, nearly

to seizure intensity.

The fighter didnt notice that anything was amiss, he wouldnt have by virtue of what he

was, neither did Tristol or Fyrehowl for the same reasons. Clueless didnt notice anything either,

the gem in his ankle did that thanklessly, a side effect of the intentions of its original creators

intended purposes for him. But as the pain of the Rakshasas symbols faded, the others still felt

something amiss, and it was growing.

The air was thick with a stench of rot, a minute drizzle of pollen and sap that hung like a

sickly mist, oppressive with the pungent, sharp tang of acid. Their eyes began to water within

seconds, their faces grew flush, their breathing became more labored and stung with a taste like

that of rancid vinegar on their tongues. Less than sixty seconds later their skin began to hiss,

smoke and burn.

Holy hell! Florian shouted as the acidic air burned into her skin as well as Nishas, and

caused a slow corrosion to creep over the clothing of several of the others.

Tristol leapt into action, calling to mind a simply protective dweomer to shield Nisha, Florian

and Kiro from the very air of the layer they stood upon.

Kiro waved him off gently as he folded his hands and inaudibly whispered some manner of

prayer to his own deity, invoking the same protection upon himself.

Lovely place. Fyrehowl said.

Why cant this b*stard be a normal Rakshasa and live in Acheron? Toras complained. At

least then we wouldnt end up ruining our clothes just by walking around.

Because hes an exile. Tristol said. Him and his sister both. For whatever reason back on
 712

Acheron they no longer have house or title, and so here they are.

Popular place for exiles, Carceri. Fyrehowl said with a roll of her eyes and a twitch of her

nose. The smell was getting to her more than the others.

Better here than one layer up... Clueless said with a shudder that drew a curious stare from

Kiro. He brushed it off and didnt elaborate.

Tristol finished casting his protective spells and brushed some of the acidic sap off of his robes

as Florian complained about the environs to Toras.

You worry about your clothes, Ill worry about my skin and my lungs. Florian said as she

recovered from the brief exposure to the unmitigated fury of the scarlet jungle.

Nisha knelt down and picked up the rock on the ground, a modified sensory stone intended

to broadcast its message in a wide area, not just the one person activating it. She made a feline

hiss and acted like she was a tiger before smirking, twitching her tail and tapping the vessel of

their welcoming message.

The stone contained a simple recorded voice message, polite on the surface but with an

inflection of contempt. For the second time in a short period, Siddharthas voice washed out

over them mockingly.

Twelve miles to the north my children. Assuming... the jungles do not hamper your flight

entirely too much, or the Gehreleths, or other creatures. But now, that would be the point of

bringing you here would it not? To kill you most...deliciously?

Well, Kiro said. Hes certainly full of himself.

Couldnt have said it better myself. Florian said.

The cleric of Tempus poked an elbow into the ribs of the cleric of Sutekh with a grin.

Im starting to like you more and more. She said.

Kiro just shrugged and gave a weak smile. It seemed appropriate to say at the time. If I

said something wrong, I...

Dont worry. Toras said. None of us are going to dispute you on it.

Fyrehowl rubbed her nose. No way in hell well know where were going in that jungle.

Twelve miles of blind wandering, and I dont have a clue which direction is north.

Thats the point I think. Clueless said. Tell us where he is, and then watch us fumble

around getting ourselves killed trying to find the place.

Fits him. Tristol said as he looked around.

Go ahead scry boy. Nisha said to the mage.

Tristols ears swiveled around towards where the tiefling sat looking at him. He shook his

head as he took out a mirror and whispered the words of a scrying spell.
713

Several minutes passed as they waited for the aasimar to determine where they where heading.

Eventually Tristol squinted, gave an odd expression, and sighed.

Theres nothing there. He said, throwing up his hands in frustration. The whole area is

blank. Wherever they have Skalliska, its warded the same way that they warded their operation

in the Astral.

Lovely. Fyrehowl said, pacing back and forth and twitching her nose amid the sickly sweet

aroma of the flora of the Scarlet Jungle.

Theres no way to break through the wardings or just concentrate and try to find some

detail? Florian asked.

I can try, but I really doubt it. Tristol replied.

Wait, Toras asked. How big of an area are we talking about here thats hidden from

divinations?

Something like 200 square miles? Tristol said. Thats a wild guess though.

The aasimar tried again at Florians suggestion, but eventually he gave up in disgust. It was

honestly pointless. The power of the wardings was something that was clearly beyond his own

ability to fracture, or even fully understand in the first place.

Clueless pondered something before reaching into a bag of holding at his waist.

Hey, The bladesinger said. Ive got an idea.

Clueless held a crystal ball in his hand, blood red, bordering on crimson near the surface in

tiny internal flaws and fissures. It was the crystal ball that they had taken from the arcanaloth,

Parphinias during their siege of the (decoy) tower in Elysiums layer of Belarian.

Despite its unhealthy appearance, and its unholy origin, a tool was a tool. Plus, given that

Tristol had not memorized any more scry spells for that day, Clueless figured that the object

would serve his purposes nicely.

Didnt you get that from that arcanaloth we killed? Fyrehowl asked.

Yeah, the one that disintegrated Skalliska. Clueless replied.

Points for the irony. Nisha said, looking over from where she was picking flowers.

So why the scry globe? Tristol asked. I already tried to scry where she was, and the whole

area is warded against it.

Exactly. Clueless said as he flicked his wings and began to ascend up above canopy of the

jungle.

That doesnt answer my question! The aasimar shouted up at the bladesinger.

Im not scrying on Skalliska. Im not even looking for her at all. Im looking for where she

is or where shed have been taken. Clueless shouted down. Wherever the warding is coming
 714

from, thats likely where she is, and where the Rakshasa is too. Im looking to see what parts of

the jungle are warded and which arent.

Tristol thought for a moment before realizing the tactic.

Look for the boundaries of the wards and then head for the center. He said. And with

the globe you dont have to keep casting the spell over and over.

Sutekh approves. Kiro said as he gently kicked at a vine that was creeping out of the

undergrowth and moving towards where Nisha was picking its blossoms.

High above them, Clueless went about his task without difficulty, activating the powers of

the scry globe. He spent the next fifteen minutes roughly plotting the boundaries of the warded

region of the jungle, noting that it seemed to be centered upon a thickly forested plateau that

rose up over the jungle perhaps twenty miles from their current location. To reach it, they

would have to traverse the jungle, though several miles ahead the scarlet landscape seemed to

change, giving them two alternate routes of travel. Towards the west it seemed to descend into

a waterlogged lowland swamp, while to the east it opened up as the jungle receded before a

strangely placid looking grassland.

Alright, Clueless said as he shifted his wings. The bladesinger drifted down on the pungent

currents of air swirling over the jungle that smelled of rot, blood, and aromatic pollen, touching

down next to where his companions stood casting wary glances at the unbroachable depths of

the undergrowth.

About twenty miles from here is where the wardings seem to be centered, though it does

shift a little bit and isnt perfectly symmetrical. Clueless continued. Thats also where the

land rises up into a nice vantage point.

They all nodded.

So then, lets go. Florian said. I want a new rug for the inn before the end of the day.

And so, without complaint or any further ado they began to make their way into the depths

of the jungle, heading northwards towards where the Rakshasa was waiting for them.

Were that it was that simple however...

As they vanished into the rancid jungles Clueless put away his scry globe and thought nothing

else of it. But something had. Something sparked and awoke in the bladesingers mind, germi-

nating and taking root without the bladesinger being any the wiser. Two planes of existence

distant, something watched with absolute amusement in the brief moments of time that it had

to spare to such frivolities.

Chapter 65

The jungle was alive, both in the metaphorical sense that its red shrouded depths and hidden

places resounded with the suggestive drip of water and the rustle of unseen denizens, and the

literal as well. The flora was attracted to the warm bodies that passed through it; blossoms that

might open to a sun on the prime bloomed and keened towards the scent of passing creatures.

Vines decorated with minute and delicate flowers would drift and coil out towards the sounds of

footsteps, rows of barbed thorns revealed as they unwrapped, seeking to entrap and devour.

What the hell is wrong with evil people? Toras asked as they cut their way through the

jungle. Why cant they have their homes on sandy beaches with sunshine and cool breezes?

Kiro chuckled. Keeps nosy neighbors from dropping in on you I suppose.

Reminds me of my moms place... Clueless said with a mild shudder. And thats not a

good thing.

Evil trees? Nisha asked randomly.

Yeah, you could say that. The half-fey replied. Different climate, but yeah.

Evil trees. Nisha repeated with a giggle.

They trekked through the scarlet jungle for nearly six miles without incident before they

paused to rest. They were lucky, nothing had attacked them at that point, though they had to

remain wary and watchful, hacking at or kicking away some of the more animate plant-life from

time to time.

Weve got a choice to make here shortly folks. Clueless said as they slowed down and looked

at him.

The ground had been getting gradually moister for the past mile or so, the soil more spongy

and giving to their footfalls. In short, the further they went in their current direction, they were

heading towards a lowland swamp.

The bladesinger pointed first in one direction, directly ahead, and then a bit off to the right.

First way is going to hit a swamp, probably a Styx tributary. The other way is going to

715
 716

hit more stable ground, but opens up into grassland. Neither of which is probably all that much

safer in the long run.

Yeah but Id rather dodge things in tall grass where I can run, than get stuck in mud fighting

things where I cant. Fyrehowl said. Plus, you can fly over the grass. Theres no tree cover

stopping you like in a swamp.

Point. Florian said.

Either way should be fine really. Kiro said with deference. Whichever you all decide.

Swamp equals bad. Nisha said, pointing towards her hooves. I sink.

You also float above the ground by about an inch. Tristol mentioned.

The tiefling stuck her tongue out at him.

Im actually inclined to avoid a swamp too. Clueless said. Chalk it up to bad experiences

with the Styx. Or something like that.

Besides, like I said, we can always fly over the top of the grass. Fyrehowl said. If anything

happens to be running around under it, they probably wont be able to honestly reach us.

It sounded like a good idea at the time, and so they deviated off in the direction of the plain.

Slowly, over the next hour the ground grew firmer, the jungle receded back, and they looked

out onto a sea of razor edged grass. Twenty feet high, nothing could be seen lurking under the

surface as the deadly flora swayed in the breeze with an otherwise almost tranquil quality.

Hmm. Nisha said. Maybe the swamp wasnt so bad after all.

It had sounded like a good idea at the time.

***

The boat was slowing, Skalliska could tell as she regained consciousness. There was a soft

lapping of water against the hull, a shudder and noise as the boat came to a stop. The boat

rocked side to side and water slapped against wood as her captors stepped from the boat and

onto the hard surface of what sounded like a dock of sorts.

Wasnt so bad was it?

Could have been better. Your damn quasit was making faces at me the entire time.

Its cause I like you... The least fiend crooned out in a way both endearing and sickening

at the same time.

The ogre carrying her stepped onto the hard surface of the dock, or perhaps a stone platform

nestled against the edge of the canal. The sound of their boots was hard, sharp, without the

echo and rattle of wood. So yes, likely stone.

Hope you like stairs and switchbacks.

717

Better than going through the jungle.

Its under a mile walk up to the top. Not bad at all. But with his money you think hed

make some magic to get us up there.

How do you mean?

You know. Youre the sorcerer, you explain it.

Humor me.

Magic us up the side of the plateau. Step on some magic rock, and bamf youre there. Cant

fiends do that? Teleport things?

Easier said than done. And Rakshasas cant teleport like that. Only the true fiends can.

Skalliska was ignoring their banter as they began to climb up some sort of staircase. The

sounds of their boots on stone hid the noise of her hands as she loosened the remaining knots on

her bonds and began to weaken the threads in a patch of the sack that she was held within. Given

time shed have a hole in the sack, and given luck shed be able to break loose and hopefully

outrun her captors.

Still, she didnt know where she was on the plane, or how shed get off of it. Plus theyd

stripped her naked before tying her up. Running around a lower plane without equipment or

clothing wasnt a pleasant thing to contemplate.

Some indeterminate period of time passed and they ascended up the side of the mountain, or

whatever rise in the land they were seeking the top of, presumably where their employer was in

residence.

So how much are we getting again?

Well find out.

Oh come on, you know. Tell us.

Youll be f*cking two whores a night for the next year. If thats an indication.

There were some slow whistles as they continued. The ground leveled out, they quickened

their pace. They were near to their destination.

Alright... damn hes got a big place up here...

With his money you think hed keep it something other than ruined though.

You try keeping stone intact in this air. With this sort of jungle snapping at its foundations?

Good luck with that. Wed be skeletons by now if he hadnt given us protections against the

environment.

Alright. True. Hadnt thought about that.

Idiot... The quasit sneered.

Skalliska peered out through a hole shed managed to gnaw in the side of the sack. The
 718

scarlet jungle only grudgingly seemed held back atop the mountain or plateau they stood atop,

a sprawling palace of limestone and marble rising up from the bedrock with a breathtaking

suddenness. There was jungle, and then there it was breaking free. Towers both intact and

fallen pierced the sky above the treetops, all festooned with flowering vines that coiled like

garrotes around thousands of figures: mortals, angels, and fiends alike, carved into the walls.

They walked further, stepping into a paved courtyard before the columned main entrance of

the palace. A single figure stood in the doorway, reclined casually against the pitted limestone

that was badly eaten by the acid of the jungles proximity, though garbed in silk he seemed not

to notice the harshness of the environment that must have been gnawing away at his home for

centuries.

Greetings and welcome to my home.

***

The grasslands were an illusion in superficial amber and green, windblown grasses undulating

atop a scarlet ocean in whose depths and under whose waves predators swam. The sea of grass

stretched out for miles upon miles out and away from the jungle behind them, and distantly they

could see the mountain where the Rakshasa, and presumably Skalliska, were waiting.

Are we so sure that this is the best way to go? Nisha asked cautiously as she looked at the

swaying grass, tall as trees.

We can fly. It wont be a problem really. Tristol said with a smile as he started to cast the

spell.

Moments later they were all hovering a few feet above the surface of the grassy sea, their

misgivings fading away as they slipped free from the bonds of gravity. Scarlet light leaked up

from below, casting a reddish speckled shroud over them as they flew above the surface towards

the plateau in the distance.

A series of eight separate currents drifted through the sea of razored tall grasses, trailing the

flying prey above, tracking them silently, growing closer and closer.

There was a rustle from below a few minutes later.

Guys? Florian asked suddenly as she glanced down at the placid, softly swaying grass

below. What was that?

No answer. The deadly carpet of grass below was silent but for the wind.

I cant hear anything. Fyrehowl said, glancing down.

They shrugged and began to move again, letting their guard down for just a moment.

There was a sudden flurry of noise from below and something shot up through the scarlet
719

tinted grass. Like a cross between a rabid hyena and a porcupine, it snarled and cackled madly

as its legs extended and it leapt towards Florian.

Holy! Florian shouted as the fiend rocketed past her, its jaws snapping with bone crunching

force on empty air as it narrowly missed her by inches.

The razorgrass below them erupted into a chaos of snarls and cackling howls. Two more of

the beasts burst through the top of the veldt and snapped at their intended prey, again missing

only by inches.

Everyone fly higher! Clueless shouted as once more another howler launched itself skyward.

Ascending another twenty feet higher, they looked down and felt themselves momentarily

safe. Looking closer they could see the trampled paths through the grass, see where the beasts

had crept up on them, stalked them before pouncing.

Ok, maybe the swamp was better... Tristol said, glancing at Nisha who wore an I told you

so look on her face.

No, we just let our guard down. Just, be on the look out. Toras said.

The razorgrass sea was calm. Pensive. Down below came soft growls, snarls and erratic barks.

They were talking, thinking, planning.

Alright. Were safe. Florian said. We just need to...GAH!!!

Florian screamed and clutched her side as a jagged, erratic hail of two to three foot long

spines shot up from the grassy sea. Bony flechettes with barbed tips, Howler spines, they arced

skyward and stabbed with the force of a horses kick into her and Fyrehowl.

Another pause in the grass and a Howler came leaping up again, aiming for Florian as she

drifted lower, the pain causing her to lose concentration on the spell keeping her aloft.

Watch it! Toras shouted as he dove to intercept the fiend, stabbing it with a quick thrust

of his blade and letting it crash down into the unseen depths below.

The injured howler screamed in pain and spite back up at them, and the razorgrass rustled

as it turned and fired another volley of jagged quills at them. But its injuries were great, and

it was living on borrowed time. Its pack-mates were hungry, perhaps starving, and they smelled

blood and opportunity.

Serves you right, you son of... Florian cursed down at the blood-spattered frenzy below.

She winced and cursed again a moment later as Kiro pulled the spine from her back where it

was still lodged.

Sorely tempted as she was, Florian held her spells in reserve, and so did the others.

Youll need them more later. Kiro said. Save them for when you do.

Tristol glanced down at the Howlers as they left them behind to feed on their former sibling.
 720

Nasty creatures they were, deserving of a fireball, but the cleric was right and so he kept his

instinct in check as they resumed their flight across the scarlet sea of grass.

Nothing happened for another hour or two as they flew at a higher distance above the ground.

Guys. Stop. Fyrehowl said, peering into the distance and keening her ears in the same

direction.

Something was moving beneath the grass, churning and grinding a huge swath of it underfoot.

Like a wave, it rushed forward a constant, frightening speed, roughly perpendicular to them.

What is that? Florian asked warily.

It grew closer and they began to make out the sounds of its motion: harsh, angry, heavy,

mechanical; eight heavy pounding noises of limbs crashing through the grass in rapid fashion,

accompanied by the roar of engines and scream of metal on metal.

Guys, I dont like whatever that is. Nisha said nervously. Whatever it is.

Something jerked above the level of the grass. A white and purple head and tip of a wing it

seemed. There was a scream of gearwork and the swath of trodden grass shifting and changed

direction. Whatever it was, it had seen them.

They were waiting for it when it grew to within a few hundred feet and two creatures, escorts

or handlers, Vrocks, flew up over the grass and into the open air. The two of them squawked

angrily, spittle flying from their swollen tongues and jagged beaks as they screamed out curses

and commands in Abyssal.

Kiro and Fyrehowl dove near simultaneously as the Vrocks gave commands to the Retriever.

A gargantuan spider of flesh and steel, hellfire and rage molded into physical form, the

thing rose up over the surface of the razorgrass sea and fixed its eyes on the targets it had

been commanded to obliterate. Eyes of jelly and crystal, living and mechanical at once, they

narrowed, focused, and burned with light and fury as the construct rattled with the sound and

fury of furnaces and capacitors.

A bolt of lightning from one eye alone cut across the sky with a thunderclap that sent a wave

through the grass with its force. A second eye let loose a horizontal column of liquid flame,

igniting a swath of the grass and incinerating the path before it. A third eye spat a line of

blistering, boiling acid through the sky.

Thought left and instinct took its place. Pain, injury and urgency had caused the former to

become superfluous.

Tristol would remember hurling a fireball at the massive Tanarri construct while Fyrehowl

hurled a cone of ice at one of the two Vrocks. Toras had vague recollection of being caught by a

bolt of lightning that drove him backwards and rattled his teeth with its force even as the bolt
721

ran through his body and caused him no harm. Clueless and Florian would both hurl spells at

both the Vrocks and the massive Retriever, though Florian would mostly recall wondering openly

why she was never taught such things in her temple when she watched Kiro cut the wings off of

one of the pair of Vrocks and send it screaming to the ground in a hail of feathers of spores.

Scorched and bleeding they looked down at the trampled, burning expanse of bloodied veldt

below them. Their own injuries, some of them severe, were ignored as they exhaled and hung

there in the air, more than a bit stunned at what they had just done and at the devastation

below them spread out like a mad artists nightmare tableau. One Vrock was dead from a dozen

slashes and covered in sorcerous burns, the other somehow still alive and writhing in impotent

agony on the ground, clutching madly for its own severed wings as it bled to death. Between

them though lay the broken and battered Retriever, its shattered gears still spinning away madly

inside, the furnaces growing cold and its infernal engines ticking away to likely detonation in the

next few minutes.

They were a mile away when they did, seeing the flash a moment before the blast wave rocked

them forwards and sent a spherical shock through the grassy sea below them.

Nisha glanced back at the burning Retriever behind them. Anyone else think taking on the

Rakshasa again might be anticlimactic after that?

That was satisfying. Toras replied. Always room for more. Dont worry.

Well be fine. Kiro replied with a humble smile. Sutekh will watch over us. He has thus

far, and will continue to.

No one could argue with either of them.

Within the hour they reached the edge of the plain where it grew rocky and the highland

plateau rose up above them. Dimly, in the distance, the wreckage of the Retriever belched a

column of smoke into the sky and billowed erratic bursts of flame out into the grass to ignite

a local inferno. It would likely attract attention, but they were far enough away that it spared

them the unwelcome notice of any other denizens of the plane.

They hovered a safe distance above the shifting grass and took appraisal of their situation.

Well be noticed easily if we just skirt up the side of the mountain. Fyrehowl said. Well

probably attract more predators too.

At that, most of group glanced up into the darkness overhead where the scarlet light of the

ground grew pale, swallowed up by the void overhead. Distantly, high in the distance, crimson

stars stood against the sackcloth sky like drops of blood against the ebony flesh of Carceri itself.

Anything could be up there lurking in the darkness, held aloft on leathery wings or sorcery;

anything could be waiting to dart down upon unsuspecting prey.

 722

Youre right. Clueless said. We should stick close to the rock itself. Theres more light

there and well at least be able to see anything coming for us.

Anyone else have a better idea? Florian asked.

Tristol shook his head. Id say a dimension door but I dont have enough of a clue of the

top of the plateau to risk it. Normally I could just scry, but...

Stupid Rakshasa. Nisha said.

Kiro pointed to a spot of shadow nestled between a narrow furrow in the stone and a minor

rockfall: a cave mouth.

Then how about we go into the mountain itself and work our way up? He suggested. The

rock is pretty soft it looks like, and with the type of rain youll probably find the whole mountain

riddled with caves from top to bottom.

Clueless nodded and the others were quick to agree.

The only problem might be finding a passage large enough to navigate, but I think well be

lucky, Sutekh willing.

Kiro drifted over to the cave mouth, glanced inside briefly and seemed to whisper a prayer

of sorts.

Well be fine. He said.

***

Siddhartha stood in the doorway of the ruined palace, looking down at them with some small

measure of impatient disdain. Behind him, his tail flicked side to side in a predatory gesture.

His hired mercenaries didnt see it coming. They were blinded by their greed.

We have her. The kobold you wanted. The sorcerer called out to the fiend.

The ogre hefted the sack holding Skalliska. Inside, the kobold could see scarlet light filtering

up through the frayed stitches in the side of her burlap prison. One swift motion and shed be

free. But did she dare make the attempt with the Rakshasa standing so close?

So go ahead man, lets see the gold. One of the other mercenaries said as they all walked

up to the fiend, crossing the courtyard between them.

Siddhartha smiled as they did so. Under his sight the courtyard was not the battered field of

weathered, acid pitted flagstones grown weary and settled over a millennia of existence. Under

his sight the courtyard did not leak scarlet light dimly through the cracks, it was not spotted

with hungry, poisonous weeds and clumps of angry red moss. Under his sight the courtyard was

illuminated by the overlapping lines of dozens of spells, racing like razor slashes into an exposed
723

arm, bleeding up magic like welling venous blood, pooling in the courtyards center where the

mercenaries were walking.

One of you is missing. The Rakshasa stated, his voice a soft rumble like approaching

thunder. Dead I assume?

Yes. An accident... The sorcerer said warily. Is that a problem?

No. Siddhartha replied. It simply means the rest of you split the payment one way less.

Several of the mercenaries laughed and smacked each other around in celebration. Their

pre-emptive jubilation echoed across the courtyard.

Give me the kobold and Ill give you your payment as we agreed. The Rakshasa said as he

watched them approach. He was hungry for what would come.

They walked further, stopped next to the ruined reflecting pool in the courtyard. It was

filled with tangles of water lilies growing somehow in the muddy, tainted water that they were

suspended in. Siddhartha watched as their movements broke the lines of the wardings one by

one, snapping them like cords supporting a heavy weight, putting tension on the others, building

to a critical point where they would simultaneously collapse and trigger. There was a smile on

his face, anticipation if anything to the pointless slaughter approaching.

The sorcerer strode a few steps ahead of his fellows who were still slapping each other on the

back and already speculating about how theyd be spending their newfound wealth. It was a

substantial amount certainly. The Rakshasa was still staring at them.

Shes here in the bag. The aasimar said. Pay us and youll have her for whatever you

want.

Certainly. Siddhartha purred and smiled.

The last line snapped like a taught string.

The quasit on its doomed masters shoulder suddenly tensed and looked up at the Rak-

shasa. He saw something there in those eyes, something unexpected, something terrible beyond

expectation. The quasit screamed as the wards collapsed and triggered.

***

Be it divine prescience or blind luck, Kiro was right about the caves. They ascended up into

a maze of meandering passages, each eaten away by the action of dripping acidic rainwater over

centuries or millennia. Tristol and Toras both held conjured balls of light aloft to light their way,

and after an hour of slow, cautious ascent they had yet to run into anything dangerous.

Any idea of which way to take guys? Florian asked. The higher we go theres more and

more splits in the passages.

 724

Fyrehowl sniffed at the air and gave a good, hard look down several of the tunnel branches.

Cant really say for sure. Theres a weird scent down some of them though. The lupinal

said.

Kiro paused and sat down on the stone, taking out a bit of cloth, a bit of flint and a dagger.

Normally theres going to be a draft through the tunnels if theres an opening up top since

the air at the base of the caves was much warmer than presumably up top.

The cleric struck a spark and ignited the tip of the cloth. The flame shed a warm yellow-

orange glow across them all and fluttered in multiple directions. There seemed to be multiple

paths to open air above.

Fyrehowls ears perked and swiveled a split second before a few pebbles clattered down from

a passage some ten feet above them.

That lightll attract someone you know. Came a voice from above, calm and measured,

human.

Kiro looked up, holding the flame higher to illuminate the source of the voice. A dirty man in

rags sat there looking down at them. He had a slight furtive air about him, but he was smiling.

Indeed. And it did. Kiro said to the stranger as Toras moved his own light into place.

The cleric extinguished the flame with another whispered invocation to his deity.

Who are you? Clueless asked the man.

Garret. At least thats the name I go by. The man said, making a wave to them all.

And you live here? Tristol asked.

The man glanced around and shrugged. If you want to call it living I suppose. Surviving is

more like it.

Fyrehowl leaned over towards Toras and whispered. Petitioner. Dont trust him. Not on

this layer of the plane. Not ever.

You know these caves then? Florian asked.

More than you might think. Whats it worth to you then? He said, holding out his palm.

Youre trying to find a safe way through this place, and I know where to go and where to avoid

going at all costs. Im willing to share that information perhaps.

Toras removed a ring from one of his fingers. A ring of feather fall, he didnt particularly

need it since he was flying rather than climbing.

How about this then? The fighter asked, holding the ring up into the path of the light.

The petitioners eyes glittered with momentary greed. The ring was a slim band of band

topped with a swirling bit of carved filigree, and it glittered with a slight dim glow of magic.

Though the man was not a mage, or trained in magic, he could tell it was valuable.
725

He paused as if thinking, perhaps hoping to get a better offer. None came, but it didnt

matter, because in the back of his head was the knowledge of where hed be leading them, and

knowing that after their flesh was picked clean, hed have his choice of what was left intact.

That works for me. He said.

Kiro took the ring from Toras and drifted upwards to hand it to the their newfound guide.

The man happily snatched the ring from Kiros hand.

Follow me and Ill see you to the top. He said, gesturing to one of the passages. Trust me,

I know these caves.

Kiro smiled back. Lead on.

***

Skalliska stared from the underbrush of the jungle at the smoking, bloody devastation that

speckled the courtyard of the Rakshasas palace. Smoking corpses lay strewn about in a lingering

haze of ozone, acid fumes, and smoke. Several of them had been turned to stone and them

shattered by subsequent spells, the broken pieces tossed about to litter the courtyard like the

fallen petals of jungle flowers. It had to have been a dozen prismatic sprays at the very least:

pointless gloating overkill.

She dared not breath nor utter a word as she hid in the undergrowth. She had run there

blindly in a panic after she had heard the first screams from her captors as their employer

betrayed them. She hadnt managed to completely free herself from the burlap sack; only her

legs had been free to allow her to run, but it had probably afforded her enough cover to somehow

escape the spelltrap that had slaughtered her captors.

Naked, she looked over the gory aftermath, hiding herself partially under the burlap sack

and partially beneath the fronds of some sticky, rancid smelling vine covered in orange blossoms.

The Rakshasa smiled and floated over the bloody remains, pausing to gesture at the sorcerers

electrocuted corpse.

Skalliska watched as it whispered and gestured, levitating the body up into the air, running

a claw over the back of the dead mans hand. Blood welled up from the scratch of the claw in

soft flesh and erupted into flames, burning a symbol in place, cauterizing and blackening skin

and subcutaneous fat.

The eyes of the corpse shot open, he jerked and whimpered.

Skalliska darted into the bushes and never looked back. She was free, that was all that

mattered. She only paused to rest a few hundred yards away, fully out of sight of the palace and

its fiendish master.

 726

Holy... She whispered breathlessly on the heavy, pungent air. Kidnap nothing, he didnt

give two sh*ts about me. He just wants all of us dead for screwing with his work in the Astral,

but he wanted to do it himself. Now how the hell do I get out of Carceri...

Her exposed skin began to sizzle and burn.

Her eyes widened.

Oh bloody hell!

She dove back into the burlap sack, having far more to immediately worry about than escap-

ing.
Chapter 66

No, turn right up ahead. The petitioner said. And watch for the loose rocks. They tend to

collect there from the shaft above.

You seem to know a lot about these caves. Clueless commented.

I live here. Their guide replied. Its expected.

Nisha nearly hit her head on a sudden outcrop of rock as the tunnel grew tighter.

Waaaatch your head. The petitioner warned them.

Fyrehowl was still as alert as ever. She didnt seem to trust the man in the slightest, and

she kept glancing at him sidelong when she didnt think he was looking. The petitioner ignored

her and kept steering them through the maze of tunnels, ever so slowly rising higher and higher

through the passage-riddled limestone of the mountain.

As they walked, the guide periodically slipped on the ring they had given him, testing it with

a giddy expression on his face. Hed activate its magic and hop up in the air at which point

the ring would take effect and cause him to ever so slowly drift down to solid ground. It was

certainly useful to him, and he was seemingly overjoyed with his luck.

We only have about another twenty minutes of walking left. He said, pointing them down

yet another junction in the tunnel.

Overjoyed was just a start. His eyes were nearly bugging out of his head at the total amount

of finely crafted and likely magical equipment his eventual victims were openly carrying. But he

could wait. The Bebeliths would kill them soon enough after he and they parted ways.

So, where are we headed? Toras asked.

Kiro smiled happily at their guide while Fyrehowl continued to regard the petitioner with

suspicion.

Just up this tunnel the rock will start to change color. He replied. At that point youll

only have a short way to go before you reach the top, and well be parting ways.

They nodded and followed him. Soon enough the rock shifted from white, water smoothed

727
 728

limestone to a rougher stone discolored by the influx of acids and organic compounds from the

jungle above. The passage angled up more and more as they progressed, and eventually their

guide paused and motioned them on.

There you go. He said. From here its a straight shot to the top.

Thank you. Kiro said.

No thanks needed. He said with a shrug. I helped you because you paid me. Thats how

things work down here.

He bowed to them, putting especial emphasis on Fyrehowl, and then he was gone, swallowed

up by the yawning darkness of the cave network that riddled the mountainside.

They waited till he was fully gone to proceed. Fyrehowl continued looking at the darkness for

a few more moments, half expecting their guide to return with a group of his fellows in ambush.

Kiro patted her on the back though and dissuaded her of the concern.

Dont worry about him. The cleric said. Sure hes a Carcerian petitioner, but...

Which makes me implicitly not trust him. Fyrehowl replied.

Were fine with him. Kiro tried to reassure her. Id just worry about where hes sending

us.

Well find out. Florian said as she proceeded up the tunnel.

Ahead in the darkness, their voices bounced off of the walls and carried far ahead of them.

And there in the darkness, a pair of creatures were listening. Tiny hairs twitched and responded,

focusing on the sounds, and multiple eyes blinked and gazed out into the shadows. The Bebeliths

lurked and waited.

As they continued their climb, they quickly began to notice tatters of thin, gossamer material

on the floor of the passage, and strands of gooey rope-like silk on the ceiling and covering smaller

side passages.

Guys. Fyrehowl said. Thats not good.

To say the least... Tristol said as he sent his light hovering out a few more feet ahead of

the group.

Kiro peered over his shoulder warily.

I felt it too... Fyrehowl said.

Weve been screwed over by that damn petitioner... Clueless said.

Told you so. Fyrehowl said with a soft snarl.

A soft scuttling sound echoed through the caves, muted by the presence of the webbing.

Something was out there, following them, likely hedging them into specific tunnels as they found

others blocked by webs.

729

Ones behind us. Kiro said as he drew his swords. Be ready, theres probably more than

one.

They were prepared, barely, when two massive Bebeliths burst into the tunnel, one on each

side. The spider-like fiends barely fit into the passage, both penning their victims in except for

webbed over side tunnels, and limiting their own maneuverability.

Clueless struck first, hurling a bolt of lightning into the gnashing mandibles of one of the two

fiends, causing it to screech and lash out randomly. Tristol and Florian went next, both of them

hurling spells into the open maw closing in on them despite its wounds. They left it a smoking,

twitching corpse seconds later.

The other Bebelith twisted and a shower of thick, liquid silk splattered from its abdomen

across the tunnel, holding Florian and Clueless fast to the walls, bound up in the webbing. The

others though managed to avoid the sticky strands or they cut themselves out of it in mere

moments.

Emboldened, not hampered by the webs, Toras charged. It struck first, its legs ripping into

the fighters chest with the sound of rending metal before it hurled him backwards. Toras didnt

seem badly hurt, but his armor had been torn apart and lay in fragments on the ground.

Son of a b*tch! He shouted, as Fyrehowl and Kiro dashed past him to stab at the remaining

fiend.

It was over seconds later, and glancing gingerly at the twitching corpses penning them in,

Florian began to heal the wounds the creatures had managed to inflict. In the meantime, Kiro

and Fyrehowl opened up the webbing blocking one of the side passages, given that the two

Bebelith corpses were blocking their current passage fully with their bulk. Toras however was

not happy, and he growled as Nisha patted his shoulder.

Oh hells... Toras said as he picked up the torn and mangled remains of his breastplate.

The armor was damaged beyond recovery, and the fighter sulked miserably as he looked at

the massive gouges scored deep into the metal caused by the Bebeliths claws.

Hey, some of us get along quite well without all that much armor. Nisha said. Besides,

now you wont clank so much when we need to be sneaky.

I dont clank. He replied before he kicked the dead Bebelith with a pronounced rattle of

metal.

Nisha stared at him with a cockeyed glance.

Take it out on the tiger headed jackass well be finding shortly. Florian said, trying to

console him.

Toras shrugged and grumbled.

 730

It was then that Kiro paused as if hed suddenly remembered something. The cleric reached

into his pocket and took something out.

Oh, Toras. He said. Heres your ring back by the way.

Excuse me? Toras asked.

Here you go. Kiro said, putting the ring into Torass hand. I figured our guide was going

to screw us over so I swiped your ring from him and slipped him another one.

Nisha gave Kiro an appreciative glance. I approve!

***

Well, The petitioner said as he sat down on the edge of a steep chasm in the rock. They

actually fell for it.

He threw back his head and laughed. Either they had assumed him bought off by the ring,

or too outnumbered to stab them in the back; perhaps they simply hadnt known how the world

worked quite like he understood it. Betrayers and the betrayed, that was all there was in the

world, and he knew clearly which side he was on.

About now the Bebeliths should be getting full on your flesh. He continued with a chuckle.

Greed danced in his mind as he considered the likely pickings hed find after the Bebeliths

were done ripping the flesh off of the corpses. As they always had, they left behind anything

they couldnt eat, and this time hed be plundering a kings ransom if his guesses were right.

He relaxed and gave a contented sigh, spinning the paltry little ring on his finger that they

had willingly given him. But for the moment there was nothing to do but wait. It wouldnt be

safe to intrude upon the feasting Bebeliths for several hours, and even then hed have to take

multiple trips to plunder the remains.

Got what was coming to me. He said with another laugh as he pushed off the side of the

shaft to enjoy his new toy.

He dropped like a stone. He screamed and scrambled madly for a handhold, but found none

as he tumbled. A second before he plummeted the final three hundred feet down to his death,

he noticed that the ring on his finger wasnt the same one that hed been handed originally.

Somewhere else, Kiro was smiling.

***

It took them another thirty minutes of blind wandering to find their way out of the tunnels

and up onto the plateau above. Mostly it was less true wandering than simply cutting their way

through the Bebelith webs that were strung up across a majority of the passages they had to pass
731

through. But eventually they did, and they stepped out of a shallow rocky opening, swathed in

layers of sticky, debris-laden silk.

Normally wed emerge up into bright sunlight and fresh air. Florian said. And wed be

happy.

Yeah well, well have to make do with crimson light and sticky acidic air. Clueless said.

Oy... Florian replied as she climbed up and into the jungle.

And yes Nisha, youre very scary as a spider. Tristol said, glancing up at Nisha.

Nisha grinned and got down from the clump of webs shed been perched in, moving her hands

like spider mandibles next to her mouth. The others had blissfully ignored her for the most part,

usually that worked, it didnt help to encourage her.

The jungle that shrouded the top of the mountain wasnt nearly as thick as that in the

lowland basin. They praised this point as they made their way slowly and cautiously towards

the area that was located at the center of the wardings that extended over miles upon miles of

the scarlet lit layer.

A short time later they emerged onto a thin path that cut through the jungle, running

alongside the edge of the plateau. Paved in eroded flagstones, the group slowly progressed along

its length, looking down periodically over the side at the swampy lowlands below. Deadly choking

acidic clouds hung like mobile ornaments, drifting over the jungle canopy below, almost sublime

if not for the horrors they knew dwelt beneath.

Stop! Fyrehowl suddenly hissed, holding up a hand in warning.

What? Tristol asked.

The guardinal paused and knelt down, pointing to a vine stretched across the path. The vine

had tension, almost like it was some sort of crude, improvised tripwire.

That would be a trap. Nisha said.

Or an alarm. Kiro said, motioning to a set of metal scraps and rocks tied into the vine just

off the side of the path.

Wow. Toras said. The Rakshasa must have really blown his budget with his early traps.

By the time we reach him hell just have some shallow holes to make us trip, or perhaps some

buckets of water over doorways...

I dont buy it... Clueless said.

Dont buy it? Toras asked.

Its out of place. The bladesinger replied.

Kiro shrugged, stepped forwards and tugged on the vine. It rattled and made noise.

And now we wait for the fiends to jump out and kill us...? Florian mused.
 732

Something burst out of the undergrowth.

Its a bag with legs holding a spear! Run! Nisha screamed.

...Skalliska? Fyrehowl said as the thing in a bag ineffectually jabbed a spear at them in a

vaguely threatening manner.

Why are you wearing a potato sack? Nisha asked.

The sack with legs and a spear paused and mumbled, lowering its weapon.

How the hell did you get out here Skalliska?! Toras exclaimed.

The bag mumbled again.

Oh for... Florian said as she yanked the bag off of Skalliska.

No no no! The naked kobold shouted. Acid!

Oh sh*t! Florian said, stuffing Skalliska back in the bag as the kobold started to sizzle.

Tristol bit his lower lip and tried to avoid snickering as he muttered the words to a spell,

granting the kobold the same resistance as the rest of them had.

What happened to your clothes? Nisha asked.

Skalliska paused from hugging Florian long enough to answer.

I never thought Id see you all again. Some b*stards grabbed me in Sigil and tried to drag

me to that damn Rakshasa. She said. Howd you know to come after me?

Some others tried to kill us as well. Clueless said. The Rakshasa sent us a note claiming

he had you and that hed kill you if we didnt follow his instructions.

Whos he? Skalliska asked all of a sudden, looking at Kiro.

Kiro smiled politely and bowed his head.

Thats Kiro. He got involved in all of this pretty much by chance. Fyrehowl said. Well

formally introduce you two later.

Hes cool. Florian said, smacking the other cleric happily on the back.

Kiro chuckled and gave a fairly humble smile. I like to think that Ive been useful.

So how did you escape? Clueless asked.

I got loose just as they met up with the Rakshasa. Skalliska explained, glancing warily in

the paths direction behind her. He killed them all.

Fyrehowl blinked.

Killed them? She asked.

In pretty spectacular fashion... The kobold replied.

So thats where your clothes went? Nisha asked.

Skalliska paused. Yes. Thats where my clothes went. Good to see you too Nisha. The

kidnappers took everything on me, including clothes. I was too busy avoiding prismatic sprays
733

to look for where they had them.

Nisha grinned without a care in the world.

Back to the Rakshasa though... Toras said. Where is he?

Skalliska pointed back along the path.

Follow me...

***

They stepped into the courtyard behind Skalliska. The bodies of her captors were gone

with not a spot of blood left on the stones, nor a single mark of the magical cascade that had

slaughtered them.

Ok, color me impressed. Clueless said as he gazed up at the ruined yet sprawling expanse

of the Rakshasas palace that rose up out of the jungle.

His palace isnt exactly much to look at... Florian said as she gazed up at the weathered

and acid ravaged stone of the once exquisite sculptures that covered the walls.

Im not looking at the palace. Clueless said. Im looking at the damn wardings around

the place.

Tristol whistled as he did the same. Ok... yeah.

Details. Florian said. Details would be useful.

How can I say this best? Tristol said. Most of that weathering isnt real for starters.

Its all illusionary. Every window and door is covered with walls of force, and the courtyard is

covered with so many interlocking wards its hurting my eyes to look at it.

To say the least. Clueless replied. This is... Im not sure how well get in there...

I wouldnt suggest walking in the front door. Skalliska said. Not considering what I saw

the wards do to the last people who tried to walk through it.

Well theres got to be a way to dispel them and... Nisha said.

I dont even know where to begin on this. Tristol said. And if I did, I dont have enough

magic left in my head to start.

Before they had any further opportunity to discuss their situation however, a figure appeared

in the doorway.

Welcome. His Lordship Siddhartha has been waiting for you.

The single figure that stood barefoot in the doorway was dressed in a fine silk sarong and

vest, and held no weapons. A tiefling, Skalliska instantly recognized him as the sorcerer who had

abducted her, save that his eyes appeared to have been plucked from their sockets to leave on
 734

open bloody holes in his smiling face. The man was dressed as a servant, and he seemed to be

acting perfectly for the roll.

That was the sorcerer that led the group who kidnapped me back in Sigil. Skalliska whis-

pered.

What the hell happened to him? Clueless asked in a hushed voice.

I watched him die... Skalliska replied.

Waiting for us? Where is he? Florian demanded. Its about time that he showed himself.

The tiefling gestured humbly with his hands.

There is no need to stand in the jungle and be of ill temper. My master has been waiting,

and you are welcome as his guests. It would be impolite of him to allow you to stand on the

doorstep when the sky threatens rain imminently.

Youve -got- to be kidding me... Toras muttered.

Given his nature, it makes sense though. Kiro said.

The sorcerer motioned them forwards.

Please, the wards are not intended for you but for errant Tanarri or Gehreleths wandering

the jungles. Impolite neighbors. Please, you are welcome and my Lord would see you comfortable,

rested and well treated before he speaks with you and sees an end to this current affair.

Sees an end to this current affair? Florian asked with no small measure of skepticism

bordering on contempt.

The servant smiled politely. My master is both civil and refined. He would not think of

killing you when you are tired, hungry, and hardly worthy of his majesty and malign intent.

Theres a new one... Fyrehowl muttered.

Please, allow me to extend my masters welcome to you. The tiefling said with unnerving

politeness. Follow me, I will show you his palace within the boundaries that he has instructed

me to keep, and I will have rooms prepared for your evenings rest. As well, a meal is being

prepared for you as we speak. Hopefully it will be to your liking. His lordship spares no expense.

They looked at one another, then up to the unnaturally smiling face of the servant as a trickle

of blood dripped from his hollow eye sockets and onto the ground. He didnt seem to notice. He

only smiled at them obediently as ordered, his mind screaming in ineffectual agony as the brand

on his wrist compelled him to serve.

***

How does it feel to be so alone?

735

That single statement lingered on the air as Siddhartha looked down upon his victim, one of

many kept hidden away in the depths of the palace. This one was special however, worth more

to him than perhaps any of the others, and for good reason. His current lot in life was made

worth living by virtue of his time with this single prisoner.

What is silence like? He continued. Alone, disconnected, that presence that filled you,

made you, it is vacant. What are you then without it? Without Him?

The victim was silent. It had never broken under his torment, even when he had extracted bits

of its brain in an attempt to rip into its memories. It would never show him weakness, even when

it was in such a position of vulnerability. It would die before giving him that satisfaction, and in

that alone did the creature have anything of value in his eyes. Its own position of powerlessness

mirrored his in so many ways, and the pain he gave to it mirrored that which failure would bring

him from his own mistress.

The victim opened a single eyelid and glanced up. Rage shined in that eye for a moment,

but its body was suspended in a shaft of light whose magic prevented it from making any hostile

movements. It had no hope of escape, and it was aware of this. It resisted him purely out of

spite and nothing else.

The Rakshasa spat upon it as he touched a gleaming crystal to record the results of his

current session of taunting, torture, and experimentation. In these moments underneath the

palace, away from the sight of others, alone, he felt more like himself. But that was to change

soon. He already saw it in the minds of his servants: the kobolds companions had finally arrived.

And what was more, they had brought her with them.

They will be comforted, given rest, given food. Siddhartha whispered with a smile. They

will know fear and then they will be killed. Just like all others before them. These however have

purpose behind their pain.

The subjects eyes opened and its face broke into a wide, mocking smile.

Does this f...

Siddhartha slammed his fist into the fiends neck, leaving it gasping for air and cutting off

its insult. The damage was done however. Hed heard the full question in its mind, and it was

cutting. It would suffer later. It would suffer greatly for that, and simply for what it was.

The Rakshasa turned and left the room without glancing back, slamming the cell door shut.

The moment he did however, the prisoner began to laugh. It was a raw, bloody sound born of scar

tissue, phlegm and tar. It pained it to laugh, but it couldnt stop, and without the object kept

from it, suspended only feet away, maddeningly taunting it, it didnt matter, nothing mattered

in its absence.
 736

Run away Yethmiil. Run away to pay for your failure. Run away and tell your keeper. Make

her happy with you once more.

Chapter 67

Slow trickles of blood running down his face from his hollow eye sockets, the sorcerer turned

servant politely smiled at them, clasped his hands in front of himself and waited for their response.

It was disturbing, and provided a harsh dichotomy to the scene a third time over: a palace in

the middle of the Scarlet Jungle, gorgeous stonework neglected and ravaged by the elements, the

polite and elegant, but mangled servant.

So... Nisha said, glancing oddly up at the major domo who was waiting for their answer.

I dont think we have much of a choice actually. Kiro said.

I really -really- dont want to follow him inside. Skalliska said with a harsh whisper. I saw

him die and I saw what happened to him. I honestly dont want to get any deeper into this than

we already are. How about we go back?

No. Im killing that bastard. Toras said bluntly to a resolute nod of agreement from Florian.

Guys, Tristol said. There really isnt any other way into that palace unless we accept this

invitation.

Yes its a trap, Clueless said. Of course its a trap, but hes just toying with us for as long

as we amuse him like a housecat with a bug.

And weve already shown that we can take him down if we can get close enough. Florian

replied.

Were walking into his home though. Tristol said. It might not be as easy as it was last

time. Were not on the Astral, and some of us wont be tossing out spells at double the normal

rate like we could then.

Dont worry. Florian said. Trust me.

Oh? Kiro asked.

Florian just grinned.

Do tell? Clueless prompted the cleric.

She smiled, turned away from the still eerily grinning servant, and withdrew a single crossbow

737
 738

bolt from a bag at her waist. Several symbols of her deity were carved into the surface. It was

very obviously blessed, and blessed with particularly fervent devotion towards its intended aim.

Oh yes. Florian said. This is for him.

There was a pause, a pregnant silence, and some shared glances. Collectively they turned

around to face the waiting servant.

Yes, we would be honored to accept your masters invitation. Florian said with a beaming

smile. Please. Do lead on.

***

Nothing happened as they crossed the courtyard. Though apprehension was nearly tangible

on the air itself, the wards remained intact and undisturbed. Under Tristol and Cluelesss vision

the glowing, deadly filaments of magic that crisscrossed the courtyard like a dweomer fattened

spiders web, remained intact and didnt so much as register their passage. The taught wires of

energy simply passed through them as they crossed the distance to the waiting servant.

True to his word, the Rakshasa had allowed them entry into his home. He could have killed

them in that moment, but seemingly true to his kinds bizarre noble pretensions, such an act

would be rude. But of course, it was simply to instill a sense of complacency and false security

among his victim-guests. From time to time he would watch them when not otherwise occupied

with his other duties that were of far more importance than this eventual, and simple, act of

self-serving slaughter.

Of course, his victims suspected as much as they walked up the marble steps of the main

entrance of his palace. Tristol was paying particular attention, and the level of magic he saw

was sobering. Despite his own upbringing in the magocracy of Halruaa, where archmages built

towers into the sky and raced flying ships in open, ostentatious displays of their power, there

were subtle elements in the blanket of magic that permeated the walls of the palace that made

all of those prior examples pale by comparison.

In fact, the aasimar mage noticed that there were two distinct patterns to the magic literally

stamped upon and embedded into the structure of the stones that the palace was constructed

from. One was impressive on its own, more powerful than Tristols own ability, and from a very

different school and style of casting. It was distasteful, reeking of a subtle, powerful evil like the

scent of death that could never fully be cleansed from the scene of a brutal murder even years

after the fact. That magic was everywhere, lacing like cracks or veins of minerals through the

stone, and it fit what they had seen the Rakshasa capable of on his own: 9th sphere magic.

Then there was another pattern as well, and it was distinct from the Rakshasas. It was
739

present in only small, minute amounts, seeming to shift and hide within the other, omnipresent

dweomers like an ocean going predator slipping between the currents and only occasionally giving

prey the image of a fin breaking the surface. It wasnt there long enough to analyze it, and Tristol

didnt much have the chance to stop and stare at the walls as he and his companions were being

led forwards. But what he did see was frightening, and on a level clearly leagues beyond their

be-whiskered host. And it wasnt just distasteful like that ones magic. Though the two shared

some common elements, the second one was ugly and rancid, sickening to the touch even from

what brief exposure to it the mage felt. It was there for a moment, hideous in what was seen,

and then it was subsumed by the Rakshasas.

There were two of them of course. Siddhartha had a sister, another Rakshasa noble like

himself. And from what they had seen or inferred, there seemed little to dispute that she was

the more powerful of the two. Tristol shuddered as he walked on and tried not to consider the

possibility that they might have to fight both of them at once.

The silk wrapped major domo gestured them forwards through the length of a wide, tall-

ceilinged foyer paved in broken, weathered flagstones, many of them shifted and tilted at odd

angles from settling over the centuries. Tiny trickles of water ran through cracks in the vaulted

roof of the chamber, dripping with a slow pitter-patter of water, tiny manifestations of neglect.

The gray, milky colored walls were covered in weathered carvings, worn down and rough from

the acid laced water that left mineral deposits, strings of tiny, pale violet crystals in its wake

where it had dried.

For a palace it was in shambles, the faded glory of a fallen noble house and its Lord and

Lady.

Do not mind the magic above the proper entrance of the palace ahead. The servant advised

them as they neared the end of the chamber. It is simply to prevent the elements from entering

the home of my master.

Nisha splashed at a puddle in front of her.

Well it hasnt been doing its job so far I dont think. She said.

You will see... The servant replied as he stepped through the rune-covered final archway

and into what appeared to be a slowly collapsing central chamber.

There was a slight pause as they all glanced at the symbols carved deeply and cleanly into

the stone. The glyphs did not appear to have been so much as touched by the erosion that had

pitted nearly every other inch of the palaces stones so far.

Fyrehowl walked through first, and to no apparent ill effect. She stepped through onto the

other side and immediately seemed taken back by something, letting out a slow whistle. She was
 740

seeing something that none of the others were yet privy to.

Whats on the other side? Skalliska asked.

Just walk through. Its safe. The lupinal replied with no elaboration.

And so they followed.

Indeed, nothing undue happened to them as they passed under the final arch of the foyer, the

true entrance into the Rakshasas palace. The only thing they noticed was an odd, disturbing

feeling, like cold insects crawling over their skin then scuttling off just as quickly. And then, as

it faded, they stepped through the boundary of the illusions and their eyes were opened.

Holy... Florian said in amazement.

Anything but. Kiro said, correcting her softly.

The palace was not ruined. In fact it was likely that -none- of the palace was even so much

as scuffed by the acidic environment, except for the most exterior of its decorative stonework.

The entire structure was swathed in illusions and other magic that shielded its true nature from

sight, and now inside of those wards, they could see just how breathtaking it actually was.

They stood in a sprawling circular chamber, perhaps fifty feet in diameter, which extended

out underneath a high, wholly intact dome decorated in intricately carved bas-reliefs of tiger-

headed fiends presiding over courts of artists, musicians, and slaves. The floor was paved in inch

wide blocks of exotic, mirror-polished stone, each of different colors, arranged into a mosaic of

metallic cubes suspended on a field of darkness. There was no question as to who lived in the

palace simply from that image.

But that was hardly the object of their gaze. A pair of massive statues dominated the

chamber, each of them towering fifteen feet high. Two Rakshasas, both of them carved from

milky white marble, with claws of red carnelian and brilliantly sculpted clothing and features

that were lifelike in a way that was breathtaking to behold. One of the two was male, and its

snarling visage was clearly that of their host Siddhartha. His eyes, a pair of large fire opals,

leered down at them. The other, his sister, whom they had only heard of but never seen, was

carved in the same life-like detail, snarling, with glittering orbs of jade set within her eye sockets.

Both of them were ominous to behold by size and realism, on top of their snarling expressions,

and the eyes had been carved in such a way so that their gaze seemed to follow you.

My Lord is suited to live in comfort and luxury, as you now can see. The servant said.

There is no rush. You may ask me to pause to allow you to admire my Lords house at any

point.

Clearly... Clueless said as he peered up at the female of the pair of statues.

They paused under the pretense of admiration, though in truth there was some of that as
741

well, taking full stock of their surroundings. Three wide hallways led off from the chamber, one

left, one right, and one directly ahead of them.

The guest wing is to the right, and that is where you have rooms prepared for yourselves.

The servant said, taking notice of their curiosity. The entirety of that wing is open to you.

The servants chambers, banquet hall, library and kitchens are directly ahead of us, and you may

wander freely there as well if you wish. My Lord has opened his home to you for your admiration

for the time being.

Before he kills us, yeah yeah. Florian said.

Indeed. The former mercenary turned slave replied bluntly.

What about the other hallway? Fyrehowl asked, pointing down the left passage.

That is the Lord and Ladys wing. The servant replied. That way is off limits.

Clueless glanced down that direction. The hallway was dark save for the distant flicker of

magic. Theyd be going that way eventually. Just not yet, not while the fiends servant was

present.

Before they left, following the major domo, Tristol took a long, hard look at the pair of

statues. He couldnt confirm it, but he could swear that they were both watching him beyond

the fact that their eyes were carved in a way to give that impression. It was odd, and disquieting.

Fyrehowl felt it too. Something simply didnt feel right as she passed between the statues, there

between their gaze. She couldnt put a finger on it, not yet.

Unable to find a reason to pause and linger further to examine the statues, they followed

their escort.

***

A few minutes later the disturbingly cheerful ex-sorcerer had led them through the palatial

length of the central hallway, and through several open galleries decorated with grim, sometimes

gruesome, but truly inspired works of art. Though the style might have clashed with their own

sensibilities, the Rakshasa, or pair of Rakshasas, had taste and the money to cater to it.

They said little to their escort as they walked, but they memorized the layout of the palace

as best they could. One thing was certain from the outset: the interior of the structure was

larger than the illusion on the exterior had led them to believe. The height of the ceilings was

deceptively high, especially from their collapsed appearance from outside.

Soon they approached the end of one particular hallway and stood before a set of double

doors at which their escort paused and gestured. The doors swung upon with a flicker of magic

and he motioned them into what appeared to be the palace dining room.
 742

Please enter and be seated. He said. Though my Lord and Lady will not be in attendance

this evening to dine, the food will be as exquisite as is normal in their house.

The banquet chamber was large and rectangular, paneled in richly stained and carved wood,

and hung with numerous tapestries that depicted war and conquest, marching armies and feasting

Rakshasas. The chamber itself was seemingly built around a massive stone table that extended

almost its entire length and which appeared to have been carved as a single piece from some

giant petrified log. Magical, flickering candelabras sat at even intervals on the table, and the ten

places had been set before ten chairs. Eight guests, ten chairs, two of which were significantly

larger than the others.

Their escort gestured them towards eight of the place settings and the bowls of water and

washcloths present for them to wash their face and hands before eating.

Dinner will be served shortly, and it is my hope, and my Lords hope, that you enjoy his

hospitality. He said. If you have any questions for me as you eat, I have been given leave by

the Master to answer what I can for you.

They sat down at their assigned places, four of them on each side of the long table. Their

escort did not sit, but stood at attention, out of sight but within the range of conversation. As

soon as they had all settled in their seats, the tiefling snapped his fingers and a dozen other

servants entered from the kitchen with bottles of wine, water, and platters of freshly cooked food

whose very scent made the mouth water.

The ends of the table were each set, despite being unoccupied, and both were served with

food, and served first. That was where the pair of Rakshasas would have sat, had they deigned

to eat with their victim-guests. The staff of servants seemed trained to routinely prepare meals

for both of them, even when only one or neither of them were in attendance, just on the chance

that they might arrive and desire food or drink.

But wine was poured, food was served, and then for a few moments nothing happened. They

simply stared at the dishes with uncertain expressions. Yes they were hungry, famished in fact.

But they were also worried about being drugged or poisoned, which made holding back from

eating the food which was absolutely splendid in both appearance and in smell, a difficult but

perhaps required task.

Please eat. The major domo requested as he stepped closer. My Lord wishes to show you

the sort of man he is before the end approaches. You will dine on the same food that he does

regularly, food befitting his station, enjoying the experience but at the same time being in awe

over what is normal for him.

They glanced down at the meal set upon their dishes. It was some sort of braised, seared
743

meat over roasted apples and cabbage, all of it smelling faintly of some exotic, hardwood smoke.

The wine sparkled in their glasses and shed a pale yellow shine across the bowls of rice drizzled

with sesame seeds and other spices that accompanied the main course. It looked absolutely

delicious; a meal of a quality that most of them had never had before. But for the moment they

just stared at it.

Your distrust is assumed, The bleeding sorcerer stated. But it would bring our Lord no

pleasure to poison you. Poison is a method of death reserved for other nobility, men and women

of high station. None of you are fit of deserving such. Please use your magic to discern that

there is no poison in your food if you desire.

Florian rolled her eyes and did just that.

Its fine to eat guys. She said a moment later. Its not poisoned.

And so tentatively they ate, testing small bits of the meal at first, and then smiling, moaning

through mouthfuls of the meal, and giving giddy expressions over the breathtaking delicacy they

were being given as a literal last meal. Some of the food seemed to be native to the prime, though

it seemed likely that many of the spices were native to the current layer of Carceri, Cathrys.

This is quite good. Kiro said. Thank you. Your master is a man of refined taste.

I am pleased that you enjoy. He replied, pausing only to wipe a drop of blood from his

chin before it dropped to the ground. He could hardly allow any of his own blood to touch the

ground and sully his Lords immaculately polished floors.

They asked little as they enjoyed the food, but like trained monkeys, or more appropriately

puppets, the dozen servants each waited patiently along the rooms fringes, obediently present to

refill drinks, bring additional food, or offer any requested spices. Each was dressed in the same

style of silken uniform as the former sorcerer who seemed to have been put in charge of them all.

And, like the blind, bleeding tiefling, all of the other servants bore black symbols burned into

the back of their left hands.

Eventually though, their curiosity got the best of them.

I have to ask. Florian said to one of the servants, a young female aasimar who had just

finished pouring her more wine. This food is wonderful, but I cant place what animal the meat

is from. What is it?

Elf. The woman replied with a thin, just-so smile.

Several gagging coughs resounded around the table.

Florian paled and pushed her plate forwards. The others paused mid swallow as well. Fyre-

howl looked disgusted and Tristol looked sick. Skalliska kept right on eating, and Kiro gave a

mild shrug and took a few more now informed bites.

 744

When a dessert of chilled plums and dried figs was served minutes later, most of them had

fully lost their appetite from the revelation. Plus it was difficult to eat when their tiefling escorts

empty eye sockets kept on steadily bleeding down his face.

So... Fyrehowl asked. Where exactly are your master and mistress?

At the direct question regarding the fiends, the tiefling seemed to momentarily flinch before

answering.

The Lady is away, and at the moment, the Lord is preoccupied with his own affairs. You

will see him though come the morning.

Clueless and Fyrehowl glanced at one another. They had noticed the tiefling flinch.

Making the pretense of tasting the dessert and then wiping his mouth with his napkin, the

bladesinger softly whispered the words of a thought detection spell and glanced at the tiefling.

The man was smiling but his mind was not. The only thoughts he had, the ones that blanketed

the surface of his mind, were those dwelling on the agony of having had his eyes ripped from

their sockets by the Rakshasa who had killed him, brought him back from the dead and then

enslaved him.

Clueless turned and looked at one of the other servants, and the thoughts on that ones

mind were similar. They had been betrayed and enslaved by the fiends magic after becoming

superfluous. The moment they were no longer of use they lost their freedom and their free will,

and the symbol on their hands both marked them as property, and seemed to taunt each and

every one of them with some fragment of just how they had become chattel. Each and every

one of them among the dozen servants; some of their minds even dwelled upon suicide, but the

ability to do such was denied them.

So. Florian said abruptly. Dinner was quite good, thank you. Now you had mentioned

something about rooms for the evening so we could rest?

Clueless ended his spell. The thoughts were too miserable to listen to, and the more he heard

it the more it filled him with a mixture of fury and dread.

Indeed. The tiefling replied. If you would follow me, I will lead you back to the guest

wing.

Collectively they pushed back from the table and stood up from their chairs to follow him,

both full from and somewhat queasy from their meal given its quality and its origin. The moment

they had stepped away from the table the other servants were already in motion to clear it of

uneaten food, used dishes and silverware. Like clockwork automatons they worked without

comment or complain; but constructs werent tormented like the fiends servants were.

It was only a short walk back to the massive central chamber with its lifelike, larger than
745

life statues of the palaces owners, both of them still seeming to gaze upon and follow them all.

From there, the tiefling walked them down the corridor that entered the small guest wing of the

palace. It was no less grand than the areas they had already seen, and in some ways it was even

more spectacular. After all, what good was wealth and splendor if it wasnt used to impress

upon others just how much of it you possessed?

The guest wing was centered upon another domed chamber, though smaller than the massive

one at the palaces center. It was focused around a sculpted fountain with a statue of a coiled

brass sea serpent rising up from the center. The coiled metal wyrm spat a stream of water out

from its mouth, cascading up into the air, and back down to the sapphire tiled pool below. And,

once more, the serpents bejeweled eyes were cut in just such a way so that they seemed to linger

upon and follow you almost regardless of where in the room you were standing.

Beyond the fountain, several doors led off from the chamber, and the tiefling pointed out the

three of them that already stood open.

Several rooms have been prepared for your rest. He said. One set for the men, one set for

the women, and one for the kobold.

Skalliska shot her former captor an ugly look as Nisha first tried, and then failed, to suppress

a snicker. Their escort continued as if he hadnt noticed a thing, almost as if he was progressing

along a script or a series of instructions given to him by the brand on his wrist.

The three open doors lead to the three sets of rooms, and youll find that each are complete

with a bed for each of you, a selection of alcohol, incense, changes of bedclothes, and a water

basin for your use before retiring for the evening.

Thank you. Toras said as he motioned Clueless, Kiro, and Tristol to follow him down their

appointed hallway.

Well be waiting to meet your master in the morning then. Florian said with an artificial

smile.

Indeed. Fyrehowl added.

I shall wake you in the morning. The servant said. Good night.

The tiefling turned and walked from the room, but his charges said and did nothing till his

footsteps had fully retreated some distance down the hallway.

One room for the women and one room for the kobold? Skalliska said with some indignity.

Im female too you know. And...

Well you are still wearing a burlap sack. Nisha said.

They all turned to look at the kobold who was indeed, still dressed in nothing but a burlap

sack with holes for her head and arms to poke through. In fact, shed been dressed in nothing
 746

but that sack through dinner and they hadnt really said much about it.

Its not my bloody fault! They took my clothes and everything else when they kidnapped

me! Skalliska said with a frown. The Rakshasa presumably took all of my things with him

when he was turning that tiefling from a sorcerer into a house boy.

Yeah... Florian said. Speaking of which, theres no way in hell that Im sleeping here.

It would not be advised given our host. Kiro said.

I dont particularly feel like waking up and being killed or tortured to death. Clueless said.

Or, more likely, ending up like his servants.

Toras nodded. I noticed that too. All of them have those brands on their wrists.

And theres something else I noticed as well. Tristol said. This whole place is covered in

some seriously impressive magic. Most of it seems in line with what youd expect from our ever

so gracious host, if I can call him that.

A future rug. Toras said.

Nisha giggled.

Well, theres also some bits and pieces of magic flitting through the place that are seri-

ously beyond what I think him capable of. And if anything, it reminds me of the tower on

Maanzicorians godisle.

Makes sense, Clueless said. Since this palace and the jungle around it were largely blocked

from any sort of divination magic, much like that godisle was.

So if the Rakshasa didnt cast it then...? Nisha prompted.

The other Rakshasa. Siddharthas sister. Fyrehowl said. Who we havent met, and who

seems to be the more powerful of the pair.

And I really, really dont want to cross paths with her. Tristol said. The magic that she

seemed capable of was simply beyond anything they could handle. Though it seemed increasingly

likely that eventually they would indeed cross paths with her.

But she doesnt seem to be here. Clueless said. Thankfully. Though Ill admit to being

curious what she and her brother were up to in the first place when we ran into him on the

Astral.

Indeed. Fyrehowl said.

So since sleep seems to be out of the question. Kiro said. Shall we make ourselves at home

in the fiends home and take liberties with the place?

Lets go where were not supposed to go! Nisha gleefully suggested to the much more humble

cleric beside her.

The private wing. Florian said with a nod. Thats definitely top on my list of things to
747

take a look at. And theres also the library that was mentioned. That might give us an idea of

what this pair is up to, or why theyre exiled so sodding far from their native plane. And Ive

got some morbid curiosity regarding the kitchen of this place.

Nisha stuck out her tongue. Elf even tastes pretentious.

Florian chuckled.

And it might also be a good idea to... what the hell... Florian trailed off abruptly. She was

staring at something.

They all followed Florians gaze warily, suddenly silent at what they saw.

She had been distracted by something seeping out from under the base of the one door in the

guest wing that was not among those leading to their own rooms. Liquid, reflecting black in the

suppressed light; blood was pooled under the door, leaking out from something beyond.

Tristols eye grew larger as he realized just what the puddle of liquid was.

Whats behind the door?

Chapter 68

Tristol winced and reached for the door. He expected the worst when he opened it, but a stiff

rattle from the locked handle spared him having to immediately find out.

He glanced back at Nisha. Nisha? Would you?

Nisha quirked an eyebrow and gave a disdainful, questioning smirk, not at Tristol, but at the

puddle of blood slowly leaking out from under the doors bottom edge.

Next evil fortress were in, She said. Were skipping the obviously icky rooms behind

locked doors.

Toras gave a polite chuckle.

No. Im serious. Nisha said, shooting him a look. Ill open anything here, but the next

weird place were in, Im going to make a point of reminding everyone of this.

That said, she popped the lock with practiced skill and stepped back hesitantly as the door

swung open a few inches.

The pool of blood that had collected under the door was fed by a trail extending down the

short, magically illuminated hallway. Twenty feet down, the hall opened into another chamber,

dark and devoid of light, but the source of the blood was obvious, sitting nestled in the open

doorway: a severed leg.

Thats a leg. Florian said. Wheres the rest of the body?

Warily they approached, and the smell of blood increased with every step, mixed with the

rancid stench of burnt flesh. Ten feet in, they were all wincing at the smell, not only Fyrehowl,

and they could see that the leg was something out of the ordinary.

The limb was flayed and severed at the upper thigh. The skin had been completely removed,

and the major muscles had each been removed at the attachment points on the bones.

Several feet further in, looming out of the dim recesses of the room at the halls end, there

was another leg. It too had been flayed and dissected. Laying next to it was an arm that had

been neatly removed from its owner with surgical precision; the ball at the end of the upper

748
749

arms long bone was still intact and glistening with the white of cartilage, while barely a drop

of blood was present except for where the flesh had been intentionally cut.

What the hell is this? Fyrehowl asked as her eyes narrowed and adjusted to the light.

A second arm emerged into view, and something else as well, shrouded in the darkness. There

was a figure in the room, upright in its center, unmoving.

Toras raised his sword and conjured a globe of light, flushing the shadows from the chamber

and illuminating its contents. What they saw in the room was sickening.

The chamber was empty except for a table and the body atop it. A human, his arms and legs

had been severed and the wounds cauterized to prevent bleeding. Spittle, blood, and sputum

ran down his chest, both dried and fresh, and from an empty plate and spatters of food on the

table and the floor, it seemed that he had been forcibly fed. His head was slumped forward and

he didnt seem to notice the light, or their approach, but his chest was rising and falling ever so

slowly as he breathed. The man was alive.

Nisha turned around and walked away, sickened by what shed seen. Toras and Fyrehowl

were both enraged, and Florian rushed forward with concern. The man gurgled incoherently as

she touched him, but then lapsed into a sudden and ragged scream.

Cant you do something about him?! Nisha yelled from down the hallway, more than bit

disturbed and not full of her usual good-humored whimsy.

Clueless was looking at a series of surgical tools that lay next to the man, and a pile of

notes, written in infernal, that indicated what appeared to be a schedule of torture and precise

observations on when and how each of the mans limbs had been severed. The man was referred

to as subject, and only briefly was he mentioned as a former mercenary. Clearly, the man had

run afoul of his employer.

I cant help him. Florian said. Hes too far gone.

Kiro drew a sword and tentatively looked at the man. His body was ravaged beyond what

any of them could fix, and he had suffered so much trauma there was little hope of his ever being

whole.

Clueless didnt give an answer immediately, but instead he looked at the man and recited the

words of a spell to peer into his mind. It was his hope to find some information about who the

man was, what he had done, and why the Rakshasa had so brutalized him. Of course the answer

seemed obvious, he was simply a superfluous tool that had been broken and placed there in the

guest wing of the palace to unnerve them, the fiends current prey, and give them promises of

what was to come for them. The torture was sick and hideously deliberate; nothing of it was

random.
 750

The bladesingers mind reached out and made contact. The mans eyes opened and focused,

but only for a moment before he whimpered and trembled. Inside his mind there was only a

single mindless scream. Inside his mind he had no need to breath, and the scream was without

end. He had long since lapsed into madness.

Clueless concentrated more, searching for any of the mans memories that might flicker to

the surface. It was unpleasant, as in flickers and fragments of sounds and images he bore witness

to the mans slow, calculated mangling at the hands of the Rakshasa as time and time again

it loomed out of the darkness with claw, scalpel and bone saw. Quickly, wincing at the shared

experience, he cancelled his spell.

Hes insane. Clueless said, shaking his head wearily. I couldnt find much out from his

mind. Hes been through too much.

What do you want to do? Florian asked.

Dont kill him. Fyrehowl asked. Please. We might be able to help him later.

Its a thin hope. Kiro said. But its your call.

They glanced at the mangled wretch. And yes, killing him might have ended his misery, but

the man deserved better for having been put through the seemingly pointless tortures that he

had suffered.

Toras opened the bag at his waist, one of several of their bags of holding, and collected the

mans severed limbs before picking up and stuffing the man himself inside.

I cant say when hell get out of there. Toras said as he closed the bag. But in the

meantime, he wont suffer any more.

This was meant for us, but it wont have the intended effect. Fyrehowl snarled.

Indeed. Florian said, once again patting the crossbow bolt at her waist. Lets see what

else we can find around here then...

***

The palace was deathly quiet, without a single servant to be found, nor any trace of their

presence. Likely they were compelled to retire at a certain hour, and following the dinner they

had done just that. But still, despite the rationalization, the empty expanse of the palace was

disturbing.

As they explored the central wing they found only empty salons, vacant sitting rooms, and

galleries of artwork, all of them richly appointed but nearly sterile in their cleanliness. It all

seemed on display, not truly lived in and enjoyed by a proper reagent and his subjects. It was

cold, but obviously attuned to the tastes of the pair of Rakshasas.

751

They gleaned little insight from it all though, except into the harsh aesthetic tastes of the

brother and sister fiends. The library was expansive, but its books were entirely mundane in

nature, containing only histories, and works on art, war, and philosophy. If anything it was

simply a scaled up version of the library that they had found in Siddharthas tower in the Astral.

This is boring. Nisha said. Especially since you wont let me steal art. Not that I

appreciate much of it.

Hey. Florian said. You were the one that wanted to avoid anything icky.

... Nisha stuck out her tongue and rattled the bell at the tip of her tail. Im still holding

to that statement too. This is me were talking about. I can embrace contradictory sides of an

issue. I do all the time.

Kiro broke into a smile in response as they walked across the length of the fiends dining

room and towards the kitchens and servants quarters.

This might not be empty. Toras said. So be ready.

They tentatively opened the doors into the palace kitchens and peered within. On some

level they expected what they found, but on another level they half expected a blood-spattered

slaughterhouse. The kitchen was pristine though, and the Rakshasas servants evidently cleaned

it after each meal in accordance with their masters wills. As they stepped inside and peered into

the cabinets and ascertained the contents of the shelves, it became clear that the fiends spared

no expense in cultivating their air of nobility. The kitchen was stocked with virtually every spice

they could name, and many others that they had never seen before.

Adjoining doors led off towards the servants quarters, back into the banquet hall, but it was

a thicker, more solid wooden door carved with figures of feasting Rakshasas that Florian was

moving towards with morbid curiosity.

Do we really have to go in there? Nisha asked plaintively as the door was opened. Again

with the wanting to avoid icky places.

Florian waved away the tieflings concern and otherwise didnt immediately respond as she

reached out and tugged on the door handle. The door rattled heavily on its hinges but didnt

open.

Its locked. The cleric said. And... the handle is cold.

She waved her hand along the margins of the door, and sure enough, there was a gentle vent

of frigid air from the interior.

Nisha frowned immediately but was already getting out her lock picks when Florian turned

to her.

Dont worry. Ill open the door. She said. Just like the last door, and I wont be happy
 752

this time either I figure. So go ahead and take a look at the elf-sickles, but Ill stay outside,

thank you very much.

Nisha open the door. Nisha check for traps. Nisha dont make a mess. Nisha stop trying to

toss deviled eggs at the Tanarri because you find it ironic. Nisha...

The Xaositect twitched her tail and lapsed into a garble of irritated scramblespeak.

Hopefully this will be better than the last of the Rakshasas doors we asked you to open for

us. Tristol said, trying to defuse Nishas discontent.

Nisha stuck out her tongue and didnt comment.

Toras and Kiro glanced at one another and mutually shrugged as the Xaositect popped the

lock on the door. The tiefling stood off to one side and motioned towards the door with a lopsided

frown.

go you There, door the open s. She said.

Thank you Nisha. Florian replied as she swung it open wide.

Immediately there was a burst of frigid, frost-laden air that rushed out of the Rakshasa larder

into the warmer expanse of the kitchen. Minute ice crystals glittered for a few brief moments

before evaporating and revealing the chambers interior. Nisha wasnt looking intentionally. She

had a fair idea of what theyd find inside given both the last door shed opened in the palace,

and what the serving staff had even told them up front about what they had eaten.

Inside the unlit, ice crusted interior, there were fully twenty naked bodies of humanoids hung

upside down from the ceiling like sides of beef. The heads, hands and feet had been cut from

each of the corpses, and bloody icicles extended down from the wounds where the bodies dangled

from their iron hooks. They had been alive when they had been butchered like cattle.

Fyrehowl grimaced as she noticed a stack of perhaps thirty or forty hands and feet stacked

like firewood off to one side of the larder. Her nose twitched and it appeared that some of them

had been rubbed with spices before being set aside and organized separately from the aging meat

of the corpses hung above them swinging idly in the chilled expanse of the larder.

Alright, my curiosity is sated. Florian said with a disturbed shake of her head. So is any

chance of me eating in the next while and keeping it down.

Told you. Nisha said as Florian and the others walked back out of the Rakshasas larder.

So they like mortal flesh. Tristol said. Doesnt tell us much really. We know to expect

them to do that, and to be as brutal as they feel they need to be within their own little perverse

set of faux-noble guidelines.

So what do you suggest? Fyrehowl asked.

That we ignore this part of the palace and not waste more time wandering around looking
753

at bad art. Tristol answered.

Kiro nodded in agreement. Were not going to find anything unless we go into the private

wing.

Which weve avoided so far. Clueless said.

And which we shouldnt continue to do. Fyrehowl replied. Especially after what weve

seen elsewhere so far.

Alright. Florian said. We turn around and go back to the private wing. Expect a fight

though.

I expect one. Fyrehowl added.

***

Back under the massive domed chamber in the center of the palace, the group stared across

the wide expanse of the floor and towards the hallway into the private wing. Like before, the eyes

of the huge marble Rakshasa statues seemed to follow them, and it caused them all to hesitate.

So... Clueless asked. Who wants to step through the likely trap first?

You asked, you go. Florian said, much to the bladesingers absolute delight.

Lovely. Clueless replied as he stepped forward.

The effect was almost immediate as the statue of Siddhartha shuddered and turned to directly

face him. Its eyes flickered crimson and some form of spell triggered, but whatever it was, it

failed to affect the half-fey. But, like clockwork, the statue of Siddharthas sister turned and

tried the same where its sibling had failed. The female Rakshasa statues eyes glittered a harsh

green and a bolt of black, crackling energy lanced out to strike Clueless solidly on the chest.

The half-fey tumbled back, pale and shaken, laying still for a moment, unmoving, before

wincing and scrambling to his feet as the pair of huge golems fully animated and leapt down

from their pedestals with frightening agility.

The others didnt wait for him to recover though before launching their own attacks. A

fireball blossomed from Tristols outstretched hand, but as the flames flickered and faded, both

of the statues emerged without so much as a single chip or singe upon their surface.

Watch out! Theyve got golem immunities! Tristol shouted out as the others spread out

towards the statues.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, a burst of acid shot from Kiros fingertips and impacted on

the females statue. The acid bubbled and sizzled, but the stone seemed unfazed by the caustic

liquid. Kiro narrowed his eyes and vanished, but not before shouting out another warning.

And theyre not normal stone golems either. He warned. That should have worked!
 754

Toras and Fyrehowl met the male golem directly, hacking and slashing at its body with their

blades. While the effect of the blows was dampened by the magical protections worked into its

form, they added up, and both of them were fast enough to avoid most of the blows that it aimed

at them.

It was the female golem that presented a problem though, and Florian and Clueless took

turns testing it with physical and magical attacks. They made little progress though till Kiro

darted out from behind it, once again seemingly from out of nowhere, and tripped the massive

golem with a solidly placed blow to its right knee.

The trip itself was a seconds respite and a chance to attack the fallen construct, but that

was also the moment that Tristol flung a stone to flesh spell at it. In an instant, for a scant few

seconds, the marble of the golems body grew soft and spongy, yielding like flesh before their

concentrated attacks before it slammed its fist into Florian and flung her across the chamber.

But, as it rapidly congealed back to its normal consistency, it was hobbling and there were huge

gashes in one leg and across its midsection.

Meanwhile, Nisha and Skalliska had both managed to hurl a series of minor, but effective

sonic based spells at the upper body of the male golem. Small, fist sized craters pock marked

its chest and rocked it back as Toras and Fyrehowl continued their assault, though both of them

sported numerous bloody slashes from the marble fiends own carnelian tipped claws.

Across the chamber, Florian winced and stumbled to her feet, breathing through the pain of

several broken ribs and bruises that blanketed her back.

Son of a b*tch... She said, pausing from the fight to chant and heal her own wounds. She

would be of no use in the state she was in.

Meanwhile, Fyrehowl only partially dodged a heavy blow, and the lupinal was tossed back a

dozen feet with almost paltry effort by the towering construct, but the effort had left it vulnerable

and exposed. Fyrehowl was struggling to pick herself up off of the floor, leaving bloody smear

across the stone in the process, but Toras, though himself injured, struck a heavy blow of his

own.

There was a loud, resounding crack that echoed across the chamber, and a series of cracks

raced up from the point of impact on the male golems thigh. The marble fiend paused, swayed

awkwardly, and toppled to one side as its legs gave way under its own weight and its body came

crashing down, still and broken.

A little help here! Clueless shouted as he dodged a cumbersome blow from the remaining

golem and then tumbled through the air as a sudden and unexpected wash of flame erupted from

its mouth.
755

Fyrehowl struggled to approach, but Tristol stopped her as he forced her to drink down a

potion to at least stop the bleeding from her numerous injuries. Her heart was in the right place,

but another blow might have killed her.

Florian looked up and over at them, now fully healed and ready to fight again. And she had

an idea, especially given the damage that had already been done to the last golems leg.

Again Clueless dodged another blow, and the golem turned back to take a swipe of its marble

paw at Kiro where the cleric was stabbing at the back of its legs. But when it turned, it gave

Florian the chance she needed, and she was chanting as she ran up beside it.

Florians final prayer finished the job, as with the last word from her lips she reached out

to touch the golems thigh. Immediately the stone rippled and became like putty under her

touch, discorporating and explosively falling apart by some bizarre effect of the stoneshape spell.

Seconds later the golems lower body was a field of rounded, misshapen hunks of marble, and its

body above the waist was immobile and inanimate.

And that is that. The cleric said with a cutting motion of her arms. Praise be to Tempus.

And this time Ill grant you that. Kiro said as he stepped out of nowhere from behind her

with a grin. I wont argue. That was nice.

You alright Clueless? Florian asked, turning away from the shattered golems and glancing

at the bladesinger.

No. He replied. The golem had some sort of energy drain, which is what it hit me with.

I dont remember all the spells I had before, and Im feeling pretty weak.

Florian glanced at Kiro.

Go ahead, I dont have anything to restore him in memory. The cleric of Sutekh said with

a humble shrug.

Florian nodded.

No problem. Ill take care of it. She said, walking over to remove the necromantic curse

from the bladesinger and then to start the process of healing all of the others of their injuries.

It was then that Fyrehowl noticed it again, that same feeling that she had nagging at the edge

of her mind when they had first entered the palace and stood there briefly in the junction of the

various palace wings. This time though, they werent being watched by one of the Rakshasas

servants, and she had the time to stand there and ponder the feeling.

The feeling wasnt just a feeling though, it was something very real that she hadnt consciously

taken note of before. There was a smell in the air, something ephemeral and not lingering when

she did catch note of it, but there nonetheless. She twitched her nose, knelt down and inhaled

deeply. Ammonia. Ammonia tinged with a coppery undertone.

 756

What is it? Toras asked, sitting atop the broken head of one of the two statues.

I dont know. Fyrehowl answered. Theres an odd smell on the air here, but I cant place

where its coming from. Its here one second and then gone the next.

Blood? Skalliska asked. It might be something left over from when the Rakshasa killed

the half dozen people that kidnapped me.

No. The lupinal said, standing back up. If its blood than its not recent. Its almost sour

tasting on the air whatever it is.

I dont notice anything. Florian said.

Its there. Kiro added. Its subtle, but it is there.

You have a nose Florian, not a muzzle. Tristol said. Fyrehowl does.

Eh, true. Florian replied.

Nisha meanwhile was putting a hand up over her own face and extending it out like she was

judging the length of a big nose that wasnt there. Fyrehowl shrugged and chuckled in response.

Whatever it is, I dont think its here in this room. The lupinal said. Its seeping in from

somewhere else. Well find it eventually.

Plus, Kiro said. With the noise we just made, we might want to go ahead and be some-

where else when someone or something comes looking.

They glanced over in the direction of the private wing of the palace, looked at one another,

and walked into the gloom.

***

Lord Siddhartha stared in rapt attention at the image floating in the air before him called

up by his scry. Hed only briefly considered that the golems might actually kill his victims, but

it was an ill-founded hope, and his irritation was a transient thought.

Hed been watching them ever since they had discovered the dismembered human in the guest

wing, and he had enjoyed watching their reactions. There was little they could accomplish, and

likely they would run afoul of traps and his own wards as they attempted to explore his own

private areas of the palace. Still though, he particularly enjoyed the thoughts of slaughtering

the celestial, the half-celestial and the aasimars, and slowly torturing the others to death. To be

certain, it would be a pleasure when the time came.

Yethmiil...

The voice was a sudden and unwelcome presence within his consciousness. It rattled his

attention away from his scrying, an insidious whisper with a fierce potency that carried across

the planes with terrible ease.

757

Your presence is required on the Astral.

There was no reply requested, nor was one needed since any reply would be irrelevant on his

part. Obedience and compliance were not only presumed, they were required by force as a part

of his penance and part of what ensured that he stayed alive.

Bitch! He snarled with a sudden, uncharacteristic burst of true fury.

He was cursing, but it was impotent rage, and it didnt prevent him from gating to a very

specific spot on the Astral. She would be waiting for him, and any delay would lead to pain.

There was only one thought in his mind aside from that as he glanced up into the swirling,

titanic face of the continent wide astral storm which surrounded the citadel of his mistress, and

that was that his current victims would be allowed to wander blindly through his palace until

the time that he was finished abasing himself elsewhere. His wardings and guardians would have

to suffice till he returned.

***

The hallway terminated after fifty feet at a pair of locked, heavy mahogany doors set into the

walls on golden hinges. A dim, ambient glow spread throughout the air, leaving the doors and

the area immediately in front of them as the only illuminated section of the corridor, a single

huddled island in an otherwise sea of gloom. The dim magical illumination glinted off of the

nearly reflective marble floor and the carvings on the doors of Rakshasas in various scenes of

warfare, spellcasting, dining, reclining, drinking and smoking.

Im not even going near those doors till someone takes a look at them. Florian said.

Its locked. Nisha replied after a brief examination of the lock. Gimme a minute, this

ones pretty complex.

Thats odd... Tristol said in the meantime. Theres no magic surrounding the doors.

I dont believe it. Fyrehowl said. Something doesnt feel right about them.

Nisha briefly paused at Fyrehowls apprehension. Normally the ciphers intuition was right.

Should I open it or not? The tiefling asked her.

Fyrehowl wrinkled her brow in thought, but then shook her head.

No. She replied. Go ahead.

Alright. Nisha replied. If you say so.

The lock gave a series of clicks as the tumblers fell into place, one by one, and finally the

latch fell free. Nisha glanced back at the others.

Dont worry Nisha. Kiro said. Ill get the next door for you, regardless of how this one

turns out.
 758

Nisha shrugged and gave a smile to the cleric. If you say so, but Ill be standing back a bit.

Not a problem. Kiro replied.

Dont blame me if we blow up. She said as she stepped back and nudged the doors open

with one hoof.

They swung open silently with no ill effect, though there seemed to be a very sudden, very

brief surge of magic, under Tristols sight. The hallway continued onwards beyond them for

another twenty yards till it seemed to open up into a crimson illuminated interior courtyard.

Clueless stepped forward into the corridor, followed shortly thereafter by Kiro, and then

Florian. The first two were fine, nothing happened to them, but Florians body seized and fell to

the ground amid a convulsive series of agonized coughs and belabored inhalations as the cleric

struggled to breath. Tristol could only watch as Kiro dragged her forwards and off of the source

of the curse.

Son of a... Fyrehowl said as she walked up to the line of the door and stopped dead in her

tracks, looking at the boundary between the corridor and the private section beyond. A series of

glyphs stretched along the line, inset into the doorframe above and below. Minute inscriptions

written in infernal, they glittered like tiny black diamonds scattered in a row across the dividing

line, previously hidden from sight by the closed and locked door, and mostly blending into the

dark, polished surface of the palace flagstones.

Kiro was on the ground, bracing Florian and keeping the hilt of a dagger in her mouth to

prevent her from biting off her own tongue as the pain induced seizure ran its course. A minute

later he was looking down at her with concern, and gently smacking her on the cheek, letting

her get her bearings.

You alright? Kiro asked. You triggered some sort of contingent ward. I dont know why

it triggered on you, but not myself and Clueless.

Florian winced and stood back up with a stolid expression on her face.

Im fine. She said.

Tristol? Clueless asked, glancing between the glyphs and the aasimar.

Im already looking at it. Tristol replied. Its permanent, its triggered for anyone who

isnt evil or doesnt resist it. This might take me several tries to dispel it, if I can.

Dont bother. Toras said. Save your spells. Its just a pissy little pain glyph. At worst

itll hurt, but its not lethal.

Im beyond tired of this bast*rds symbols and glyphs. Florian said.

Are you sure? Tristol asked back at Toras and the others on the other side of the line of

glyphs.
759

Nisha looked down at the boundary and shook her head rapidly. Toras nodded his assent,

and she smacked her forehead as he walked across. Thankfully though, he resisted the ward.

Nisha? Tristol? Fyrehowl? Skalliska? Clueless asked. You going to be all right?

Hopefully yes? Nisha said as she backed up, braced herself, and then did a running leap

over the boundary.

Landing on the other side with the gentle rattle of the bell on her tail, she winced and paused,

finally opening one eye and looking around. Shed resisted the ward.

A few moments later and the others crossed over as well, though unfortunately Fyrehowl

and Skalliska had a much rougher time than Tristol, spending time seizing up in a brief period

of magically induced agony. The pain didnt dissuade them though. The pain only made them

more firm in their desire to take revenge upon their fiendish tormentor, wherever in his palace

he was lurking.

Come on. Fyrehowl said as she looked down the corridor. Lets go find this jack*ss.

***

Kiro glanced back at the line of wards, and far beyond it the shattered remains of the twin

golems. Something about it didnt seem right to him, though he really had little to base the

feeling upon. For what it was worth, the fiends palace was feeling less and less like a comfortable

sanctum of exotic grandeur and ill gained wealth to be displayed before the execution of those

who displeased him, and more like a perverse, delicately planned scenario in many ways, initiated

and set up for the Rakshasas enjoyment. How much of it might have been intended, and how

much of that plan they had disrupted by their own actions thus far, well that was yet to be

determined; that, among other things.

***

A harsh glow of bright crimson, a gentle trickle of flowing water, and the aroma of hundreds

of flowers, these were the trio of impressions that greeted them as they walked to the end of the

hallway and emerged in the courtyard at the center of the palaces private wing.

A small interior courtyard, its center was open to the sky and was filled by an open-air garden

of sorts. Rising up from the native earth of the plane, twisting vines and exotic flowers filled

the air with an oddly beguiling but yet off-putting scent. Bitter and slightly acidic to the nose,

the flora was beautiful and represented a unique collection of the most spectacular, yet sinister,

purple, scarlet, and green flowers from across the entire layer of Cathrys.

The garden itself surrounded a small trickling pond fed by a trio of streams flowing from three

decorative stone dragons perched upon the three columns supporting the interior palace terraces
 760

that ringed around the courtyard. Each of them resembled an Acheronian rust dragon intricately

carved from stone which had a lifelike tone and sheen to its surface, flecked with reddish brown

mineral deposits and shimmering green crystals. One would almost think them alive, looking

down upon the garden, ready to swoop down and devour intruders.

Im not looking at the flowers in the garden guys. Tristol said. Look at the shadow cast

across it, and then look up.

Indeed there was a slim shadow cast across the breadth of the courtyard, and, high above on

its south side, a tall tower rose up from the palace, deeper within the Rakshasas private wing.

Wasnt that tower toppled over to one side? Clueless asked.

Yeah, it was. Toras said. The whole thing was collapsed in on itself.

But we know the whole palace was covered with an illusion. Tristol said. And to be

honest, most of the more powerful magic that Ive seen laced into the walls here converges on

that tower. I want to know whats in there.

They all glanced up at the tower, noting the slight pulsing glow that seemed to envelop its

upper stories. Their attention was distracted though by Fyrehowl.

Awww... The lupinal said as she walked towards one of the carved stone pillars.

On the pillar, hung from the tail of the stone rust dragon carved atop it, was a brass cage.

Inside was a single, tiny faerie dragon that peered up cautiously at the lupinal. The dragon was

young and its wings seemed faded from their original bright luster.

Tristol turned away from his examination of the magic that swirled around the tower and

looked towards the cage and its tiny, draconic prisoner. The bars of the cage were warded some

form of specific forbiddance dweomer to entrap the dragon, and the cages interior was blanketed

with an antimagic field. Clearly the dragons keepers were taking no chances with its escape,

given the innate magical abilities of its kind.

The faerie dragon looked up at them with oversized bright blue eyes, tinged red at the edges

with recent tears. Its amber colored scales were dulled from hunger, and it seemed almost hesitant

to feel even a glimmer of hope that it might be released.

Hello there little guy. Toras said. Whats your name?

The faerie dragon gave a feeble twitch of its speckled, wildly colored butterfly wings and

edged as close to the bars of the cage as the wards would allow it. He craned his neck up to look

at Toras and slowly blinked, but he didnt quite manage a smile.

The faerie dragon rattled off an incomprehensibly long name in high pitched, fluting draconic.

But you can call me Amberblue.

How long have you been here Amberblue? Toras asked.

761

The dragon paused and looked around, expecting either of its fiendish masters to appear at

any moment.

I dont know how long. He said with an almost guilty, plaintive chirp. Theres no sun

here, not like Arborea. I cant tell when its day or night... Im sorry...

The faerie dragon slunk down at the admission.

No, its alright. Thats not your fault. The fighter reassured him. Do the Rakshasas keep

you locked up here?

Amberblue nodded and cringed.

Well, Toras said gently. Were going to let you out and make sure that they cant hurt

you, or lock you or anyone else up ever again.

NOOO! Amberblue exclaimed with a sudden surge of fear. Doooooont! Youll make

them angry! Please dont make them angry!

The tiny dragon was on the verge of tears, almost pleading to -NOT- be released.

I... Ive seen what they do to people that make them angry. He whimpered as tears welled

in his eyes, rolled down and dropped from the end of his snout. You dont know what they can

do. Ive seen them. Shes the worst when shes here...
Chapter 69

Well, as far as we know, shes not here. Clueless said. And her brother isnt either. Hes

hiding somewhere because -hes- frightened of -us-. We came here looking for him because hed

had some very unfriendly people snatch one of our friends to do to them what he did to you.

Clueless pointed to Skalliska.

We got her back, and nothing bad happened to her. Toras said, motioning again to the

kobold.

Amberblue peered at the Skalliska. A glimmer of hope seemed to spark in the tiny dragons

eyes.

Can I come with you? The dragon asked hesitantly.

Wed be happy to help you get out of here. Nisha said, smiling at Amberblue. Its far too

unpleasant and icky of a place here for a dragon as good looking as you to be in.

The bell on the end of Nishas tail rattled cheerily as she picked the lock of the dragons cage.

Thats Nisha by the way. Clueless said. And Im Clueless.

The bladesinger pointed at the others in turn, and they all introduced themselves to Am-

berblue. The dragon smiled and waved his tail gently in greeting. The collection of friendly

faces around him seemed to brighten his spirits, and when Nisha opened the door to his cage,

Amberblue fluttered his wings and landed on her shoulder.

Fey! Dragon fey! Clueless whispered as he looked at Fyrehowl. Hes like a little cousin!

Youll have plenty of time to dote on him them. The lupinal replied with a smile.

Nisha grinned with sincere enjoyment as the faerie dragon softly nuzzled her neck in appre-

ciation.

Thank you. He said, smiling at his new friends.

You hungry little guy? Toras asked, knowing by the dragons pallor that hed been fed

infrequently, and poorly.

Amberblue nodded and paused in thought for a moment.

762
763

They didnt feed me very much. And never anything I liked. He said. I wish I had an

apple.

And suddenly there was an apple in the dragons outstretched hands, just small enough for

him to keep steady on Nishas shoulder as he nibbled at it.

There was a pause as everyone realized just what had happened. Faerie dragons had an

innate ability to simply wish things into existence. It was a frighteningly powerful talent, one

normally held only by terribly experienced spellcasters, but the tiny, dragon fey had it innately,

even if they might not actually recognize the significance of it all. It was simply how the world

worked in their innocent minds, nothing special at all. And so, unburdened by the cost of, and

responsibility required, for such powerful magic, they tended to use it for almost innocuous and

insignificant requests.

Amberblue nibbled on the apple and looked up at Nisha and Clueless, the latter of which

had been edging closer with a look on glee on his face.

You waan som appur? The dragon said to them both through a mouthful of fruit.

Youre like the familiar I never had. Nisha said with glee as she accepted a tiny bit of apple

from Amberblue.

Tristol had a sudden metaphorical pain in his chest at the very thought of Nisha with a faerie

dragon familiar. Hed seen some things back in Halruaa that were over the top, and hed heard

of other things even further into the realm of the overblown and bizarre, but all of them were

positively normal, and comparatively safe, as opposed to a Xaositect with a faerie dragon.

Well Amberblue, Clueless said. You stay with us while we look around the palace here.

And when we leave, well bring you with us!

Amberblue smiled up at him and happily fluttered his wings, all the while continuing to

nibble at his apple.

Well, lets see what else is around here. Fyrehowl said, growing a bit weary of the sickly

sweet smell of the gardens array of carcerian flowers.

***

Leaving the inner courtyard and its garden behind, they stepped through the largest of the

three archways and into the short corridor. The hallway, glittering with reddish light reflecting

from its black marble flagstones, opened into another chamber. Like the garden before it, this

chamber too was open to the sky above. However, rather than a garden, its center was dominated

by a single massive boulder of raw jade.

The boulder sat in the rooms center, directly between the four doorways, one in each of the
 764

chambers walls. Seemingly picked up from a mountainside and deposited into the palace by

magic, it was larger than any of the archways into the room, and weighed many tons. On its

own, its raw, uncarved beauty would be something to behold, but an artist, or a team of them,

had depicted, carved into its surface, from its base and stretching up to its top, some fifteen

feet high, a massive Blood War battle scene. Armies of the three major fiendish races, along

with celestials and mortals as well, all sprawled in tiny, inch high relief across the entirety of

the jadeite boulder. By happenstance, magic, or genius, each of the opposing armies had been

carved from portions of the stone with varying colors and types of jade. One army in emerald

green, another in pearly, almost translucent white, another in a reddish hue, and the others in

their own unique shade of jade, separate and distinct, carved in place where the stone had shifted

colors with the impurities of its birth.

Andros on high... Toras said almost breathlessly. Thats incredible.

They were all staring at the carvings that sprawled across the boulder of jade. Each of the

tiny mezzoloths locked in battle with a planetar, each of the inch high dretches being goaded

forwards by a coiled and screaming maralith, and the hordes of miniature barbazu marching in

formation: all of them had been carved with their own unique features, with no two of them

alike.

Wow. Clueless said.

This had to have taken a lifetime to carve. Tristol said.

More than one. Kiro said. Generations had to have slaved over this.

Slave being the operative term. Clueless said with a sigh. Given our generous hosts

nature.

There was a reason I used that specific verb. Kiro said with a gentle nod of his head at the

boulder.

Skalliska was pacing around the stone, glancing at the archways leading off from the chamber.

Of all of them, she wasnt staring at the artwork. After all, they could always come back to pilfer

the place, but at the moment she was dressed in a burlap sack, without any of her weapons,

wands, or possessions from back in Sigil before shed been kidnapped. To say that she was bitter

and anxious was something of an understatement.

The kobold completed her circuit of the stone just as the others were finishing their own

praise-laden observations of the carvings on its surface. Even Nisha was taking a wholly respectful

stance around it.

Where to now though? Skalliska asked. Ive had enough of art of questionable taste to be

a bit blunt.
765

To Skalliskas question, they took scope of the trio of archways leading off from the room.

Of the three other exits from the chamber, one of them led to a spiral stairwell rising up into

the heights of the tower that they had seen earlier, the one that cast its shadow over the interior

courtyard, and the same one which had appeared broken and crumbled from the outside of the

palace. Under Tristols gaze, the magic there was more potent than anywhere else in the palace.

The other two archways opened into short, connecting hallways, both of which ended at

heavy, closed wooden doors. Each of them was carved with a rampant likeness of one of the two

Rakshasas; presumably each door led to their respective bedrooms and other private chambers.

Tristol pointed to the tower.

Im curious about that. The other rooms can wait. But they obviously felt it something

worth obscuring from view outside of the palace.

Skalliska frowned slightly, muttering something to herself about still being effectively naked

and wanting to find where the hell her stuff had been stashed. But despite the objections, she

followed Tristol and the others as they entered the stairway up into the tower.

Any idea of whats up here? Florian mused openly.

Something like what we saw on the Astral I figure. Tristol said, pausing his ascent on the

stairs. The magic I can see in the tower walls is similar, but its not quite the same. That might

mean that its something altogether different, or just that were in Carceri and not the Astral.

Fyrehowl wrinkled her nose at the memory of the contents of that similar tower on the Astral.

Its already different though. The lupinal said. Sure the palace was shielded from divina-

tions, but this place has been clean to the point of sterility. I cant honestly see a Rakshasa with

a room full of mangled corpses spattered across the walls of a room in his own palace. Especially

not in the private wing of the place.

Something like that. Clueless said. But since we havent seen him yet, or anything that

honestly hed worry about us finding, Im willing to bet that theres some hidden rooms around

here somewhere.

The others agreed, either voicing their opinion, or simply nodding. But, be that as it was,

they honestly expected to find something grisly in the tower; something to match what they had

found in the Astral. But they found nothing of that sort at all.

***

After ascending two stories along the smooth, featureless stone of the spiral stairwell, they

emerged into an open chamber at the summit of the tower. The room was open to the sky,

and the sickly sweet smell of the scarlet jungle drifted in on the wind under the elaborate stone
 766

cupola that topped the towers summit.

The small chamber glimmered with a soft, silvery light that emanated from a smooth crys-

talline orb suspended in the rooms center. The light from the orb flickered and wavered like

moonlight falling on the surface of a softly undulating ocean, scattering across the chamber as its

liquid interior gently pulsed and quivered in time with the strands of magic that centered upon

it. All of the filaments and threads of magic that Tristol had seen in the palace seemed to focus

upon the orb, extending up through the tower and ending as they disappeared into its interior.

But, and it was something that Tristol noted immediately, the odd magic flowed into the orb,

but it did not originate there. It was coming from somewhere else, and simply being focused by

the orb, and the silvery liquid it contained, something nearly identical to the bowl of the same

liquid that they had found on the astral, focusing the magic rising up from walls spattered with

the putrid remains of a half dozen butchered githyanki.

Given what happened last time, Toras said. Can I please suggest that we dont mess with

this thing?

Nisha tilted her head to one side. Why? There arent Astral Dreadnaughts in Carceri.

No, but... Toras said, right before Nisha began to ramble.

Unless they vacation here. But who would want to vacation here. Except Skalliska, but that

was a free vacation.

Hey, Im standing right here you know. The kobold said, poking the tiefling with the tip

of a claw.

No, Nisha, there arent any Astral Dreadnaughts here. Clueless said.

But there are Gehreleths. Fyrehowl said as she looked out at the jungles surrounding the

palace.

Ok, yeah. Nisha said with a nod. That would be a good reason not to mess with it.

So where does that leave us then? Florian asked, glancing down at the sphere and its silvery

contents.

It leaves us with stairs to walk down. Skalliska said with a sigh. Thats what it leaves us

with.

But it does mean that Clueless was right before. Kiro added. Theres something similar

here in the palace to that charnel house on the astral. We just havent found it yet. Theres

undoubtedly a concealed portion of the palace.

Fyrehowl nodded. Then I suggest we go find it.

Lets go check out the private rooms downstairs. Clueless said. At the least, well find out

some more about what the Rakshasas might be up to in the broad scope of things.
767

As Clueless mentioned the fiends, there was a soft, crooning whimper from Amberblue. The

tiny faerie dragon was quivering like a leaf in the wind from where it was perched on Nishas

shoulder.

Dont be nervous little guy. Nisha said, reaching up to stroke a finger over the dragons

snout.

I dont want to go where they might be... Amberblue said softly. Theyll be angry...

Toras and Clueless looked at one another, then back to the dragon.

Well, how about we give you somewhere safe to hide till were done here? Clueless asked.

Amberblue blinked curiously and nodded.

Clueless opened the bag of holding at his waist and motioned towards the opening.

Its a bag of holding. He said. Its not really a bag, its more of a magical hidey hole.

Normally I keep my familiar in something similar. Tristol said. He stays inside all warm

and safe till were out of any sort of danger.

Amberblue seemed to ponder it for a moment, looking up at Nisha for some reassurance. She

smiled and gave him a gentle peck on the tip of his snout.

Youll be fine Amberblue. Nisha said. Well get you out when were gone and back

somewhere safe.

The faerie dragon curled his tail around the Xaositects finger momentarily before fluttering

his wings and diving into Clueless bag of holding.

The moment Clueless closed the bag there was an unspoken feeling of relief that seemed to

radiate from Tristol. There was just something dangerous about Nisha having a tiny creature

capable of wishes curled up on her shoulder. Not that he was going to say anything about it of

course, the little butterfly winged dragon was adorable, and it was the least that they could do

to get him away from the clutches of a pair of fiends who treated him as little better than an

exotic songbird.

A minute or two later, they stood back at the bottom of the stairs, clustered around the

massive block of jade, glancing at the two other exits from the chamber.

So which one first? Florian asked, motioned to the two doors.

Ill admit, Fyrehowl said. As much as Id like to even the score between us and Siddhartha

sooner rather than later, Im terribly interested in what sort of person his sister is.

Same here. Siddhartha isnt going anywhere, he wants to kill us anyway, and hes likely to

come to us eventually. We might as well take the opportunity to learn a bit.

There were no objections, and so they approached the door presumably leading into the

female fiends chambers. Nisha gave the door a cursory check for traps, finding nothing, and
 768

Tristol couldnt sense any peculiar dweomers lingering in the area either.

The heavy mahogany door swung open without a sound, and much to their relief, without

triggering any mundane or magical traps. Silence and opulent sterility greeted them through the

doorway.

The Lady Rakshasas chamber was large, much larger than a single person required, and it

was decorated and outfitted with the luxuries and amenities of someone of royal blood. Elaborate

rugs, cushions, lacquered furniture, and delicate works of art sprawled across the room, but they

seemed barely used. Most of the rooms furniture looked new, appearing static and untouched,

like a mock-up of a queens chambers, and not the room of a living, breathing queen in residence.

In fact, outside of a faint lingering scent of incense in the room, the chamber might as well have

seemed like it had never once had its owner spend a night in her bed therein.

Nice place. Clueless commented as they stepped into the room.

Theres not a speck of dust on the floor. Skalliska said, while next to her Nisha was making

faces at her reflection in the polished surface.

Dust requires someone, anyone to be living in a place. Kiro said as he glanced at the bed

and the desk next to it.

Something tells me that the Lady of the House is only rarely in attendance. Florian said.

Rarely, if ever. Fyrehowl said. I cant smell anything recent in the room. Just her brothers

scent, and thats wafting in through the open door.

Clueless opened his bag of holding and held his finger out as Amberblues head poked out.

Are we someplace safe yet? The faerie dragon asked.

Not quite yet actually Amberblue. Clueless said. I had a question for you, then you can

go back where its safer.

Amberblue glanced around the room and shivered as he realized where they were. Hed seen

the chamber before at some point, and he did not seem comfortable in the least.

Can we leave? Came Amberblues plaintive request.

Do you know anything about the female Rakshasa who lives here? Clueless said.

The faerie dragon perched on his hand, butterfly wings tapping nervously at the air.

She doesnt live here. Amberblue said. But she visits.

Recently? Clueless asked.

... I dont know... The faerie dragon said. When she does visit though, its when shes

angry.

Clueless nodded and opened the bag back up.

769

...very angry... Amberblue said as he gave one last look around the room and ducked back

into the bags extradimensional space.

Lets leave Amberblue be for a while if we can. Toras said. Hes been neglected pretty

badly, and hes probably seen some things out of the fiends that have impacted him pretty badly.

Hes seriously young for one of his kind, and while for the most part theyre all like perpetually

innocent children, hes probably even more so. Hes frightened of this place.

Well take him out for something to eat once were back in Sigil. Kiro said. Least we can

do.

That said, there really was little else of note in the fiends bedchamber. They spent another

ten minutes scouring it for any sign of hidden doors or something, anything, which might have

been initially overlooked. But alas, there was nothing. True to Amberblues words, Siddharthas

sister was an infrequent guest and as such, there were no personal effects to be found.

Wandering out of the female fiends bedroom, they walked around the jade boulder and

towards the other Rakshasas room. And, like hers, it was similarly devoid of either a lock or

any magical wardings to keep secure from intruders. Apparently the fiend had figured the earlier

wards at the initial entryway to the private wing of the palace were enough. Or perhaps there

was nothing in his chambers of sufficient worth to bother protecting. They would find out which

it was soon enough.

In another striking similarity to his sisters bedroom, Siddharthas was lush to the point of

seeming obscene. But while his sisters was suited for the occasional, infrequent stay, Siddharthas

room was more functional, if still seeming artificially sterile in many other ways.

Half of the chamber was dominated by cushions, a large bed, and a circle of divans centered

around an elaborate brass water-pipe. What gathered more attention though was the other half

of the chamber that was decorated as, and stocked as, a full arcane laboratory.

Ok, now this is interesting. Tristol said as he quickly walked over to examine the work-

benches and shelves, all heavily laden with alchemical reagents.

The benches were covered in scorch marks and the poorly cleaned residue of past experiments.

A number of well recognized alchemical texts lay on the shelves alongside bottles and boxes of

assorted materials. But beyond those textbooks, most of which Tristol owned copies of himself,

there were no spellbooks, and no research notes to be found.

Hey Fyrehowl. Tristol said. Take a look at these.

The lupinal glanced over at a trio of large, flat stones the aasimar was examining. Each

of them were inscribed with partially finished arcane symbols, incomplete versions of the same

objects which Siddhartha had left for them to stumble upon back in Sigil, and back in the jungle.
 770

Lovely... Fyrehowl said derisively.

Pain, persuasion, and discord. Tristol said, pointing each one out in turn. Theyre very

nearly completed. Apparently he expected us to take a bit more time to get here than we did.

Skalliska coughed to get their attention, motioning them over towards the far side of the

laboratory.

Take a look at this. She said.

The workbenches were covered in a fine layer of charcoal and a few errant pieces of a yellow-

white mineral. But that wasnt what Skalliska was pointing out. Next to the workbenches, there

were a series of circular rings on the floor where a number of objects had very recently been.

Remember those barrels of powder we found on the Astral? She asked. Same size as the

markings on the floor here.

He probably made them here. Tristol said. Hes got the equipment for it in the lab to

make it easily. I just cant easily imagine him having to do all of the mucking around with

reagents himself.

Well, we already know hes the lesser of the two of them. Toras said. His sister probably

doesnt give him a choice in the matter.

Among other tasks. Kiro said, pointing to the next workbench.

Where the cleric pointed to sat a pair of partially constructed hand-cannons, the same type

that the goblinoid petitioners had been using back on the Astral when they had first come into

conflict with Siddhartha.

Seems like hes been put to work here more than a bit by his sister. Fyrehowl said. Im

sure it galls him.

Surely. Kiro said in agreement. For someone with such noble pretensions, it certainly

would.

Putting aside for the moment all of the various sundries that littered the Rakshasas labora-

tory, they glanced at the trio of doors that branched off from the room. All of them were closed,

all were constructed flush with the walls, with heavy and partially recessed hinges, and there

were some small differences between them. The first glistened with the dull sheen of a layer of

hammered lead, the second was covered in tiny engraved glyphs upon its surface, and the last

was wholly unadorned.

Tristol? Fyrehowl asked.

One second. The aasimar said. Already looking at it.

The wizard peered at the symbols on the middle door, and then gave the others a cursory

glance. He came up mostly with shrugs, but he didnt seem too terribly concerned.
771

The first one looks like a precaution to keep something out, or something in. The lead ll

keep anything incorporeal from drifting through. Normally thats only used for something on

the ethereal.

But there isnt an ethereal overlap here. Skalliska said.

So either its just decoration, or its to prevent scrying, since the lead usually blocks that as

well. Or, its something weird.

Oooh, theres a shocker. Nisha said, already removing her lockpicks.

And the other doors? Kiro asked.

The middle one looks like the symbols are partially decoration, and partially wardings.

Tristol replied.

Wardings? Florian asked.

Tristol shook his head with an obvious lack of concern.

All pointing inwards. He said. Theyre just added protection for whats likely another set

of the same inside the room past the door.

And the last door? Skalliska asked. None of these sound promising for where all of my

stuff got stashed.

Tristol shrugged. Nothing special about that door. Not even a bit of magic to it.

Skalliska sighed and marched up to the last door. She didnt get further than there though,

as the door handle gave the heavy, pregnant click of a locked set of tumblers when she tried the

handle.

Nisha, if you would. Clueless asked the Xaositect while the kobold kicked the door.

Skalliska would have to wait though, as Nisha started at the lead lined door first, intending

to open the largely unremarkable door last. She was at the middle door when Kiro preemptively

defused the kobolds anxiousness by putting a hand on her shoulder and picking the lock on the

last door for her.

Not bad. Skalliska commented as the cleric put away a slim set of picks.

Kiro had picked the lock with practiced ease, though in truth hed been slow at the task and

acted as if he was unused to the skill. Of course, as he opened the door for Skalliska, the others

were largely occupied with examining the interior of the other two rooms, and they didnt really

pay him any particular notice. Of course, that was how it should be.

Inside the first chamber, there was very little except for a single table and some scant magical

illumination. A red glass orb sat atop the table, swirling with motion and a constant blur of

colors, much like an agitated mix of colored oils and water.

Florian glanced down at the orb, and then down at the stack of notes laying next to it.
 772

Written in Siddharthas script, the notes seemed to detail the hunger of the creature contained

in the orb, at what stage of starvation it slowed down, and how long before it entered a state

of torpor. Of specific note were observations that the creature was unable to leech upon the

innate abilities of fiends unless they possess some learned spellcasting ability beyond their native

faculties. Im curious to see its reaction to the tiefling and his little abyssal vermin of a familiar

once they return.

Florian seemed perplexed by the notes, but she abruptly stood back from the orb when the

fiends notes finally named the creature in the glass vessel: A Hakeshar.

Woah! Florian exclaimed. Hes got a bottled Nishruu!

Dont touch it! Came an inarticulate shout from both Clueless and Tristol from the other

room.

Both of them came bolting into the room a moment later.

Dont expect me to touch it in the least. Florian said. I know what they can do without

being reminded of it.

Tristol glanced over the notes with avid curiosity.

Hes got another laboratory around here somewhere. The aasimar said.

Oh? Florian asked.

The notes. Tristol replied. He talks about using this critter on other fiends, so clearly he

has, or did have, somewhere that he was keeping some imprisoned as experimental subjects.

What about the other room you were in just now? Florian asked.

Clueless shook his head. Its an empty summoning and binding chamber.

Its extremely well crafted, Tristol said. And he could summon most anything short of a

balor. But its not for long term entrapment of anything.

Yes!!! Came Skalliskas jubilant shout from the third room.

I take it that she found her stuff. Florian said.

Lets go take a look. Clueless said, walking towards the door.

Maybe shell have clothes again. Tristol said.

As Tristol and Clueless left, Florian paused and glanced at the orb.

Ah hell, why not? She said before snatching up the orb and stuffing it into a bag of holding.

Might find a use for you one of these days. You never know.

Meanwhile, in the 3rd chamber off from Siddharthas laboratory, Skalliskas pilfered equip-

ment was laid out on a table that dominated most of the small room. Each item was neatly laid

out, and it seemed readily apparent that her possessions had each been examined and cataloged

after the slaughter of the mercenaries who had kidnapped her.

773

She only briefly glanced at the Rakshasas detailed list of the equipment though; she was

much more concerned with getting dressed again.

Kiro stepped past her and glanced at the list of items. The fiend had neatly listed each of the

items, and even made brief notations on the strength and quality of the magic in many of the

items. But what intrigued him more though, was a notation regarding the pile of brass cannons

which sat in the rooms corner, which had been taken from Skalliskas bag of holding.

Originally, the cannons had each been part of the defenses of the two towers in orbit around

the godisle of Maanzicorian on the Astral. And the Rakshasa it seemed, from the notations

written under the list of cannons, was very keen on returning them to the silvery void post haste.

Repossessed cannons to be shipped back to the Astral. Sister can use, better than casting

new ones.

Interesting. Kiro murmured to himself while next to him, Skalliska was adjusting the over-

sized, plumed feather in her hat.

Haha! Finally! Skalliska shouted as she left the room, a neatly folded burlap sack left in

place of her reclaimed possessions.

Meanwhile the others were combing over the Rakshasas laboratory, looking for some indi-

cation of where the fiend might be lurking. But they had little luck, and left with no further

answers.

So everythings a wash then... Florian said. Anyone have any ideas of where to look?

Well, we never actually looked in the servants quarters you know. Clueless suggested.

There is that. Toras said. And it might be worthwhile to check the tower again.

Its worth a shot. Tristol said as they walked out into the connecting chamber between the

fiends chambers and the tower. The magic is clearly coming from somewhere else.

Though its something that... wait...

Fyrehowl abruptly paused as an oddly familiar smell flooded her nostrils. It was the same

smell that she had first, momentarily, noticed under the central dome of the chamber that

connected the three wings of the palace. At the time it had been a sharp, acrid smell of ammonia

and copper, putrid and rancid like fat left in the sun. Now it was stronger, it was closer, and it

flowed on the air like syrup to stick in the back of the throat with a gagging, rotting presence.

Acting more so than pausing to think about it, Fyrehowl approached the jadeite boulder,

lingering around a specific portion. She sniffed at the air and ran the tips of her fingers over the

stone, searching for something.

Find something? Florian asked, moments before a heavy *click!* rang out, and there was

a sound of shifting gears below the floor.

 774

Nisha backed away from the boulder hesitantly, but nothing adverse seemed to happen. No

trap was sprung, and in fact, nothing else happened at all.

Theres something here. Fyrehowl said. Or rather, theres something under here.

Under the lupinals fingers, one of the tiny jade figures, a deep green nycaloth hunching and

preparing to leap aloft, had depressed slightly and triggered a pressure plate somewhere in the

interior of the boulder. The massive stone was apparently hollow and fitted with some sort of

internal mechanism, presumably to trigger a trap door.

Fyrehowl moved a few feet over and brushed her fingers over the reddish colored ranks of

Baatezu, ultimately pressing down upon the milky colored body of a tiny osyluth. The fiend was

depressed and there was again another loud click, soon coupled with the shifting of weights and

gears under their feet.

Are you entirely sure we should be doing this? Nisha asked from the shelter of one of the

archways. Not that Im usually averse to messing around with things just for the sake of messing

around with them.

Fyrehowl didnt reply, but her index finger was paused over the inch tall figure of a violet

and green colored maralith, carved in intricate detail, right down to the individual scales on her

lower body. The lupinal glanced over at her companions, uncertain if she should proceed.

Go ahead. Toras said. The rest of the palace is empty. If theres anything else to be

found, this is how well be getting down there.

Fyrehowl looked from the fighter and over to the others. They were uniformly wary for the

most part, though Skalliska seemed more anxious than anything else, and Kiro was just as calm

and placid as ever.

A few slow seconds passed and there were no objections, though Nisha was busy crossing as

many fingers as possible, and poking her tail at Tristol to get him to do the same.

Then its settled. Fyrehowl said.

*click!*

And with that, the last figure depressed with a sudden rattle of falling weights deep below

the floor. There was a pause, and the sounds stopped but for a prolonged series of ticks. Then,

with a sound of releasing tension deep below, the boulder slid several feet to the side to reveal

a stairwell descending down into darkness. A rank chemical odor of alchemical reagents, blood,

bile, and putrefied flesh rose from the opening.

Chapter 70

Oh Cyrics scrawny *ss... Florian said with a look of disgust. That smells wretched down

there.

Fyrehowl gave a high-pitched involuntary whine as she stood looking down into the darkness.

The stench was heavy and wet, something that had permeated the air of its source for some

time, and something that was still present, not simply an old scent lingering on the air.

Why couldnt they just have just stayed with incense, gaudy flowers and bad art for their

basement? Nisha asked.

Make room for the bad poetry? Clueless asked with a smirk.

Yeah, something like thats around here somewhere. Tristol said. But this smells a bit

different, and more like a working laboratory.

Laboratory? Toras asked.

Back in Halruaa. The aasimar said. Necromancers and some transmuters had workshops

where theyd work with corpses. And this smells almost like those.

Remind me never to visit your home... Nisha said, sticking her tongue out.

Its not all like that. Tristol replied. Its usually much more pretentious.

Kiro chuckled and stepped past Fyrehowl onto the stairs.

Theres a single hallway down here. He called up from below. Its dark, but thats about

it. No traps.

There was a distinct pause from below.

No -obvious- traps at least.

Florian looked down the stairs before turning back to the others.

Hes a cleric. She said. Go help him Nisha.

Nisha nodded and followed along after Kiro, but, true to the cleric of Sutekhs word, there

was no evidence of traps or wards as they walked down the corridor towards the doorway at its

far end. But there was something, though it was momentary.

775
 776

Kiro spun around, looking for something behind them in the hallway.

What was that? Nisha asked him.

Nothing. He replied. I thought that Id heard something. Nothing there though.

He hadnt heard much of anything actually. But back in the darkness he could have sworn

that hed seen the stone ripple like so much open, standing water. And what was more, hed

been certain that the stone had rippled with the waves of something passing under its surface,

cresting above the surface of the floor like a stone diving sea serpent before once again slipping

back below the level of the corridor.

Kiro could only shrug. Whatever it was, it was gone and there was no sign of it reappearing

as he watched. Still though, it was unnerving, and periodically he looked back to see if it was

following them. But as they reached the end of the hallway, there was nothing there, and so he

and Nisha called up to the others that the coast was clear.

Once they had gathered at the end of the hallway, they stepped into the chamber at its end.

It was fairly small, and a closed door stood directly opposite from them as they entered. But

that wasnt all in the chamber. There were four alcoves inset within the wall, set in positions

impossible to have seen before entering the room.

And, just as their maker had intended, flickering pinpoints of light erupted into being under-

neath the visors of each of the four elaborate suits of armor standing in each of the alcoves as

beings other than himself passed under their gaze.

Ah sh*t. Florian said.

One of the baroque suits of animated armor flared with internal light as it raised a crossbow,

firing a bolt of flame at Toras, striking the fighter in the side. The others raised melee weapons:

an ice shrouded mace, a sword dripping acid, and a metal club sheathed in sparks and flashes of

electricity.

Tristol acted first, turning one of the helmed horrors into a pile of dust outright with a

disintegrate spell.

Meanwhile, Clueless was dodging a series of blow from one of the others, making it seem slow

by comparison.

Oh... you will regret that... Toras said, raising his sword and ignoring his injury as best he

could as he charged one of the constructs seeking to flank Clueless.

Moments later, thee of the constructs were destroyed and the one holding only a flaming

crossbow was looking at them, seeming to waver between firing at them or giving up. When

Clueless put his hand out, prepared to cast a spell, the construct dropped its weapon onto the

floor and stepped back up into its original position.

777

Well, that looks like it was the extent of the security. Fyrehowl said, giving a hard glance

at the single quiescent Helmed Horror.

The last guardian gave no reply, and remained still and inactive. Whatever limited self

awareness its maker had granted it, it was apparently enough to make it realize that it was

incapable of putting forward any effective opposition if it wished to remain alive.

Toras and Florian both kept looking at the helmed horror regardless though, even as the door

was opened and the stepped into the chamber beyond.

Looks more like a prison. Clueless said with some discomfort.

The chamber was relatively spartan, resembling a cellblock more than a laboratory. There

were six doors leading off from the room: three on the north side, two on the south side, and

one larger doorway across from the entrance.

Prison? Kiro asked as he examined the two south doors. Not quite.

The cleric exhaled onto the glass window set into one of the southerly doors. The vapor in

his breath spread across the surface, freezing almost instantly into a spider web pattern of frost.

What the... Fyrehowl said.

The lupinal walked across the room and stood next to Kiro, looking through the window of

first door and then the other. Both doors were metal and both were frigidly cold to the touch.

Not quite a prison. Fyrehowl said. Specimen storage. Frozen.

Indeed, looking through the windows set into each door, they could see two small holding

cells. The walls were caked in frost, and a single slumped corpse was positioned in the center

of the floor, unceremoniously dumped there after they had apparently expired during torture or

experimentation.

Inside the first of the frozen chambers was a naked human. His flesh was bleached and blue-

white from the exposure to the cold, but it was evident that he had died long before he had

been frozen. The body showed evidence of surgical scars and burns, and a caustic burn across its

neck, but there was no evidence of the typical signs of frost burn and tissue death from exposure

to freezing temperatures while the victim had still been alive.

Poor sod. Fyrehowl said with a sigh. Got to wonder what he did to get on the fiends bad

side.

Does he need an excuse? Kiro asked. It seems like he feels entitled, and anything not

judged to be of a similar standing in power, wealth, or race is simply a subject to do with as he

pleases. Whoever this guy was, Siddhartha didnt perceive him as a person, just a subject for

experimentation.

Clueless frowned and looked at the other doors. It was likely that some of them contained
 778

living subjects.

The next chamber also contained a body, but one that was anything but human.

What... what is that thing? Fyrehowl mused, peering through the frost-dusted glass. An

Alu-Fiend?

Slumped in the center of the chamber was a slim, lithe form with angular features, pointed

ears, and a set of leathery, bat-like wings sprouting from her shoulders.

Possibly. Kiro said, peering at the corpse. Its odd to see a half-fiend based on mortal

blood other than human, but Tanarri arent particularly selective I suppose.

The elven half-fiend was marked in a similar way as the dead human one cell over. Surgical

scars dotted her chest and abdomen, and from bruises on the inside of one arm, and blue-black

tract marks across the other suggested that she had been repeatedly bled and infused with some

substance or chemical mixture. Either way, she hadnt survived it obviously.

Not an alu-fiend. Tristol said. Its a fey-ri.

Not one of my relatives for sure. Clueless said, giving a skeptical look to first Tristol and

then the corpse in the cell.

Fey-ri. Not Faerie. Not fey at all. Tristol replied. Its a specific sort of Tanarri blooded

half-fiend gold elf. The name refers to half-fiend gold elves of a specific elven family that was

largely killed off centuries ago on Toril. But she fits the bill: half fiend gold elf.

Ugly and evil. Florian said. Still didnt deserve whatever seems to have happened to her

though.

Nothing we can do for them now. Toras said. Theyre too mangled to easily raise from

the dead. And lets be honest, we dont know anything about them, so it might not be a wise

idea to randomly bring them back.

No objections from me. Skalliska said as she walked over towards one of the doors on the

opposite wall.

The kobold wandered across to one of the doors and touched it tentatively, then the next, and

then the next. She didnt bother checking for traps or wards. After all, this was the fiends private

workshop and laboratory as far as they could tell, or an antechamber to it, and it would have

only been a hindrance to trap things that he might conceivably be using on frequent occasion.

None of them are cold. She said, turning to the others.

None of them are unlocked either. Clueless said as he tried the handle of the first door.

Anyone inside them? Nisha asked.

Clueless looked into the chamber through the glass plate and jerked back as a poorly dressed

human banged at the door from the inside.

779

Help me! Youve got to help me! The man screamed, his voice muffled by the thick door.

Woah! Clueless said, moving back a few feet.

The banging on the door stopped as the battered looking human looked at his potential

saviors through the glass.

Who are you? Florian asked.

The mans eyes twitched and quivered with nervous exuberance.

Please! Youve got to let me go before the fiend returns! Hell going to...

Tell us who you are. Florian said, cutting the man off. We wont let you go unless we

trust you, and dont think that youll be dangerous to us.

The man tried to calm himself enough to answer.

Im a mercenary. The Rakshasa hired me to hunt someone down, several people actually,

several months ago. We only managed to find some, but not all of them. He refused to pay

us, and when we demanded partial payment, he killed some of us and imprisoned the rest of us

here.

Hmm. Florian said, glancing at the man.

True enough, he had the build for mercenary work, if a bit thinner from lack of food, and

his clothing was correct for someone who would have worn armor atop it. Plus, the story fit

perfectly with what they had come to expect from Siddhartha.

Anyone object? Florian asked her companions.

No one could find any real reason to say otherwise, and so Nisha picked the lock and they

released the cells occupant. He shouted with glee as the door opened, and moved to embrace

the first person he could, presumptively to hug them and thank them.

Kiro deftly stepped up and in between the released prisoner and Florian. The moment the

man hugged Kiro, Kiros voice echoed in his head.

Please leave now and do not attempt to touch any of these people here. As a greater

doppelganger, you could do too much harm if you did.

The man they had released stiffened slightly as he hugged Kiro, but was still smiling to the

others, still crying with happiness at his release from captivity.

Who are you? The man asked Kiro, projecting his own telepathic voice.

Kiro released him and answered calmly, still in his head.

Youre free. Go about your way. I dont have any say or stake in what you do after you

leave this room. Thats entirely irrelevant to me, and thats all you need to know. Smile at us

now and be on your way.

Thank you all. The released man said to them. I cant thank you enough. Do you have
 780

a spare blade I can use? Ill need it in the jungle if I try to make my way back to the portal I

came here though.

He didnt show outwardly any indication of his and Kiros mental discussion.

Back down the corridor youll find some weapons on the floor left over from some of the

guardians we took care of. Toras said.

The man smiled and bowed.

Thank you. Bless you all.

He turned to leave, only looking back once to smile for one last time before leaving. In

that moment though, minds touched one last time, first from the doppelganger and then Kiros

response.

We will not meet again. Nor would you recognize me if we did.

Indeed. And some might not recognize you, but you wouldnt so much as even see me.

Well, theres one good deed to our names. Nisha said, beaming a cheerful smile around the

room which Kiro made a point of returning equally.

Its a start. Fyrehowl said. I still feel guilty over the meal earlier.

Uggg, you had to mention that. Florian said, looking a bit sick. Especially with how much

this place smells.

In any event, weve got two more doors. Clueless said. Nisha? Would you mind picking

the lock to this one?

Nisha nodded and picked the lock without complaint. Unlike the last door though, the second

door, and the third as well, did not contain windows into the rooms beyond them. Unable to

have any advance warning of what might be lurking within, they had their weapons out and

ready as the door was swung open.

Nothing lunged out at them, much to their relief, and they peered into the chamber beyond.

Large and spherical, it was significantly larger than the first cell, and from the edge of the

chamber where it met the door, extending several feet into the room were delicately inscribed

warding sigils, all pointed inwards. The chamber was intended to keep and contain something,

and that thing was immediately obvious.

Uhh... close the door? Florian blurted out as she looked into the chamber. Now?

A fleshy orb, roughly eight feet across hovered in the center of the wardings. At first they

suspected it to be a beholder or some manner of beholder-kin, but it deviated from them in

several ways. It had no central eye, nor did it have a mouth on its body. Rather, numerous eyes

dotted its leathery body at random, and a number of thick tentacles extended out from its flesh

as well. Some of those tentacles ended in eyes, some in fanged, almost reptilian mouths, and
781

some were simply shaped for use in grappling objects.

Holy hell what was that?! Skalliska blurted out.

Hes got a bloody Deepspawn. Florian said.

Which is what? Clueless asked. Im not familiar with them, outside of having heard the

name, and now apparently having seen one.

Bad things. Very bad, very hungry things. Florian said, putting her foot at the base of the

door, like it might help keep the thing contained in its cell, should its wardings fail.

They eat people. Tristol said.

Like Skalliska if she was hungry and desperate enough? Nisha asked.

Skalliska didnt object. She just shrugged.

They eat people and then can spit out copies of them after a day or so. Florian explained.

Those copies have memories of the original person, and even skills, and theyre under the control

of the Deepspawn.

Its a monster factory basically. Tristol said.

Hmm. Fyrehowl mused. Well we know now where Siddhartha might be getting replace-

ments for experiments he does.

So... Skalliska said. What do you suggest we do with it?

Well... Toras began.

How about we dont? Florian said, cutting Toras off abruptly.

Why? Fyrehowl replied. If we end up leaving after killing Siddhartha, were just going

to be condemning this thing to death by starvation. That doesnt exactly leave me feeling good

about myself, dangerous creature or not.

Is it intelligent? Toras asked.

Uh...why are we worried about letting it loose here in Carceri anyways? Nisha asked. Its

like letting a slaadi lose in Mechanus. Brief, but incredibly fun.

Florian paused and held up one hand.

Ok. Point. She said. Lets at least see what it has to say then.

The door swung back open to reveal the Deepspawn hovering much closer than it had origi-

nally been. It now hovered at the very edge of its magical prison; it had been listening to them

talk about it.

Several of the aberrations eyes swiveled and dilated, focusing on Florian, Fyrehowl and

Clueless as they stepped into the room. From the doorway, Kiro peered in to watch.

Who are you? one of the Deepspawns vaguely draconic mouths said in a surprisingly glib

tone.
 782

Florian glanced back at the others before responding.

First, tell us who you are, and what youre doing here. She said.

Several eyes the size of plates all turned to focus on her. The creatures tentacles wriggled

and two of them rubbed against one another, some form of bizarre nervous affectation like it was

pondering the situation and how to properly answer.

My name is Furnacefang. The deepspawn replied. I feed, I learn, I answer questions to

he who feeds me, and I provide to him copies of those I am fed. My life is relatively simple. If I

obey I am fed and I am spared the treatment given to those others within this place.

How long have you been here? Clueless asked.

Since the memories of my first feeding flooded my mind. The creature replied, speaking

in tandem through both of its tentacles sporting functional mouths. ... a considerable time.

Roughly a century.

Why does your master feed creatures to you? Fyrehowl asked.

To keep me alive. Furnacefang stated bluntly. But that is secondary for him. He uses

me to punish prisoners, to dispose of failed experiments, and to produce more subjects for his

work.

And you enjoy this I take it? Florian asked.

It is what I am. Furnacefang replied with an idle shrug of its left mouth and several more

of its other tentacles.

You are uncertain of what to do with me. The deepspawn continued. I would greatly

prefer to be released from my prison cell in this place. I have everything I require, but nothing

more. Understandably, my existence is a rather sterile one.

One of Furnacefangs mouths gave an audible sigh and several of its eyes allowed their lids

to droop.

One moment please. Florian said, motioning the others outside of the deepspawns cell with

her.

I dont mind letting it go. Fyrehowl said. It cant do much more than devour fiends here,

and its unlikely that itll do much more harm than that. It was imprisoned here intentionally,

so some of the odd effects of Carceri might apply to it, with gates not functioning properly for

it if it attempts to leave the plane.

I dont trust it completely. Florian said. But thats just my experience with them from

back in Amn. Clueless?

I say we wait till were done looking around. He replied. Then we let it out once its safe

to do so. It cant do much harm out in the jungle.

783

Florian nodded and stepped back into the room with the deepspawn.

Have you come to some agreement? Furnacefang asked, tilting its fanged mouths to one side

in a strange approximation of how certain mundane animals expressed a questioning attitude.

Umm... Florian said. Lets just say that well release you. But only after were finished

exploring the full extent of this place, once weve killed the fiend who keeps you here, and after

weve broken the wardings on this place.

Furnacefang hissed softly. It had been hoping for something more immediate, and two of its

jawed tentacles undulated slowly in deliberation.

If the wardings are broken on this place I can release myself. The Deepspawn said slowly,

speaking with one mouth while the other gnawed at the air. The walls are simple stone, even if

magically molded into their desired shape. The wards on this room are linked to the larger ones

that extend over this entire palace. Break them, and I can handle myself.

And you will not harm us if we do so? Florian asked.

I have no need to do so. It replied.

Kiro peered at the bloated aberration as if he was judging its trustworthiness. He shrugged

and nodded in agreement to Florian.

Fine. Florian said. When were finished here, well break the wards and youre free to go,

so long as you dont interfere with us, or anything that were doing here.

Agreed. Furnacefang replied. From what I know, gleaning from the memories of my food,

the wardings for this place are contained behind a heavy, sealed door located in the laboratory

that joins the room outside of my cell here. The door is likely protected by traps, though I do

not know what sort.

They nodded to the tentacle and eye studded creature before leaving and closing the door

behind them.

Well, we know whats through one of these doors now at least. Clueless said.

How about the last cell though first? Florian asked. Hopefully its something a bit more

mundane.

Maybe. Clueless said. But youre right. Its best to know what all the fiend has bottled

up in here before we go in further.

Florian walked to the last cell door and giggled the handle. It was solidly locked.

Nisha, if you could get the door? Clueless asked.

Deepspawn... Florian said with a shudder.

Nisha unlocked the door and stepped aside, giving the door a tug and swinging it open.
 784

What they saw inside, bloody and suspended in a column of light, made the deepspawn

mundane by comparison.

***

The fiend hovered several inches above the ground, unburdened by the constant downward tug

of gravity. In that tiny way at least, the Astral plane had something to offer him. Siddharthas

robes dangled and drifted in the wind, really psionic currents of thought manifesting themselves

as pressure or force in the silvery void. And out into the endless empty expanse of the void was

where he was currently looking, staring out at nothing in particular as he stood on a balcony of

the tower where hed been summoned.

It was hers, her primary residence during their collaborative work upon the Astral, though

he suspected that she kept at least one or two demiplanes accessible from her personal chamber

which now stood at his back. He deeply wished to examine the room for evidence of such, to

say nothing of simply being allowed to observe and learn from the patterns of magic that she

had embedded into the towers structure to shield it from detection. That same magic, or some

variant of it, also managed to shield the tower from the full force of the continent sized astral

storm that seemed to perpetually rotate around the godisle down below where the structures

foundations sunk deep, wisely or not.

The storm wasnt natural; it was too large and too powerful to be. Yethmiil also suspected

that it was her magic that kept the storm anchored in place, swirling around them and hiding

their activities from the Githyanki, and most of all, from the Guardian. All other potential

concerns paled in comparison to that entity.

Of course, he was seemingly relegated to a secondary role in it all, especially after his failure

on one of the secondary godisles they had been stripping and mining. Of course, that godisle

was far from the region surrounding her tower, its godisle and the storm surrounding it. The

storm overlapped another eight islands of stone and forgotten faith, all of which were similarly

shielded, and all of which ultimately would be of use to them.

So why did you call me here? Yethmiil asked without turning around.

She was there behind him, hed sensed her approach, felt her eyes upon his back. In the

purity of the Astral, he could even sense something palpable on the air from the very nearly

living magic and dozens of contingent spells effectively painted on her person. Extravagance

suited her.

Because I can. Because you must obey. She whispered back with a chuckle. Do I need

any other reason?

785

No. He replied. But outside of simply displaying your power, why did you take me away

from my own affairs? I was busy.

You were amusing your own petty interests. They can wait. She said, seemingly without

regard for his own personal exploits.

As you wish. He said.

My interests take precedence. She continued, matter-of-factly. And already youve been

made aware of the price of failing achieve what portion of them I hand over to you. Or do you

forget that exquisite intimacy?

He didnt give a reply. But none was really needed.

She stepped forward and out onto the balcony, dragging a claw across his shoulder as she

passed him and spread her hands across the railing. She disgusted him at the very same time

that he envied her and appreciated her power, probably the closest equivalent thing to feeling

lust that he possessed.

Ghyris Vast has outlived his usefulness. She said, looking up and out into the tumult of

the storm where the distant magical envelopes visible under her sight could be seen surrounding

the other godisles she had claimed, much like holes punched in the silver sky.

Oh? He asked, honestly curious what she had done with the Bleaker.

For the moment. She replied with some idle satisfaction. But in the event that I need

him in the future I havent killed him, which was tempting. Idiot insane mortal. Hes brilliant

for his kind, but it was a task getting him to focus enough to teach me what his research had

shown, and how to construct the bloody thing. I ended up simply stripping his memories from

him moment by moment. Immortality does not imply patience.

As youve made patently clear Mistress. Yethmiil said rather bluntly.

Rather than take offense though, she laughed.

Indeed I have, and you will never be in a position to know otherwise. But outside of my

ability to pull your strings and make you dance in a puppet show for beings even more marionettes

than yourself, I have something else for you to do when you are ready.

He inclined his head curiously, letting her insults and pretensions pass.

I want you to be ready to assume control of a cessation of our activities at several outlaying

godisles in the next month. When the goblins and the gith are done there, you will handle the

deconstruction of the towers and the stripping of any evidence to tie the two of us to the defiling

of the unlamented dead. Cast the blame on Giths wretched mortal progeny, and if were lucky,

Vlaakith can face the Guardians wrath in place of us, and perhaps even in place of her own

renegades working in our name.

 786

He nodded silently.

Give me the additional forces needed to ensure that there are no witnesses left alive when

we cleanse them godisles of evidence.

You will have what you need. She said, smiling a mouthful of fangs up at the void.

Good. He replied. Then allow me to return to Carceri and finish cleaning up things of my

own there.

She shrugged and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. It wasnt much of an answer, but it

was all he needed as he strode back out of her chamber.

***

The figure suspended in a column of pale red light was a Farastu Gehreleth, and though

it was horribly bruised, burned, and covered in both recent marks of torture and old surgical

scars, it was alive. Slowly its fatigued and bruised ribcage expanded to draw in a ragged breath,

exhaling it with equal labor a moment later. The creature hung onto life out of what seemed to

be spite, something that its kind possessed in spades.

The light that suspended the fiend above the ground stretched from floor to ceiling between

two rune scribed disks, while on a table just out of its reach, had it been free to move its arms

outside of the light, sat a tray of various implements of surgery and torture.

Next to the tools of its tormentor hovered an orange crystal that sparkled with magic of

unknown purpose. And then, there was the open book of notes and observations, all penned

in the familiar hand of the Rakshasa. The book noted with a dispassionate medical style of

observation the subjects tolerance to pain, its immunities to certain mind probing spells and

psionic effects, and anything that it might have said during periods of excruciating pain or duress.

The notes treated the fiend as chattel rather than a living being.

But what was perhaps most noteworthy, outside of the gehreleth itself, was that it lacked

the obsidian triangle that was the prized birthright of each and every member of its race. That

triangle was its link into its racial collective memory, and the link of its deity and creator into

its mind. But there, on the other side of the room, a triangle of cold, black volcanic glass was

held suspended from a chain within a localized antimagic bubble.

The gehreleth had been cut off from its race and its creator, made to be alone, truly alone, for

the first time in its existence, and then taunted with the damningly close proximity to torture it

even more. Perhaps Siddhartha had intended to attempt to draw information from the triangles

link to Apomps, the deity/creator of the Gehreleth race. After all, with his palace situated in

the jungles of Cathrys, surrounded by an unknown number of Gehreleths lurking in the depths
787

of that scarlet hell of nauseating flora, he might have considered it a worthwhile attempt to tap

into their racial memory if only to warn himself of any attack by others of their kind on his

home.

Meanwhile, as they examined the chambers macabre contents, the leths eyes were rolled

back in its head, and two diamond shaped bumps surrounded by discolored scar tissue stood out

against the slick brown and gray flesh of its head: the hallmarks of healed trepanation. It had

been through horrors in that chamber that they could scarcely imagine.

The fiend groaned and coughed as it sensed them enter the room, spewing fine droplets of tar

and bloody phlegm into the air and onto the floor directly in front of where it was suspended.

He knows you Yethmiil. It softly crooned, rage having long ago given way to wishful thinking

and a complete disregard for its own chances of escape. He knows you. He knows you well. The

Three Faced Lord will torment you far more than you ever could I. Fyrehowl looked over to

Clueless, and then to the others. Yethmiil? The name was new to them. And it was obvious that

the fiend, in its depression and torture borne incoherence, had assumed that they were someone

else entirely when they had entered its cell.

The gehreleth mumbled incoherently to itself for several moments before stopping and sud-

denly sniffing at the air. It gave a confused wrinkle of the fleshy ridges above its eyes, realizing

that Yethmiil whoever that was, was not the person who had entered its cell.

Fyrehowl was standing in front of the leth when its eyes shot open with sudden ferocity,

pupils constricting as its rheumy eyes focused on her.

Who are you? It croaked. You are not Yethmiil. Nor do you wear his mark.

The Rakshasa you mean? Fyrehowl asked, not flinching as the fiend glared at her with a

fluid mixture of arrogant, implicit hatred of what she was, and almost pitiful levels of hope.

The gehreleth tilted its head to one side for a moment before answering.

I/We knew him as Yethmiil. He may go by other names.

Lord Siddhartha. Clueless answered the fiend. That was what he called himself.

The leth snarled at the mention of the name. An almost unfathomable well of hatred was

boiling beneath its skin as they watched it. The creature was struggling to contain it in order

to have rational communication with them.

What can you tell us about him? Fyrehowl asked.

The leths eyes turned towards the triangle across the room.

Give me the triangle. It said.

Answer our questions. Florian retorted.

The fiend turned to look at the cleric.

 788

Give. Me. The. Triangle. It repeated slowly and tensely.

What does it mean to you? Toras asked.

EVERYTHING! The fiend screamed. It was shaking, trembling, losing self-control.

I am alone... The fiend whispered. This...you cannot fathom this feeling. You cannot

know what this means.

The fiend was drooling and its eyes were glistening at the edges.

I cannot hear Him. It whimpered. We are vessels for Him, and I have been emptied, made

nothing, devoid of His whispers, His caress, His love. Everything that I am and was made to be

has been stripped away from me. I have nothing left to give for I am nothing without that.

The gehreleth hung like a rag doll in its suspending column of force, defeated, broken, begging

for the only object that meant anything to it.

Please... The fiend continued, looking up at them, drops of watery tar dripping from the

corners of its eyes. Give it to me. I BEG OF YOU!

I dont know... Fyrehowl said. We cant trust you.

You come to kill my tormentor? We have something in common then. It whimpered.

Please...

The leth hung its head and ignored them, not caring what they had to say to it. It didnt

matter, because unless they provided it with its link to Apomps, they could rot for all eternity. It

continued to ignore them until it felt the weight of a metal chain around its neck, and something

erupted within its mind, flooding its senses.

I hope we dont regret this... Fyrehowl said.

The moment the gehreleth touched the obsidian triangle, its eyes went wide and it clutched

the triangle with obscene, religious ecstasy. In fact, its entire body seemed to undergo a ferocious

seizure before it began to whisper to itself, having a dialogue with a being that wasnt present

in the room.

...yes... we shall... no... as you wish father/mother... I will... The Gehreleth clutched the

triangle and looked up at its would-be saviors. No, they do not know.

Umm...? Clueless said warily as the fiend smiled up at them and something happened.

As the leth looked at them, for a single moment they watched as its eyes turned a solid,

glossy black, and they had the sensation that something powerful, something terrible, was staring

back at them -through- the fiend. It smiled, and then as it blinked, its eyes returned to normal.

I/We will help you.

Kiro stepped back into the room. It seemed that hed stepped out for a moment when they

had been deliberating about giving the fiend back its link to its deity.
789

Alright. Talk to us then. Tristol said, though Fyrehowl and Florian remained skeptical.

I/We will give you what aid I/We can. Revenge for all these petty tortures. I/We do not

forgive. Not anything. And your adversaries deserve torment more than most.

The fiends earlier expression of weariness and depression was gone, replaced with utter and

complete resolve.

Why should we trust you? Kiro asked. Why do you hate them? Any specific reasons?

Does it matter? The gehreleth asked, looking at the cleric awkwardly for a moment, a look

of suspicion in its eyes, but it shook it off and continued. I/We offer to you aid and information

and ask nothing in return but that you break the wards concealing this place from the rest of

myself/ourselves.

The leth motioned emphatically to its scars, bruises and even more graphic hallmarks of the

tortures that it had been subjected to.

This is the only reason that you need to know. It hissed.

So what can you do for us? Clueless asked.

Break the wards and we will raze this place to nothing but blood and scarlet glowing rubble

under the void. It replied. But that it only momentary satisfaction for petty crimes against

myself/ourselves. We can help you more, later.

How so? Skalliska asked.

Xideous. Xideous will help you. Return to Sigil and my/his/our eyes and hands will bring

you to where he is. Xideous is one of our greatest, and you have earned a debt which he will

repay for you when the time is right.

Where is he in Sigil? Kiro asked, openly curious.

That I will not say. The gehreleth replied firmly. Xideous has important work, and his/our

enemies would slay him in an instant. He will find you and bring you to where he is hidden when

the time is right.

Now go and find Yethmiil, Siddhartha, whatever name he calls himself presently. Slaughter

him, cut out of his bleeding heart and feast upon it while he still lives. Take revenge for what

he has done and what he is. He does not deserve to live upon this most blessed soil of the

Father/Mother. His essence sullies it.

They left then as the fiend began to once more whisper to itself, or the triangle around its

neck, ignoring them entirely. The experience left them with the impression though, than the

Rakshasa was involved in larger things than they had yet fully come to witness and understand

the importance of. And so, with that in mind, they opened to door to his laboratory, hoping

to find some further answers to the questions raised in the back of their minds by the fiends
 790

gehreleth prisoner.

What they had seen in the holding cells could not have prepared them for the horrors that

sprawled out in front of them as they stepped into the fiends perverse laboratory. Dozens of bod-

ies lay chained to slabs and workbenches that filled most of the floorspace in the chamber, while

others were suspended, either living or preserved in death, within tanks of bubbling alchemical

fluids.

What in Mystras name was he doing down here? Tristol asked with disgust as his eyes

wandered across chamber and its grisly contents.

Several tables held mortals, and among their number, some of them were copies of the same

original person, experimented on in ways that must have been attempts to further enhance the

abilities of his unwilling puppet-like assassins. One human subject, breathing in ragged, forced

motions of her chest, had apparently had gills grafted to her waist. Others had limbs, additional

eyes, and even apparently internal organs grafted onto them from other species, all in some

warped attempt to improve them.

This is sick. Fyrehowl said. At the very least, we need to put them out of their misery.

None of the subjects appeared to have been given any drugs for the pain, and most of them

were in comatose conditions, or their minds had simply given up any meaningful interactions

with a world that only gave their bodies agony upon agony without respite.

Looking further, they saw an ogre nailed to a table with what might have been the eye of a

dragon grafted into one of his own eye sockets, bulging and deforming the side of his head as the

flesh had been coaxed to expanded and accept the alien organ.

But the mortal experiments were the least of the Rakshasas sins. Those were reserved for a

half dozen minor tanarri, baatezu, and yugoloths. The fiends lay twitching and shrieking from

the metal slabs they were bolted down to, and for a circle of the three types of fiends, it appeared

that tubing, pulsing with flowing blood, reached between bronze valves implanted in their necks,

sharing blood between them.

A spinagon twitched and gasped for breath while a pair of vrock wings grafted to its back

twitched spasmodically, dripping puss from between the ensorcelled stitches that held them in

place within swollen flesh that rebelled at their very touch.

Next to it, a piscaloth jerked in the midst of fever-wrought delirium next to an already dead

amnizu. Their heads had been severed and reattached on one anothers bodies.

What. The. F*ck. Florian cursed. What was the point of any of this?!

The pursuit of knowledge without ethics. Kiro said. He simply put to its furthest here.

Or at least as far as he could, given that he seems to be exiled in some way or another.
791

I guess it makes sense. Clueless said. For him at least.

Kiro shrugged. In context it does I suppose.

Fyrehowl closed her eyes briefly and snarled before walking over to where Nisha stood in front

of a pair of thick bronze doors. The tiefling had walked past most of the horrors of the fiends

experiments without glancing at them, and Fyrehowl, along with most of the others, likewise

wished that they had done the same. The ghoulish experiments spread through the laboratory

would be haunting them in their nightmares for some time to come.

How does the door look Nisha? Fyrehowl asked.

The Xaositect looked up from where she had been peering into the lock.

Big, heavy and mundane. She replied. Itll take some time, or a summoned Goristro to

kick it in. And theres a magical trap somewhere.

Hmm. Kiro said, stepping up to peer at it.

Nisha wriggled her nose. Smell the ozone?

Kiro and Fyrehowl nodded.

I wouldnt suggest touching the door. Not... quite... yet... Nisha continued.

Allow me. Kiro said, bowing his head in prayer.

Suit yourself. Nisha said, backing up a bit.

Kiro touched the lock and a shower of blue-white electrical sparks burst through the air as

the clerics touch frayed and dispelled the wards on the doors locks.

You might find it a bit easier now. He said, helping Nisha back up to her feet.

Nisha smiled and went to work picking the doors. And though it took her some time to finally

turn all of the tumblers into their proper position, finally they swung inwards a few inches with

a dull, heavy pop.

Toras stepped forward to push the doors open, but as he did, a rush of air from beyond, and

into the lab made their eyes water with ammonia, and the heavy stench of rotting flesh and spilt

blood, even worse than within the lab itself, or their time upon the Astral.

***

Yethmiil left his keepers chamber with a sour mood stewing heavily upon his mind. His

keeper. He preferred to call her that as opposed to anything else. It suited her, and it allowed

him to deny her a bit of influence and prestige in his own mind, even if he had to feign obedience

anywhere else. But she had power enough to enforce her mandates, and that extended to what

he had to do as well, it was simply a fact of his current existence that he had to accept, even if

he seethed under her.

 792

Our fortunes have changed before, and they will again. He whispered to himself as he

stepped out from the entrance of one of her towers and out onto the frozen, stony flesh of their

godisle foundation.

And the next time they do, I intend for our positions of rank to reverse themselves. Your

contempt makes for a waste of my abilities.

The stone was cold beneath his bare feet, and for the first time during his current excursion

into the silvery void, he didnt hover or fly, he walked. By some bizarre combination of gloating

contempt, the dead power serving as a surrogate for what he could not express to his mistress,

and also humble respect, Yethmiil chose to walk upon the bare flesh of the godisle.

The complex of towers that loomed behind him as he left, they had all been constructed

upon that single massive godisle, one of the largest that he had ever before seen. Despite his own

nature, the expression of horror frozen into the petrified face of the dead god beneath his feet...

it gave him pause, and perhaps something close to fear. But he was in no position to question his

collusion with his mistress there upon the Astral and there upon that broken corpse of shattered

divinity. Such was his punishment, and he trusted that she knew what she was doing, or at least

he was forced to trust her.

He glanced down one last time at that long fallen deity, its life snuffed out by its own

transgressions, murdered and exterminated. He couldnt help but worry about what they were

doing while the silvery light glinting from the center of the godisle reflected back into the void

and back into his own eyes. That gleaming reflection was the last thing of the Astral that he

saw before opening a gate back to Carceri, back to his palace, and back to more petty matters

of murder.

***

The heavy, reinforced door swung open into a single, enormous chamber lit by flickering,

sporadic flashes of green light: excess energy bleeding off of the dweomers anchored into the

stone like swarms of fiendish fireflies humming about and feeding upon the dead. And the dead

were everywhere.

The floor of the chamber was littered with dozens of bodies, all in various states of decay,

ravaged and tossed aside like trash and refuse after they had been put to brutal, sadistic use.

Tempus... Florian said with a hushed whisper as she covered her face with her sleeve.

Every inch of the chamber, the walls, the floors, and even the ceiling, they were all spattered

with blood and gore, the fluid and entrails of the dead having been drawn and painted as patterns

of runes in infernal, those runes then swirling about to form the shapes of other runes and higher
793

order structures on the walls. In blood and bile, the magic saturated walls were an artists canvas

and a poets tablet all at once.

Shes f*cked in the head. Toras said with disgust as they read the words upon the walls.

With the scarlet litten orbs seeping hate and chaos into the starless void, so my own black

heart burns with envy, hatred, and dispassionate rage.

Dancing among the dead I slather myself in their still warm blood and laugh at the yet living

as they consign themselves to death, knowing full well that torment ends not there. My grasp is

long indeed and I shackle them in chains of iron, envy, and fear, all fueling the inevitable.

Hatred within hatred, indignity and exile for the prisoner and warden of the doomed alike.

Let the hatred rise and soar in pitch and effect and crush the souls of the objects of my loathing.

Bend, twist, and forge the fires of hatred and pain to mask from sight and scry both my

servants home and the inviolable truth, the unseen rationale behind my bloodlust.

Let the skies burn and the seas boil along with my heart as it is unfilled and wanting. The

screams of others as they die by my hand my only solace.

***

I can see that you appreciate my sisters handiwork.

Siddharthas voice rang out from behind them. The fading spiral of light from a closing gate

backlit the Rakshasa, framing his robed figure in the doorway ominously as he appeared from

out of nowhere.

Accept my apologies for not having been present to kill you before now. I was busy else-

where.

The fiend extended a hand out towards them, magic already flickering from the tips of his

claws.

But unfortunately, youve seen too much, this game has gone on for far longer than I had

intended, and now it will be ended.

The fiends whiskers twitched and his lip curled as he prepared to invoke a spell. But before

he could incant a syllable, there was a sharp metallic crack and a high-pitched whistle from

Florians crossbow.

The bolt, a blessed bolt, shot across the distance in a flash, time itself seeming to hang still

in a single moment of breathless uncertainty before it struck home, dead center on Siddharthas

heart.

He looked down at the bolt in his chest as it buried itself inches deep, a mixture of surprise and

befuddled confusion momentarily replacing that smug certainty from just moments earlier before
 794

his eyes rolled back in his head and momentum hurled him backwards. The impact splattered

blood across the hallway and flung the fiend through the air and onto the floor, spread-eagled

on the stone, motionless.

Chapter 71

It was known as Pitiless, and the name well suited it as its latest inmate arrived to be handed

over into its iron embrace.

Ghyris Vast slouched were he stood and gazed up with disinterest at the trio of guards, frost

giants all of them, who stood around where he and his keepers waited. Slouching was really

all that he could do; the chains that connected to the iron rings at his wrists, ankles, and neck

didnt much give him the option of moving or looking around the place at his whimsy.

But no matter, he was sure to get the guided tour, at least for a little while, and after that,

well... hed have a long while to examine the place up close and personal. Cozy even. Perhaps

theyd give him a pleasant cell.

A vacation. That was a nice little spin upon it all. Some time away from his incessant work,

slave labor under any other name, indentured servitude to that fuzzy, manic bitch on the Astral.

He really detested her. Not that it mattered though.

Is this the prisoner?

The words broke the silent calm that had descended over the chamber for the past few

minutes, minutes punctuated by only his own thoughts and the soft clatter of his own chains.

He appreciated that. Silence was important to him in its own specific ways, now more than ever.

Yes. This is him. Came the voice of one of the two githyanki who stood behind him: his

keepers.

A rough hand on his shoulder pushed him forward, rattling his chains. His keepers didnt

seem to think too highly of him, hed gathered that much already during their momentary

transit through the Astral, teleporting to the very edge of the bubble of oddly... quiet... void

that surrounded the prison known as Pitiless.

And why exactly do you wish to place him in our custody?

The speaker, a dour faced dwarf dressed in robes that concealed armor, glared up at him

with a mixture of curiosity and loathing. The dwarf paid particular attention to the tattoos of

795
 796

the Bleak Cabal on the back of his hands, that being the source of his derision, especially given

that he iron medallion emblazoned with the symbol of the Doomguard.

Dont worry about faction politics. Ghyris said. I dont think itll cause any disturbances.

And truth be told, I really dont think Ill have the opportunity to voice my grievances in any

Hall of Speakers here...

The dwarf chuckled. No, you wont. And unless given permission, you will not speak at

all.

That was certainly rude. Irrelevant though it might be.

I repeat myself. The dwarf said, a second time more forcefully. Why do you wish to place

him in our care?

Vasts keepers shifted warily.

We were not aware that a reason was required. And our mistress informed us that you

had already agreed to this transfer, and had been given the specifics of our deal. One of them

replied. Besides, you gain another person to watch whither away over the eons; something more

to test your philosophy upon.

Things fall apart... A new voice said from the back of the room. Another dwarf, hed been

lurking quietly behind the row of giants that had been assembled in the room.

I dont believe youve met my brother Jaich, co-warden of Pitiless. The first dwarf said.

Jaich with No Spirit. His brother corrected.

One of the githyanki gave a short bow before returning to the proper topic of their business.

In any event Aorth, reasons?

The first dwarf, Aorth with No Heart, waved a hand dismissively.

I was curious, thats all. He said. But no reason is needed.

Good. The githyanki replied. Our mistress requires discretion.

There is some information that we do require though. Jaich said softly with a smile that

just vaguely hid a streak of smug malevolence.

Like theyre aware of much... Ghyris muttered.

And really, they werent. They were more tools than he was. He at least had had creative

freedom, more or less, while they were simply puppets that did as they were told. That didnt

prevent them from belting him across the back of his head though.

What information do you need? One of Vasts two minders asked.

Things relevant to what amount of security we provide to imprison him, and what he is

capable of should he resort to violence while in our care.

Vasts keepers nodded.

797

Firstly, Aorth said. He appears human. Is he? Because you appear to be githyanki but

most certainly are not.

We can tell. Jaich said with a wink, wriggling his pinky finger and the glittering jewel there

fixed upon a ring.

And given the purpose of this place, and the contents here and forever contained, Aorth

continued. We justly prefer to know who in fact were dealing with.

Jaich gave an idle shrug and waved his hands. Please dispense with the pretensions of

mortality if you would.

Ghyris giggled as his keepers glanced at one another.

I know a secret... He said softly.

There was a sudden snapping of bones and resculpting of flesh as one of his two keepers

resumed their native form, its wings casting a heavy shadow across both of the dwarves. Looking

down, though just barely now, the giant mentally reassessed the potential threat the pair of

githyanki represented should their dealings with the wardens of Pitiless go sour.

Unexpected. Jaich said blunty, looking up into the fanged maw of the creature.

Unexpected but irrelevant. His brother stated. Your kind have other prisoners here, and

this is simply another log upon the pyre.

Behind him, Jaich spread his hands and wriggled his fingers as if he were sifting dust or sand.

Ashes to ashes.

The other faux-githyanki remained in its assumed form, fully half the height of its partner,

but both of them stood there waiting for another set of questions from the dwarfs.

As you said, Jaich stated. Were already aware of the specific details of this prisoner

and his transfer here. Your mistress, the honored Lady Brampandra, was quite succinct in her

dealings with us.

What my brother means to say is that we have nothing more of substance to converse

about. Aorth said. Youre free to go.

The faux-githyanki nodded and it hulking companion bent forward, spreading its wings in a

conciliatory gesture, though truth be told, it was more a mocking farewell to their former charge.

For his part, Vast waved back at them before they turned to leave the prison.

You belong to us now. Jaich bluntly stated.

Vast ignored him and glanced back at the departing forms of his keepers, both now in their

true forms.

That wasnt the secret... He said knowingly.

 798

Come with us. Aorth said, taking a firm hold of Vasts chains. We will take you to your

cell and explain certain things to you as we must.

And if you dont, well have you beaten, bound, and carried there. Jaich said with a smile.

Vast turned away and muttered something inaudible in reply. But regardless, he followed

them, though he was under no allusions that if he did not they wouldnt simply drag him kicking

and screaming to his cell. Dramatics were entirely unnecessary at this stage. Hed served his

purpose to two separate sets of would-be masters now, or so each of them thought of course, and

all the while hed been free to continue his Great Work, his masterpiece.

And there was still that tiny matter of a secret. Oh yes.

You are to be placed within the high security ward of this prison.

Aorths words were largely ignored by Vast, he was largely muttering to himself and glancing

up and around like a child at everything to be seen as they moved through the various wards of

Pitiless.

The first hallway was several hundred feet long, while high above them, far out of easy reach,

elevated walkways crisscrossed the heights, providing the guards with a birds eye view of the

floor.

We do like to keep a close eye on all of you. Jaich said. And weve never once had a

subject escape.

I dare say that its impossible. Aorth said with a grin. Teleportation, planeshifting, even

opening a gate is impossibly within the confines of Pitiless.

And weve never seen evidence of a portal from Sigil either. Jaich added.

If I am wanted, I will be taken. Vast murmured.

If your prior owners wish to reclaim you, they simply have to request it. Aorth retorted.

I wasnt referring to them... Vast replied.

Then who are talking about? Aorth asked, though he frankly didnt care. The man was

insane, hed been made aware of this by Vasts owners before they had brought him to Pitiless.

Vast was a Bleaker, and one long since lapsed into the Grim Retreat or just barely clinging to

the raw, bleeding edge of lucidity and not entirely condemned to that Abyss quite yet.

Who am I talking about? Vast asked rhetorically. I suppose well know sooner or later.

Just ignore him brother... Jaich said, rolling his eyes.

You dont want to know. Vast said, slipping into a whisper. I wish I didnt either. Its

my secret you see.

Aorth followed his brothers advice, and he and Jaich both ignored Vasts incoherent rambling

till they had made their way through the warehouse and up to the security check and the massive
799

gate leading into the first cellblock.

There, at the end of the hallway they paused and from high above the guards, a pair of frost

giants, pulled open the gate. Cold iron it seemed, laced with a sparkle of silver in places. Vast

smiled at their paltry use of alchemy in the forge, but it certainly helped to contain fiends if they

had any bottled up with him.

Fiends...

Vast paused and grew pale at the thought. He shuddered, something not missed by his

wardens. They would be watching him more closely.

Proceed. Aorth said, prodding him forward with the end of an iron rod. We have a

distance to walk to reach your cell, and teleportation and similar magics do not function within

the confines of the prison.

So I -do- receive the guided tour then! Vast said, the manic switch in the back of his

Bleakers mind flipping over suddenly. Splendid!

Just walk. Jaich said. And touch nothing.

Beyond the gates was a massive warehouse, a storeroom of items, objects, parcels, and the

inanimate left in safekeeping. Sequestered. Abandoned. Wanted or unwanted they were left to

molder and rust. Thousands of objects, maybe more, ranging from golden statues and imperial

regalia to worthless trinkets of sentimental value to persons long dead, and speaking of which

there was even a marble mausoleum situated upon the storehouse floor, complete down to its

last block of stone, picked up and deposited there for safekeeping.

Quite a collection you have here. Ghyris said with a smile. Shed love to go digging

through it all I suspect.

She? Aorth asked, nudging Vast forward, pointing out that yes indeed he was still a prisoner.

The one who sent me here to visit you. Greedy little bitch. Vast replied with a wink.

Powerful. Incredibly powerful. But a bit unhinged in the head. Crazy...

The bleaker spun a finger through the air and laughed without a care in the world.

You dont say... Jaich replied with a snicker.

I like the decorations! Vast said, pointing up and grinning at the black spheres that hung

suspended in the air over the warehouse floor, likely to scry upon and perhaps channel spells in

the event something became active or free.

Theyre like sad little Mediators, lost and away from home. He said, the manic shine to his

attitude bleeding away as something flicked the ephemeral little switch in his brain once more.

Im afraid... Vast whispered as they approached the gates to the next section of the prison

and waited for them to open.

 800

Of what? Aorth said. This place is sacrosanct. Theres no way in or out, and half the

major powers across the planes have people stuffed away in here.

Second only to Carceri itself. Jaich said with a nod as the gate swung open.

And each of those people, or groups, races or powers with a card from their hand shuffled

away here, they have it in their best interest to keep this place secure. Aorth continued. Nothing

can disturb this place unless it wishes to disturb all of those persons who want this prison to be

secure and inviolable.

Vast didnt reply. It wouldnt have helped.

Continue forward, Aorth said as the door settled into its open position. And do not stare

overly long at any of the prisoners in the cells of the next block of the prison.

Vast shambled forwards and tried to listen to those orders, but he couldnt help but feel that

the inmates in their cells were staring at him. Of course, they were all out on display, penned,

put under glass, exhibited... Could you blame them for doing the same?

The hall was several hundred feet long, lined with cells on each side, each of them staggered

in arrangement to prevent direct prisoner-to-prisoner contact. Most of the occupants were in-

dividuals, all of them locked away for one reason or another, by their own will or not. Most of

them simply sat and did nothing, but several prisoners entertained an audience.

Halfway down the hall, a Maralith was coiled at the edge of one cell, staring at its occupant,

likely conversing telepathically, while a pair of Bulezau stood behind her. Similarly, further down

the hallway, a trio of robed figures were floating through an opened gateway leading to the third,

more secure, portion of Pitiless.

Ghyris Vast ignored the visitors, and as he was marched down the hallway he only stopped to

look at the inhabitants of one cell; the others were just ignored or maybe given a passing glance.

But no, one cell was given more than just a look.

There were five of them packed together in a single cell, all of them identical to the casual

viewer, and all of them acting seemingly in unison. Devetes, odd little creatures of chaos, born

in the dim past of Xaos, the Outlands gatetown to Limbo, or so legend said. They were small of

stature, vaguely reptilian, with blue skinned, sinuous bodies and oversized, luminous eyes that

blinked as they turned to look at Ghyris.

Devetes were typically whimsical and harmless when encountered along, but when they gath-

ered in groups, they became something altogether different. This group, known as the Devete

Choir, it acted as a hivemind of sorts, but without a defined personality in some ways. They

were an emotional sink, a sponge of thoughts and ideas, clay in the hands of their environment,

a mirror to the minds of the people around them.

801

Vast turned to stare directly at them and the Devete Choir stared back.

You understand...

The Devetes skin, mildly chameleon-like, blanched from sapphire blue to a sickly gray pallor.

Their eyes bulged and they shuddered as one.

What are you doing?! Aorth demanded as he pulled up on the slack in Vasts chains.

You understand perfectly...

In their cell, the Devetes began to scream.

Aorth and Jaich dragged Vast the remainder of the way through the cellblock, listening to

the obviously insane Bleaker chuckle and mutter to himself as they passed the other cells. It

would take an hour for the Devetes to regain some semblance of sanity and rationale behavior,

an hour to stop their agonized shrieking.

Eventually though, Vast regained his wits and they allowed him to walk again, though his

proverbial and literal leash was shorter. The wardens would be glad when he was locked away

in his cell, secluded and out of their hair, just another subject to keep and observe.

And then, beyond one last set of heavy gates, they arrived. The chamber held five massive,

oversized cells, the living graves of creatures far too large for the other chambers within the

prison: dangerous and deadly things. One was empty, one was flooded with shadows and the

sinuous form of a shadow dragon within, and another held a horrific being best described as a

segmented, multi-limbed worm with multiple eyes and a massive, fanged maw.

Delightful little beast you have there. Ghyris said to Aorth. A hungry little thing...

Jaich rolled his eyes. Vast was waving at the Entrope like it was a lost puppy.

The other two larger cells Vast couldnt see from his vantage point, and given his prior

experience with the Devetes, they didnt allow him the leeway.

Your cell is over here. Aorth said, tugging on Vasts chains.

There were a dozen smaller cells within the block, each bordered by layers upon layers of

wards, permanent walls of force, and even less prosaic things to contain, to shackle, to guard, to

protect...

Where they keeping him there out of malice or were they protecting him?

All of the high security cells were separated from one another by a full forty feet, and staggered

in such a way that the prisoners on one side of the chamber could not gain an unimpeded view of

the cells across from them. It was all very well thought out, and the prisoners were truly isolated

both from the outside world and from one another. Not that it really mattered to Vast, not that

it really mattered at all. Nothing did, but here the Doomguard were, trying to prove meaning

in a meaningless void.
 802

Vast stepped forward a bit and glanced around his cell. The dwarves werent pushing him

too much, they had time certainly, and they probably figured that if they didnt treat him too

harshly on his first day of incarceration he was probably less liable to attempt to cause trouble. It

wasnt him they had to worry about though... oh no...not him they needed to concern themselves

with.

From the cell across the chamber there was a commotion. A trio of robed, hooded figures

had just departed from where they had been conversing with one of the inmates. Mocking and

tormenting him though was more like it. The wizards, they were floating off the ground by a

few inches, chuckling amongst themselves in a dialect of abyssal Vast was fluent in.

Oh yes, they were mocking him. Rightfully so it would seem. Hed done them wrong, done

them all wrong, fallen from its pinnacle of dark grace. He shouldnt have been aware of that,

but he knew it intuitively.

Whatever his exact sin, or lack of them, the other prisoner was weeping, both audibly, tapping

against the tympanic membranes in Vasts all too mortal skull, and telepathically, slipping across

the distance like a pure note from a tarnished instrument left too long in the rain.

The feel of that mind against his, though of a very different kind than before, it brought back

memories, unpleasant ones.

Vast paused and shuddered.

A fiend. Not the same, not the same, no not the same... hed been warned, ordered, and hed

so far obeyed. But It would know if he violated those warnings.

It was watching. Cold. Merciless. Giving but taking. Addition by subtraction. Those eyes...

Vast turned around with a start and glanced at the cells and their hidden occupants. But

no, never, no, it was silly to think that It was lurking behind the walls, around a corner, in a

distant cell like some kind of bogey-man whispered of to Hiver children to get them to sleep so

their parents could go f*ck in the room down the hall.

There was little chance that... what was he saying... It could butcher him at any moment if

It willed it to be so. He had seen Its face, seen himself reflected in Its eyes, seen it staring back

at him behind his eyes in the mirrors reflection, in his head, inside of him.

In the cell with you. Jaich said. We have eternity here to watch you rot, but I dont want

to be on my feet in here that whole time. Move.

In the cell with you? In the cell with him? The cell was empty, that couldnt be it. In his

head. It had to be. Making him go mad. That was it. That was Its gift, Its price, Its inevitable

effects upon his fragile psyche. Madness from the mad, to the mad.

Not of course that hed ever intentionally sought It out. Quiet the opposite, It had come
803

to him, attracted like a moth to a candle, fluttering up on bleached wings and rancid unholy

thought, whispering, instructing, teaching. And oh yes, hed listened all the time as It had helped

him complete his Great Work, his Device.

Not that his keepers had been aware of this when theyd come for him, dragging him off

of that distant Godisle, torturing him to make him work for them, prying apart his thoughts,

making him teach them how it worked and how hed created it. Shed understood, well, most

of it. She was intelligent enough, monstrously so, but still, some of the concepts were hellishly

complex, and it would take her time to fully tumble to those darks, him helping her just as It

had spoken to him. And she didnt know.

I have a secret you know...

None of it mattered of course. Things simply happened because they happened, not because

of any grand pattern or purpose or reason lurking behind the curtain draped across a cold and

uncaring multiverse. But even so, Ghyris Vast was frightened. He tried not to show it as the

wardens motioned him one last time into his cell.

Ghyris Vast was terrified. It was staring at him, looking at him from the corners of his vision,

glaring at him from the back of his jailers eyes, It had been there in the countenances of the

guards looking down on them, and It had been there in the hollow stares of the other prisoners

that theyd passed along the way, the wretches long ago resolved to their fate.

It shouldnt, It couldnt follow him, but then again... he knew what It was even if the others

didnt, and that was his little secret. No need to tell them, even as they tossed him to the side

like so much rubbish. He lived on borrowed time.

You cant protect me you know. Vast muttered as he stepped into his cell, a hollow ten by

ten space of stone, iron, and magic.

Cells could keep you safe. Padded walls could prevent you from harm. Wards and walls and

guards would keep you hidden and safe. Nothing could penetrate within Pitiless, which was

simply the way things worked. But Ghyris knew what It was.

The cell door closed, the lock gave a heavy shudder, and the wards sprung into being. Might

they keep him safe and sound? Could they?

What if it was still inside of him?

***

YES!!!! Florian shouted at the top of her lungs.

She tossed her crossbow to the side and threw her arms up in the air, letting loose a cry of

absolute triumph.
 804

Ive been saving that for you!

Florian kept shouting, the justice of her act expressed in a grin spreading across her face in

between jubilant cackles, and the intensity of her stare down at the pool of blood spreading out

from the bolt buried in Siddharthas chest.

All around, Florians mood of triumph was spreading into a chorus of shouts, raised hands

and pumping fists. The fiend had been a thorn buried in their side, just as they had been one in

his, and they had finally come out on top.

All around they felt relief. Nothing could rob them of that victory. Nothing.

But be it Ciphers intuition or not, Fyrehowls smile died stillborn a moment later.
Chapter 72

Siddhartha was standing again.

What the hell... Florian sputtered breathlessly as all color drained from her face.

Siddhartha chuckled as he brushed at his clothing from where he had fallen, and then glanced

down at the crossbow bolt buried in his chest like it was a splinter. The blood was gone, vanished,

evaporated, and a moment later the fiend plucked the bolt from the wound without so much as

a wince and it sealed like it had never been there.

What the bloody hell... Florian sputtered again, absolutely deflated from her exuberance

of seconds prior.

The fiend laughed, and tossed the crossbow bolt to the side like a piece of trash, a contemp-

tuous, gloating smirk playing across his face.

You have absolutely no idea what it is that you blundered into. Siddhartha said, his tail

twitching erratically like a demons metronome. All because of that idiot Baatezu on behalf of

the f*cking Lord of the 5th. Their curiosity, all on behalf of Tiamat by way of Vlaakith, that

rotting mortals corpse too long awaiting a grave... it has become a problem.

Siddharthas voice was changing as he spoke. The mellifluous, cultured, nearly poetic tones

of the exiled Rakshasa were bleeding away, leaving only the hatred behind, a slick and sickening

tone like drops of acid on the mind.

A f*cking deity. The fiend said with utter contempt. Her stupid prodding of the Baatezu

was trouble enough, but they could be easily manipulated from other directions. You though

have proven unfortunate.

His lips were no longer moving, but he was still speaking to them, his voice simply resonating

in their heads, seeping like an infection into their brains, and coiling around their neurons like a

clutch of vipers.

Oh sh*t... Clueless blurted out as he realized that he had felt the same mental intrusion

before, or rather one very much like it, in the city of Center.

805
 806

Siddharthas eyes: they were glowing a harsh and angry red, shifting to orange, fading to

violet, dancing between colors. There was a single final smirk upon the Rakshasas face before

his features melted away, running like hot wax as he dropped all pretensions of being what he

had claimed and appeared to be.

Gone was the elegantly dressed, tiger headed fiend from Acheron. Gone was the lawful but

bloodthirsty tyrant wrapped in the guise of nobility. All that remained was a tall, gaunt figure

in a flowing black robe with its featureless, elongated cranium, without mouth, without nose,

with only the burning eyes of an Ultroloth.

Elation at striking what had seemed a mortal blow on Siddhartha was replaced by shock and

fear. An Ultroloth. That changed everything. Every inconsistency from before fell into place as

everything else was screaming youre f*cked.

Of all of them, only Kiro showed no horrified shock or surprise. In fact, his feelings were more

along the lines of calm, measured confirmation of something already suspected. What hed been

told was correct, though that should have come as no surprise in and of itself either; it was rare

for them to be wrong before dispatching one of his kind. More thought and more confirmation

would come later though.

I cannot suffer yet another setback at your hands! The words exploded in their minds with

white-hot ferocity, a fraction of the Ultroloths own experience in failure translating in the words

spoken as tiny white motes of light erupting across their vision.

Somewhere behind them, where it had been lurking for some time awaiting the command of

its master, something swam through the stone of the palace foundations, and the floor silently

rippled like water.

I will not open myself to that misery once more! The yugoloth screamed into their minds.

You have no idea what - agony - you caused me! You cannot understand what she did to me

because of you!

There was virtually no warning to what happened next as the Ultroloth gestured with an out-

stretched hand and a chaotic stream of color burst from his palm. As the streams of acid, flame,

crackling lightning, and other effects swallowed the group, the loths defensive contingencies

triggered.

The prismatic spray had done its damage, with Skalliska, Florian, and Clueless burned and

singed to one degree or another, but they had managed to avoid any of the spells more deadly

potential effects. However, just as they managed to recover from that first sudden wave of magic,

the loth prepared to cast again, and its lurking watchdog of a creation burst from the ground.

Fyrehowl barely managed to evade the creature as its head and serpentine body broke the
807

surface of the stone floor like a sea-serpent cresting to attack a merchant ship. The creature was

a construct, and obviously so. The loth had already shown itself to be fond of such unthinking

servants, and this one was no different, if significantly larger than the others.

The beast was constructed of segments of gleaming steel, each sculpted and articulated as

individual scales on a true serpent or drake, or at least that was the creatures initial appearance

as it lunged at the lupinal and belatedly slapped its tail into Torass chest. The Cipher dove and

tumbled out of the way, but the edges of her fur briefly caught fire as the flank of the creatures

body rushed past her and back into the stone like the floor was some calcified ocean.

As it happened, the construct wasnt made out of steel, even if its surface gleamed with the

appearance of such. No, the metallic skin of the creature was simply white hot, and as it ripped

free from the stone a second time, there were clearly visible bursts of flame erupting from between

its scales, where major portions of its body had been engraved with arcane symbols, and also

glowing in the depths of its maw like some hellish vault.

Burned by the last pass of the construct, Skalliska hissed and tossed a crackling arc of lightning

at the loth from the tip of a wand. Rakshasas were immune to such magic, but Ultroloths were

not, at least not by default. Unfortunately the loth had defensive measures in place, theyd been

required for posing as a largely magic immune Rakshasa, and the bolt of electricity was snuffed

out several feet before it would have struck its target.

Hes got a globe of invulnerability of some sort! Tristol shouted out in warning as he hurled

a cone of cold onto the face of the oncoming serpentine construct as it launched itself from below

in a rapid succession of passes.

Clueless nodded in response to the mages observation. It explained why their spells hadnt

affected the fiend in their encounter on the Astral: theyd been nullified by just such a ward, or

theyd been swallowed by its own resistance to spells, giving the appearance of a true Rakshasas

magic immunities.

So few spells the bladesinger possessed would directly affect the Ultroloth, but then the one

he had presently called into his mind wasnt going to be cast directly against the fiend anyways.

Meanwhile, as the bladesinger hurled his own spell, Tristol was madly diving out of the path

of the loths construct and struggling to keep a hand steady enough to discharge a second spell:

a dimensional anchor. Moments later, by pure luck, the spell hit the Ultroloth and appeared to

penetrate its wards, though the loth seemed entirely unconcerned.

The fiendish construct meanwhile hadnt been so much as slowed by the burst of ice thrown

at its head. Whatever its unique form classified it as, it appeared to have a whole host of

standard golem magic immunities. That left the aasimar wizard largely useless against it, but
 808

hed known what spell Clueless was preparing to hurl at the Ultroloth, and hed known something

to compliment it.

Magic immunities did not however make the burning metallic serpent immune to raw physical

damage, and it had taken several blows to its face and midsection each of the times that it had

burst up from below to attack them. It would have taken considerably more, but the creature was

obscenely quick, and it was approaching from different positions and different angles each and

every time it surfaced. Consequently, only Kiro, and to a lesser extent, Fyrehowl, had managed

to react quickly enough to land any solid blows.

And then there was the Ultroloth whose mental laughter and mocking commentary echoed

through their heads as they futilely stabbed at its construct and made largely ineffective attacks

against it. Already the loth had simply shrugged off a flamestrike from Florian, and moments

later it tossed another spell at them, causing Florian and Toras to stagger and gasp as it seemed

to threaten every drop of water in their bodies with evaporation.

As they struggled to resist the fiends spell, or at least cope with its horrid damage, Clueless

spell was completed, though to no visible or immediately obvious effect. Still, it would be noticed

when the loth moved, and the irony was that hed learned it from a fire genasi whod been handed

it by a yugoloth. And oh, what a useful spell it had proven to be.

Youve already caused me too much disruption in what I have been tasked to do. The

Ultroloth broadcast, rattling their skulls. At least you will die with less prolonged agony at my

hands than by my... sisters.

That last word, referring to Brampandra as his sibling, there was an almost amused inflection

given to it. Yethmiil very clearly didnt have any siblings, and whatever his so-called sister was

in actuality, she was not, and never had been his sister.

... interesting... The fiend then muttered as it stepped forward and into the wall of the

invisible bubble of force that Clueless had conjured into place over it, confining it to a space only

a few feet across.

Still, it is irrelevant. He said as he raised a gray, elongated hand to cast once more.

Florian was healing Nisha, Tristol was casting a spell of Haste on Toras, and Kiro was

dislodging one his two swords from the serpentine constructs back when the Ultroloths spell

manifested as a living wave of minute imp-like beings composed of flame.

The wave broke on them just as Kiro and Toras landed killing blows upon the fiendish

construct. Kiro leapt over the oncoming tide of living flame and Toras wildly dove for cover next

to the rapidly cooling construct, though the former escaped with considerably less harm, and

the others were spared the worst of it by a moment of prescient action when Fyrehowl hurled a
809

cone of cold directly into the flames, extinguishing a swathe of the tiny creatures.

As the spell faded there was a moment of calm, brief though it was, as the loth surveyed the

damage. It hadnt done nearly enough, and though several of them were terribly injured, with

Nisha and Skalliska wincing against burns and slashes inflicted by the serpent, the pain only

galvanized them for what came next.

The Ultroloth was trapped under a bubble of force, overconfident in the extreme, and wholly

unprepared for the fact that it was confined in an enclosed space and unable to teleport out. Too

late it realized its error, and just what sort of unique variation on a typical wall of force spell

had been thrown over him when Clueless stabbed through the wall and into the fiends chest.

A raw crash of anger and pain washed over them all as the fiends mind projected a mental

impression of its wounds, and a sudden desperation that was so violently atypical for the cold,

calm and always prepared aura that surrounded Ultroloths almost by default.

It had been a horrid mistake to fight them against such numerical odds, doubly so in that

hed expended his most powerful spells earlier in the day with a pair of Gates. The thought kept

intruding into his mind over and over again of how much of a mockery his existence had become

under that subcreature he called a mistress. And now because of her in no small way, Yethmiil

was trapped, a point only reinforced by a flurry of rapid stabs into his back by Kiro, who like

always, just seemed to be in the right place at the right time, normal space and normal speed

being no issue.

A rapid stream of poisonous invectives and a sequence of perverse, disturbing images pumped

into their minds as the Ultroloth flooded their minds with his anger, and what amounted to

telepathic swearing. His swearing though was less of concern than the necromantic spell he

tossed a second later, exploding in a circle of darkness that momentarily threatening to snuff out

their lives.

Sadly though, Florian had already granted them all some measure of protection, and though

that protective ward buckled and failed against the loths spell, the circle of death was likewise

nullified. Another spell might have been forthcoming from its seemingly endless well of destruc-

tive incantations, but it never had the chance as Toras and Clueless both drove their swords

through the wall of force and into the fiend.

Already bleeding from a dozen wounds, the Ultroloths eyes flared violet with pain and

disbelief. It had been a mistake to be so completely unprepared, and all of it was because of the

b*tch who held him in thrall in the first place. Going to and from her residence upon the Astral

had drained him of his most powerful spells, and it was necessity that had pulled him back to

die. Hed never had a chance as depleted as hed been; the battlefield had not been one of his
 810

choosing, either in locations physical or temporal.

What the hell is this all about?! Clueless demanded angrily.

The sword slipped an inch deeper, but it was really unnecessary, and wouldnt have made

a difference. Shed geased him, geased an Ultroloth; he couldnt have told them any relevant,

critical information even if he had been willing to, which he wasnt. But even as their crude,

tentative application of pain embedded itself further into his mind, he could already feel some-

thing else fraying at the edges of his sense of self, invading... his vision was fading, not to black,

but to crimson.

No... not again.... The telepathic outburst was panicked.

Carceri was feeding on him. The Red Prison was sucking his essence into itself. The loths

had not yet linked themselves to the plane, not fully, and so while the plane might hunger for

him, it could not keep him long. But regardless, he was dying then and there for the second

time in his existence. He recognized this not with anger and rage, but with fear. The first time

had been different, long ago and in Gehenna, but this time, She would never let the plane itself

claim him, locking him into the centuries long process that it would take for him to reform and

coalesce as a distinct being once more.

No, his fate would be much worse.

Kill him and be done with it. Skalliska said bluntly as she sat on the wreckage of the loths

construct, still bleeding from several wounds.

Not yet. Clueless said without turning away from the fiend. Ill enjoy it when we do, but

I want to know what all the hell is going on here. Theyve f*cked me over before and Ill be

damned if Ill just drop this without some information.

The fiends mental emanations were growing sluggish like coagulating blood, or the Styx

grown clogged on a thousand bloated corpses. It was getting slower by the moment, and his

robes were drenched in his own blood. He was dying.

You have no idea what shell do to you... Yethmiil whispered in their minds, both as a final

exclamation to them, and a harrowed, foreboding statement of what would be awaiting him.

And with that, he began to blur at the edges, merging with the red light of the plane for a

few brief moments before imploding like a bloated star, trailing motes of his essence, sparkling

pinpricks of light, up towards some unseen point high above on the surface. They watched him

die, but they also watched him being called back by something else, snatched up, summoned.

What in Tempus name are we involved in here? Florian asked as the last bits of the fiends

essence spiraled away into nothing.

There was no easy answer of course, and the loth hadnt given them anything else to work
811

on, save for the fact that he had never been a Rakshasa. Siddhartha was an assumed identity,

and there might have never been a fiend by that name. Or, if there had, hed been long dead

and his identity assumed out of convenience by the Ultroloth.

No easy answers, but plenty of questions. If Siddhartha, or rather Yethmiil, as the Gehreleth

had called him, had been an Ultroloth, and very obviously been a lesser to his sister, the Lady

Brampandra, another so-called Rakshasa, then who or what was she? The bloody poetry written

into the wardings in the Astral, and there in Carceri, shed penned them it would seem, and they

had never seemed to be something a true Rakshasa would have created. Not ordered enough,

not structured and proper, too grotesque and wild despite the layers of organization that was

there beneath the crimson spattered chaos.

If she wasnt a Rakshasa, just what the hell was she? What had they been doing on the

Astral? Where was she? And what would happen now?

Things were terribly, horribly different from what they had so far assumed about their enemy.

And as they stood there in the depths of a fake Rakshasas palace in Cathrys, the silence of

uncertainty was deafening.

***

The crimson glow of Cathrys faded from his eyes as his corporeal form dissolved. For a

moment Yethmiil kalSuth was suspended between layers of Carceri, a cold and bitter void, a

place that might have existed before the formation of the orbs, or might not have existed beyond

the abstract. But then there was a touch, a summons, a burst of anger. The moment was over

and in an instant he was siphoned through a hole in reality, not entirely unlike the touch of the

Maeldur, but guided and initiated by a force altogether more malevolent.

The transition was harsh and abrupt, but indeed he had felt it before, eons ago. That first

instance he had been killed by a Balor, Argrazoth of the Brine Flats, in a particularly key battle

on the slopes of Mungoth. It had taken him two centuries to fully reform, but for what it was

worth, he still had the soul of that Tanarri entrapped in a gem buried a mile deep, still conscious

in its imprisonment.

But this time was different. That had been during an earlier time, an earlier era when

Anthraxus still held the Siege Malicious, and under the regime of that prior Oinoloth, he had

held considerable sway as far as the lawful evil planes were concerned. Death at the hands of

Argrazoth, especially when that being of chaos was so far removed from its native element, had

been a disaster. In his absence during the time his scattered essence gathered itself and reformed

on the Waste, his fellow Ultroloths had carved apart his holdings in Gehenna and the Waste so
 812

that when he returned his prestige was solid, but his actual power was a drop of what it had

been at his height.

He had eventually recovered from that death. Almost. Hed tortured Argrazoth to death,

and the Tanarris agony had proven to be a succor to his own losses, even as the Waste sapped

at the less tangible joys of the act itself. It had been a horrible execution leading up to the

imprisonment, even by the standards of Ultroloths, and one that he was certain his current

overseer and mistress would at once find both brilliant and blasphemous. Hed birthed a quartet

of arcanaloths in full view of Argrazoth, instructing the newborn loths in the subtleties of applied

pain, slowly letting them feed upon the Balor piece by piece as it was flensed and dissected. A

bit of flesh on their lips, marrow to fight amongst one another over, a ligament to strip free of

muscle and bone to gnaw upon in the rooms corner like an infinitely more intelligent version of

some Night Hags pet Yeth Hound.

That had satisfied him. The rhythms of pain, the vibration of twitching muscles and thun-

dering arteries, vocal chords screaming and compressing the air, raw psionic tremors of the

Balors brain playing the aether like a madmans lute. Satisfaction, if not joy. The Waste denied

pleasure, true pleasure, to its chosen.

It had taken him millennia to recoup his fall from dark grace, and in the end he had crawled

into a position of power in the court of Mydianchlarus. And it was in that position that he had

first met The Ebon, and during his late tenure there in the Wasting Tower, he had heard rumors

of the Wheels Within Wheels, and their spinning had brought him close like some metaphysical

centripetal force of fate. He had once been mighty, and they would offer him that prestige once

more.

But they had demanded loyalty, and they seemed, somehow, to be capable of enforcing such.

In true yugoloth fashion he had wavered back and forth between the offers of power that they

had whispered to him from a dozen different speakers, and then later when Anthraxus began to

muster his army at the Hill of Bone, hed danced with the altraloths promises and entreaties as

well. Mydianchlarus, Anthraxus, The Wheels... hed played with the three of them and never

given his loyalty till it was far too late. Hed meant to throw his support to Mydianchlarus at

the last moment, but something in the back of his mind had stopped him. Whatever it was,

if anything but whimsy, it had prevented him from decorating the spires of the Wasting Tower

with his corpse, but it had not placed him among those Ultroloths counted as loyal to the new

order.

He wasnt willing to place himself under the authority of a lesser entity. He served The Ebon

out of respect for power, service at the point of a sword, but there was always a loathing for
813

such an abject, wanton disruption in the roles, rank, and caste of their race. Even with what he

had become, Anthraxus had been an Ultroloth before his transition and his attainment of the

throne of Khin-Oin. The Ebon was an arcanaloth, a lesser being, a subcreature by comparison,

though in his presence that never felt like the case. In that ones presence, there was something

that simply did not feel right, or perhaps something maddeningly familiar that he could never

appropriately quantify.

And the newly crowned Oinoloth had been well aware of those feelings it seemed, and so had

she. She had played her cards correctly, she had danced with the Ebon from the start, and with

his rise in status, she too had gained prestige and power commensurate to her loyalty.

Shed requested his subservience. Shed fixed her eyes on his, a wild miasma of colors reflected

back between them both, a single commonality bridging the gulf between them. He was an

Ultroloth, the apex of purity. She was an abomination, a mockery of transcendence.

Why? Why had she requested him? She reveled in her newfound power, and in fact she was

still holding the severed head of Palinarius, her former master, when she made her request. He

was simply another middling symbol of her triumph, a trophy of her sick gloating that made him

and the others under her command into objects.

Of course, hed have done much the same, even if his reasons were different, and even if his

mind simply worked different from hers. His was a razor, cold, unadorned and sterile; he would

never have abased himself on his knees before the Oinoloth, any Oinoloth, begging and bleeding

on the floor.

Shed pleaded for power and influence, and an Ultroloth as a puppet.

And in the end, the Oinoloth had acquiesced to her demand.

The thoughts of those events were not pleasant ones, and they grew worse as he mulled over

the evolution of their master and servant relationship, the farce of assumed identities only barely

changing that dynamic.

The first time that he had failed her she had tortured him for several days. It had impressed

him on one level, but it was different from what he would have done. She enjoyed it; she was

capable of emotional involvement in the act, while he would have done the same even without

the capacity for such unrefined thoughts.

Again, those thoughts of her as an abomination, thoughts that she knew fully well he har-

bored, and for which she punished him with manic, sadistic glee. There was something wrong

with her brain, or perhaps it simply had to do with her origin. She might have been birthed as

a mezzoloth by Carceri, one of the rare few of that kind, still influenced by the marginal chaos

the Red Prison clutched to its withered breast. Irony more, how fitting might it have been had
 814

she been one of those four that he himself had created several thousand years ago, birthed as

momentary executioners tools. Hed dismissed those newborns to the Tower Arcane and never

given them a moments attention afterwards.

Had he forged his own shackles? Hed likely never know, truth be told.

And now he would find himself at her mercy for a second time, though in a broader sense of

things, taking into account that the Oinoloth had probably intended to execute him eventually

had he not been placed under the bitchs authority, it was the third time that his continued

existence relied upon her acidic whimsy.

***

That momentary transition was over, and with it his recollections of what had brought him

to that point and to that place. The glow of Carceri was still present, but brighter, of a different

tone and texture to his senses. She had not plucked him away to the Astral, nor the demiplane

that she had forcibly tethered to the towers built at the heart of the storm there on that godisle,

that particular godisle...

He was still in Carceri, and she would not have brought him there unless she was present as

well. She was actually there, physically present, not simply projecting. There was a flicker of

magic and she was in the room, wrapped in the darkness. Even enraged and filled with homicidal

intent, she was self-conscious of her physical condition, likely having allowed it to fester during

her long periods of projection to various places outside of Carceri.

The air was alive with the mental presence of something that simply dwarfed his own, some-

thing to put all of his pretensions of inferior and superior beings into a shallow grave. Likewise the

air was pungent with a fierce contrast of perfume and open wounds. A pity he would remember

that.

Yethmiil closed his eyes and locked those last few moments of freedom into his memory,

hoping to dwell on them for what was to come.

Emerald eyes lit the darkness, slowly shifting colors, and a feral snarl cut the air.

The Tower would soon welcome yet one more living, screaming brick.
Chapter 73

So what do we do now? Clueless asked.

Blank stares, furrowed brows, the nervous tapping of fingers... and Nishas stuck out tongue,

those were the only immediate responses to the question. No easy answers certainly as their

minds were still puzzling over the implications of just what had happened back in Carceri, and

just what the next step would be.

There had certainly been repercussions when the Ultroloth had still been holding to his

assumed identity as a Rakshasa. With him gone, or at least temporarily out of the picture, it

was an open question with whether his so-called sibling, or superior... whatever she was... would

likewise take action against them.

Whatever she was.

I need another drink. Florian said, idly running her finger through a layer of foam ringing

the lip of her mug.

Clueless topped off the glass without comment and then went back to nursing his own.

The back room of the Portal Jammer was quiet as they sat around the table. Every so often

one of them would pause and open his or her mouth, mumbling something before stopping and

letting uncomfortable silence drift back down over them all. At least the still and cold quiet

there, back in Sigil, was more comfortable than the atmosphere during their trip back from

Carceri.

Their flight from the scarlet jungles of Cathrys had been uneventful and without conflict of

any sort. But perhaps that was to be expected on some level.

Theyd broken the wards in the depths of the palace; that macabre, bloody poetry on the

walls and floor, embedded with a hideous sprawl of magic and malice. They still werent entirely

sure who had penned it now that it seemed that neither of the so-called Rakshasas were anything

of the sort.

Just more uncertainties, more questions, more worries to mute their sense of victory over

815
 816

Siddhartha... whatever the fiends name was.

They had not stayed long in the palace after they had killed the fiend; really, only long enough

to search for any records that might aid them later, but they found little of the sort. Ultimately

they had given up, broken the wards and released the Deepspawn from its cell.

When they had climbed back up from the hidden basement halls and out into the crimson

glow of the jungle on the surface, they knew immediately that they were not alone, even if they

couldnt see anything. Fyrehowls fur had stood on end, and the jungle itself had been deathly

quiet.

Something, perhaps many things, were simply waiting for them to leave, giving them the

grace of a few moments to escape, purchased mercy.

The trip back to the portal had been brief and somewhat sullen, quiet and still, much like

their current mood in some ways. The wards were broken, and with that, their ability to teleport

was restored, and theyd used it to return to the portal to Sigil once they emerged out of the

palace.

They had briefly lingered outside the portal to turn back at look in the direction from which

they had come. Through the holes in the forest canopy they could already see the smoke from

the inferno that had begun to consume the yugoloths fortress, the flames sparked the moment

they had vanished.

The last thing that Fyrehowl saw before stepping through the portal and back into Sigil was

the leering, grinning face of a Farastu staring at her out of the depths of the scarlet jungle.

Purchased mercy.

Yeah. Fyrehowl said. What do we do now?

And when its the Cipher saying that... Tristol muttered.

Weve got nothing. Florian said.

For the moment. Kiro said softly. Regardless of whether we eventually want it or not,

the Gehreleth we freed back in Carceri did say that we would be given help. Or at least that

someone would contact us.

Xideous. Skalliska said. Whoever that is.

Presumably another fiend. Fyrehowl said with a sigh. Im getting tired of them.

At least its not another yugoloth. Clueless said, pushing another drink in front of the

lupinal.

Yeah. At least its not another f*cking yugoloth. Fyrehowl muttered, sputtering with her

muzzle an inch into her ale. Im understandably sick and tired of them.

Weve still got Siddharthas so-called sister. Clueless said. And she might decide to come
817

after us now that weve taken down her compatriot.

We still cant say for certain what she is. Kiro said. Though its likely that shes a yugoloth

as well.

I think we can assume that the original Lord Siddhartha and Lady Brampandra are dead.

Tristol said. At some point they might have fallen afoul of the loths, or they might have been

dead already and just served as convenient covers for them to adopt.

Still doesnt answer why they were posing as Rakshasas though. Toras said.

Whatever theyre doing. Kiro said. They probably just dont want the attention of the

celestials, the other fiends, the githyanki, or actual deities.

Not like theyve done that before. Fyrehowl muttered. Even more so now that theyve

got a new Oinoloth.

The cipher slipped into a soft, bitter soliloquy of cursing in celestial.

Well dont worry about it now. Clueless said. We can worry about it tomorrow.

Unless she sends assassins after us tonight. Fyrehowl said.

Which is a possibility I suppose. Kiro said. But weve handled them before, and its quit

possible that theyll simply try to cut their losses and not risk further exposure.

Possibly. Florian said.

But now that this is over... Skalliska began.

Over for the moment. Fyrehowl bluntly stated.

But now that this is over, The kobold continued. I would like to actually finish up what

Id originally gone to the Astral for in the first place.

A search for faith is always something to support. Kiro said with a soft smile. Would you

like any company?

Its appreciated, Skalliska replied. But Id like to do this on my own.

Kiro and Florian nodded to her.

So sometime in the next few days Im likely to skip town and backtrack our steps. She said.

Dont worry about me.

Hopefully we wont have anything to worry about ourselves. Nisha said as she tossed a

grape at Amberblue who was currently perched on a detached seat cushion next to Clueless.

Im still confused to all hell what the loth and his sister were up to on the Astral. Clueless

said, watching the Faeriedragon munch the grape. But my heads too cloudy to really wrap

itself around any real possibilities.

Then dont worry about it. Florian said. Like Kiro said, weve handled their goons before,

and if theyre much more powerful than that Ultroloth, they wont be able to get into Sigil
 818

anyways.

I dont really want to consider if theyre much more powerful than that Ultroloth. Tristol

said, his ears drooping slightly.

We can worry about it later. Kiro said, raising a glass. After all. By Sutekhs grace, were

all still here to be able to worry about it later. I think that certainly says something in our

favor.

True enough. Toras said, raising his own glass in response.

Those last statements certainly ended their discussion as a group on a more positive note

before they adjourned and went about their own concerns now that they were back in Sigil.

Clueless went back to tending the bar, Skalliska went back to her other office, and the others

went back to more mundane tasks, except perhaps Nisha who was rapidly trying to compete

with Clueless as Amberblues bestest friend, for better or for worse.

***

Two flights of stairs, two stories of the inn, and a thin wooden door stood between Kiro and

the others, muffling all sound from the common room below, and putting a bit of temporal and

metaphorical distance between his thoughts and theirs. And at the moment, that was necessary.

Things have certainly been more interesting than I expected. Kiro said to himself with a

chuckle as he pinned a note to the door, softly closed it, and knelt down in the center of the

room.

The room itself was fairly spartan and unlived in, decorated with only a few amenities. There

was a mirror, a bowl of water, some towels, a few symbols of his faith to decorate the wall and

really nothing much else. But of course, he hadnt been living there for very long at all before

hed been whisked away first to the Astral plane and then to Carceri. And even accepting that

as an excuse there wasnt much more to expect from a fairly ascetic follower of Sutekh.

Not that hed actually been living there.

The cleric relaxed and removed the small satchel he carried at his side, placing it down on

the floor in front of him, both that homespun bag and his large book of rituals and prayers as

well. Nothing was out of place, nothing at all. A priest going about meditation or prayer, and

nothing more.

Ive gone to the grand bazaar to purchase some candles and incense appropriate for my

evening prayers. I may wander some when I get there, never having had the chance to visit that

place before, so dont expect me back before evening. - Kiro

The note was succinct and to the point, nothing at all odd about its content, and everything

in line with his motivations as a priest.

819

Not that he was one of course.

He set the book to the side, the one filled with prayers he didnt believe in, and pages of

illustrations, hymns, liturgical chants, and doctrines with which he was intimately familiar, but

nonetheless wholly unfaithful towards. Neither respect nor disrespect intended to the Lord of

Ankhwugaht, but the trappings of his faith provided a useful background and ready persona to

adopt.

Emptied of its contents, the satchel was carefully laid down on the floor atop the book. It

had contained only a few paltry things: a mirror, a bit of incense, a few unlabled potions, one of

which was a fairly mundane poison, some dried food and a waterskin, and some bundled sheets

of parchment. Mundane things to be expected amongst the possessions of a priest, the typical

trappings of a true believer.

And then there was the box that had been nestled in and amongst those blasA c things.

The box was a tiny thing, just over the size of a closed fist. It had dozens of seams where

different pieces and types of wood had been fused together by a layer of glue or laccquer. It was

a jewel box, a curio container, or quite possibly a small reliquary from all indications.

But, like its owner, it was anything but what it might have appeared to be.

Deftly, Kiro reached out and touched several of the seams of the box in quick sequence.

Without a sound the box began to undergo a transformation. One of the wooden panels folded

outwards, followed by others, and the box itself began to blossom like a flower of angles and

spaces that shouldnt have existed.

Seconds later and the room was empty and Kiro was gone, swallowed up and vanished into

the extradimensional spaces hidden within the box.

***

All that distance. All those years of uncertainty. All those years in which the spiritual

hollow in her soul had been just as much of a void as the silver depths that surrounded her. All

of her waking moments ultimately leading her to the Astral in search of the fate of her dead

worlds pantheon, and she had never gotten there, derailed and detoured by happenstance and

inconvenient conflict.

Though it might not be appropriate to call the Erinyes actions happenstance. Theyd been

calculated and measured, tailored to fit the goals of her own infernal master and at least one

deity. Skalliska and her companions had simply been a tool in that, and the kobolds search for

faith and substance had simply been a vehicle for those others, a loose thread to pull upon and

tug.

But despite that initial deceit, the Erinyes, or perhaps rather her infernal patron, Prince
 820

Levistus, had proven loyal to their bargain in the end. But that deceit had still only used the

kobold and her companions as tools to Baators ends, and never actually given her the answers

that she had been looking for in the first place.

Still wondering if there had been any truth to the Erinyes claims which had first led her and

her companions to the Astral in the first place, Skalliska found herself back where she had left

off, hovering in the void above the petrified corpse of Maanzicorian.

What the hell? The kobold muttered to herself as she looked down upon the godisle.

They had last left the corpse surrounded by a field of debris and corpses. Shattered stone, rent

metal, splintered wood and the dead; Maanzicorians gravity well had clung to them tenaciously,

leaving the refuse to swirl around it like a cloud.

The godisle was scoured clean.

Only the broken foundations of the tower remained as any evidence of what they had seen,

and what they had put a stop too. The bodies were gone, the broken remnants of the githyanki

carracks were gone, and the rubble of the two orbiting towers had vanished without a trace.

Someone had removed every last trace of their involvement. Knowing what they knew about

the true identity of Siddhartha, there was little doubt as to whom.

***

The mail arrived. Tristol said, as he sat down at one of the tables in the common room.

Anything interesting? Florian asked, looking up from her drink.

So long as theres nothing dripping. Toras said. I dont want to have to walk over to the

Market Ward again to threaten that mephit.

Florian chuckled and glanced at the fighter.

How many times now have you had to do that? She asked. Two or three times?

Twice now. Toras replied. Next time I may need you as an alibi.

Tristol chuckled. Nothing from Seamus this time.

So, anything decent? Fyrehowl asked, taking a seat at the table next to Nisha.

Nisha, for her part, was completely absorbed in chitchat with Amberblue. The tiny faerie

dragon was spending his time between the tiefling and nibbling at the food that Clueless had had

prepared for him in the kitchen. Already the dragon was regaining his healthy glow, and while

Nisha was simply fascinated with the creature, Clueless was both concerned for the dragons

health, and concerned with the health of everyone else around him: once Amberblue was healthy

again, hed be wishing for things. Wishes in the hands of gleefully whimsical creatures, even well

meaning ones, were things to handle with kid gloves, especially when other gleefully whimsical

creatures named Nisha were involved.

821

Some advertisements for alcohol, some thinly veiled extortion attempts from the Sodkillers,

and a sealed letter addressed to all of us. Tristol said, tossing the letters on the table.

Extortion? Toras asked.

Advertising their services for protection from thieves and criminals. Tristol said. Strongly

hinting that people who dont buy their services get hit with more crime.

Florian scoffed.

We can handle ourselves. She said.

Theyre welcome to try. Toras added. But whats the other letter.

Remember what Akin said a while back? Tristol asked. About auctioning off the next

batch of animated dolls that he got?

Florian beamed a smile. When and where?

Fyrehowl had already opened the envelope with a claw and placed the letter in the center of

the table to read.

Dear valued customer, patron, and/or friend,

You are hereby formally invited to an auction of my latest, more exclusive collectable works.

The proceedings will be held at and preceded over by the auction house of Maris and Grimble,

security to be provided by the Sodkillers. There will be a full bar and other such amenities

provided during the period of the auction. Payment will be made directly to the auction house

and no advance purchases will be available do to the limited number of pieces.

Time: 7 after peak, four days from the date of this notice. Location: Auction Hall of Maris

and Grimble, 1287 Silvertinge Avenue, Guildhall Ward.

Sample list of items to be sold (aka the dolls): Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales (w/ Bells of

Baphomet) Guildmaster Autochon of the Runners Guild (w/ after affects of Bells of Baphomet)

Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Gnolls Jeremo the Natterer, Factol of the Ring Givers (who will

be in attendance. Please, please get into a bidding war) Shemeska the Marauder, King of the

Crosstrade (w/ mirror)

... and others.

I look forward to seeing you all in attendance, Akin

And, handwritten near the bottom of the notice was the following:

Please, please, please, do not let the time and location of this slip into the hands of you know

who. I swear she makes it her sole purpose in life to be an annoyance to everyone around her and

an embarrassment to my entire species. And given the nature of certain things to be auctioned
 822

off, unless you want to be there when she barges in and pitches a public fit a dozen times worse

than at Jeremos last party, you wont let this worm its way into her ears in any way. Please,

for my sake, dont let her become aware of this. - Akin

I am so going to that. Florian said with a grin.

I think Ill be joining you. Fyrehowl said.

...Youre going for that last one, arent you? Toras asked.

Two grins were the only reply.

Ill have to show up too. Tristol said. This should be good.

AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

A sudden shout of alarm echoed through the inns common room, followed shortly after by

the sound of a few dropped and broken mugs and dishes. One of the patrons, a middle aged

human woman who was a semi-regular customer, had stepped back from her table in apparent

and utter shock.

Its Hashkar! She said, mouth open wide in shock, hands cradling her cheeks. Its bloody

Factol Hashkar back from the dead!

A sudden murmur of shock and nervous fear washed over the bar patrons and then subsided

just as quickly. They looked around and realized that no, there was no vengeful specter of the

former Guvner Factol lurking about in the room come to get a drink, or perhaps just returned

from the dead like a revenant of boredom.

Its Hashkar! The woman shouted again. Hes back!

Toras glanced at the woman and then up to the mantle where, speak of the devil, Akins

Factol Hashkar doll was sitting in plain view under the clear glass of a bell jar. Obviously the

woman had had a bit much to drink, and perhaps the tiny Hashkar figurine had simply confused

her. Or something. But in any event shed reached her cutoff point for liquor.

Maam? Clueless asked from over behind the bar. Thats just our Factol Hashkar doll.

Its animated you know. Moves around, does stuff, talks if you let it out from under that jar.

She looked over at the half-fey and then over at the tiny doll.

Thats just a doll maam. He continued. Thats not the actual, real Factol Hashkar.

Goodness Thanks, Nisha said with relief. Death bore to us Hed.

Not the bloody doll you berk. The woman said, pointing at the plate on her table. In me

cinnamon bun! Its blooming Factol Hashkar in me cinnamon bun, staring up at me plain as

day!

Huh?! Clueless said, stepping away from the bar and looking at the gooey pastry now

cupped reverently in the womans hands.

823

Sure enough, there was something on the bun. A smudge of cinnamon and a bit of a burn

from the oven perhaps, but if you squinted a bit and looked at it from a certain angle, it -did-

look something like the dour old dwarf that Hashkar had been.

You see! You see! The woman shouted. Hashkars back! Hes given us a sign! Factol

Hashkar has returned!

Nishas tail went limp and there was a soft jingle as the bell at its tip clattered against the

floor. Perched on the mantle, looking down at the doll of the bearded dwarf that was Hashkar,

Amberblue turned and glanced over at Nisha.

Nisha was giving a cockeyed stare at the gleefully shouting woman holding the cinnamon bun

like a holy relic. A moment later and the woman, along with her Hashkar in a cinnamon bun,

were out the door and gone, with her joyful shouting growing fainter as she ran down the street.

And here we were finally rid of him. Nisha said. Hashkars come back to haunt us with

boredom from beyond the grave.

Do cinnamon buns haunt people? The faeriedragon asked with a mix of innocent curiosity

and naAve concern.

Yes Amberblue. Nisha said as sudden smile tinged her features and erased her prior worry.

Yes. Yes they do. But only in a good way.

... Toras was still staring out the door where the woman and the Hashkar bun had ran.

...O.K... Tristol said, also staring at the door. That was bizarre enough for me for a week

or more.

Hashkar in a cinnamon bun? Fyrehowl asked, bewildered.

Hashkar in a cinnamon bun. Nisha replied with a grin.

***

Later that evening after last call, after they had shooed all of the remaining customers out

of the inn or provided them with a room if they were drunk or too tired to walk the streets,

everyone turned in and called it a night.

Skalliska was still absent, but shed given them all notice of where she was going to be, and

Kiro had returned from the market ward shortly before the staff had been sent home and the

doors locked.

It was their first night back in Sigil after returning from Carceri, and as they lay in their

beds awaiting sleep and the soft touch of dreams, their minds wandered back to thoughts of the

Red Prison and what the future held in store for them. Every time that they had struck a blow

against Siddhartha he had struck back at them, and his identity as an Ultroloth did not bode
 824

well. Other loths would be involved more assuredly, and his superior, whoever she was, was

likely to take action of her own, now that her servant had been killed.

Thoughts of reprisal -worries really- were on the minds as the drifted off to an uneasy, wary

sleep, and their sleep did not last very long.

Four hours after peak: voices drifting up from the street, commotion, and a clatter of activity

at the door to the inn...

Chapter 74

Fyrehowls ears twitched and she sat up in bed.

What the hell? She whispered as the sounds of activity filtered up from the street and

through her window.

Outside her room she heard a door in the hallway open and saw light spill out, casting a flood

of illumination into her own room from under the doorway. Toras was awake and was waking

the others up.

Hastily the lupinal donned a robe and grabbed her sword.

Peering through the windowpane, there was little that she could see. The angle of the

building, combined with the location of the inns front door, prevented her from getting a clear

look at the source of the noise.

Light cast by a continual flame lamp down at street level threw the shadows of at least five

figures out onto the street, exaggerated and flickering, dancing across the cobblestones. They

were armed, all of them, holding what seemed to be clubs and swords, perhaps rods or wands

even, and by their features they were fiends, or at least fiend blooded.

More mercenaries. More of the geased assassins that theyd seen before. That was the first

thought in Fyrehowls mind, and in the minds of her companions as they all made their way as

quickly as possible to various exits of the inn, hoping to assault and confront their early morning

assailants by surprise.

They burst out from two of the windows above the front door, from atop the roof, and

on ground level from around the corner alley, weapons drawn and prepared for a fight. They

expected more of what the Ultroloth gone Rakshasa had hurled at them before: mercenaries

geased and compelled to hunt them down and kill them, death being no boundary to their

success.

They did not find geased assassins, nor did they find a pack of yugoloths waiting outside their

door, they didnt even find anything all that threatening, unless perhaps you happened to be a

825
 826

member of the Harmonium or the Fraternity of Order.

No assassins, nothing of that sort at all.

Hey there! Nisha shouted as she recognized the pack of figured loitering outside the front

of the inn. Late doing up so whatcha, love your and I work!

Not assassins, unless assassins of good taste counted. Not assassins, but a gaggle of tieflings

lugging buckets of paint and holding not swords or wands, but brushes and pallets.

Nisha was already standing next to one of the tieflings and giggling, looking first at the front

of the inn, and then at the painted carnage that the gang of Xaositects had left in their midnight

passage.

Guys! Nisha said, giggling like a schoolgirl. Meet The Painter! Shes awesome! Im such

a fan of her work!

...oh... my... god... Clueless sputtered as he looked at the graffiti on the front of the Portal

Jammer.

HASHKAR LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Emblazoned in a dozen garish colors and incorporating a goofy, giant caricature of the late

Factol of the Fraternity of Order, recently come back from the grave via cinnamon laced pastries,

the refrain of Hashkar Lives! was splattered in paint across the front of the inn.

Oh Mystra forbid... Tristol said while Florian was nearly doubled over with laughter.

Its Hashkar! Hashkar in me cinnamon bun! Fyrehowl whispered, giggling to herself.

Nisha was by that point babbling incoherently in Xaosspeak with The Painter, and the

Painters apprentices, or groupies, or whatever they wished to call themselves that day, were

already moving down the street and slapping their Hashkar toting refrain on anything they saw

fit. Those targets of Xaotic desecration ended up being everything from a lightpost, to a door,

to a wall, to very nearly a guard dog sleeping on a doorstep.

A word with you Nisha? Clueless said, stepping up to the still babbling tiefling and tapping

her on the shoulder.

Hmm? Nisha asked, pausing and then waving goodbye to the retreated form of the Painter.

See you later! Love your stuff! Hashkar lives!

Nisha? Clueless prodded again.

Yeah? Nisha said. What was it?

Mind having a little talk with your friends? The half-fey asked. Just try and ask them if

theyll not paint all over the Portal Jammer anymore? Or maybe just not do anything like that

after antipeak?

Dont worry about it. Nisha replied, looking at the chaos down the street as the roving
827

gang of paint splatterers dashed murals of Hashkar all over the Ward. Plenty of other places of

paint.

You know them? Toras asked.

Oh yeah! Nisha said, walking back towards the inn and looking up at the Hashkar mural.

Big surprise. Tristol said with a shake of his head and a chuckle.

I like the Painter. Nisha said. Shes great!

Maybe we can get some sleep now? Florian asked before adding a belated, ... Ill clean up

Hashkar in the morning I suppose.

Works for me. Fyrehowl said. I can deal with Xaositects better than I can deal with

loths.

And so they watched as the Xaositects vanished down the street, much relieved that it had

simply been the Painter and her ilk, apparently friends of Nishas in some way or another, and

not retribution from the yugoloths. No doubt that retribution was going to be coming at some

point, just not that evening. So with that thought in mind, they yawned and dragged themselves

back to bed. Still, they did so with the distinctly perky warning of Like the Kadyx, the pastry

dwelling ghost of Hashkar smells of cinnamon before claiming yet another victim! Muahahaha!

mentioned by Nisha.

***

Clueless wandered back up to his room, still shaking his head over the whole affair with the

Hashkar bun, and now the Painter and her gang of Xaositects deciding to latch onto it for their

next public graffiti campaign. It was something alright... but it was late, and he wanted a decent

nights sleep.

He drifted off to sleep quite easily but some indeterminate period of time later he shifted in

bed and woke as a diffuse, green light lit his bedchamber. He didnt make any movements as the

glow seeped through his closed eyelids, and from what little he could discern from it, the glow

was inside his room and not simply something out beyond his window; someone was there.

He cracked open his eyes, and looked around the room, already bringing a minor offensive

spell to mind that didnt require either a verbal or somatic component. There wasnt anything

or anyone visible at first glance, just the light, and there wasnt a sound, save for the typical

creak and shudder of wood against stone in the inns walls and floors, and the background noise

from the streets of Sigil at that early hour.

The greenish light was subtle and faint, not enough for most people to see by, but enough to

make the room like day for anyone with even a drop of outsider blood, or in his case, fey blood.
 828

But if there wasnt anyone in the room that he could see, they might be up above him, or

behind him. Cluelesss eyes drifted towards the mirror on the wall, hoping to catch the intruder

in reflection.

There was someone standing behind him.

His eyes locked on the looming figure captured by the mirror and without a sound it looked

back at him, slowly tipping the corner of its wide brimmed hat at him and smiling like a vampire

just invited over the threshold.

Despite your thoughts, I dont require any sort of invitation nor permission. The Jester

said. Ive always been here in a manner of speaking.

The man tapped a finger to the side of Cluelesss head in the reflection, though the bladesinger

didnt feel the touch itself.

Its getting a bit crowded up in my head I think. Clueless said, glancing back ever so briefly.

There was nothing in the room behind him. The Jester was only present in the reflection

within the mirror.

Perhaps more so than you think. The Jester said sardonically. Suffice it to say that your

involvement with the yugoloths has sparked my interest.

I was half expecting you to be one of them. Clueless said. They have a tendency to try

and kill us in the middle of the night. And you showed up to talk with me the last time they

did.

If theyre planning something similar once Im gone, Im not aware of it. The Jester said.

And theres little that Im not.

How so? Clueless asked.

The man reflected in the mirror simply smiled and gave no further explanation.

I dont care for the yugoloths either. The Jester continued. But the exact reasons why,

are for the moment my own concern. I normally wouldnt care one way or the other, but their

presence on the Astral raises my interest.

He paused and raised a finger.

Especially when they take so obvious extremes to remain unlinked to their actions.

Clueless nodded and glanced down at his ankle.

A Rakshasa of all things. The Jester said with some mirth.

So, what is it... Clueless began before stopping and rephrasing. What are you going to

use me for while youre up there?

What is it you want? The phrase had far too heavy of an unpleasant connotation and

history for the bladesinger to feel comfortable using it. Honestly, it made his skin crawl.
829

I simply wish to observe. The Jester said. Youve sparked my interest twice now, and my

time away from the multiverse has left me woefully curious now that Ive stirred from slumber.

And yes, the gem inset within your ankle is also something that sparked my interest.

The Jester added. My knowledge of the Oinoloth has increased considerably due to your own

activities on various planes. He created that gem of yours, and it is impressive to say the least.

I give him credit for it most certainly.

The figure in the mirror turned to leave, the long hem of his heavy cape catching the air and

visibly blowing at the half-feys hair in the reflection, but not in real life.

Clueless inhaled and felt his pulse heavy in his chest as the Jesters image in the mirror was

leaving. Gauging himself to finally speak up with something of substance that wasnt simply an

answer, or reactive to something already in discussion, he called out to the man in the mirror,

causing him to stop.

So you just want to observe things through me? Clueless asked. I dont have a choice in

this matter do I?

The Jesters smirk answered the question without words

Now as I said before. The Jester said, his reflection turning back more fully to smile.

Theres no need for this to be unpleasant, and in the end if might even have some benefit to

you as well.

Who are you? Clueless asked.

Someone long vanished from Sigil. He answered. Youve seen my Palace. Youve seen the

maze. Youve had a taste of who I am more so than most I knew so very long ago when I still

numbered among the Lords of Gold; Golden Lords to go with the term used now. In time you

will learn more as you ask, or as you are shown.

But now, for the moment. He continued. Ive said what I wished to say, and the terms of

this arrangement seem firmly understood.

The mirror rippled like water under which something had just swum, and when the ripples

had passed, the reflection had returned to normal. Gone were any lingering traces of the Jester,

but still, Clueless felt cold and more than slightly awed. And while he felt nothing different

about himself, glancing down at the gem in his ankle, remembering that experience, he knew

that he was certainly not alone.

***

Maanzicorians godisle was left long behind in both distance and thought as Skalliskas eyes

narrowed and she gazed down upon a cluster of rocky islands floating alone and unlamented in
 830

the vastness of the Astral.

They were recent, pristine by comparison to the rough, pitted nature of many of the Astrals

honored dead. Skalliska had left her world only twenty years earlier, but the slip into twilight by

her peoples pantheon had happened centuries earlier. During her youth, the kobold had known

of those gods in stories, but the tenets of that faith had long before passed into obscurity and

obsolescence. Those gods had no clerics among her people, though rumors claimed that other

communities elsewhere in the tunnels of that worlds underdark still held their appointed servants

who continued to spread the words of the dying, clawing their way back from nonexistence to

save their people.

Legends, while grounded in a nugget of truth like a tiny grain of sand about which a pearl

accretes, they were all surrounded and built upon by so terribly much more than that original

bit of fact. Those legends of her youth she realized, gazing down at the cluster of islands, the

forgotten, petrified faith of an entire people... those legends had been far too optimistic.

Theyre all gone. She whispered, mentally counting the godisles, cataloging each of them

with a name from her memories.

Mezenthet, the deity of knowledge and history, her divine, petrified form was curled into a

fetal position as it loomed largest below Skalliska. A quarter mile distant, the body of Yuradnash,

the deity of hunting and fertility drifted silently. Protrelev, the god of sorcery and warfare, was

there as well, partially obscured by the godisle of Zwarelt, the demideity of community and

healing. Two other, lesser divinities, cluttered the astral as well, and as she watched them

tumble in the void, a tear welled in Skalliskas right eye.

Wait... She said, flicking the tear away with a claw. Thats only seven.

There had been nine in the original legends, nine members of their homeworlds kobold

pantheon that had stood distinct and separate from the Kertulmak worshippers that seemed to

plague the rest of the prime material.

There were nine. Skalliska whispered.

And indeed there had originally been nine in the legends of her youth.

There were only seven floating forgotten and dead in the Astral.

Raznorel, the deity of magic and deception, and his twin brother, Saravtesh, the deity of

shadows and illusions.

Skalliska mentally tallied the dead gods once more, to the same result.

Those two were not present in the Astral, not buried in the graveyard of belief, not consigned

to the same fate as the remainder of their pantheon. And, gazing down in contemplation on

the empty spaces that those two should have occupied, the hollows like icons, Skalliska smiled,
831

closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer.

***

Akin looked out at the crowd and smiled, waving briefly as he reviewed the faces of the

clients who had shown up for the auction, or for the agents that they had sent in their stead.

It was a rather large turnout, and for the moment it didnt appear as if anyone... or a specific

someone... had crashed the event.

The auction house had done a very nice job at setting the place up to handle the types of

people that hed invited: everyone from golden lords to a cobbler who had a workshop down the

street from the Friendly Fiend. All of them were of course people who had purchased one of the

dolls from him before, or who had expressed interest in them, or who had dolls of themselves up

for auction that evening.

I figure Ill give you all first shot at buying yourselves. The loth said with a chuckle as he

gazed out at the crowd. Or at least some of you can have that chance. Not so much for others

of you.

Thankfully, she hasnt shown up yet. Akin thought to himself before rapping his left hand

on the wood of his chair.

With that ever so pleasant thought in his mind, he gazed out over the crowd again, making

eye contact with various ones of them, and returning a few smiles or waves. The owners of the

Portal Jammer were making their way to their seats by that point. He hadnt seen them walk in,

probably when he was chattering with that Erinyes and that one Athar cleric that shed fallen

for.

Good to see you all here. Akin projected to Florian, Fyrehowl, Tristol and Clueless.

Fyrehowl glanced up to the stage where the loth sat and gave a smile while Florian waved

gleefully.

Oddly enough the cleric, Florian, the cleric of all people, seemed to like him the most. The

multiverse was odd sometimes, even for his taste, but at least it was amusing. And that thought

temporarily drove out any worries of uninvited guests from his head as the last members of the

crowd took their seats and settled themselves as the auction began.

A well-dressed aasimar of obvious elven or eladrin descent, possibly both, stepped up to the

wooden sales podium and rapped a gavel to gather the crowds attention. He leaned over smiling

and whispered something to Akin. The friendly fiend replied and they both chuckled before

Akin motioned with his hands for the planetouched auctioneer to go on with the proceedings.

Good afternoon to you all, honored guests, friends, and distinguished clients. He said in
 832

a smooth, well-cultured voice. On behalf of Maris & Grimble, allow me to state several rules

of the auction. First, this is not a silent auction. If you dont speak up either verbally, or

telepathically addressed to myself, you will not be counted as having made a bid on a specific

item as I present it for bidding. Secondly, refrain for violence or personal insults against other

bidders.

Akins eyes drifted across the room to settle onto the soft smile on the face of Noshtoreth of

the Umber Scales, high priest of the Temple of the Abyss. Akin returned the smile.

Play nice He whispered into the cambions mind.

Youre the one selling the Autochon doll. Noshtoreth replied with a knowing chuckle.

Akin gave a soft shrug and went back to listening to the auctioneer.

The first item up for auction this evening will be one not announced on the advance list: an

animated Lissandra the Gate Seeker, guildmistress of the Doorsnoop Guild.

The aasimar took a slim black cloth off from over the doll, displaying it to the crowd.

Bidding will begin at five hundred jink.

Florian looked over at Fyrehowl, Tristol, and Clueless.

This is going to get expensive. The cleric said. But I suppose I shouldnt be surprised.

I have one thousand from Lissandra the Gate Seeker! The auctioneer called out. Do I

have fifteen hundred?

Save your money up for one that youre really interested in. Fyrehowl said.

Let some of these folks blow their budgets before we start bidding on some of them. Clueless

added. Im waiting on the b*tch in the razorvine headdress...

The bidding meanwhile continued.

Any that youre really interested in otherwise? Tristol asked.

Im not really sure. Florian said with a shrug. Jeremo maybe.

Jeremo is actually here. Fyrehowl said, twitching an ear over towards the Factol who

was presently smiling like a fool and tapping his feet against the back of the chair of one of

Noshtoreths attendant priests.

Jeremo has more money than Tempus. Clueless added.

Alright, Florian said. So that ones a pipe dream. But well see what gets offered.

Sold! To Lissandra the Gate Seeker for fifteen thousand eight hundred and twenty four

jink, and two copper pieces. The auctioneer shouted, punctuated by a slam of his gavel on the

lectern.

Akin was beaming as the wizardress stepped up to him and accepted the tiny, stuffed version

of herself.
833

Itll take far more drinks in me for you to explore -that- portal! The tiny doll giggled as

Lissandra stuffed it in a bag of holding.

Akin gave a grin and a soft, embarrassed chuckle as the guildmistress gave him a disapproving

look. The doll hadnt been overheard by the crowd, but still.

I wasnt that drunk at the time Akin. She whispered to him harshly. And that was nearly

ten years ago. Did he put you up to...

Enjoy your purchase Lissandra. The loth said. Its a limited edition, so there wont be

any others. And Ill be having a chat with the supplier most certainly.

Supplier... Lissandra said with a smirk. Riiiiight...

Next up we have... The auctioneer began as Lissandra stepped away towards the exit.

I got off light didnt I? Lissandra asked, turning back towards Akin momentarily. Your

sense of humor is sitting around latent in all of these isnt it?

For his part, Akin just gave an innocent looking shrug.

What followed next was a quick set of auctions of a doll patterned after the Mercykiller

Wyrm, and another resembling an executioners raven. One was purchased by a member of the

Sodkillers and the other by a member of the Society of the Luminiferous Aether whose familiar

was, sure enough, an executioners raven.

The aasimar handed them their purchases and unveiled the next doll: Jeremo the Natterer,

already babbling softly as soon as it saw the crowd. There were several giggles from the crowd

in response, including from Jeremo himself who apparently was able to take the lampooning in

good humor.

Next up we have Jeremo the Natterer. Bidding will begin at...

Five hundred thousand jink! Jeremo called out with a laugh.

The crowd went silent for a moment and Jeremo propped his feet up on the back of the chair

in front of himself and leaned back with his hands behind his head.

And Ill match any other serious bid. The Ring Giver factol called out with glee just before

waving at Akin.

One of Zadara the Titans sword archon servants, and Estavan of the Planar Trade Consor-

tium were both turned around, staring at Jeremo. Estevan was shaking his head and laughing

politely. Zadaras servant sighed and waved a wingtip in defeat.

Sold! To Jeremo the Ladys Jester for five hundred thousand jink!

Jeremo quite literally had a skip in his step as he walked up to Akin and bowed before

accepting the miniature representation of himself. It, like him, was wearing a battered, tarnished

crown just off kilter on its head, on top of a mop of haphazardly kept blond hair.
 834

Jeremo shared some private joke with the loth, a joke which his doll chipped in on, before

he shook Akins hand and walked back to his seat with a grin across his face.

The next auction that followed was for the doll of Autochon the Bellringer. The figure was

dressed up in the full plate armor that Autochon himself was wont to wear, and the doll could

be heard complaining about how hot it was, or how heavy it was, or even clutching its head and

lamenting The Bells! The Bells! Arrrggghhh!.

Out in the audience, Autochon himself was not amused, though beneath the visor of his dull

gray platemail, his expression could not be seen. He trembled slightly in anger though when one

of Noshtoreths tiefling underpriests snickered.

What followed was a bidding war between Autochon and Noshtoreth, though probably the

High Priest of the Temple of the Abyss was more concerned with spiting the Guildmaster of the

Runners Guild and driving up the price than he was in actually owning the doll.

The doll eventually sold for nearly ninety five thousand jink to Autochon, after which the

armor-clad man glared back at the cambion all the while as one of his runners retrieved the doll.

Noshtoreth gave a slim smile back at the Bellringer, the same man whom he had cursed years

before for sleeping with one of his functionaries.

All the while Akin switched his gaze between the two men with a nervous smile on his face,

seemingly very wary of having the two publicly antagonize one another, and even more wary of

letting his own attention on them lead to others noticing the situation and possibly making it

worse. Much to the loths relief though, the two men stopped short of any actual argument,

settling for periodic glares at one another.

And then the tables were reversed, with perhaps an intentionally planned event, or a very

unfortunate quirk of scheduling, though to his credit, Akin seemed to wince as the next doll was

unveiled. That next doll set upon the auction podium was a tiny representation of Noshtoreth

himself standing next to a tiny set of tinkling bells, each emblazoned with the symbol of the

Abyss and the symbol of the Abyssal Lord Baphomet.

Seventy five thousand! Autochon called out, before the dolls identity had even been an-

nounced.

Fifty thousand! Noshtoreth shouted at virtually the same time, followed by a hard stare in

the guildmasters direction.

Up on the stage, Akin twiddled his thumbs awkwardly as the auctioneer held up his hands.

Yes yes, the Auctioneer called out. The bidding is now at seventy five thousand jink for

the representation of Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales, High Priest of the Temple of the Abyss,

complete with miniature Bells of Baphomet.

835

Eighty five! Noshtoreth countered.

One hundred! Autochon quickly retorted, breaking the amount that the cambion had

pushed his own namesake doll up to.

Noshtoreth paused and sneered at the man under the armor, and perhaps something telepathic

passed from his mind and into the guildmasters, because he soon gave a higher bid and it was

not challenged. An alu-fiend shortly thereafter approached the stage and accepted the doll for

the sum of one hundred and ten thousand jink. Once she had returned with the purchase,

Noshtoreth and his retinue then excused themselves and quietly left.

Akin seemed almost happy to see them go, given that they were among the most likely to

commit violence over a dispute. And, all said, that was probably for the best, as the very next

doll to be slated for the auction block was none other than Yeenoghu, the Demon Lord of Gnolls.

The first bid was placed by Estevan the Ogre Mage, perhaps out of whimsy, perhaps out

of simply wanting to collect one of the collectable items, and perhaps out of intent to sell it to

Noshtoreth or someone else in the Temple at a later date. But regardless, the bid was at twenty

thousand, a respectable sum but not too terribly high.

I think I might go for this one. Florian whispered to the others. Its cute and its not too

terribly high priced.

How is it cute? Fyrehowl asked. You cant even see it.

And indeed, it hadnt exactly been properly displayed as it was still inside a box that was

padlocked and periodically rattled like an animal railing at the bars of a zoo cage.

You can hear the little hyena giggle from inside in between the snarls and the curses in

Abyssal. Florian explained. Thus, hes cute.

And youd be bidding against people with more money than you. Clueless said.

Up on the stage, the box rattled some more and the hyena headed prince of gnolls gave that

ever so distinctive cackle once more.

Hes a little feisty. Akin said in explanation. So handle with care, whoever ends up buying

the little fellow.

Twenty five! Florian called out.

Thirty! Another bidder shouted.

Thirty one! Shouted Bryn Ohm from somewhere in the back to some sighs and grumbles.

Cheapskate... Was muttered from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, though Ohm

didnt seem to notice it, or care if he had. The bariuar was guildmaster of the Innkeepers

Fellowship, and he was notoriously cheap to the point of being considered a miser.

Thirty two! Florian shouted.

 836

Thirty five! Ohm called out again.

Akin motioned over the auctioneer and whispered something to him.

Ive been instructed, The aasimar said, clearing his throat. To inform the audience that

the next doll up for auction is one of Mr. Ohm himself, so please keep that in mind while

bidding.

I retract my bid! Ohm called out to a chorus of snickers.

Retractions of bids are not allowed under the rules of the auction house Im sorry to inform.

The auctioneer added while scanning the crowd for further bids.

Thirty six! Florian called out as somewhere in the back of the room, the bariuar stomped

a hoof.

A minute later Florian was walking back to her seat with the box containing the snarling,

giggling Yeenoghu doll. Ohm was sulking and glaring at her the whole time of course, and it

didnt help any when on the very next item for auction, the doll of himself, he was woefully

outbid by a member of the Entertainers Guild.

Thankfully though, there were only glares, not words, and no hint of violence, much to the

possible lament of the Sodkillers standing at the back exits.

Over the next hour several more dolls came up and were sold off, though one or two of them

ended up sparking a bidding war between two or even three people. Of them, a tiny doll modeled

after Estavan of the Planar Trade Consortium ended up sparking one of those bidding wars when

Estavan himself and proxy bidders for Zadara and two other Sigilian golden lords began tossing

money around like it was nothing to them. Through it all, Jeremo the Natterer just sat and

played with the doll of himself that hed purchased, even going so far as to debate with himself

if he should suddenly swoop down and purchase it himself, even for the ridiculous sum of money

that it was quickly rising to.

Sold! For three hundred seventy two thousand to Estavan. The auctioneer shouted, putting

an end to the bidding, promptly handing the doll over to an at once very triumphant and very

sullen ogre mage.

I hadnt intended to pay that much for myself. Estavan commented to Akin as he took the

doll. Youre worse than your counterpart. I can at least feel justified in hating her when she

makes me pay for something, except now with you, here you are selling me something I dont

even need and youre smiling the whole time.

Do enjoy it? Akin suggested with mild bewilderment. I hope?

Ive got you figured out loth! Estavan chided, waving an index finger at the fiend. Youve

got a racket going on here and I can respect that. And I am enjoying myself, even if Im spending
837

far too much in the process. So yes, keep on smiling loth, youve earned it I suppose.

The ogre mage chuckled and tapped Akin on the shoulder before walking back to his seat in

the audience, though before the next item was unveiled he did shake a finger in mock accusation

at the fiend one further time.

Is anyone but me still wondering about what the hell is up with Akin? Clueless asked.

Beats the hell out of me. Florian answered. Im not sure Id call him good. But Im not

sure Id call him evil either.

Akin is Akin. Fyrehowl said with a shrug.

But as they discussed the possibility of Akin as a redeemed fiend, or perhaps simply a nice

guy with a bad family history, the loth was twiddling his thumbs again. He seemed incredibly

nervous, though more out of apprehension, be it giddy or worrisome, than anything else.

Whats got Akin so jittery? Fyrehowl asked.

The reason why Im here. Florian answered.

Me too. Clueless added. You place the bet, Ill pitch in as needed.

The Marauder doll... Tristol whispered as the cloth was taken off of the tiny doll dressed

in its trademark gown of minute, green glass beads, admiring itself in a large mirror, with a coil

of razorvine perched between its ears.

Our next doll is of the King of the Crosstrade. The announcer stated.

There was some nervous chatter across the crowd and a few people glanced at the exits,

seemingly waiting for the dolls namesake to come bursting in through one of the doors. But,

much to their collective relief, she didnt.

Bidding will begin at twenty five thousand jink.

And you better not pay in silver! The doll shouted out afterwards. Like holy water in my

wine, or small mortal children calling me puppy lady, that joke got old about eight thousand

years ago!

Twenty five thousand! Came a near simultaneous shout from Clueless, Florian and Fyre-

howl.

Tristol was glancing at the exits and slinking down a few inches in his chair.

I pissed her off last time. The mage muttered. Im not going for a second try.

...tempting as it is... He added a moment later with a guilty grin. Count me in for money.

There was a calm hush across the crowd like prospective bidders were still worried that the

moment they placed a bid that a well dressed banshee of a yugoloth would swoop down on them

in a whirlwind of socially elegant malice. That alone was keeping bidders away from the doll.

It was a weird situation since the doll that many of them wanted the most was also the one
 838

that most of them worried the most about having in their possession. Fifty thousand! Came

a tentative bid from Annali Webspinner of the Entertainers Guild.

Sixty. Just to say I did! Came a whimsical shout from Jeremo, followed shortly thereafter

by a shrug and a chuckle.

Seventy! Florian countered.

Seventy five! Shouted one of Zadaras sword archons.

One hundred thousand!

One hundred fifteen!

One forty five!

The bidding was starting to get obscene as some of the wealthier people with little to fear

from the King of the Crosstrade were getting into the mix.

Think we can spend money that isnt ours to spend? Florian whispered to the others.

I think that Nisha wouldnt mind pitching in. Tristol said.

And I -know- that Toras would approve. Fyrehowl said.

Go ahead then. Clueless prompted. Bump it up again. We might get lucky and people

might not be willing to piss off the b*tch, and plus theyve already bid on other things earlier

on.

Alright... Florian said before raising her hand. Two hundred thousand!

She paused and glanced over towards a few of the other bidders.

Two hundred thousand and the spare change in my pockets! She shouted emphatically.

Off to one side, Jeremo was giggling profusely, or his doll was, it was hard to tell at times.

Opposite him, Estavan was grinning and moving his hands in a show of defeat.

Once. Twice. Sold to Florian of Tempus! The aasimar pronounced.

Better you than me. Muttered a proxy bidder for Wi Ming Lee as Florian walked up to

claim the doll.

A few steps further and there was a hand in her side as Estavan stopped her.

Just a moment of your time. The ogre mage said softly. And dont take offense at my own

bidding on it, please do enjoy it. I only ask that if Shemeska finds out about the little bauble

and pitches a fit in the middle of your establishment that a transcript of the events finds its way

into my hands.

Dont worry. Florian said, moving the golden lords hand out of the way and walking up

to take the doll from Akins hands.

The loth seemed a tad guilty.

839

Dont blame me for anything that happens. He said, an ear twitching nervously. And I

feel bad about taking so much jink for it too.

Tell me Im pretty! Now! The Marauder doll demanded in an off pitch, shrill voice, stomping

one of its slippered feet on the tabletop where Akin had placed it and its mirror.

Its not pretentious when you really ARE the best! The doll continued before turning and

seemingly admiring its own backside in the mirror.

Wow. Florian said, looking down. Id swear that youd just shrunk her and tried to pawn

her off as is.

Akin tried to hide a smile.

You might want to wrap that up before you go home tonight. He said.

And it better be the best wrapping money can buy! The doll demanded. Only the best

for me or heads will roll!

Florian flashed a triumphant smile as she imagined just what the actual King of the Crosstrades

reaction might be. Of course, all things said, she wasnt going to have to wait very long.
Chapter 75

Alone in his room, Clueless sat on his bed and removed the heavy cloth cover from a spherical

object sitting on a stand off to one side.

He glanced down at the glassy orb and the shimmering golden liquid within. Hed used it

before, on a lark, and ended up realizing that hed found something of far greater value and

utility than perhaps anything else that they had managed to claim from the possessions of one

of the former factors of the Incantifers. What it actually was, he still hadnt a clue.

Well, before when I held some of this in my hands and thought of something, that something

happened... time to find out just what exactly I can do with you...

Clueless drew his sword, Razor, and held it out, balanced in the palm of his right hand. His

left hand he dipped ever so cautiously into the viscous golden liquid. The syrupy substance was

slightly warm to the touch as he collected a few droplets at the end of his fingers and held them

out over the blade.

And powers above, if I end up losing you... Clueless said. He shuddered at the thought.

Given the close association of a bladesinger with their sword, it would be like a wizard losing a

familiar if he accidentally destroyed it.

Vaguely pondering the general concept of a more powerful sword, Clueless dropped a single

glimmering drop onto the swords blade and watched as they flashed and vanished on impact,

seemingly drawn into the sword like water on a sponge.

Alright, no explosion. This is good... He said as he exhaled with relief.

The normal pallor of the blades Baatorian green steel was changing as the droplets of liquid

magic spread in tiny ripples across the surface and penetrated into every inch of the metal.

Where it had previously been a mirror-bright, metallic green, it was now tinged with flecks of

gold.

Clueless raised an eyebrow as he felt a subtle change in the way the sword felt in his hands.

He couldnt put the feeling into words. It was simply something that he knew, and something

840
841

that perhaps only another bladesinger might fully understand. And, as strange as it might seem,

Razor seemed... happy... as he cradled the softly glowing sword in the palm of his one hand.

Well, if it was good enough to experiment on you, I cant rightly say that I shouldnt be a

little adventurous myself... The half-fey had a mischievous grin on his face as he looked at his

other hand and the small number of droplets of the gleaming liquid he still had in his palm.

Besides, He said. My girlfriend would probably say I was the better for having tried out

something new. All about the experience, or so they say.

He paused and the golden liquid in his hand rippled.

Speaking of which... He said, putting the liquid back into the orb. I think I could use the

help for this. And the supervision in case I kill myself by accident.

Twenty minutes and a whispering wind spell later, there was a knock on the door and

Clueless answered it.

So what was this about? Tarelia asked, a little flicker of flame dancing in the Firres eyes.

The Eladrin stepped into the room and glanced over at the orb of golden liquid.

Ive mentioned this before, right? Clueless asked, motioning towards the orb.

The Sensate nodded and glanced at the bladesingers sword.

Your sword looks different. She said.

That. She continued, pointing to the orb.

Did that? She said, pointing to Razor.

Clueless nodded.

One drop did that actually. He answered.

The Eladrins eyes went wide.

And you actually want to try it on yourself? She asked. On the tattoo on your back?

Clueless nodded and gave a guilty grin. Yeah.

Lets go for it then. Tarelia replied. Lets see what happens.

So much for Nisha being the most carefree person that Clueless knew.

The bladesinger nodded and sat down on his bed, moving the liquid filled globe to a more

easily accessible position and making room for Tarelia to sit down next to him.

You sure about this? She asked as she delicately undid his shirt, exposing the tattoos that

sprawled across his shoulders and back.

Yeah. He replied, turning to kiss her. I think so. Just a few drops though, and do them

one at a time in case something bad happens.

She nodded as he took a deep breath and glanced at his reflection in a mirror while she held

out a few droplets over the magical tattoos.

 842

Im crazy for doing this, but what the hell... He said. Go for it.

She let a single heavy, syrupy droplet roll across her palm to dangle in the air and shimmer

for a moment before letting to drop onto Clueless back.

The liquid was absorbed the instant that it touched his skin, releasing a tingling shock that

penetrated deeply into the muscles of his back. Clueless winced slightly at the obscenely strange

feelings as he felt...something...occur, but he couldnt tell exactly what. Several minutes passed

and the sensations faded down into a warm glow that spread throughout his body.

Well I havent blown up, thats good. He said with an amused and thankful giggle.

Feeling alright? Tarelia asked, rubbing his right shoulder with a free hand.

Yeah, I think so. He said. Go ahead and use a few more drops.

I cant. She replied. I already used them all the first time.

Then, almost like a delayed reaction, that was when it hit him.

Clueless giggled, feeling far too happy.

Really? He asked. How many drops?

Three or four? Tarelia answered. Something like that?

Whatever it was, it hadnt killed him or harmed him, but either from the fact that it hadnt,

or something intrinsic to the substance itself, Clueless was higher than an air mephit sucked into

a hookah...

Whats it feel like? She prompted in true Sensate fashion.

Clueless giggled again as the warm, heady feeling continued to envelop him, and he tried to

explain it. Once hed described it as best he could, the two of them began to kiss and she began

to gently touch portions of the tattoo on his back, asking him to describe how it felt.

Things went on from there, and some time later she was rocking back and forth atop of

him, both of them fully naked, lost in a mental haze of entirely different origins. After theyd

f*cked several times, they lay nestled against one another in bed, with Clueless rambling and still

giggling to himself as the magically addled mental state of his only seemed to be slowly making

any sort of decrease.

Tarelia made certain to linger around next to her lover long enough to make certain that he

was safe from any lingering affects of the liquid that she had dribbled onto his back. Once she

was certain that he was, she kissed him, dressed herself and left, apparently quite eager to return

home and record the experience for posterity, and quite possibly experience it again by virtue of

a sensory stone.

When, two hours later, Clueless regained some measure of lucidity, he put his shirt back on

and muttered with a bit of a giggle to himself that he should probably go tend to the bar down
843

in the common room. That was the idea at least, and about ten minutes after that realization he

blinked and stopped staring blankly at the wall with a goofy, crooked smile on his face. Truth be

told, he was giddy, high from the heavy magic, and wrapped in a blissful haze that was fogging

his mind more thickly than the Great Foundrys smoke shrouded the Lower Ward.

Yeah I should go handle the bar... Clueless said, glancing out the window and looking at

the rough hour of the day.

...handle the bar... He said slowly before giggling again and thinking back to his favorite

Sensate.

Its been a good day...

***

Down in the common room, Florian, Fyrehowl, Tristol, and Toras were sitting together at a

table and gabbing over mugs of ale. Kiro was sitting across from them, occasionally helping out

the staff and clearing off tables if they looked like they needed the help. Nisha was off somewhere,

possibly with Amberblue, an issue that they all tried to ignore just because if they did think

about it, theyd worry about it.

Conversation hadnt really stayed on anything specific, though there had been some chuckles

earlier on when they had watched Clueless girlfriend descend down the stairs from where she

had presumably been with the bladesinger. Shed been giggling softly when shed left the inn.

Clueless and a giggling Sensate... the boy had apparently done something well.

Theyd rambled at random over the next while before Clueless himself walked down the stairs

and back to behind the bar. He was grinning. He was grinning way too much, with a sort of

weird, drugged out haze, and his wings were glittering with a flickering dance of wild colors, like

a sheen of oil on top of a puddle of water. Of course, outside of some initial commentary on the

color of his wings, they all just assumed that hed had a very good and exhausting time with a

Sensate and didnt give it much of a second thought.

I still cant get over those nutcases that Nisha knows. Florian said, sipping at her drink

and turning away from looking at Clueless gradually regaining some measure of giddy lucidity.

Nisha -is- one of those nutcases. Tristol replied.

For her part, Nisha just grinned happily.

Alright, true. Florian replied. And hey... where you going Fyrehowl?

The cipher had suddenly and abruptly stood up and made her way towards the door leading

into the kitchen, and beyond it, the rear door to the inn.
 844

Uh... She said, thinking for a moment as her hand touched the door. I just remembered

that I uh, had to go to the Gymnasium today to meditate. Like right now. Be back later.

And without giving any time to listen to any more questions, Fyrehowl opened the door and

was gone.

Well, Florian said. That was weird. I wonder what got into her...

Tristols eyes all of a sudden went wide.

Cipher. He said bluntly.

And? Florian asked.

Cipher leaving all of a sudden without any obvious reason. Tristol explained, his ears

flattening slightly.

Florians face twitched in recognition as a shadow passed over the light streaming into the

inn from the front door.

Oh hells! Toras said, looking up at the figure standing in the doorway.

The backlit silhouette in the doorway had a pair of erect canine ears and a coil of tangled

vines perched between them.

Florian pushed her chair back and made for the stairs.

Whats your excuse?! Clueless called from the bar. Dont leave me here alone!

The half-fey glanced over at the door with an odd mixture of loathing and resignation, topped

off with a giggle.

Tempus calls! Florian said before holding up a finger, licking it and brandishing it towards

the looming fiend as if testing the air. I detect an overwhelming aura of BULLSH*T!

Toras was gone a moment later, bolting for the back door with a sputtered cry of Hark! The

sound of someone in trouble!

Kiro looked up towards the King of the Crosstrade, shrugged, and looked back at Tristol.

Whos she? The cleric asked.

Tristols ears were flat as he looked up from his drink at the clerics question and realized he

had no easy excuse to simply cut and run, and a teleport would have been far too obvious and

insulting. He whined and his tail curled around the leg of his chair, while up at the bar Clueless

looked like a deer caught exposed in a hunters lamplight.

The bladesinger sighed as circumstance did its best to put a damper on his magically elated

mood, and then glanced around at his vanishing companions as the loth sauntered into the room

with her typical collection of tieflings.

Oh son of a... He muttered. Why me?

A pair of the King of the Crosstrades tieflings took up position flanking the front door, and
845

two others, one of them familiar to Clueless eyes, carried a small mirror and a comb, the other

with a very obviously displayed short sword, proceeded to evict the customers at the two tables

nearest to where the fiend was going.

The door to the kitchen opened and Nisha walked out whistling a merry and made up on the

spot tune. The Xaositect took one look at the Marauder, then to Tristol who was emphatically

tilting his head in the loths direction. Nishas lips pursed, the whistling stopped for a moment,

and without any further ado she spun on one hoof and walked right back to where shed come

from.

I imagine the presence of someone who exists to make your life miserable! The Factol Darius

Doll said from under her bell jar on the mantelpiece a few feet away from Clueless.

The bladesinger glanced over at Kiro and Tristol. The mage was decidedly looking the other

way, trying to blissfully ignore the fiend; he hadnt exactly had a good experience in meeting her

the last several times that they had occasion to do so.

Oh youre no help... Clueless muttered.

Kiro shrugged, stood up and walked over to clear away and tidy up the tables claimed by two

of the Marauders groomer-guards and the table that she herself was standing next to, eyeing

with a bit of disdain. The cleric had never met her before, and neither had she ever met him,

nor did she have any hint of recognition in her eyes when he started to clean the table.

Thank you for the help Kiro. Clueless said to himself, and up in thanks towards the ceiling,

up towards whatever gods might be listening, metaphorically speaking.

Meanwhile, as the bladesinger geared himself up to handling the Marauder, the loth was

being seated in as pretentious a way possible. One of her tieflings, Colcook, the one with mirror

and comb, was pulling her chair out for her, sweeping it off with a brush, then letting her sit

down, and finally pushing her in and up to the table.

There was an emphatic tip-tapping of claws on wood as Clueless walked up to Shemeskas

table.

The Marauder was dressed in her favorite gown, the blue-green dress of tens of thousands

of tiny glass beads all strung upon thread and woven into something fairly flattering to her

figure, and at the moment it wasnt so mind numbingly tight as to appear painted on, as she had

appeared at Jeremos party, putting herself on public display more or less. No, at the moment

she actually appeared tastefully dressed, as tastefully dressed as a yugoloth of her status might

be capable of at least.

She was fiddling with the coil of razorvine atop her head as the bladesinger approached. She

was also giving him a vague smile. Something was up. Something had to be up.
 846

Can I get you something to drink? Clueless asked hesitantly, but slathered in horribly put

on politeness, made more possible by being quite high at the time. Maybe something to eat as

well?

It was amazing just how much a fiend can look down on you while looking up at you, so to

speak, but the King of the Crosstrade did just that as she spouted off an answer without glancing

at the drink list or the food menu.

Ill have a Marauders Mirth. She cooed. And unless you happen to have pickled Bebelith

eggs, Im not too terribly hungry. Besides, I really doubt that you carry the food that Im

accustomed to.

We might, or we might be able to quickly get it for you. Clueless suggested.

Or you call them customers. She added as an afterthought, more to herself with a slight

toss of her hair, but just audible enough for him to hear.

Clueless ignored the statement just as much as he ignored the display of cleavage staring up

at him from the loths chest.

Whats in a Marauders Mirth? He asked cautiously.

THE Marauders Mirth. She corrected him, punctuated with a tap of a claw on and into

the table.

Its my favorite drink. She explained. The Fortunes Wheel coined it after me and I expect

that most of the upper tier inns and taverns in Sigil carry it.

And then there was a complete non sequitur from the loth, with a sudden, almost barked

demand of: Colcook! Mirror!

Clueless just stood there patiently as she ignored him in favor of her own reflection in a

small handheld mirror held up in place by the tiefling to her left. She pursed her lips as with a

telepathic prompt, Colcook applied a new layer of black lipstick and then promptly started to

comb out the long, coppery-blond hair she had at the moment.

And then, without any acknowledgement of the pause, she jumped back to the prior conver-

sation.

Dont know my favorite drink... She said with a bit of a sneer. A pity really. Id been led

to believe that you were to be numbered among them... the best inns in Sigil that is.

We might be able to make one for you, but... and my apologies, Im not familiar with the

ingredients. Clueless said, trying so hard to sound genuine.

I bet the 12 Factols would have known what goes in it... Shemeska muttered to herself.

Clueless ignored the statement.

And even if I cant make one for you now, He said. This way well know in the future to
847

have whats needed. Just for you.

She smiled up at him and batted her eyelashes. Admittedly, this -is- an unannounced visit,

and its not a formal thing to actually judge the place on. Ill be making that visit eventually,

but youll have advance warning of that.

Peachy. He thought. Just peachy...

Colcook meanwhile continued to brush out his mistresss hair, which she might have actually

lengthened during the process, just to give him more to do.

But, in any event, She purred. My favorite drink is a mixture of four fingers of Bytopian
ed
Brandy, honey, purA c dretch pineal gland, two fingers of Styx water, with a sprig of razorvine

and some gold leaf floating on the top.

Clueless raised an eyebrow and wrote the ingredients down.

The fo... the customers you have here in the Clerks Ward probably cant appreciate the

drink. She added. A pity really.

Im not really certain that we can make this at the moment. Clueless said.

It really does take a special person to appreciate the drink. Especially the Styx water.

Dont you agree? She asked, looking directly into Clueless eyes, without a drop of shame in the

statement.

If he hadnt been high on heavy magic in his bloodstream, hed have considered spitting in

her face.

Bitch... He inwardly thought as he put on a smile to her statement.

Would you like something else to drink?

Your fiendish majesty. She said.

Hmm? Clueless asked, confused.

Would you like something else to drink your fiendish majesty. She said, correcting him,

extending the claw on a finger and motioning for him to restate the question properly.

I hate you. You disgust me. I want to kill you here and now. He wanted to say, but he

didnt.

Would you like something else to drink your fiendish majesty? Clueless asked, much to the

fiends delight.

Just a glass of something Baatorian. She answered. Surprise me.

As the King wishes. Clueless said before turning and walking back to the bar.

Something Baatorian? He thought. Sure, lemme go find an imp to piss in a goblet. Thatll

work.
 848

Meanwhile, Kiro glanced over at the fiend as he sat down next to where Tristol was trying to

get himself lost in the bottom of a drink.

Who exactly is that women? Kiro asked. Shes a pain in the ass.

Tristol looked up at him.

Not so loud please... He said, ears still folded back and to the side. Shell pitch a temper

tantrum, and I really dont want to clean up the room after she sets it, and possibly some people,

on fire in the process.

And no one actually does anything about her? Kiro asked with a bit of incredulity. You

just let her get away with it?

Its complicated. Tristol replied. But yeah, we just let her get away with it most of the

time.

That however, was when Tristols eyes moved over to look at the Marauder. The fiend was

doing something with a hand under the table.

Hold on a second... Tristol said, whispering the words of a detect magic spell.

The Marauder lit up like a booze-covered Hiver given a hug by a fire elemental, but that was

to be expected. Over by the bar, Clueless was sparkling with a wild snarl of random magical

auras, something to ask him about later. But no, what drew Tristols attention was that the

underside of Shemeskas table was glittering with a mixture of universal and divination auras.

Cute... Tristol muttered. Well have to sand the table down now.

Oh? Kiro asked.

The random tapping of claws by the loth on the table had never been random. For most of

her stay, which had already been far, far too long for anyones comfort level, shed been drawing

the lines of some sort of divination focus onto the underside of the table, along with a bit of self

promoting graffiti on the top.

Ill have to tell Clueless about that later. Tristol said with a sigh.

Clueless had, by that point, done his best to abandon the Marauder. Hed taken her order,

mixed her drink, and given it to a random member of the serving staff to hand off in his stead.

Hed busied himself with other customers, and hoped that the loth would grow bored without

him to torment, and eventually leave. Wishful thinking.

Thats Shemeska the Marauder, Tristol explained to the cleric next to him. Aka the King

of the Crosstrade. Shes a gossipmonger on the surface, she owns a little under a third of the

land in Sigil, and she likely has a hand in half of the illicit goings on in the Cage at any point

in time. And she revels in that little worst kept secret in the city as to what she actually is and

how much influence she actually has.

849

Do people not realize just how full of bullsh*t she is? Kiro asked Tristol.

No. The aasimar replied, lowering his voice. Everyone knows full well.

She doesnt know me from anyone else. Kiro said. I could, you know, -accidentally- walk

past and drop a bucket of dishwater on her when I clear one of the other tables.

Shed be liable to kill you. Tristol said.

Shes welcome to try was very nearly out of Kiros mouth, but he wasnt honestly planning

to do anything of the sort, not at the moment, not with Jermorille standing next to her and

brushing out her hair. The Exile didnt have a clue, and his presence in Sigil was somewhere

between actual exile, being in a place where he couldnt do too much damage, and just being a

useful idiot from time to time.

Then never mind that. Kiro said. Thats a bit harsh...

Back over at the bar, Clueless was being beckoned to by the Marauder again.

Oh hells... He muttered for the second time in under an hour. By the end of the night he

might have more of them than Baators nine if things didnt improve.

The loth was sipping approvingly at her drink. At least that had seemed to be the cause for

her look of approval, the drink. Or not...

F*ck... Clueless whispered.

The Marauder had both hands on the table, and was leaning down and looking into the eyes

of the Shemeska doll that theyd purchased from Akins auction.

Chapter 76

Arent I the prettiest fiend in Sigil?! The tiny doll snarled up in a whiny version of the Ma-

rauders own voice.

The fiendess arched her eyebrows and leaned back slightly.

Dont I have the prettiest smile?! The doll said, flashing a ragged, drooling mouthful of

fangs.

A hush fell over that corner of the inn. Tristols head was down on the table and his tail

curled around the leg of his chair. Clueless had sudden images of their inn demolished by a series

of explosions in the next few seconds.

Yes I am. Shemeska crooned down at the doll. And yes I do.

The doll looked up at its namesake and there was some whispered comment it made, some-

thing crude, something involving a friendly fiend and a Balor. What followed were a few startled

coughs, the rattle of glasses in unsteady hands, and silence from the loth.

Without looking away from the doll, the Marauder extended a hand and beckoned with a

finger to Clueless.

Please dont pitch a fit... Clueless muttered as he winced and reluctantly walked over to

the fiends table.

Of course his reluctance never showed as he put a gracious smile upon his face, even as his

head swum with a duality of magic induced euphoria and the thought of ...you arrogant b*tch.

Why dont you go screw the spire.

As Clueless walked up to the table, the little doll was looking at its reflection in the tiny

mirror that came along with it, apparently admiring the way its gown flattered its ass. The real

Marauder was simply watching its own antics in miniature played out on the table, a thin-lipped

smile on her face, either on the verge of a grin or a snarl.

So... She asked, twirling a finger through the coil of razorvine atop her head, still without

looking up. Whats your opinion of the doll?

850
851

Given the relative hush that had fallen over that portion of the inn, Tristol could hear the

question from where he was sitting, even if he was trying to avoid looking. A dozen potential

counterspells danced through his mind along with a dozen horrible, terrible ways the situation

could fall apart.

It really doesnt hold a candle to you... Clueless said, belated and forcibly adding, ...your

fiendish majesty.

And if people dont flatter me. The doll squeaked out. I pull that little trick with nails,

a tree, intestines, and hellhounds!

The loth didnt respond, and Clueless held his breath.

But its most fun to just make people do what you want them to do. The doll continued, as

it played around with changing the colors of the paint on its claws. Blackmail, threats, implied

threats, magic...

Among other classics. The real Marauder crooned, turning up towards Clueless and flashing

a smile.

You know, I am impressed on a number of levels. She continued. From what Id gathered,

all these little dolls were quite lifelike and well matched up to their namesakes. But I never

expected this one to be so well modeled.

Clueless blinked.

You knew about this one? He asked.

Well of course I did. She replied. It concerns me. You really didnt think that youd be

able to keep a present for me concealed? I dont handle surprises well, but I do appreciate the

intent.

Present? Clueless asked, a sudden change of tone creeping into his voice.

Well of course. The fiendess replied with pompous self-assurance. I wasnt invited to the

auction by that outcast little bootlicker in the Lower Ward. So, knowing that I like gifts, and

knowing how much I do so like me, you bid on it as a present for me.

Umm... Clueless stammered.

And dear, She said, reaching out running a claw down the bladesingers chest gently. I

really am touched by the gesture.

Had he not been high at the time, Clueless would have screamed. Not only was she going to

steal something theyd all purchased together in mockery of her, but also the way her finger was

tracing its way down his chest... she seemed far too familiar with the contours of his musculature

for his comfort.

It was a good choice on your behalf, and it really is so very lifelike. I half expect that the
 852

craftsman might have spent his evenings peeking into my bedchambers and taking notes. She

said with a laugh, withdrawing her hand and touching it daintily to her chest. Oh for them to

be so lucky though I suppose.

Clueless repressed a snarl and a sudden, intense desire to slit her throat.

So my trip to the Clerks Ward hasnt been the ordeal I though it would be. The King of

the Crosstrade continued. I get to see your quaint little place again, with all the nostalgia for

the Ubiquitous Wayfarer it invokes, and Im gifted with this darling little version of myself.

Im glad that you enjoy maam. Clueless forced himself to say at about the point that she

started to ignore him entirely.

Lets go find a place that -actually- knows how to make my favorite drink. The doll said

with a shrill little bark.

Perhaps, but while you look gorgeous with a figure so very much like my own down to the

sparkle in your eyes, you need to learn a thing about tact. The Marauder instructed the doll.

You see, each and every insult needs to be directed like a bolt of lightning rather than a wail

of the banshee. Be precise in your mockery, and despite the illusion and appearance of whimsy,

always mean what you say when you offend. And yes, Im sure we can find a shot of higher end

spirits at one of the nicer bars in the city.

The Marauders lips curled back in a sneer as she adjusted the tangle of razorvine atop her

head, and the doll proceeded to do much the same.

But now you darling little facsimile, Shemeska said down to the doll. Theres misery in

the Cage, and its high time we found some to partake of.

Clueless was livid as the fiend gestured one of her servants over to pull back her chair, drape

a black silk stole across her lower back between her arms, and place the doll inside a padded box

theyd apparently arrived with. Shed come simply to pick up what shed wanted, and in fact

shed probably had one of her people find the damn doll and bring it down to the common room

for her to discover and graciously accept as a gift with the entire Cages supply of false humility.

It went without saying that there was neither payment nor a tip for the food her people had

ordered as she stepped away and walked towards the exit, finally breaking into laughter as soon

as she reached the street.

Shaved. Clueless exclaimed. Definitely not good enough.

With the fiends barking mockery fading into the distance, Clueless put his head down on the

bar and exhaled. His head was swimming, his back was tingling like it had fallen asleep, and he

was having random flickers of light play across his field of vision in time with the beating of his

heart.
853

Either the Marauder had pushed his blood pressure up to near lethal levels with her little

display, or he was having side effects of his experimentation with his back and the globe of syrupy,

liquid magic earlier in the day. And though the loth had done her fickle best, that wasnt likely

to be the cause of it all.

Are you alright? Tristol asked, walking up to the bar, the fur on his ears still slightly on

end from the fiend.

Hmm? Clueless mumbled off key as he looked up.

You dont look very good. The aasimar replied with some concern. She do something to

you?

No... Clueless replied. I just...

The bladesingers speech slurred and he giggled.

... Tristol looked suddenly more worried.

Im just, y... Ill be back later... Clueless said as he stepped out from behind the bar.

Sleep...

You do that. Tristol said. Ill have someone else fill in at the bar.

You have fuzzy ears. Clueless said with a gleeful giggle as he staggered away.

Tristol frowned and paused to respond, or maybe even stop him to make certain that he

hadnt been drugged or something. But he let him go, watching him firmly till the bladesinger

vanished up the stairs on the way to his room, resolving to check up on him later.

***

Clueless slumped against the surface of his door and fumbled with the latch. His head was

getting worse and his back felt numb. But strangely enough he wasnt worried in the slightest,

suffused as he was with a general sense of euphoria.

Only seconds later, as he stepped into the room and sat down on the bed, something hap-

pened. Something popped in the back of his mind, his vision contorted and his eyes ached for a

few painful seconds. But when it was over his perspective had suddenly changed, his surround-

ings vanishing and being replaced with somewhere else entirely. He was watching something but

not controlling it, like a vision through a sensory stone or through a legend lore spell. He was

having another flashback triggered by the globules of heavy magic spinning their way through

his tattoo and into his flesh. But this time, he wasnt choosing anything of what he was being

shown.

The room was smaller and darker, the flickering light of a few sparkling globes, each filled

with the bound essence of a lantern archon, illuminated only those portions of his vision that
 854

he wished. A table, covered in a chaotic mess of loose papers, open books... and a golden globe

filled with a glistening, honey-like liquid.

Too old. Too old. He said. The Ape Who Would Fly discovered it independently, and

much too late in the historical record to match where I found this little bauble.

The view suddenly shifted back to focus on the speaker, revealing the supremely arrogant,

hawk nosed countenance of Shekelor seated at his desk, glancing back and forth between a pair

of books and his own reflection in the orb of golden liquid.

I wonder... no, that couldnt be it. He said, openly musing to himself. They wouldnt

have had a hand in this.

The two massive tomes sprawled open upon Shekelors desk, they were like bookends upon

the globe of heavy magic, each of them scrawled with the Incantifers own scrawled notes in

the margins. The first book, Magic and Antimagic - Karsus, Archwizard of Eileanar Enclave

was bound in a heavy, maroon cover, with an exquisitely illuminated interior. But despite the

obvious value of the book itself, the Factol of the Magicians treated it with a certain level of

intellectual nonchalance.

Slipping a finger over a series of equations and schematics relating to the binding of specific

types of magical energies together into a larger, self-sustaining whole, Shekelor smiled. Much

like mathematics was a thing of beauty to a Guvner, so too was the working of magic something

similar to the lord of the Incanterium. Like poetic little quatrains, he recited the words in Old

Loross that described one tiny facet of the interactions between the threads of a mythallar, and

stabilized heavy magic, and he smiled, genuinely happy for a brief few moments.

But then it was gone, his reverie broken, and his impatient, hungry mind moving on to

another page entirely, looking for answers and ignoring the rest as superfluous.

The Netherese were dolts... He muttered, reaching out to underline something in the Karsus

text. A shame theyre no longer extant. They had promise and potential. What fun they would

have been.

His last statement was laced through with hunger, and it seemed that for a moment, lost in

contemplation, he might very well drool upon the pages of the open book.

I have to wonder though, did you really come up with the idea all on your own? The

Magician pondered. Was it a stupendous, glorious mistake on your part? Did you die with

some natal insight into the workings of the stuff, never deigning to write it down out of jealous

pride?

Shekelor smirked, Believe me, I could have respected that.

That said, he flipped another page and examined a few more details on the practical appli-
855

cations of the material, though for the most part, the first two pages were merely prefaced with

statements of caution and blatant warnings as to the extreme volatility of such endeavors. Ulti-

mately, after seeming to gain little from the text that he didnt already know, Shekelor moved

from the book and gazed into the depths of the glassy sphere itself.

Its a shame that I have other, more important things on my mind. He said, speaking to

the golden liquid. Ive got another little bauble to find, and Ill be leaving shortly to find it.

Had I more time Id like deeply to learn just where you first came from.

In the vision, reflected back in the surface of the orb, Shekelors luminous, liquid silver eyes

gazed back at Clueless. Those hungry, inhuman orbs peered back at him in that flicker of

disjointed memory, carried across the years by the same liquid hed sat there in Sigil pondering

over so very long ago.

And then, without warning, the memory skipped track, launching forward an uncertain period

of time.

When his vision cleared again, Shekelor was still there at his desk, the globe of heavy magic

still situated in front of him, only now he was glancing down at the second book hed had upon

his desk. That other tome was bound in simple brown leather, not given over to any overly

elaborate decoration. It was a very simple, unassuming thing, in marked contrast to the first of

the books hed been studying.

The Sublime Laws of the Arcane: implications and loopholes, that was the name of the

book; and while there was no authors name given, the upper right corner of each page was

stamped with a symbol very much like that of the Fraternity of Order.

And if Karsus might have kept secrets, I -know- that you do. Shekelor hissed as he glanced

over a page that seemed to be more math than actual script. Bloody brilliant in your own way,

but too obsessed with the search for knowledge and understand how it all works in the minute,

than you are with actually taking advantage of it.

The Incantifer paused and circled a few portions of a page, jotting down some notes in some

sort of personalized shorthand for later.

At least with you, I can actually walk down to your damn office and ask you something

myself.

Shekelor obviously knew the author. That wasnt entirely expected.

Of course I have to deal with your fellow faction members peery eyes. He said with some

scorn. But at least Ill have an intelligent conversation if youre around. Though you ask too

many questions and youre far too keen to play this little game of one-upmanship weve developed

over the years. Youve already lost simply because you picked the wrong faction my friend, and
 856

no amount of subtle insinuation that youve found the biggest secret of all or found other

places and found how to call to them or that youve found some friends all your own will

really make any difference in the matter. Youre not practical enough, and one of these days, its

going to kill you.

The curious condescension in the wizards voice was nearly palpable.

And that last sending of yours, were you bragging? Shekelor mused. Babble about Keeping

and Loopholes and Others. By the time you do anything practical Ill have already found the

Labyrinth Stone. Stop hitting the Arborean wine and youll make something of yourself.

And with that, Cluelesss vision swam, the memory faded and be blacked out.

It might have been only a few minutes, or it might have been a few hours, he wasnt imme-

diately certain of how much time had passed when he came to and shook his head.

That was different... Clueless said to himself, standing up on unsteady feet.

His head was swimming still, but unlike a dream, the memory was firmly cemented into

his mind and the details were curious to say the least. If he was learning things simply by

association with objects, like some sort of random and unasked for bursts of physiognomy, it

opened up avenues of inquiry that otherwise would have been firmly locked away in the pasts

silent crypt.

So Shekelor didnt make you. He said, looking at the orb of heavy magic. And he didnt

know who did either.

And then there were the books.

Ill have to ask Tristol if he knows where I can find a copy of the first one. Ive got the name

of the author for that one at least. The second one... that might take some more work.

If nothing else, it might take the wizards mind off of the days experiences with the Marauder.

Of course in the meantime though, Clueless himself was still a bit on edge about his own little

episodes of unasked for divinations.

Hopefully I dont start randomly getting flashes of memories like that. He said as he tossed

a cloth over top of the globe. At least with divinations you can control when and what youre

looking at.

***

Tristol was sitting at one of the tables in the back room that hed converted to a lab and a

magical library. Hed retreated there and closed the door after the Marauders little escapade

earlier, simply wanting to avoid people and any sort of bother, finding some solace in his books.

Hed even managed to find some of that desired peace in the time hed spent there reading.
857

No drunken customers, no pissant yugoloths, no dangerously amusing Xaositects. Well no, that

last one he had a bit more tolerance for, more than tolerance actually, even if she was amazingly

able to cause trouble.

But that solace thing hed briefly managed to find, well, it didnt last much longer once there

was a knock at the door and Clueless stuck his head in.

Ive got a question for you Tristol.

Chapter 77

Tristol looked up from his spellbook with more than a bit of consternation playing across his

face.

The last time you poked your head in here you were mucking around with Heavy Magic.

The aasimar said, looking warily over to see if Clueless had brought any of the freakishly unstable

liquid with him.

I ask a question and you immediately think Im doing something dangerous? The bladesinger

asked with a puckish grin, still touched by his earlier mental haze even as he tried to hide it.

What have you been doing with it lately? Tristol asked. I know you cant get drunk, so

something would have to explain the way that you were acting earlier... and still are acting.

And you immediately think Im still messing with heavy magic? Clueless asked again.

Tristol raised an eyebrow.

The last time you did, I told you what it was. The mage said. Well, at least what little I

or anyone else really knew about it, and to...

Yeah yeah yeah. Clueless replied. You said Keep it away from me! and then tried to

hide under your tail.

Do you blame me? The mage replied with a frown, noting the guilty grin playing across

the half-feys face.

So what is it this time? Tristol continued with a sigh. Just dont get me anywhere near

the stuff itself. Ill answer any questions if I can, just to try to keep you from blowing yourself

to pieces, and me, and the inn, and never let Nisha become aware of it!

Even in his current state, Clueless had to shiver at that last one.

Last time I asked about heavy magic you mentioned Karsus. The bladesinger said. But

have you ever heard of a book that he wrote called Magic and Antimagic ?

Eh? Tristol said with a bit of surprise.

Have you heard of it before? Clueless asked. Is eh a yes or a no?

858
859

Well, yes. Tristol said. Ive read some portions of it before, but usually in other books.

Its a rare bit of lore, even in Halruaa.

So you dont have a copy? Clueless quipped.

No... Tristol replied. But what got you interested in the book? And where did you hear

about it in the first place?

Its about the heavy magic... Clueless said. And... well...

Say no more... Tristol said, cutting him off. The mention of the heavy magic ended his

wanting to know anything further, simply for his own safety.

So you -do- have a copy? Clueless prompted with a burgeoning grin.

No, like I said, its pretty damn rare. Tristol said with a shrug. It was written thousands

of years ago.

Clueless looked momentarily crestfallen, just before Tristol added, But... I do know someone

that I can likely get a copy from.

And that person was Lothar, Master of the Bones.

***

I probably should have sprung for a tout. Tristol said to himself as he glanced up at the

battered, soot-covered signs at the street corner.

He stood and turned full circle, trying to orient himself in the foggy streets of the Lower

Ward. The air was thick with ash, the rotten egg smell of sulfur wafting from the smokestacks

of the Great Foundry, and a less certain smell vaguely reminiscent of vinegar that clung to the

tongue like a bitter aftertaste of cheap wine.

Hell, I should have asked Nisha to come along with me. He said. She knows the streets

better than I do.

The warren of streets that he had ventured down was not in the more traveled sections of

the Ward. Far from the more popular workshops, businesses, and the wider thoroughfares that

accommodated their to and from traffic, Tristol was easily losing his way.

And... and I enjoy her company. He added, a small smile crossing his face. Hopefully she

feels the same about me. I think she does, I hope she does. I just need to get up the courage to

ask her.

Now it was true, he though, Nisha and he were technically different species: him an aasimar

and she a tiefling. True, theyd grown up in drastically different backgrounds: hed been one of

the privileged within the magocracy of Halruaa, and shed grown up with nothing on the streets
 860

of the Hive. But despite that, perhaps even because of that, she made him smile and hed been

realizing that more and more lately.

His mind continued to wander for a moment as he passed through another thick patch of fog.

What would his family say about Nisha if he brought her back to Halagard to visit their tower?

Lutra would probably... no, Lutra would absolutely pitch a fit, and the idea brought a smile to

his face and set his tail to wagging like a happy puppy.

Just to get up the courage now... Tristol said.

But with that thought, the smog broke abruptly as he reached the end of the street and

looked down, stopping himself with a bit of an awkward shuffle of his feet.

What sort of place does Lothar live in? Tristol mused with uncertainty.

Twitching his tail and stepping back slightly from the edge, he gazed down at the wide cleft

in the street, and the steep fifty-foot drop inches in front of him: The Ditch. The street simply

ended at what was best described as an urban wound stretching for blocks in either direction

across the edge of the Lower Ward, slicing into the citys flesh. Frowning at the expanse and

contents of the chasm, Tristol thought back to Lothar and his initial meeting some time ago.

Tristol had first encountered the man at Jeremos dinner at the Palace of the Jester. The

so-called Master of Bones had been sitting across from him looking rather socially out of place,

and so, thinking the elderly gentleman a mage, based on the robes he was wearing, hed struck up

a conversation. Lothar had apparently shown up only following a pair of requests by the Jester

himself, probably because Jeremo had wanted another level headed and powerful spellcaster in

case things went sour between some of his more opinionated guests who refused to play well

with others. But, as it happened, Lothar hadnt needed to do a thing, since Tristol and his

companions had jumped into the fray instead.

Unfortunately the Marauder and the Titan of Wealth had launched into their spat just shortly

after Tristol and Lothar had gotten to know one another, putting a halt on their socialization.

But at the same time, they had spoken briefly after the party was over, exchanged addresses,

and provided an open invitation to one another to visit if they ever wanted to simply chat, or if

they wished to deal as sages of the arcane.

Well, given Cluelesss request for a book by Karsus himself, Tristol found the time was right

to give the Master of Bones a calling.

This of course was founded on the presumption that he could actually -find- Lothars address

in the first place amid the reeking, trash filled expanse of the worst of the Lower Ward. The

smell in the ward was typically foul, but it seemed to have gotten as bad as it might possibly

get unless he fell into a portal to the Abyss.

861

Suffice to say, as Tristol held his breath and looked down, the Ditch was making a poor

impression on him, especially given that the intermittent portals to Oceanus had not flushed the

chasm in any recent period, leaving it choked with refuse, debris, and water that seemed very

nearly to have the consistency of syrup. A few desperate berks, along with a multitude of rats,

cranium and mundane both, fished the muck for anything edible, or anything of use that might

have been dumped or discarded there. And, given the crime within the ward and the adjacent

Hive, more than a few corpses lay partially submerged along the trough.

Alright. Took a wrong turn somewhere. Tristol said, covering his nose with a sleeve of his

robe and turning away from the edge.

The stench of rot and standing water was nauseating, and holding his breath with a grimace,

he quickly hurried back along the street.

Several blocks and several turns later, Tristols eyes were still watering from the mild drizzle

of rain seeping out of the smog-ridden sky and turning the fog into acrid smelling vapor more

like vinegar than water. The streets were thinner, the cobblestones more chipped and cracked,

and the few passersby less welcoming to requests for direction. Altogether, it wasnt the Hive or

the worst of the barrens of the Shattered Temple District, but it was damn near the worst of the

Lower Ward.

Still covering his nose from the rank odor that swirled around him, likely picked up from the

breeze passing over the Ditch, Tristol was nearly on the verge of turning around and going home

when he arrived at the address that Lothar had given him.

This cant be right. Tristol muttered, looking up at the battered iron plate that gave the

street number, and then up at the house itself.

His ears twitched in confusion as his eyes played over the burned out, apparently abandoned

house that occupied the site. The windows were broken, bits of refuse and graffiti littered the

stoop, and the place gave no indication of recent occupation beyond a squatter or two; certainly

the place didnt seem to fit a spellcaster of Lothars capacity.

Im tempted to just go visit Akin and ask if hes got a copy of the book. Tristol said as

he cautiously walked up towards the front door. This hasnt been a pleasant trip so far, and at

least Akin might offer me a smile and a cookie for the visit.

The front door was laying off to one side of course, the hinges having long ago been pried

loose and stolen for scrap. A dead executioners raven, rotten and partially eaten, was also tossed

off to one side. They were not exactly the most welcoming portents when looking for a wizards

abode.

Hmm. Tristol mumbled hopefully. Maybe its just an illusion to keep vagrants away.
 862

Once past the doorway though, the interior wasnt much better. The floor was covered in dust

and a few errant tracks left in recent weeks by squatters, or simply the curious who happened to

explore the place.

So much for this just being an illusion. Tristol said, scuffing at some of the ash and dust

with the tip of his staff. Im still not convinced that Ive just got the wrong address and some

prankster didnt simply switch the... wait...

Now that was odd. Tristol squinted and craned his neck to look up.

In the middle of the squalor, seemingly untouched by the passage of years, the tarnish of

neglect, and the ravages of Sigils own unique brand of elements, there was a single, unbroken

and virtually new, stained glass window high on one wall.

If thats not a hint of magic, Im not a mage. He said, already whispering a divination spell

under his breath.

The window began to glow just a bit more brightly, giving away a telltale trace of the

protective abjurations that had kept it safe over the years, shedding its multicolored rays across

the floor of the gutted, ruined house despite any conditions that might preclude the passage of

light, be it fog, rain, or anything else.

Tristol smiled and stepped into the path of the windows light, half expecting some magical

effect, and half just admiring the mixture of colors. While no magical display was forthcoming,

he did notice something about the dust-covered floor below him: it was hollow under his footfalls

in the area colored by the windows light.

Well thats interesting. Tristol said, stepping back at taking note of a recessed latch and

handle mostly covered by the dust.

A trapdoor.

He tapped the door a few times with his staff, finding its dimensions, and then pulled it up

and open to reveal the rungs of a ladder constructed from, or carved into the shape of bones. A

bit of warm, pleasantly fresh air drifted up from the darkness below, stirring the dust and soot

above.

Casting a minor cantrip to illuminate the gloom as he descended the ladder, Tristol closed

the trapdoor back to the surface and examined his new surroundings. With the darkness sup-

pressed and held back, the room was rather nicer than the hovel that sat perched over it. The

ladder emptied into a small, wood paneled room mostly free of dust that was comfortably warm

compared to outside in the chill, rank fog of the Lower Ward.

Neat but sparse, that was the overall tone of the place. But that did fit the impression that

Tristol had gotten from Lothar when theyd briefly spoken at Jeremos party. And with that
863

thought in mind, brushing a bit of soot off of his robes with a bit of anxious self-consciousness,

Tristol approached what appeared to be the front door opposite the stairs and politely gave a

knock.

There wasnt a bit of sound in response from the other side of the door.

Hmm. Tristol said. I wonder if hes home.

A soft hiss of another door opening made the aasimar turn his head to the side and look.

Off to the right, an obscured door had opened to reveal a dark figure draped in a hooded robe,

looking expectantly at Tristol. It wasnt Lothar however, it was too hunched over for that, and

as it took a few steps forward, it was far too lithe and quick on its feet to match the venerable

old man that Tristol remembered.

Im here to see Lothar. Tristol said, fishing in his pocket for a card. Hed wished to

exchange some information with me.

The cowled figure veritably scurried forward and extended a gnarled hand to accept the card,

bringing it close to its hood and seeming to sniff at it. Tristol felt the urge to step back from

the figures odd behavior, but he held firm even as who he assumed to be a servant or perhaps

the doorman pulled back his cowl to reveal a face more rat than human, replete with elongated,

protruding incisors and long, twitching whiskers.

The Master of Bones is present. The were-rat said with a bit of a hiss. Does he expect

you?

Weve met before, a few months ago. Tristol replied. He extended an open invitation to

me then, and I have a request and an offer for him regarding a book.

The humanoid vermin twitched its ears and seemed to ponder for a moment before pulling

out a large, antique looking key and moving towards the door Tristol had originally knocked at.

I didnt catch your name. The mage said. Who might you be?

The doorman rolled his eyes before turning around to face his masters guest.

I would be Tattershade. He replied with a straight face. King of the were-rats.

The doorman turned and opened the door, once again rolling his eyes and doing his best to

seem polite while responding as little as possible to a few questions and attempts at conversation

on Tristols part.

Eventually though, Tattershade motioned Tristol forwards into Lothars waiting room and

scurried off to presumably fetch the master himself, leaving his guest to stare in awed revulsion

at the contents of the room.

Skulls. Thousands of them. The walls of the vaulted chamber were covered in shelves and

bookcases packed with orderly rows of bleached white, grinning skulls of all shapes and sizes,
 864

each categorized and tagged with a small nameplate below the spot where they sat.

Wow. Tristol said. The name fits I suppose.

Tristol stepped further into the room, letting his eyes wander across one of the shelves and

the rest of the room as well. A few chairs and sofas dotted the floor along with a podium or two

with a spot for a book and inkwell, and on the far end of the chamber a decorative, wrought

iron spiral staircase spiraled up and down into other chambers. But the skulls were by far the

dominating aspect of the room, leering down like a chorus of grinning imps just finished with

their last architectural project in Avernus.

Most of the skulls were old, missing teeth, cracked in places, and showing the evidence of

prior burial or abandonment in various circumstances for long periods of time. The collection

also ran the range from humanoids of all sizes and types, to even a few fiends and celestials.

Virtually all of the skulls were identified by species, age, and even where they had come from.

What more, most of the skulls were named, presumably the name of the individual they had

come from in the first place. But what drew Tristols attention was a tag affixed below one of

the skulls.

Will not talk. Fix later. Tristol mumbled, reading the small, concise notation affixed to

the nameless, apparently newly added skull.

That almost makes it seem like Lothar manages to make them talk to him. Tristol openly

mused, feeling respectful and disturbed at once. I know some clerics can make a corpse speak

through magic, but this... this is a bit beyond that.

His back turned to the other half of the collection, he suddenly felt painfully aware of the

skulls behind him staring at him. Thousands of hollow sockets devoid of eyes, devoid of life, still

somehow animate, it was like being in a prison, or more like a zoo with sentient animals set out

on display.

Im not a necromancer though. Tristol said, looking at a few of the skulls above his head

on the shelf. I wouldnt know the first thing about holding a conversation with you.

Seemingly spurred by his comment, a series of staccato chatters of teeth, like skeletal laughter,

echoed behind him. Tristol spun around at the noise.

... He held his tongue, looking for perhaps Lothar or one of his servants that might have

caused the noise.

Some of the skulls had moved and were now positioned to look directly at him.

*clack*

One of them moved on its own accord, rapping its teeth together, catching the mages atten-

tion.
865

*chatter*

Youre undead? Tristol questioned one of the animate skulls, moving closer to them.

No. One of them whispered, its hollow voice barely audible.

We... Another began before being silenced by another.

Silence! The Master approaches! Several exclaimed before likewise falling still and hush.

Tristol perked an eyebrow as a hush seemed to descend over the skulls in their entirely.

Something like fear mixed with resentment, seemed to swallow the skeletal chorus, stealing away

any of the sense of life that some of them had expressed when faced with the lone mage.

Footsteps echoed on the spiral stairs and Tristol turned to look.

Master Starweather, Came Lothars warm greeting. It is good to see you again. To what

do I owe the pleasure of your visit?

In contrast to his rich, confidant voice, the man descending the staircase was frail and ancient

looking. The bulk of his frame seemed filled out by the rather plain robe he wore, and he was

leaning heavily on his staff as he stepped down each stair, making his way into the skull chamber.

Its good to see you as well Lothar. Tristol replied, giving a bow. I knew about your

collection of bones from when we spoke at the Palace of the Jester, but I have to admit that Im

more than a bit overwhelmed now that Im here looking at it.

The skulls remained silent and inanimate, like they were collectively holding their dusty

breath and minding their manners while their master entertained a guest. But even if the skulls

seemed verily terrified on some level, Lothar himself didnt give off anything even close to the

disturbing aura of fear and questionable morals that a powerful necromancer, lich, or priest of a

deity of death might shed like the light of a torch. Quite to the contrary, and in sharp contrast to

the skulls lining the walls like some great catacomb of the Dustmen, the Master of Bones seemed

friendly, warm, and quite pleasant to be around.

This is but a portion of my full collection I will admit. Lothar said, taking a seat on one

of the chairs. I have my servants arrange them according to those I might seek to consult, all

depending on what topic I happen to be researching at any moment.

Its rather fascinating, if quite out of my range of specialization. Tristol replied. I take it

that you manage to gain something from them beyond normal divinations and searching through

libraries?

Lothar nodded sagely. Unlike people, unlike an authors lines in a tome, and without the

ambiguity inherent in most divinations, the dead cannot lie.

Upon one of the shelves, a few skulls rattled like frightened puppies given a few sharp words

by their owner.
 866

But Im to understand that you had some offer for me? Lothar said, swinging the conver-

sation away from his collection of the dead.

Yes. Tristol replied, taking a seat as well. I was wondering if you have a copy of a certain

book.

Perhaps. It really depends on the subject and relevance to my studies. Lothar said. De-

spite popular opinion among some, and perhaps appearances, Im not a necromancer, nor even

a wizard. I consider myself a priest, nothing more.

Tristol nodded, aware from prior conversation that Lothar, like Oridi Malefin of the Dustmen,

was a cleric of the Abstract Concept of Death, venerating the process itself in a way that might

be beyond the grasp of a priest of Osiris, Hades, Arawn, Kelemvor, or any others.

Its a book by the Archmage Karsus, late of Toril, titled Magic and Antimagic. The

aasimar continued. Its quite rare, and several thousand years old.

Im familiar with it. Lothar responded with a smile. And I do have a copy of it in my

library.

Tristols ears perked almost immediately. For someone who wasnt a wizard, Lothar had

more sorcerous goods at hand than most mages did, perhaps as references or perhaps just as

bargaining tools for the future.

Would it be possible for... Tristol began.

Yes. Lothar replied. You may borrow it for a ten-day without cost.

Might I be able to make a copy of it? Tristol asked politely.

And honestly, that was his own request, and not simply a favor by proxy for Clueless. Clueless

simply wanted one snippet of information from the book, viewing it as more a curiosity than

anything else. Tristol on the other hand viewed the book from the context of his own peoples

history in Halruaa, the heirs and descendants of fallen Netheril. To him, the book contained

what his people sought to preserve in some cases and recreate in others, and having one more

copy of that knowledge was another step along that path, a tangible prayer for the honored

fallen.

Yes... but. Lothar explained, putting up a finger. If you wish to copy it I will require

some manner of favor in exchange.

What sort of favor? Tristol asked.

I dont quite know as of yet. The cleric said with a shrug. But we can discuss those terms

and specifics later when I have the book retrieved and brought down here. For the moment

however, Im curious as to what transpired when Jeremo hired you and your fellows to look into,

and apparently fix, his little cranium rat problem.

867

You knew about that? Tristol asked.

I have several were-rats in my employ. The Master of Bones explained. I was probably

aware of the migration of that particular Hive into his palace before Jeremo first noticed them.

Well, Tristol began. Jeremo provided us with maps of the first few layers below the street

level, and warned us that beyond that point...

He paused and pondered how to phrase it.

...beyond that point the hallways move and rearrange themselves.

Interesting. Lothar commented. Jeremos Palace existed long before he was born, and it

has an interesting history in and of its own. Do go on.

We got lost, very quickly in fact. And the rats were not in any sort of mood to converse.

Tristol explained. We fought them off and chased them down for hours, but the halls under the

Palace were a maze by that point, and almost like one of the original occupants had -intended-

it to be a maze.

Thats quite possible. Lothar said, not giving away if he was aware or not of any of the

detail that Tristol was skirting or not wholly explaining.

But nonetheless, Lothar continued to listen as Tristol explained their flight through the maze

and eventual discovery of the stairway that seemed virtually grown into the rock and stretching

down for miles. With reluctance and curiosity both raging, he explained how they had walked

down the seemingly bottomless stairwell, wondering all the time if they were even still within

the City of Doors.

I very much doubt that you were in Sigil at that point. Lothar finally said, a wary sound

creeping into his voice for the first time. But do continue.

Tristol detailed the vaults as they found them, including the chamber with the floating, non-

magical obelisk, and the other chamber filled with its warding circle of unreadable symbols, its

statue or golem of sorts, and its riddle that spoke of something, or someone, known as HUBRIS.

Lothar was fascinated, leaning forwards on his staff with rapt attention.

And then there was the other chamber that we found. Tristol said, pausing both for effect

and the chill that crept over his spine at the memory. It was open to the sky.

Lothars eyes narrowed.

A sky?

Just... a sky. Tristol explained. It wasnt an illusion, there wasnt a horizon, and we didnt

see the Spire or the Outlands, just void stretching off.

And there was a statue of The Lady... He continued.

Stop! Lothar said firmly, silencing him with an open hand. Please do not continue with
 868

anything beyond that. I have no need, nor interest in learning any further on this topic.

Lothar seemed honestly worried.

But in any event, we drove off the rats. Tristol said with a nod, skipping over things a bit.

Jeremo was quite happy with the results.

As should be expected. Lothar said, happy at the change in topic. And I should expect

that he compensated you each accordingly. Hes usually quite reliable in that regard. He can

chatter more than any skull of mine if you let him, and hes perhaps a bit too motivated at times,

but he keeps to his word.

Tristol was in agreement as there was a heavy shuffle upon the staircase. He turned and

watched as what first appeared to be a ghoul descended into the chamber holding a book in its

outstretched, wickedly clawed hands.

And here is your prize. Lothar said, motioning the ghoul to hand Tristol the thick tome it

carried.

Rather than being a ghoul however, the creature was a golem, and an exquisitely crafted one

at that. The Masters pet construct was carved from a natural piece of dusky colored bloodstone,

flecked with other minerals so as to give the appearance of the slick, putrescent flesh of an actual

ghoul.

Thank you. Tristol said, accepting the book from the golem. But since I would like to

make a copy of this, what sort of price do you think will be appropriate?

Information of some sort. Lothar said while the golem retreated to a position against a

wall. Nothing more than that, and I wont specify much at this point. If I come with a question

or two, that might suffice, or otherwise if you come across a secret or two that you feel would be

appropriate, that should satisfy me as well. I wont be too demanding; the cost is really only a

formality with me.

Tristol cocked his head and pondered what might suffice.

How would you like to know a way into the underhalls of the Palace of the Jester? He

suggested. I can provide you with maps, though they wont be of much use as you probably

gathered before. But, and this might suffice for what you want, theres a way in that doesnt

involve the Palace itself or the catacombs under the Ladys Ward.

Lothar inclined his head and listened.

The Infinite Staircase opens into it. Tristol said. And I can tell you where the doorway is

on both sides.
Chapter 78

The chamber was small, barely large enough to contain a scrying pool and a number of portals

leading to other, far-flung places across the astral. Though it had been crafted recently, and

relatively few had given their lives to fuel its expansion as a pseudo-demiplane upon the Astral,

illusions and warped space made it seem all the larger. Barely thirty feet wide, it resembled an

open-air cupola at the summit of a tower, overlooking a vast evergreen forest eternally perched

on the twilight cusp of dusk or dawn.

It wasnt home; it was far too normal for that. It had only the pretensions of comfort, and

while some might marvel at the magical prowess displayed in its creation, it was never to be

anything more than a temporary tool. It was a nexus point, a place used to go to other places

but never truly feeling like any sort of home beyond the temporary.

But yet, there she was.

The Lady Brampandra sat perched in mid-air, feeling the illusory winds carry on them a

hint of burning embers and death somewhere in the intangible realms always out of reach beyond

the boundary of the towers expanse. It was comforting in a way, but she was more interested

in the breeze passing through one of the portals. Through that sculpted hole in the fabric of the

plane, the winds of the astral blew across her bare flesh, the tingle of thoughts bringing a shiver

and a reminder of other places, if only so very distantly.

Her eyes opened for a moment and gazed through the portal, glancing at the bizarre, sprawling

device that had been constructed by Ghyris Vast. The human was now rotting in Pitiless,

insurance in the event that the device didnt work or worked improperly. The motley collection

of cylinders, capacitors, oddly shaped and enchanted coils, and the maze of wires that connected

them... she understood the interrelation between them all, she knew how to built it again from

scratch, but as much as it pained her to admit it, she didnt have the closest notion as to why

the device could do what it promised to.

That troubled her of course, but she didnt allow the thought pattern to unduly intrude upon

869
 870

her conscious mind as she traced her eyes across the device, nestled there in its chamber beyond

the portal. Those errant worries, she tossed them to the side just as she had discarded her

clothing when shed retreated from her githyanki underlings to meditate.

She had just closed her eyes again when something in the chamber, in her, seemed to change.

It was subtle, and only something that she would have been able to sense since it was something

happening on the other side of the multiverse.

It was a touch, puissant and erotic, first upon her face, then tracing a line down her neck,

her breasts, her stomach...

The Divinity Leach is assembled. She whispered, exhaling and shuddering at the lingering

promise of violation. It is nearly ready to test...

She twitched, still hung in midair, feeling beautiful for several moments, briefly unaware and

unreminded of the pool of her own blood that had slowly dripped from her flesh onto the floor

below. Obedient and eager, she turned to face another of the portals as it flickered and opened.

The portal swirled with crimson and pitch, flooding the chamber with a tumult of screams

that Pandemonium itself would have had difficulty matching. Within the open gate, the darkness

seemed to smile, and a pair of eyes opened in the distance, looking across the planes at her.

I have something for you.

The darkness crooned like a proud father to her. Its voice said nothing about the failure of

her former servant, nor did it give comment on the punishment that she had delivered to the

Ultroloth. The darkness was accepting, empowering, awesome and terrible.

What is it you bring my love? She whispered, feeling the others hand or telekinetic influence

toy with her physical body.

A tool. A servant. He replied, the darkness sprouting the ivory flicker of grinning fangs.

A new creation for you to test, and one which has been tailored perfectly to the environment

of the transitive planes.

Her head tilted to the side in curiosity, her ears twitched and she waited for her gift sub-

serviently to arrive. But rather than emerge through the portal, the creature flickered and phased

into being directly in the center of the chamber.

Examine it. The darkness whispered through the portal. You will find it malleable to

your will, much more so than a true yugoloth. It has no free will of its own.

She gazed up at the creature, the first of them, which hovered silently above her.

This is what you have been toiling with of late? She asked.

Among other things. Her master answered. What was seemingly lost on the prior two

Oinoloths is the fact that the spawning pools beneath Khin-Oin are like a potters wheel or a
871

silversmiths workshop, not simply a collection of molds and the raw material to fill them with.

They are places to create and design, to shape as needed, but the status quo was apparently

sufficient for eons.

She examined the beast as its maker mentally snarled in disdain and creative arrogance.

It was huge, suspended there in the twilight, fully twice the size of a mature Nycaloth, though

a translucent Nycaloth starved and stretched till its limbs were painfully thin and elongated. It

seemed delicate, almost frail in a way, its frame almost skeletally thin. But in that vague body

plan was where the similarities to the first of the greater yugoloth castes ended, for the creature

seemed more jellyfish than fiend.

Sprouting from the creatures back and sides, rippling through the air and trailing below it,

touching, sniffing, tasting the ether, were nearly fifty tentacles or pseudopods. Tiny flickers of

sickly light glittered through the tendrils and the rest of the creature like the lures of a predatory,

deep ocean fish. The creature was created as something to swim the depths of the trackless sea,

the shadow deep, or the silvery void with equal skill, obeying its masters without thought and

without question.

Had it been based on a Nycaloth though, it would have been a blind one, for the creatures

eye sockets were empty, with translucent bone and flesh stretched tight over the vacant sockets;

vestigial orbits that had never been filled by the full sensory organs.

How many? She questioned as a drop of her own spittle rolled down her chin.

Many. The Oinoloth replied. This is only the first to become mature. Others will follow

for you to use as you see fit.

But the creature was aware, incredibly so. Bereft of sight, the creature could feel it way

through any darkness, drifting silent and hungry till it was ready to devour its prey. It was a

tool that only needed to be given a task.

These were created with you and your present task in mind. The Ebon whispered. Do

with the Astraloths as you will, but testing them is secondary to other concerns.

She had other questions, other words of praise, other things to beg for, but the portal closed

abruptly before she could find the words to speak.

The contact severed, she slumped to the floor, sprawling naked on the marble, smearing

involuntary patterns there in her own blood. Those few minutes of contact, brief as they were,

even though they had been through the portal and not in person, they had been like a religious

experience. She trembled, cold and exhausted, left in a mixture of awe and withdrawal as she

scrambled up to her feet and gazed at the first of the creatures that had been gifted to her.

It was hideous. It was perfect.

 872

And in hindsight, that was probably the feeling that its creator held regarding her.

A replacement for prior slaves. She said, glancing up at the newborn yugoloth construct.

Unlike others, you will serve without question, and hopefully you will suffice to finish what

others failed to do.

Pointedly, before instructing the Astraloth to its first task, she snarled and gazed down at the

gemstone lying atop the pile of her discarded clothing that held the essence of Yethmil KalSuth.

***

Is it just me or has Skalliska been in a much better mood lately? Florian asked as she sat

at with Toras at one of the inns tables.

Skalliskas back? Toras said. I honestly havent noticed.

Well its a little hard to not notice Sigils most flamboyantly dressed kobold with a spring

in her step. Florian commented.

You do have to grant her that. Clueless said from over at the bar. She does have a pretty

good sense of style.

So do Bleaknicks. The fighter replied.

She said something about having found her faith again. Clueless said. Pretty much right

after she got back from the Astral, she seemed rather intent on something.

Its a powerful thing. Faith that is. Florian added. Sounds like she found what shed gone

out there to find in the first place.

Hopefully itll give her a better sense to not be so impulsive. Toras said. Im happy for

her. Really, I am.

The fighter held up his finger.

But if I have to drag her soul back kicking and screaming when she gets disintegrated for the

umpteenth time yet again, Im leaving her drifting off wherever it is that well dressed kobolds

with large hats go when they die.

Florian shook her head at his impatience as he took a long, deliberate swig from his mug of

ale.

Wheres that? Came a soft, fluting, draconic voice.

Toras looked up from his drink and into Amberblues draconic eyes, sparkling with curiosity

and childlike innocence. Despite whatever the dragon had been through during his time in

Carceri, which he had avoided speaking about, hed regained almost all of his original nature,

both as a faerie dragon and as a child.

873

Of course, since then, the young dragon had spent most of his time divided between Nisha

and Clueless, the former for her carefree and chaotic nature, and the latter for his fey heritage.

Here you go little guy. Toras said, dodging the question, taking a bright and shiny apple

out from the bag of holding at his waist.

Amberblues tail flicked happily and his wings fluttered in anticipation.

For me?! He chirped.

Who else? Toras said, putting the apple down on top of the table. I picked it up for you

today when I was in the Market Ward.

The tiny dragon munched on the apple, wings still fluttering as the remainder of his body

was wrapped around the piece of fruit.

Everyone here is awesome! Amberblue said between mouthfuls of apple. Toras is super

nice too. He even got me the type of apple I like best of all!

Toras smiled with a warmth that would have seemed totally alien to anyone who had ever

seen him in combat against a fiend.

Dont you agree? Amberblue asked, looking down at seemingly no one in particular before

taking another munch from the apple.

The table rocked back and forth.

What the hell was that? Florian asked, picking up her mug of ale and sliding her chair

back.

Oh, that was the table. Amberblue stated matter-of-factly.

Toras glanced at the faerie dragon questioningly.

The table? He asked, looking down at the still slightly rocking piece of bar furniture.

Florian glanced under the table, looking for a foot, or maybe a Nisha that might have pushed

the table to make it jostle back and forth. There wasnt either of those things however, just the

floor, a few bits of apple, and nothing else to explain it.

What about the table? Toras asked again.

Oh. The dragon said with a toothy, apple-decorated smile. I animated it yesterday!

You what? Florian asked.

I made the table my friend. Amberblue said, once more through a massive mouthful of red

delicious. Yesterday.

How? Toras asked as the table rattled like a happy puppy.

I dunno... I just did. Amberblue said with a tiny shrug. I just asked nicely, wishing I

could...

Florian held up a finger. You can wish?

 874

I guess so... Came the innocent reply and another shrug from the dragon.

Florian and Toras were looking intently at one another. A little kid with wishes. Not exactly

always safe.

This is a good apple uncle Toras. Amberblue said, flashing a wide grin as his wings glittered

a few different shades of sparkling colors, reflecting his mood.

Will you promise me that you wont animate any more furniture? Toras asked politely.

Umm, ok! Amberblue replied. But I also made the hutch over on the other wall my friend

too. About a day before I animated the table here.

The table bounced slightly, and in seeming response, the hutch over by the back room rattled

back with a clatter of silverware and napkin-rings.

Breasts of Sharess... Florian muttered. Umm...

I like apples a lot. Amberblue prattled on gleefully, completely and blissfully ignorant.

I like them by themselves. I like apple pie. I like apple tarts. And I even had a kamaerl...

kamarel...caramel apple one time too! Apples are the most yummy things there is.

Toras warily smiled and nodded.

I wish I had a whole bunch more apples. The dragon chirped even as his scaled tummy was

starting to bulge.

Oh sh*t... Florian said, a moment before the wish took effect.

*CLATTER RUMBLE CRASH!*

In the space of a single, pregnant moment, the doors from the kitchen, Tristols lab, and the

back room were flung open and a veritable tide of apples rushed in, flooding the common room

in several feet of ripe, juicy apples of every color imaginable.

There was a chorus of startled cries from patrons, cooks, servers, and from the Portal Jam-

mers owners as well, punctuated by a overjoyed, gleeful chirp of Yay! Apples!

What the hell happened?! Clueless?! Nisha!? Tristol exclaimed as he climbed out of his

lab, scrambling over a snowdrift of fruit several feet high.

We have apples. Toras said, glancing over at Amberblue.

I have lots of apples! The dragon responded, fluttering over to land atop a particularly

large Granny Smith.

Over at the bar, standing amid a pile of yellow and red apples, Clueless shook his head and

gave an innocent expression. It hadnt been him, not this time. At the same time, one of the

regulars, a fairly heavy drinker, looked at his freshly drained shot glass and then at the room

full of apples.

This is good stuff. He said. Ill have another shot if you dont mind.
875

I think I may join you myself. Clueless replied, gazing out at the hundreds of pounds of

apples that filled the Portal Jammer.

Once they cleared the place of apples, or found something to do with them, they would need

to do something about the Faerie Dragon and his wishes. They already had a Xaositect, they

already had a half-fey with heavy magic, they didnt need a little kid with wishes running amuck

as well.

***

Several days passed, the inn was cleared of fruit, and relatively little of note transpired beyond

a continued effort to ensure that Amberblue used his wishes early, and on something small and/or

constructive. Business at the Inn was steady, Kiro and Skalliska were out and about on various

errands, and Nisha was busy with the Faerie Dragon up on the roof, doing... something... and

not answering any questions just as to what exactly she had up her sleeve.

And of course, the Portal Jammer was still running a special on Apple Pie.

Interesting. Toras said, holding up a long, slim envelope as he walked up to where Florian,

Tristol, Fyrehowl and Clueless were sitting. We had some mail in the box.

Who for? Florian asked. And dont tell me that its more cr*p from the Mephit.

No. The fighter said, shaking his head. Not the mephit. For one, the letter isnt dripping

and leaving a greasy residue on my hand. And two, it looks like actual professional level scribing

and expensive paper.

So who is it for and who is it from? Tristol asked.

To the owners of the Portal Jammer. Toras said, reading the elegant script upon the letters

front. It doesnt have a sender listed on the front though.

The fighter turned the letter over in his hand, looking for a name on the back. There was

no name, but the glob of sealing wax he saw, and the symbol impressed upon it, a stylized S

crowned by a thorny circlet, made it completely apparent who the sender was.

Toras frowned, gingerly placed the letter down on the table, and looked to Tristol.

Please tell me that wasnt cursed or otherwise ensorcelled? He asked, shooting the letter a

look of disdain. Because if not, Im going to go wash my hand after touching that.

Tristol gave the letter a quick once over, and didnt notice any overt dweomers. The ink

itself did seem to contain a milk sparkle of latent magic, but no curses, symbols, or any of the

other more popular spells that might entrap such a letter. No, the loth hadnt sent them a

malign contingency via post, the loth was simply being herself: vain, intrusive, flippant, and

self-serving.
 876

The letters fine. Tristol said.

Did she put perfume on the letter? Fyrehowl said, sniffing the air and looking at the

envelope.

Yeah, smells like her. Tristol replied. Same perfume she had on last time she was here.

Oh dont say that! Toras said, shaking his hand a bit more vigorously. I dont ever want

any part of me to smell like her!

You didnt have to sleep with her... Clueless thought to himself.

So, care to see what she has to say? Tristol asked, breaking the seal and taking out several

sheets of overly expensive paper.

No. Florian answered. But if we ignore her, itll only get worse...

Shave her? Toras muttered to himself. Hell with that, one of these days Im putting her

through a window.

Tristol waited for the comments and bile to pass, and then recited the fiends ever so pleasant

letter...
Chapter 79

Much has transpired in the recent past across the whole of Sigils social scene, events that ulti-

mately of course led to my interest in your own inn, and my recent visit.

You can only imagine my shock and dismay at the events of the past month that occurred in the

establishment of your rivals at The Twelve Factols. Dreadful business that was, and with a ring

of irony about it too. To think a highly respected, and upper class inn, tavern and gambling hall

such as they would allow an adventuring band of drunken Glorium dwarves onto their premises

and on top of that provide them with further alcohol and bawdry entertainment that ended up

causing a liquor induced riot. I happened to be in that section of the Ward the next morning and

I simply had to stop by to see the after effects.

I nearly soiled my feet by stepping into a puddle of urine left by one of the dwarves who was

passed out upon the doorstep of the inn, and in fact I had to levitate within the building to avoid

stepping in that and even worse detritus upon the floor. The sour smell of stale, spilt alcohol

burned my nose, among other worse smells I can assure you.

Simply dreadful that such could happen to a well respected establishment such as the 12 Fac-

tols. I must say theyve lost some of my respect following this, and Ill likely turn my esteemed

patronage elsewhere. After all, those places that I tend to frequent must keep themselves to a

high standard for my enjoyment and benefit I deserve, and in turn they benefit by my business

and association with them.

That said, during my brief visit to the Portal Jammer, I noticed a good number of traits that

your own establishment has that pique my interest, but more so a good number that it lacks.

Thus, here are my recommendations of changes to the menu, alcohol listing, decorum and other

such accoutrements your inn could benefit from.

Decor:

Nicer furniture is needed, especially open backed chairs for those patrons with tails or extended

abdomens such as Formians or Gelugons. Thats one point I really did notice, despite having no

877
 878

tail myself. Though I could if I thought it might improve my figure, but then again, how could

you improve upon my figure? I chuckle at the very idea.

Beyond that, the main taproom could use more padding and cushioning on the chairs, more

light and more space between the current tables. Candles might help at the tables, as well as some

more magical lighting, and use either white light or reddish, my personal favorites anyways.

And while the force walls are a very nice touch, the magical protections on the building are

rather pitiful. And really, who cant scry into that attempted safe room in the rear of the tavern?

I roll my eyes at whoever cast those spells. I do hope you didnt pay for it. If youd like I can

suggest several mages in the city who could do a much better job, assuming you care to part with

the jink they take to hire.

And do change the color of the glass in the largest window in the taproom, something with a

pale tint to it.

And the rooms could use better quality sheets, plumper pillows, and more amenities for dis-

criminating clients.

Have you thought about renting out the back chamber from the main taproom to business

clients? That would certainly defray some of the costs to upgrade the inn.

Wines and Liquors:

Your establishment does have some nicer and more palatable lower and middle end alcohols,

but you do tend to lack a selection of finer wines and spirits, especially of the lower planar variety.

And a touch of home is deeply appreciated by myself.

Kytonish Malbolge Brandy

Gehennan Grasshopper (lava poured over a living Grasshopper and vodka)

Pluton wines of most any variety, except for Hag spirits, they are simply dreadful, much like

the hags that brew them.

The Marauders Mirth (my own drink, recently improved. 3 parts Scotch (lower planar ori-

gin*), 2 parts Razorvine sap, 1 part pureed Hordeling pineal gland (Grey Waste petitioner), and

1 part Carcerian lemon peel)

*None of that Bytopian swill, too light and far too often blessed in some manner. If I wanted

to hurt myself, theres more enjoyable ways than all but lighting my throat on fire in the process

of getting drunk.

Entertainment:

I would very much suggest you never again have those dreadful Bleakers recite their poetry and

play their airborne filth that passes for music again. More so, live music of a better variety would

be appreciated. NO TANARRI COMPOSERS. Tanarri are really only good for one thing, much
879

like certain Eladrin, but I doubt you have the space in your establishment for the proper rooms

to be set aside for such carnal pleasures. Besides, theres enough competition for such within the

Clerks Ward already, no use in engaging in a useless expenditure. Some animated instruments

even would add a touch of background music, but only have that during later business hours, not

during the course of the day, and never before peak.

Food:

And the food... where to begin... You need to have your cooking staff drawn and quartered. I

can actually suggest a few Baatezu and even a Yugoloth or two that could do that for you cheap,

or even free if you dont mind more of a mess in the last case.

Suffice to say, the food leaves much to be desired. The menu is small, bland, and doesnt have

any of the sweetmeats and delicacies Im used to finding on the menus of similar establishments.

Daily specials are good, but it makes you seem like youre just serving whatever you could buy

cheap that morning just before it would have spoiled in the great bazaar. More deserts to go with

an expanded selection of cognac and dry, sweet wines, as well as some delicacies like living food,

pickled larvae steaks and select cuts from the same. And if you really want to start a rage and

draw in business, serve some more exotic meats. Aquatic elf comes to mind, though I hear that

Drow slow cooked in dilute spider venom has a tangy, smoky flavor as well. I had the chance

recently to try that dish and I highly recommend it.

If nothing else try to get some more exotic, and decidedly non-sentient outlands varieties of

edible meats such of Khaasta, Quill, and Leomarsh. Bebelith eggs are quite nice with a dash of

cinnamon, lemon, and brown sugar. Either raw or poached. But Im sure you can find some

decent cooks within Sigil to pry away from other better tasting kitchens across the wards.

Good luck implementing my suggestions and better sense of taste, hopefully money isnt an

issue in all of them. Ill have to make a point of stopping by in the near future to judge how

youre doing.

Love and platitudes, Shemeska the Marauder

***

Clueless? Toras asked. Can you replace one of the front windows with plate glass again?

Why? The bladesinger asked cautiously.

Because Im gonna put her through one of them.

Florian chuckled.

Shes going through a window... Toras repeated.

 880

It is good advice though. Florian said. Sure shes a vile, hellish b*tch of a godless abom-

ination, but there was some good advice in there.

Good advice under a pissy, self-serving pretence however. Clueless said. Shes going to

visit again...

About those windows? Toras asked again.

Clueless waved his hands. Shes going to be judging us on just how much we cater to her

whims, which means her suggestions in the letter.

But theyre not all that bad. Florian reiterated. We can leave out some of the cr*p she

snuck in there and just go with the sensible ones. We can see if some of the things specific to

her can be done easily, and if so, well humor her. If we do a decent job of not pissing her off,

we might get advertisement.

Maybe... Toras said.

Shes going to show up anyhow. Florian argued. We might as well pacify her and get what

we can out of it.

What has she ever done for us? Toras deadpanned.

Clueless narrowed his eyes, inwardly seethed and grit his teeth.

Trashed the 12 Factols? The cleric suggested. What? You think its random that they

were threatening us with legal action and all of a sudden a bunch of drunken dwarves flash mob

their place a day or so after Miz Fuzzy just happens to mention it all.

Toras shrugged.

Of course the b*tch had their place trashed! Florian said. And Im happy she did! I cant

stand that uppity bastard who owned the place! He deserved it.

She was showing off, not doing us a favor. Toras complained.

We can make a show of stroking her ego. Florian said. Yes itll be painful to smile and

take the abuse, but its the best we can manage at the moment.

Better than having to stroke anything else of hers... Clueless thought to himself.

Make the best of a bad situation. Florian continued. We can at least get her off our backs

for the moment. We have more important things to worry about than her.

They were still bickering over just how to respond to the Marauders letter and suggestions

when Tristol walked down into the taproom, somewhat dressed up, and on his way out apparently.

There was something to the way he was moving too. Not quite a spring in his step, not quite

nervousness, but a little of both.

Where are you headed out to? Florian asked.

And why all dressed up? Clueless said.

881

The aasimar paused and looked at the others who were now of course all staring at him.

What? He asked.

Youre nervous and youre dressed nice. Florian said. Whats up?

Tristol blushed slightly. Well... Im taking Nisha out for dinner.

Clueless raised an eyebrow and gave him a quick once-over look.

I offered to treat her for dinner anywhere in the city. Tristol said, still blushing. And she

said yes.

He smiled and quickly excused himself, eager to be on his way. But the moment the door

closed and he was out of earshot, there was a distinct and prolonged, Awwwww...

***

Nisha was giggling slightly at the random blush that seemed to manifest every so often at the

tips of Tristols ears. The mage was some curious mixture of nerves and smiles as he sat across

the table from the tiefling, who despite her giggles at his mood was feeling much the same as

him, with her tail twitching to and fro behind her chair.

This is a really nice place you picked out Nisha. Tristol said as the waiter, an elven-

descended aasimar, poured them both a glass of wine.

Its out of the way. She replied. Cozy really. And the foods just as good as anything youd

find in the Ladys Ward, just without the people from the Ladys Ward ruining the experience.

The restaurant, a tiny little out of the way place nestled in the Clerks Ward, was known

as the Cutters Vineyard. It was a play on words really, since the restaurant itself was in the

middle of a group of smaller buildings that had been intentionally allowed to become overgrown

with razorvine. The dining area was on the rooftop, framed by vineyard type latticework covered

in snarls of the abyssal plant, an elegant place with the contrast of a vineyard for Cutters and

vines very capable of slashing a berk to ribbons.

Youve got good taste. Tristol said. Theres a reason I suggested that you pick the restau-

rant and Id pick up the tab. Well, multiple reasons really.

Nisha grinned.

Its as good as anything in the Ladys Ward. She repeated. We even get fancy bits of

razorvine without any fiends wearing them.

Tristol laughed as Nisha made a face in mockery of the razorvine crowned King herself.

I swear... Tristol said. If Im lucky to ever come to know half the little spots in Sigil, good,

bad, or otherwise that you seem to know like the back of your hand, Ill count myself in good

shape.
 882

Youve been in Sigil for what? Less than a year? The tiefling prodded, tapping a finger on

the table. Youve officially shed any Clueless Prime designation you ever had.

Well, thats certainly a positive thing. He replied. Im glad Ive gotten better.

You should have seen yourself the first time I met you. Nisha said with a chuckle. All

wide eyed, nervous... like a modron in Limbo...

Tristol raised an eyebrow and grinning. And if I recall correctly, you almost fell off a roof

the first time I met you.

It was slippery... Nisha replied. And though nobody saw it up there, there was... a...

glabrezu... with a grease spell... yes, exactly! Thats why I almost fell. Yes...

Tristol laughed as Nishas tail twitched, rattling its bell.

Anyways, you did fill out the paperwork for shedding your Clueless Prime designation

yes? Nisha asked with as straight of a face as she could muster.

Tristol paused and tilted his head sideways. Say what?

Yeah, the paperwork for those sorts of things. Nisha said. Very important. And you know

how I am with dotting my Is and crossing my Ts on all things official and all such. Theres a

tax if you havent filled it out.

A tax?

Yeah, I think you have to pay for dessert too! She said with a wink.

They giggled some more and reminisced a bit over their first experiences together when they

were being blackmailed by Bartol Trenevain and his dubious masters. The nostalgia was pleasant,

despite some of the circumstances that it had involved, and the honestly short period of time

that had elapsed since.

But dinner soon arrived and there was a momentary lull in conversation, replaced with a

clatter of silverware on china and pleasant murmurs of appreciation at the food. In between bits

of chicken, mouthfuls of salad greens or chunks of bread there were glances and smiles between

them both.

There was certainly something there between them, but also the uncertainty that was always

a prelude to something beyond friendship, perched there on the windowsill of intimacy as a bit

of a stumbling block, waiting for one person or the other to make the bold first step.

So... Nisha said, dabbing her chin with her napkin. What do you think about me?

Behind him, Tristols tail poofed out slightly.

Well... He said, trying to avoid coughing on the piece of food hed awkwardly swallowed.

I like you a lot.

883

Thats not descriptive. Nisha quipped back. And youll have your turn to do the same.

Be blunt.

Youre spontaneous. Tristol said almost immediately. Youre a free spirit, and you seem

to really have found yourself a niche in life.

Nisha grinned. I can accept that I think.

Now I know that Skalliska and Toras have called you crazy before...

Nisha stuck out her tongue and smiled.

But I prefer to think of you as whimsical.

Not bad... Not bad... Nisha said, mulling over the descriptors in her mind.

My turn now. Tristol said. What do you think about me?

I think youre cute. She replied.

Cute? Tristol asked, one ear twitching. Not the first thing Id think to describe myself

as.

Oh sure, argue with me... Nisha replied with a smile, reaching across the table and tapping

Tristols hand. I think youre cute.

Anything else?

Hmm... She pondered for a moment. Youve got a head for magic, and I really like that

too. Youre really talented.

I like magic, though on another level it came with expectations. He said. Home was all

about magic and nothing much else. Its both good and bad in different ways.

Youll have to tell me about where you grew up sometime then. She said, perching her head

on her elbows. Youve mentioned Halruaa before, and it sounds pretty exotic, and certainly

different from where I grew up.

The last statement came with her tail idly gesturing in multiple directions, up, down, left,

right, Sigil itself.

I wouldnt call Sigil something other than exotic now. Tristol said. Halruaa was an

interesting place, but it doesnt compare to a fraction of what happens in Sigil on a daily basis.

Mages everywhere in Halruaa, but hardly anyone ever visits because theyre paranoid about their

magic being exposed to anyone on the outside. So day in day out you dont have much anything

different.

I wasnt always able to appreciate Sigil in the same way though. Nisha replied. The Hive

never really gave much luxury for a good chunk of my life. I was more concerned about eating

and staying safe than sightseeing. Im jaded to the place with the best of them.

Tristol nodded. But youve done well for yourself in every way.
 884

Nisha shrugged.

And you even managed to learn magic along the way too. Tristol added. How did you

actually manage that?

Theres a story behind that of course. She said with a grin. And I only know a little

magic, so lets not get ahead of ourselves.

Still, youre a wizard nonetheless.

She held up a finger to correct him. Technically Im a wild mage.

One of Tristols ears twitched. So...

Yep! Every time I cast a spell theres a random chance of a wild surge!

Tristol went for his wine rather abruptly and downed the remainder of the glass.

Arent you glad that youre the one casting most of the magic and leaving the sneaky stuff

to me and Skalliska? Nisha asked with a perky grin.

Im glad that youre good at what you do. Tristol said, eyes blurry from the quick shot of

alcohol.

Ill learn more magic at some point. Nisha said. I might even ask you to teach me.

Id be happy to do so, though we might have some differences in how we cast certain things.

Ill get around to it eventually. Nisha said with a shrug. Im just not one for sitting down

and studying. Its a bit too ordered for me.

You seem to very happily embrace Chaos. Tristol replied. And speaking of which, youll

have to tell me about the Xaositects some time.

Theyre oh so fun... She said. When the times right I might take you to meet some of

them that I hang around with when I just vanish from the inn every so often.

Is that a threat or a promise? Tristol asked with a grin. They have an interesting repu-

tation suffice to say.

-I- have an interesting reputation. She replied. Just ask Toras or Skalliska. Yet you still

asked me out to dinner tonight.

Nisha held up a finger dabbed in gravy and grinned.

You have a point. Tristol said, moments before he had a dab of said gravy on the tip of his

nose.

And you have gravy on your nose. Nisha giggled.

Tristol dabbed himself with his napkin and chuckled. The tiefling was impulsive, that was

for certain. But soon enough, dessert arrived and they both smiled and nibbled at the pastries

and custard, quite enamored with the course of the evening and happily warmed emotionally.
885

I have to ask one thing. Tristol said, poking his fork at a bit of apple pie. What have you

been up to with Amberblue the past day or two?

The bell on the tip of Nishas tail rattled.

Youre grinning. Tristol said. And Ive noticed that you have the habit of jingling that

bell whenever youre up to something.

Usually. She corrected him with a grin fit for a chaos imp.

Usually?

I just do that sometimes to break any pattern and keep people on their toes. She replied.

What? You expect me to be predictable?

Tristol chuckled and shook his head.

No, not really, though I can hope for close guessing on my part.

Nisha was giggling again.

Trust me. She said. Youll find out what Ive been up to with Amberblue. Nothing

explosive, not this time, and nothing illegal.

Well thats good. He replied. A relief actually. But youve got me even more curious

now.

Thats the point silly...

Nisha didnt relent on that though, only telling him that hed find out, that hed enjoy it, and

above all, itd keep the faerie dragon from conjuring even more apples into the Portal Jammer.

That seemed to pacify him, and the once again lapsed into talking about their views on various

subjects, their likes and dislikes, and other things as they nibbled at dessert.

When they were finished, and Tristol had left a very generous tip, they walked back out to

the street below. They were more than just smiling and comfortable as they left the Cutters

Vineyard, they were emotionally giddy. Hed enjoyed their dinner together and so had she.

Despite their differences they really did make a curiously appropriate pair, a cute couple to any

passersby.

Of course, the karmic wheel of the multiverse was much more apt to turn when given a little

nudge.

It didnt have to wait long though, as it was only a few blocks later on the way back to the

Portal Jammer when Nisha leaned in and gave Tristol a kiss.

***

Back in his room, Clueless opened a window, conjured an extra light and opened the book

that Tristol had somehow managed to obtain a copy of.

 886

Magic and Antimagic - Karsus of Eileanar Clueless said, letting his tongue wander over

the title of the book.

Despite the apparent rarity of the tome, which according to Tristol was originally written

thousands of years ago, the book that now lay open on the table in front of him was in remarkable

condition. Though small segments of the book seemed to have been repeatedly and obsessively

perused at some point in the past, the majority of the pages were virtually as crisp as the day

that they had been first set within the binding.

How the hell did you manage to find a copy of this Tristol?

The aasimar had never actually mentioned where he had found a copy. Hed simply vanished

for an afternoon and come back to the inn with the heavy book and a pleasant smile upon his

face, smelling of the distinctive reek of the Lower Ward.

Apparently Akin has his claws on more than just oddities. Clueless said with a bit of a

whistle. I knew he was talented, and he carried all sorts of stuff that wasnt on public display,

but this? This is more than Id have expected out of him.

Be it a random, a fluke of chance, storm clouds of some dark providence, or the twisted turn of

some karmic Wheel, something stirred in the bladesingers mind. Something opened its eyes and

looked out of his, something that had last done so in a pique of malignant curiosity on Carceris

layer of Cathrys. That time had been brief: a moments glimpse across the planes to peer out

through a window of flesh and spirit, a periscope of will and want boring through the fragile

membranes of its mortal host but for a short time before once more lapsing into quiescence.

This time was different.

This time it would make its presence known.

Chapter 80

Clueless looked down at the page and its intricate mystical diagrams, each interspersed with

dozens of blocks of text and even more notations regarding various footnotes and asides. The

material was incredibly complex, and written in such a way as to require a large amount of back-

ground knowledge on various topics that while obscure during the height of Netherils Shadowed

Age, were virtually unheard of in most mortal societies now, thousands of years later.

This is going to take longer than I expected. Clueless said, having spent a good and solid

thirty minutes trying to make sense of one particular page.

Karsus was either a genius or just completely insane... He continued, sliding the book back

with a sigh.

He was a bit of both as Im to understand it.

The sudden commentary was crisp, measured and distinct, punctuating the silence of the

room like the sharp stab of a knife.

Clueless had been alone, and hed locked the door to his room earlier.

What the hell? He whispered as he spun around, knocking his chair over and drawing Razor

before the furniture had actually touched the floorboards.

His breathing shallow, the bladesingers eyes darted from side to side, searching for the

intruder in his room or any signs of a scry focus lurking in view. There were no sign of either

however, and the only sounds to be heard were Cluelesss own breathing and the hush background

of the Clerks Ward through the still securely sealed window overlooking the street.

His hand still tight around the hilt of his blade, apprehension and tension both leaching his

knuckles of blood, leaving them white against the leather, Clueless turned a complete circle about

his room.

Nothing.

Maybe I just need more sleep. He whispered to himself before rubbing a hand over his still

tender back. Or maybe... no, I think Id have noticed side effects of that before now.

887
 888

The room was empty, the door was still locked when he checked the knob, and the window

was still firmly latched. He must have been mistaken, or more likely hed momentarily fallen

asleep while trying to understand the intricacies of Karsuss theories.

He yawned and looked out the window and down at the lights of the street below, just before

there was the sound of rustled vellum behind him as a single page in the book was turned.

Cluelesss eyes went wide and he slowly turned around.

Hovering in the air above his desk, one clawed hand outstretched towards the tome with a

single talon having just turned the page, an arcanaloth glanced up and made eye contact with

Clueless, a sly grin playing across its muzzle.

The loth had fur of a chocolate brown color, fading to a lighter tan around his hands and

feet, with speckles of black and light brown around his ears and down his neck. Somewhere,

Clueless had seen him before. The fiend was dressed in a red sorcerers robe, trimmed in gold at

the edges around the cuffs of the sleeves, and at the hem where it hung loosely in the air below

the loths hovering form. The robe was gathered at the fiends waist by a sash cut from the hide

of a Rakshasa, the two backwards articulated paws dangling like macabre tassels.

The fiend smiled that knowing smile once more and opened a slim book of his own, setting it

down in his lap before likewise producing an inkpot out of nowhere to drift in loose orbit around

his body.

Clueless had indeed seen him before. The loth had been standing there as colleague and

co-conspirator at the side of the Ebon when the Oinoloth had taken control of Khin-Oin. And

now he sat suspended in the air, legs crossed and book in lap, deftly licking the tip of a pen.

Lord Helekanalaith... Clueless began warily.

It couldnt be real. The Keeper of the Tower Arcane was an archfiend by any standard, even

before his rise in influence under the new Oinoloth, and The Lady uniformly barred such beings

from entry into Sigil.

And indeed She does. The Keeper said, as if on cue. Im not here in person, not physically

at least. That much eludes even myself, though I suppose I should appreciate and feel flattered

by your impression of my power and ability.

Clueless released his grip on his sword and sat down. There was really little he could do, and

the subsequent bemused smile on the Yugoloth lords face added a bit of confirmation to the

notion that the fiend could indeed parse through his thoughts.

Oh it is -most- tedious to link a spell from the lower planes into the City of Doors. The fiend

said as he turned away from Clueless and drifted across the room to hover before the window.

Her Serenity is fickle about what passes through her portals. But it is more sieve than
889

shield, and this mind you, manages to pass unabraded. Helekanalaith continued, unconsciously

scribbling in his book.

There was precedent for such at least. Skall, the late Factol of the Dustmen was apparently

able to project himself, in some illusory manner, into Sigil from the Citadel of the Soul in the

Negative Energy Plane. A yugoloth lord doing something very similar wasnt too much a stretch

from there.

It is a beautiful city I will ready admit, The Keeper said, his eyes shedding a faint golden

glow onto the glass. Though the Lower Ward reminds me more of home than current where-

abouts. I can see why The Marauder does so enjoy this place, among other reasons.

The fiend vanished and reappeared directly in front of Clueless.

And you see, that is what makes this situation of mutual benefit. He said. I gain another

ear inside this place, and wherever you may happen to travel, as well as yet another motivated

person who despises The Marauder. But that matters not.

Clueless wrinkled his brow at the mention of Shemeskas name. Evidently she was not on

perfect terms with the Keeper, but the archfiend did not elaborate on his meaning as he continued

to speak.

Ill repeat a question for you that I myself was asked once, and I answered, as you will too.

Helekanalaith said, pointing at Clueless with the tip of his pen. What is it you want? For you

see, I have much, much that I could provide, much that I could give. Some of it could come

freely, some with a price attached. But I am nothing if not amenable.

Why would I want something from you? Clueless asked. And how did you get inside my

head?

Helekanalaith smiled and held out one of his hands, palm up.

Because you have no other way of ridding yourself of my ability to riffle through your mind,

and given your past experience with the Marauder and that bauble in your ankle I think that

my presence would not be high on your list of passionate unions.

Clueless snarled at the memory.

Exactly. Helekanalaith said. You might as well either profit in some way from my presence,

or earn yourself free of it. And given your interest in the Free League, I should think you

amenable to trading information. Why not make this a two-way relationship by cooperation?

Because otherwise I might be content to simply siphon away what I find interesting.

The fiends last statement was decidedly colder and more matter-of-fact.

Youve had time to look around inside my head. Clueless said. So why not tell me how

you got in there in the first place?

 890

The fiend smiled and an image appeared within his still outstretched and open hand. Cupped

within his palm, cradled by his claws, was a blood red scrying orb.

Son of a b*tch... Clueless sighed as he recognized the globe that he had taken from the

dead arcanaloth, Parphinias, in Elysiums third layer.

If it makes you feel any better, it was never intended for you. Helekanalaith said as he

dissolved the illusion in his hand. It was simply a little cursed bauble to be passed around in

the ranks below me, allowing me to occupy the minds of various underlings. Im rather amused by

the fact that it happened to fall into your hands, doubly so the irony since you were Shemeskas

puppet at one time. The chances of such...

What was your answer to that question? Clueless asked. The one you said that youd

been asked before.

The fiend didnt reply, but seemed to underline something in his book, flashing that knowing

smile again and seemingly amused.

One thing I will require of you however, Helekanalaith said, looking back up, is the True

Name of my late, departed, missing, dearest Larsdana.

Involuntarily, Clueless thought back to a tiny box of true names that they had discovered in

the Incantifers maze. Larsdana Ap Neut had been one of those entities whose true name was

listed. Remembering that and making eye contact with the fiend, the loth tilted his head in

acknowledgement of the truth of the memory.

She meant much to me, He said with false humility. So much more in her absence than

in her life though you understand. Stumbling blocks, regardless of their nature must inevitably

be cleared. Do me this small mandatory favor, and perhaps I shall do one for you.

And if I dont? Clueless asked.

You are only one of many ears, eyes, or hands that I have within the City of Doors. The

fiend said as a simple statement of fact, not so much a threat. That said, deliver the original

paper within the next hour to the locality beyond a portal bound by the third and forth exterior

columns on the eastern wall of an abandoned temple in the Lower Ward, which you have in the

past visited. The portal key is a bit of ash rubbed upon your forehead in the shape of a circle.

And how do I get you to leave me alone and take your leave from my head? Clueless asked.

You said there were ways of that.

Indeed there are two such things that immediately spring to my mind. Helekanalaith ex-

plained. Two little thorns in my side that I do wish to ultimately see removed as such, but

which either lie outside of my sphere of influence at present, are problems with no easy solution,

or are simply questions with no answer in sight.

891

Go ahead and tell me if you would.

The loth nodded and seemed to relax as he hung suspended in the air, losing any adversarial

sense and assuming a tone of master to pupil or taskmaster to loyal servant. Indeed, the fiend

had only something to gain out of the bladesinger, and had never in the past, or at the current

time, come into conflict with Clueless or his fellows directly.

The first of the tasks that I would accept as payment for release from this sort of quiescent

servitude is thusly: in the third layer of Baator, Minauros, within the Kyton city of Jangling

Hiter there is something that I want, something that belongs to me. Specifically, there is an

object within one of the towers of the fortress of Panos Qytel there in the Kyton ward of that

city.

And just what is this object? Clueless asked.

We will call it an object and leave it at that. The loth replied. I have more of them, but

I want this particular one back for various reasons. It was gifted to Quaheim, the late co-regent

of the city, and currently rests in the ignorant possession of his brother Quimath. The fool does

not know what he has, only that his brother considered it important and had been given it by a

Nycaloth in service to some Gehennan Ultroloth.

Well... Helekanalaith said with a frown and a snarl. That Ultroloth is now dead, dangling

from the spires of Khin-Oin, slowly feeding the Wastrels. He foolishly gave away what was not

his to give, and I want it back.

So I walk into the fortress of a Kyton lord and steal one of his prized possessions? Clueless

asked with a skeptical tone.

I never said these tasks were easy. The fiend replied. That one is difficult if not suicidal,

but it will more than earn you enough favor from me to release you from being another looking

glass of mine into the City of Doors.

And the other task?

The other one is less defined. Helekanalaith said. But frankly more of interest to me.

Simply stated, find me the person known to be creating a revision to the Book of Keeping. I

want them alive, their copy of the book and their notes intact in my hands or incinerated utterly,

and if you must kill them, I want their body, and their soul or truename if possible.

Who are they? Clueless asked.

If I knew that I wouldnt be tasking you to hunt them down. He replied, flicking one of

his ears in mild irritation. Suffice to say, they are a considerable and nagging thorn in my side.

Finding their location and identity would earn you favor, possibly above and beyond release from

my service.
 892

You dont sound like other loths, not entirely. Clueless said, apparently much to the

Keepers chagrin.

I could of course channel the one you have been most familiar with, our most beloved King

of the Crosstrade, and state that its because Im not most other loths. Helekanalaith said

with a smirk. But no, I have no need for bluster and dramatics for dramatics sake. I think

youll simply find me pragmatic above all else.

Clueless shrugged.

You, by way of odd, unfortunate circumstance, have me lurking in your mind. The loth

continued. Naturally I seek to gain something out of this sudden and unexpected relationship,

though it is by no means anything of large importance to me in the grand scheme of things. I can

simply sit back and filter information to myself through you, which may or may not negatively

impact you and yours, or I can do so while giving you objectives that would buy your release, and

provide me with a windfall should you achieve them. Ultimately Im not at any loss at any stage

of this, and I have only something to gain by giving you a bit of extra motivation. Something

a tad sweeter than my Oinoloth would call the Illusion of Hope, but it is there in tangible form

nonetheless. Not quite a carrot to be dangled in front of you, but the analogy suffices for the

most part. I am pragmatic, and I am equitable.

Better than some others. Clueless replied.

The fiend shrugged and then his voice assumed a much colder tone.

Do not however make the mistake of assuming that I am also merciful in any way. Helekanalaith

said very firmly. You would be sorely mistaken to view me as anything other than what I am.

Noted... Clueless said. But on that note, I do have one question for you.

The fiend inclined his muzzle and peered down at the bladesinger.

Why havent you just sent someone to kill me and my companions? You must know what

weve done on the Astral, and in Carceri. We know that yugoloths are involved there, somehow

wrapped up in all of that, though were still not sure why.

The fiend chuckled.

Im not involved there. He said. You arent impacting my interests in the least, and so...

The loth shrugged and remained mum on the subject. In reality he was well aware of the
g
involvement of the Ebons protA c A ,
c but didnt really care one way or the other if the

warped little harlot suffered any setbacks or not in her current pursuits at the Ebons beck and

call. Difficultly on her part simply made him and his own look better by comparison, just as

similar situations had each and every time that the late Bubonix had his tower razed to the

ground by the Gehreleths.

893

The various ideological factions of the yugoloth hierarchy, the Ebons own conspirators within

the Wheels and his favorites alike were united only to a certain extent, loyal within limitations

and subject to caveats; they were yugoloths after all.

Do as you will. He explained. I have no stake in the matter, but neither will you find me

any sort of wellspring of information on the topic either.

The fiend gazed out of the window once more and closed his book as his eyes seemed to grow

distant for a moment, like his attention was being distracted by events or topics of conversation

elsewhere.

Understand, he said, turning back to Clueless, as much as I might enjoy being inside your

head each passing moment of the day, The Tower keeps me occupied dearly. What with the

Blood Wars day to day progress passing through my hands and a million contracts and blood

oaths to pull, twist and manipulate to fill the coffers of me and mine, it is a busy life. All too

often there is so much to do and so little time to sit back and observe things beyond the prosaic

details of the day. But I make the time as I do now with you my mortal friend.

Clueless could only sigh at the mild intonation of delight in the fiends voice.

But now, I have other duties to attend to, the hour is late and you have something to

deliver. The fiend instructed. I would advise you to do so posthaste...

And with that last instruction lingering on the air, the fiend evaporated like so much smoke,

leaving not a trace of his presence behind, leaving Clueless to slump back in his chair, cursing

circumstance and his own dumb luck.

Exactly six seconds later he blacked out.

***

All praise and glory to Doragon the lord of Might and Storms, light of a million souls, master

of the prime material!

Skalliska turned and winced at the sudden outburst by the garishly dressed cleric brandishing

a lightning bolt shaped rod.

Pay homage to him with coin and prayer! The cleric continued. And in his mercy he will

give his favor unto thee!

Skalliska rolled her eyes again and continued walking past him and his tiny cubicle of a shrine.

No! Have faith in Learix the Mother of Wine and Song! Shouted a rival cleric in the next

shrine as Skalliska walked past it as well.

Listen not to all of these falsehoods! A third cleric called out. Only faith in Finder will

bring you happiness!

 894

Then why have I never heard of any of you? Skalliska muttered to herself as she brushed

past them all and a hundred other fanatical clerics of a hundred other minor and unheard of

powers in the lowest level of the Spiral Cathedral.

The sprawling complex on the border of the Lower and Ladys Ward was a veritable hedge

maze of stalls, niches, and shrines of each and every saint, demigod and power too obscure or

otherwise new to Sigil to have a base of followers to support having an established place of

worship therein.

As such, the warren of minor temples was a place of open, brutal, and sweltering competition

between minor and upstart faiths, all seeking to further establish themselves within Sigil, all in

cold or oftentimes open conflict with one another for the hearts, minds, and purse strings of the

public. Each of the clerics tending to their so-called temples ranged from naAve and idealistic

to jaded to pushy to outright dangerous, depending on the exact tenets of their particular faith.

Skalliska however wasnt honestly interested in any of them that she passed. She was only

interested in one of the upper floors of the complex, where most of the non-humanoid faiths had

covered just over a third of the area. That was the one place where she might manage to find a

cleric of a power she had assumed long dead, one who sparked something in her heart that might

well be considered hope.

But of course, this entailed working her way through the crowd of semi-itinerant preachers,

priests, moral shepherds, shysters, frauds, would-be messiahs, and fishers of souls that packed

every available inch of land where they might conceivably hang an icon, drape a prayer cloth, or

pitch an altar. The kobold was thankfully short enough though to weave her way through the

babbling and proselytizing crowd at around hip height, avoiding the worst of it all.

She was only interested in finding a shrine, or even just a single follower or priest of Saravtesh,

lord of shadows and illusions. In the myths of her childhood, the Scaled Shadow was one who

rewarded the quick of wit and hand. He was a subtle god, neither good nor evil, but nestled

somewhere in the twilight between the two, focused upon the needs of his faithful more so than

any grand ideological battles beyond his chosen people.

But of course, finding a deity of shadows, stealth and illusion might be easier said than done,

especially in the clerical madhouse that Skalliska currently wandered. Eventually the powers of

humans, elves and others gave way to dwarves, gnomes, and hin, followed by dozens of others

and finally giving way to those faiths worshipped by beings termed monstrous by some.

Passing by the delicate and ornate Ashram of Ravanna, then an apparently abandoned and

defaced shrine to Manzicorian, nestled close to a shrine to Urdlen, Skalliska once more tried to

gain her bearings. If the deity who seemed to call out to her was present in some way within
895

the confines of the Cathedral, his shrine would be somewhere close by, given the other powers

represented in the area.

If only she could find it.

Or maybe he would send someone to her.

You seem confused child. Came a voice in pidgin-draconic from behind Skalliska.

The voice was distinctly kobold in accent and intonation, and for a moment, Skalliskas heart

raced with hope.

I see you wandering, looking, searching, seeking, hoping... The kobold cleric whispered in

a sing-song voice. But there is only one place that you need seek, and you have found it. Or

rather this humble hand of the Horned Sorcerer has found you amid this labyrinth of falsehood

that you have wandered till now.

Skalliska turned around to face the cleric, her hopes being dashed when she saw the carved

gnome skull transfixed by a spike hung upon the wall of the shrine.

Our father Kurtulmak welcomes all of his children.

***

Clueless opened his eyes and looked around in no small amount of confusion. He was still

sitting upright at his desk, not slumped over atop the Karsus tome as he would have been had

he simply fallen asleep.

The most immediate thought in his head was that he had indeed fallen asleep, and he had

something to deliver on the other bloody side of Sigil. But a quick glance out the window showed

that the level of light in the sky had not changed, so he hadnt been out long.

F*cking loth... Clueless then cursed, glancing down immediately to the gem in his ankle,

seriously worried that the loth might have managed a way to activate it, once more making him

a puppet at the fiends pleasure.

But no, the gem had not changed, and it felt the same as it had since hed regained full

control over himself.

Then he noticed that his hand was deftly clutching a pen, the Karsus tome had been pushed

to one side, and there was a sheet of parchment atop the desk covered in a few brief bits of

writing in his own hand, with the exception of a single baroque sigil, the letter J in the Infernal

alphabet superimposed above a classical symbol of a maze or labyrinth.

F*ck my crowded head... Clueless muttered to himself with a mixture of resignation, be-

musement, and curiosity as he looked down at what he had been compelled to write.
 896

I thought this as appropriate a time as ever to have a word with you, given that youve started

to read that particular book by Karsus, and with the other occupant in your head making himself

known.

As I believe I said before, you seem to attract things of power, so herere a few words, a

quotation in fact by someone who is not held in high regards by either of us. And in case you

werent already aware of them and their content, now you are:

And the blackest of pleasures when I whispered into the ear of the Archwizard Karsus, telling

him secrets not meant for the ears of mortal or mundane fiend alike. His arrogance was his

downfall, and that of his empire and the goddess he worshipped as well. Thus did a fiend conspire

to slay a god... and succeed. - Vorkannis the Ebon

Chapter 81

Cluelesss head was swimming with dozens of thoughts and dozens of worries as he stood up

from his chair. Glancing first at the paper in front of him, and then the pen in his hand, he

finally looked over towards the box that they had all taken from the Tower Sorcerous, the box

that contained a list of true names.

But Karsus... Clueless looked down at the book hed been reading, and his mind was flooded

with what he knew of the history of that mage from what Tristol had mentioned to him before.

The implications of the single quotation were disturbing.

Son of a b*tch! He cursed, bewildered more than angered.

Before the Ebon usurped the throne of Khin-Oin and reshaped the Yugoloth hierarchy in a

short, bloody period; before hed dragged a layer of Elysium across the Great Wheel; before any

of that, hed handed Karsus the Mad the tools to snuff out the life of Torils goddess of magic.

Karsus, from what Tristol had said, had acted out of massive hubris yes, but hed also intended

to use the power he would have gained from Mystryl to save the Netherese from the ravages of

their conflict against the Phaerrim lurking below the increasingly expanding Anaurach desert.

But something had gone horribly wrong.

The spell worked. Yes, the spell worked as Karsus had intended, ripping away the godhood of

Mystryl and swelling his form with the sudden influx of divine power. But too late did he realize

that he could not control it, that for the split second that he was a deity, magic itself across the

face of Toril was failing and dying in the absence of its divine caretaker. And ultimately, in that

split second, Mystryl sacrificed herself to protect the future use of magic on Toril.

The weave momentarily failed when Mystryl and Karsus died, saving itself from permanent

obliteration only when a new goddess of magic, Mystra, rose to take its stewardship. But in

the interim of course, hundreds of thousands had died across the face of that world when the

tap of magic had run dry, the greatest mortal mage in the planets history had ascended only to

plummet and die in abject misery, and a goddess had been snuffed like a candle flame.

897
 898

Karsus could not have known the tragic results of his actions before he finished the casting of

his Avatar spell. But the fiend who had handed him the key components of it like crumbs from

a table, he had known exactly what would happen in the end.

All of these notions flew like Sympathetics through the bladesingers head, subverting his

thoughts as he hurried from the door of the Portal Jammer and into the streets of the Clerks

Ward.

It would have taken him far too long to walk across the entirety of the distance separating

him from the Lower Ward in one direction, and he was in no mood at present to deal with

crossing through the Hive by going the other way. Portals were always an option, but touts were

scant at that time of night, and he didnt have the time to hunt one down on the off chance that

they knew of a relevant portal and its associated key.

This should be a joy. Clueless said, stopping in the middle of the street and looking up.

It always is...

He spread his wings and shot upwards into Sigils sky, bolting across the gap between

opposite sides of the citys ring.

At first the air was cool, the wind blowing gently as he gained altitude over the rooftops of

the Ward. Then, a few hundred feet later, he entered the clouds swirling overhead, their thin

cloak of congealed moisture caking him with a dusting of vaguely acidic raindrops, like cheap,

diluted vinegar.

Closing his eyes and wincing at the dousing of lukewarm rain and then the sudden evaporative

chill brought on by his speed, he reached the center point of the ring, the region of null gravity.

This is awkward. He muttered, trying to avoid looking to either side and out of the plane

of the city, into the formless nothing beyond.

He hung there for a moment, suspended at the balance point, drifting. But then his momen-

tum carried him forward, and to his perspective he was suddenly caught and dragged into the

sky, literally falling up before his mind reoriented itself and he caught sight of the ring below.

Face forward to the ground, wings swept back, he plummeted down towards the streets of the

Lower Ward below, holding his breath as he broke the boundary of the smog that hung above

it like a sickly yellow shroud. A moment later he flicked those same wings and righted himself,

turning his feet to the ground and slowing his descent, ultimately landing with a brief skip onto

the ash dusted cobbles a few blocks from the Great Foundry.

Clueless coughed and snorted, expelling the soot his fall from the sky had forced into his nose

and lungs. Then, brushing his face with his sleeve, and checking the box clutched against his

chest, held tight in his other hand, he walked off into the warren of side streets on the Hive side
899

of the Ward.

Ten minutes later, he found himself approaching the location of the fiends portal.

The place was familiar, of course, disconcertingly so. Though it lay at the end of a blind

alley, nestled in a cul-de-sac like a desiccated mummy within its charnel niche, the path by which

Clueless had found it this second time had been very different than in the past.

The temple was the same, the immediate environs were likewise exact, but the silent, haunting

walls that abutted it and the winding network of desolate streets that led to it, the capillary beds

of an urban teratoma, they were wholly different. It was as if the location were mobile, a fixed

thing within an ever shifting flesh of cobbles, urban blight, and the stain of the Lower Wards

air.

But regardless of the troubling nature of its migration within the borders of the Ward, it

was there, looming and disturbing in its desolation. At once the crumbling sanctuary was both

welcoming and anathema, and standing at the threshold, seeking its portals, the hair stood up

on the back of ones neck from the undefined and lurking sense of wrongness that hung about

it like a shroud. But at the same time, it provided a necessity in its portals, another seemingly

fixed feature in its parasitical burrowing across the city, open for the parasites of its portals like

a plague carrier to its infestation, wandering the streets without pause.

Nothing good ever comes from this damn place... Clueless muttered as he glanced at the

husks of insects and rats gathered dead at the threshold of the sanctuary.

Much to his relief however, he didnt have to actually enter the building, where from past

experience he knew there lay at the very least a semi-permanent, if not wholly fixed, portal to

the Gray Waste. That of course brought back memories, and he briefly paused and looked in,

before skirting past the archway and along the eastern retaining wall.

There was not much space between the crumbling eastern wall and the surrounding buildings

as Clueless clambered over piles of brick, plaster and slate shingles, squeezing between the temple

and the abutting walls, which from all appearances had been built virtually right up to the edge

of the much older structure. The other possibility, an unhealthy one, was that the temple had

simply pushed the other buildings aside, warping the underlying structure of the city and making

a place for itself amidst the mundane structures of Sigil like some burghal parasite.

Catching his hand against the ragged exterior of the temple to steady himself as he passed

the first of the buttresses, it was clear that the temple as it currently stood, abandoned and

collapsing, was in fact a later construction built atop of a much earlier one. The buttresses were

not original, and in fact seemed to be the youngest portion of the entire structure. Stopping

and looking at them, they werent there to support the weight of the temples canopy pressing
 900

against the lower structures, nor were they simply decorative, so much as they were built to prop

up the crumbling walls of the previous renovations to the site.

Clueless stumbled slightly as his weight on the wall caused it to partially give way, producing

a shower of failing bricks and interior fill stone. Catching himself again, and avoiding the hazard,

he could see what was probably the original, underlying stone of the temple. Unremarkable gray

rock, something imported into Sigil, rather than resembling any of the typical magically created

stone commonly conjured for the same purpose.

Unbeknownst to him at that moment, it was also the same rock that formed the bound

space of the temples portal to Oinos, and also the portal that he and Nisha had used to get to

Elysiums sealed layer of Belarian. Coincidence?

Clueless studied the otherwise unremarkable stone, idly wondering what the original structure

had looked like, or even been, before gingerly making his way to the stretch of wall between the

third and forth buttresses.

Standing there atop a sprawling pile of brick, he stared at the tracery of cracks, pealing

paint and the pitted stucco of murals and decorations that had long since failed to time and

the unnatural elements of the Ward. The later additions, the later construction, the layers of

brick and mortar, worm-eaten wood, stucco and paint, they were all fallen and stripped from the

original stone backing like rotting flesh on an abscessed wound revealing the underlying stone

like the temples bone and fascia.

Flat gray stone gazed back at him, the same as hed seen before. This time however, the

rock was bound by the later additions, and displayed a faint tracery of scratches, maybe claw

marks, maybe just errant wear patterns, framing a bound space and forming the boundary of

Helekanalaiths portal.

Key... Clueless muttered. The portal key. Son of a...

A bit of ash, hed forgotten to take some from the fireplace in the inn before hed left. His

head had been preoccupied by other thoughts, and it was now far too late to fly back across the

city again.

Pausing for a moment and thinking, he realized that he was standing in the Lower Ward.

With any luck, running his finger across any flat surface perpendicular to the sky would probably

collect more than enough soot to serve his purpose.

And in fact, looking down at his feet, he didnt have to go very far. At the base of the wall

was a loose pile of particulate ash, likely blown there from above and caught by the currents of

wind in the abscess between the buttresses.

Well, at least the filth is convenient filth. He quipped with a chuckle, reaching down and
901

dabbing a finger in the soot.

Taking a deep breath to ready himself, Clueless marked the key upon his forehead and stepped

through the portal as it activated with a harsh, flickering glow. A moment later and it closed,

preventing him from ever noticing that the stone itself was the source of the ash, which bubbled

up from the rock like tears of blood welling in the eyes of a weeping icon of the Theotokos.

Clueless never saw that, and it might not have mattered even if he had as he hurtled across

the planes. It was bitterly cold for but a moment, and then the feeling was gone and he emerged

from the portal standing under a black, starless sky, volcanic heat washing over him like a wave.

Directly in his line of sight, distorted by the heat across a span of iron and obsidian that crossed

a well of molten fire far below, sizzling from the environment, were the gates and the looming

structure of the Tower Arcane itself.

Sh*t...

***

Standing there, waiting for Skalliskas response, the cleric was dressed in long green and gray

robes, patterned across by silver thread to give the appearance of dragon scales. Atop her head

was a headdress likewise patterned after the more robust, and certainly distinct skeletal structure

of the skull of a true dragon, though hers was more decorative and symbolic, a wire fusion of the

chromatics in general.

And indeed, the cleric was female, though the distinction between kobold genders was gener-

ally lost on other races. Their secondary sex characteristics were subtle, nothing so overt as most

humanoid races, usually doing more with color patterns on their hides and minor differences in

the lines of certain bones and the weight of specific muscles. Suffice to say it would have been

lost on any non-kobolds, but it stuck out like a sore thumb to her.

Skalliskas eyes narrowed to slits as she looked skeptically at the other kobold, who was, to

her, something between a wretched abomination and what she herself could have become and

spent much of her life trying to distance herself from.

Kurtulmaks blessings upon you my wayward child. The cleric intoned. Have you finally

come to pay homage at this most humble shrine Skalliska?

How do you know my name? Skalliska immediately responded with.

You are a kobold, you live within Sigil on a permanent basis, or at least mostly so. She

replied. As one of my prospective flock, and a rather well to do one, I keep myself familiar with

your name at the least, though I wait for you to come to me, rather than the other way around.

Skalliska raised one of the ridges over her right eye.

 902

That is why you have come here today yes? The cleric asked. To seek my advice, to seek

the blessing of your god, to pay tribute to the father of our kind?

Suddenly the cleric seemed less omniscient and threatening, and more an idealistic object of

pity. She knew her name. Big deal, so did a few thousand people at least on a daily basis passing

by her office. There werent many kobolds in Sigil, certainly few as flamboyant as herself, and it

probably was within the range of a middling cleric to simply find out about her with a routine

divination.

This wasnt the time to punch Kurtulmak in the snout by proxy, nor was this the time to

simply run the other way. No, playing along was best, because ultimately she wanted to have

fun at the clerics expense.

Skalliska broke into the widest smile she could force herself to produce.

Im so glad to have found you! She said, clapping her hands together. Im not sure how

much you know of my past, but the world I originally came from, belief was dying. I was never

really exposed to Kurtulmaks...

She paused, thinking of how to further bullsh*t her way out of the situation.

Wisdom. She added quickly. Ive always felt something was missing in my life because of

it.

And so you have finally come to me. The cleric responded, gesturing for Skalliska to follow

her into the shrine proper.

Yes... Skalliska replied, glancing warily at the interior of clerics small temple. But I didnt

think that I would manage to find you so quickly.

Oh? The cleric cocked her head to the side.

Indeed. Skalliska continued. And so I didnt bring with me any of what I had hoped to

tithe.

At that last word, the priestess of Kurtulmak broke into a wild grin.

Might I return later to bring those things? Skalliska asked, adding more than a dash of

false penitence. I wish to make my first entry into a house of the Horned Sorcerer a proper

entry.

The cleric laid a hand on Skalliskas shoulder, and the other kobold did her best not to squirm

or punch her in the gut.

Do so if that is your wish child. The priestess said, only barely disguising her greed. I will

wait for you, and prepare a ritual service that you may participate in alongside me.

Oh thank you! And please, pray for me if you would! Skalliska said gleefully, turning

away to roll her eyes as she scrambled out and back into one of the main arteries of the Spiral
903

Cathedral.

Outside, her shoulders slumped and she did so likewise on the ground, pulling her hat down

over her eyes. Kurtulmak would not allow a rival for his faithful to exist anywhere in close

proximity to a shrine of his, and so it was a lost cause to expect to find a shrine or cleric of her

own deity within the Cathedral. She was running out of places to find spiritual support in her

quest, but she certainly had someone now to take her frustrations out upon.

Tell hell with you. She snarled. Prepare a ritual service for me? I think not.

Hissing and gritting her teeth, she unfurled a scroll from her waist and whispered the words

to a spell of sending while picturing Nisha in her head. That tieflings own particular brand of

Xaos was called for.

Nisha, are you available right now? Skalliska began, giving the message to the spell. I

need you for something, preferably destructive and untraceable to me.

This was handing mischief to the Xaositect on a silver platter of course, so it had to work.

When did Nisha ever have anyone -requesting- for her to do something stupid, willingly letting

her do her worst? It was guaranteed to have her burning the place down with hog-tied fire

mephits in funny hats, something, anything idiotic and typically atypical. Anything would work

of course, anything to thumb her nose at that f*cking cleric of Kurtulmak, her and her damned

deity who was the source of their mutual races problems since time immemorial.

This was Skalliskas hope of course. But then Nishas reply to the sending came, in typical

atypicality.

Cant talk, making out with Tristol. Go away!

***

Tristols tail looked like hed taken a stray lightning bolt, or shared a room with a dozen

lightning mephits, given how every bit of fur stuck out, bristled on end. His tail was also

seemingly possessed with a life of its own at the moment as well, rapidly wagging side to side,

completely betraying his emotional state as he walked with Nisha.

The aasimar was blushing heavily, looking happily overwhelmed as they approached the Portal

Jammer. It had only been a single, quick kiss, but it was a turning point in their relationship.

They were far past friendship now.

Mind if we avoid the front door? Tristol asked.

Nisha turned and glanced down at his tail.

For your sake and mine, She said. Given how badly were already going to be teased by

the others, that sounds like a good idea. Your tail is going to get us in trouble if they see us, to
 904

say nothing of mine.

Nishas own tail wasnt so much wagging as it was erratically twitching, setting the bell at

its tip at a constant, soft rattle. She was just as nervously giddy as her boyfriend, and this time

around her boyfriend wasnt the type to get tossed off of a catapult or turned into a pie. Turn

people into pies, perhaps if she talked him into it, but not made into one.

Im rather obvious. Tristol said. But so are you. Just in a different way.

Nisha giggled as the aasimar twitched his ears.

But yeah. Going back through the kitchen sounds like the best idea. Tristol said. Besides,

the staff should have already packed up and gone home for the evening by this hour.

And so they snuck around to the back and made their way through the rear entrance of the

inn, doing their best not to make any noise in the event that any of their companions might still

be down in the common room.

I dont hear anyone. Nisha said, her ear stuck up against the inside of the kitchen door

leading out to the taproom.

Three people including Toras. Tristol said. Hes distinctive.

Fuzzy eared showoff. She retorted, turning around and sticking out her tongue.

Hey, they come in use sometimes! He replied with a grin.

Useful? Hmm, well they are an off button.

An off button?

Tristol then slumped forward with a look of content bliss on his face as Nisha reached up and

began to rub his ears like he was some overgrown, magic using puppy.

Thats not fair... He said, grinning like a drunkard.

And you havent told me to stop. She replied, leaning in and giving him a kiss on the

nose. But more for you later. My idea of fun and relaxing after a date doesnt take place in a

kitchen.

What are your ideas for fun and relaxation after a date? He asked.

Hell if I know! Nisha replied with a grin and an emphatic shrug. Ive never done this

before!

You just know that it doesnt involve a kitchen?

Pretty much.

Tristol smiled. So, any ideas for getting past them all?

Cutting holes in the ceiling and climbing through is out as an option I suppose. She mused,

before reaching into a small pouch at her waist. So drink this and follow me.
905

Whats this? He asked, looking at the bottles that the tiefling had removed from what

seemed to be a small bag of holding.

Potions of invisibility. She replied. You should know that oh great and powerful wizard.

This would imply that you brought potions of invisibility out on our date? He said, quirking

an eyebrow with open puzzlement. Why? What would you do with a potion of invisibility on

a date?

Oh I dont know... lots of things! Sneaky things! She replied. Like lets say that I...

On second thought, Tristol said, hushing her. Tell me all about it when were somewhere...

well anywhere outside of a kitchen.

Bottoms up then. Nisha quipped, gulping down her potion and vanishing in an instant.

Likewise Tristol did the same, and the two of them nervously opened the door to the common

room. A few late night patrons, including two of them probably sleeping off their alcohol, were

sitting scattered around the room, and Toras was sitting behind the bar. He normally didnt

handle that post, but apparently Clueless and the others were out and about doing other things

that evening.

Toras didnt quite notice the door to the kitchen open, it was pretty silent after all, but he

did however notice the shuffle of feet and clatter of hooves on the staircase. Slow at first, very

obviously trying to be quiet, but then about halfway up the first flight transitioning into a run,

punctuated by a distinct set of paired giggles.

Thats disturbingly cute... The half-celestial commented to himself as he listening to the

pair bolting up the stairs.

Up above, still invisible and catching their breath, Nisha and Tristol stood in the hallway

next to his room.

So... Nisha said. What do we do now?

Good question. Tristol replied. Umm...

They were both in love, but neither of them had ever formally gone through anything even

remotely resembling courtship, or dating, or anything of the like before. So there was a bit

of an awkward silence, but since they were both still invisible, they couldnt see one anothers

expressions as they each pursed their lips and mulled over what to say next.

Eventually Tristol and Nisha were both about to say something, each willing to make the

next move, but that was when Skalliskas sending spell kicked in.

Oh of all the sodding times... Nisha exclaimed, her tails bell rattling like an angry serpents.

Huh? Tristol asked, a bit confused.

Skalliska. Sending. Umm... The tiefling said, apparently listening to the kobolds request
 906

at the same time.

Five seconds later Nisha suddenly became visible when she grabbed Tristol and kissed him.

There. The tiefling said, breaking the kiss and catching her breath, blushing heavily. Im

busy and cant deal with Skalliska. And that was fun. Hows that for what to do next?

Tristol smiled, returned the blush, and emphatically returned the favor.

***

Clueless slumped his shoulders and stared up at the Tower Arcane, the resounding thought

of why me? running through his head in competition with the notion that a sudden planeshift

might be in order.

The Tower itself was massive, dominating almost the entirety of his field of vision despite the

fact that the bridge spanning the distance to its gate was itself several miles long. Constructed of

a bizarre shade of blue-white steel, the surface was inscribed on nearly every inch of its surface in

blazing, burning runes, symbols, and incantations in the yugoloth tongue that literally throbbed

with a life all their own, setting the air trembling with its own infernal heartbeat, dizzying the

bladesingers vision.

Far from some simple monolithic construction, and striking its own unique style apart from

the Wasting Tower of Khin-Oin, the Gehennan tower sprouted blades, spires and decorative

spikes that would not have looked out of place in Sigil itself. The Tower was a monument to

the Yugoloth domination of Gehenna, the focus of their manipulation of the Blood War, and the

second infernal spike their kind had driven into the flesh of the planes of conflict, marking what

was theirs.

Gazing up, Clueless felt suddenly and overwhelmingly watched, stripped, and deconstructed

by a hundred thousand, a million different eyes gazing down in contempt, curiosity, hunger,

hatred, apathy, mockery... and then something dwarfed them all, turned its attention on him,

and gazed down.

Good. You are at least punctual.

The air seemed to tremble from the voices force, rumbling with a presence that seemed to

resonate through the entirety of the Tower and down through the bedrock it was anchored to,

sucking from the arteries of Gehenna itself.

Produce the name. Place it upon the ground.

Clueless hesitated for a single moment.

Look up and realize where you are mortal. Now take the name and place it upon the ground

in front of you. It is a simple request and a simple action.

907

Clueless winced at the sick feeling in his gut the proximity to the Tower seemed to induce,

along with what may or may not have been simply a psychosomatic twitch within his ankle

against its still embedded gemstone.

He was out of his element and he was out of his league. Helekanalaith wasnt exactly hon-

orable, not in the slightest, he was a yugoloth after all, but he was pragmatic and Clueless

recognized that. Give the fiend what he wanted, he reasoned, and he wont have cause to do

waste effort on doing you harm, especially when you still offer him value in a passive way at the

very least.

Even as he thought those things, he was already opening the box, though he had only included

the paper containing Larsdanas name, not any of the others.

Enjoy. Clueless said, putting the slim piece of paper down upon the edge of the bridge

where the obsidian merged with the glowing basalt of Chamada itself.

In an instant the paper turned to ash, immolated by the sudden exposure to the full blistering

force of the plane as it left the relative protection afforded by close proximity to Clueless and his

own wards against such. It was gone, consumed in a flash, but the ink that penned her name,

Larsdana Ap Neut, the designer of the Tower Arcane, its first and former Keeper, it lingered

behind for a single suspended moment, glittering alone and detached, poignant before it too was

devoured. The presence, the diffuse manifestation of the Keeper, extended through the Tower,

the bedrock, and the heat washing from burning rune and molten river, it seemed to smile in

triumph.

Youre welcome. Clueless said, averting his eyes from the ambient glow of magic radiating

from the tower as much or more than the heat pouring from the 2nd Furnace of Perdition under

his feet.

My thanks for your compliance. The Keepers voice rumbled, jarring the bladesingers

bones.

There was a hum in the air next to Clueless, and he turned to look as a swirling portal opened

in mid air, opaque and giving no details as to where it might lead.

You have done as I wished and you may now depart. I have no further immediate use for

you.

Clueless glanced at the gate, wary to where it might lead now that the yugoloth lord had

what he wanted. The fiend sensed his apprehension.

You would not survive in your present location for more than a few brief minutes at most.

Helekanalaith said, causing the portal to flicker, punctuating his statement. I may yet gain

something from you mortal. It would do me no good to allow you to perish on my doorstep. The
 908

portal will remain open for another two minutes. Accept it or not at your discretion.

Clueless glanced around, noticing the teleportation flashes of first dozens, then hundreds of

fiends: slavering mezzoloths crouching atop volcanic outcroppings, nycaloths folding their wings

and looking at him with contempt, and of course some of the robed sorcerers of the Tower itself,

hovering high above and watching the lone mortal living at the sufferance of their master.

Clueless took the point and stepped through the portal, accepting his metaphorical gift horse

without question.
Chapter 82

Now normally, in most cases, blind trust in a yugoloth is a bad thing, something distinctly

unwise even in the direst circumstances. Of course, this blanket statement assumes some man-

ner of choice in the matter: something that Clueless didnt really have as he stepped through

Helekanalaiths gate. Accept my offer of transit without question or stay here and die. That is

your choice: it was a very blunt and one-sided thing. And so rather than blind trust, Clueless

simply had a reluctant, grudging acceptance of the situation.

In this case though, trust or not, it could have turned out much worse as the bladesinger

emerged on the other side. It was cold, but not dangerously so, something in stark contrast to

where he had just been, though the ground itself was disturbingly warm. Volcanism he realized,

looking at the red, rocky landscape that surrounded him and the scent of windblown sulfur

carried on the thin air. Then, turning around and gazing up at the source of the harsh, red

illumination that bathed the landscape, he immediately realized where he was.

A giant, perpetually open gate hung suspended above him like a chancre in the sky, a crimson

ulcer in the fabric of the Outlands, the portal to Gehenna. He was in Torch, the gatetown to

Helekanalaiths home plane.

Its better than Hopeless at least. Clueless said with a sigh. Though I suppose that thats

not saying much.

He glanced up at the portal high above, watching the threatening pulse and swirl of its harsh,

lambent glow. It of course did nothing, but seemed to stare back, serving like a mute, symbolic

proxy for the Keeper himself gazing down mockingly over all of Torch and Clueless himself, like

Lovecrafts Pole Star.

Looking down at his surroundings, much like the portal looking down at him, he could see

the volcanic cones that comprised the upper reaches of Torch, and then the shantytowns far

below, huddled at their bases in the margins of solid land set against the ever encroaching Blood

Marsh. It was all highly evocative of the situation on the other side of the gate, a recreation of

909
 910

the style and substance of Gehenna in microcosm, be it intentional or not. The powerful lived

atop the mounts, be they yugoloths in Gehenna or rich mortals and mercilessly competing gangs

of semi-organized thieves in Torch, and then the less successful, be they the poor of Torch or the

petitioners of Gehenna, living in squalor below the notice or concern of their betters and simply

below in raw spatial terms.

Clueless didnt honestly care for the politics of the gatetown, or its attempt to model itself,

consciously or not, on the plane it perpetually bordered upon, he simply wished to leave and

return to Sigil. The further away from the reach of the fiends that he was, all the better. In fact,

catching his breath in the rarified air there on an outcropping of rock on the eastern flank of the

central mountain, Maygel, he pondered flicking the city and its denizens an obscene gesture.

It would have done no good though, so instead he simply turned his back and unsheathed

Razor, whispering the words to a spell. Using the mirror bright surface of the blade to scry,

an image took form within the metal: that of a ring shaped outcropping of rock located at the

fringes of the Blood Marsh.

Spreading his wings and diving off the side of the cone, he plummeted through the clouds of

vapor and volcanic sulfur, keeping his eyes closed to avoid acidic fumes. Bitterly cold, despite the

presence of the volcanic mounts, the wind slashed at him angrily before he leveled his descent,

slowing himself to glide out over the red tinted swamp surrounding the gatetown.

Shortly thereafter, he touched down in front of the outcropping of rock that formed the gate

to Sigil. As a permanent gate, its portal key was common enough that Clueless had it on him,

which saved him the undue and potentially dangerous hassle of finding the identity of the key,

and purchasing it, from someone in Torch. And so after a few moments of fishing around in the

assorted pockets and pouches in his clothing, he withdrew a slim piece of iron a few inches long

and tapped it on the rock.

Instantly, the portal burst into being, and with a disdainful look back at Torch, he stepped

through and into Sigil.

Wonderful. Clueless muttered, scowling at the way the evening had developed, now that

he was back in Sigil and had the time to reflect. Just wonderful. I go for a useful thing and I

end up giving someone a ticket into my head.

Not that my head isnt already occupied... He added with a bemused shake of his head.

But this time its my own damn fault.

He glanced around, trying to find his bearings, as hed never -to his recollection- entered into

Sigil through the gate from Torch. Somewhere in the Market Ward it looked like, in the warehouse

district perhaps where it would be sheltered from the masses and open for the merchants sending
911

goods to and from Torch and Gehenna.

Hey there! Came a shout from behind him.

Clueless reflexively put a hand to Razors hilt and turned around, looking into the smiling,

low-key face of Kiro.

What are you doing all the way over on this side of the city? Clueless asked, more than a

bit taken back to run into the cleric out of the blue.

I was wondering that myself to some extent really. Kiro replied with a shrug. I just felt

the urge to wander a bit, just get to know the rest of the city since Ive only been in Sigil for a

very short time.

Sutekh telling you what to do again?

Kiro smiled and chuckled softly. Not this time, no. Sigil is Sigil. But granted wisdom doesnt

always come to mind immediately, and I suppose that in the absence of anything happening I

just got to thinking. Divine inspiration or not, I think the notion to wander the city seems to

have had something behind it. I ran into you after all. That cant just be chance.

Clueless wasnt entirely sure what to make of that, but the clerics expression and stance

didnt suggest anything beyond fuzzy coincidence or divine guidance, certainly nothing ulterior.

Its very different from the Outlands. The cleric said, brushing some soot from his shoulder.

Is that a bad thing?

Well... Kiro paused and hung on the thought for a minute. Not bad, just very different.

Many more people, much more crowded, rather dirty in places, but if Sutekh wishes me to be

here, well then surely he has a purpose in that. Ive been able to do some good so far.

Where in the Outlands was your village actually? Clueless asked as they walked towards

the Guildhall Ward, passing by the sprawling sides of one of the Planar Trade Consortiums

many nameless, numbered but otherwise nondescript storage buildings in the district.

Im not sure that I could give you directions really. Kiro answered. I was wandering for

some time after I left. But I believe it was several... what is the term... rings inwards towards

the spire, not very far from a branch of the river Maat.

Clueless listened while Kiro gave some further details about the region surrounding his village,

at least before it was destroyed by a band of Khasta, something that happened with regularity in

some areas of the Outlands. From the lay of the land, and what Clueless himself knew about the

plane itself, Kiros village might have been somewhere on the other side, away from the spire,

from Thoths domain on the Outlands. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the bladesinger

had some inkling of a connection between Thoth, the Ibis headed Egyptian god of scribes and

knowledge, and Kiros divine patron of Sutekh, but for the moment he couldnt make a firm
 912

connection.

So what were you doing out on this side of the city? Kiro asked. On your way across

town to visit that one fellow... Akin I think it was? I heard something earlier today about you

going to visit him later on, or actually that might have been Nisha now that I think about it.

Regardless, Florian mentioned that he ran a shop in the Lower Ward of some kind. I havent

met the fellow, but she was talking about him the other day, and I think Fyrehowl dropped his

name at some point.

How ironic.

This was awkward of course, as Clueless didnt want to appear to be outright lying to the

priest, but at the same time he really had no intention of letting it be public knowledge that he

had a bloody archfiend using him as something like a scrying device at will. Yes, that would go

over quite well, Im rid of the Marauder inside my head and all that unhealthy business. But!

Everyone meet my new cerebral renter, Helekanalaith the Lord of the Tower Arcane! Im not

quite sure how long hell be with me, but get used to it, because hell be watching everything

when Im around.

What was that? Clueless asked, feigning not having heard the question as he mentally

scrambled for something to say.

Were he observing any of this back in Gehenna, the Keeper would have been amused doubtlessly.

Its nearly anti-peak, I was wondering what you were doing near the ugly end of the Market

Ward.

Funny you should ask about Akin. I was on my way back from the Lower Ward actually,

and theres less foot traffic here than in the Market itself. I could have flown across the city

but... meh.

Clueless shrugged.

Is he actually open for business at this hour? Kiro asked. Or was it a more personal visit?

Nisha seems to be friends with him as far as I gathered.

Its all about a book you see. Clueless explained. Tristol had given me a copy of a

particular book, and actually he got it from someone in this ward too, though I didnt ask him

much about them. But it got me to thinking about a few things, and I wanted to see if Akin

had a few things on hand related to that. I swear, he has just about anything under the sun if

you ask him about it.

Find what you were looking for then?

No, not really. He replied. The shop was closed, and I didnt bother knocking. I dont

really know if he sleeps, or if he even lives there above the place when he closes up at night. I
913

might have to ask, itd be really sad if he doesnt sleep but just sits there, alone, all night long.

Sutekh preserve. Kiro said with a frown. That would be terrible. But I doubt he does

that, sit alone by himself all night, really any more than I believe any of the other rumors about

him that Ive heard passed around.

Rumors are rumors are rumors and nothing more. Clueless said. Its a bit of a shame

some of them that get tossed about regarding him, probably by the other resident loth too. He

really is a pleasant guy.

Kiro nodded as they passed into the Guildhall Ward.

Ill have to get to meet him at some point. He said. I guess Ill be meeting the other one,

as you called her, rather soon too.

Clueless made an expression of absolute loathing.

Yeah...

Clueless didnt stop ranting about that other one till they were well into the Clerks Ward,

by which time Kiro was firmly versed in just how much the bladesinger despised the King of the

Crosstrade. As they walked he learned just what she had done to Clueless, as far as he knew,

and how things suddenly happened to be taking a turn for the bizarre with a loth, a different

loth yes, but still a loth, behind the events that had ultimately led to Kiro being forced by

circumstance into an association with them all.

I am enjoying myself. Kiro said. The transition has been much less difficult with you all

to help me and openly teach me about all of this. I dont believe that Ive actually had anyone

in the city call me a Clueless yet, pardon me for saying so Clueless.

Easier... heh. Clueless said with a chuckle. What with undying assassins being sent after

you by Ultroloths posing as Rakshasas. Easier...

Well, Im still alive. Kiro said. Sutekh has seen fit to preserve me thus far, and I think

that being thrown in with you and the others was his intention from the start, both to help me,

and if I can do so, to help you.

Clueless couldnt complain. The cleric had been more than he seemed virtually any time that

they were in over their heads. Regardless of the odd circumstances that had thrown his lot in

with theirs, or perhaps divine intent that he be so connected with them, they had been all that

much the better by way of it.

I wont argue with that. Clueless said, smiling. We should talk more you know. Ive

been busy doing my own things lately, and I figure youve been learning about the city in the

meantime, but we really should get to know one another better and maybe hang out some. Just

because I think youre a nice guy, and also frankly because we dont know when what got you
 914

in with us is going to bite us back again.

And of course, that had been his intent from the very start.

These people were important. Events were swirling around them, bits of larger events them-

selves, and these people had touched too many things for that to be just coincidence. What he

had been told in the Outlands was true, that was certain, not that he had doubted it, but he was

seeing it himself all the more now as the situation developed in Sigil, in the Astral, in Carceri...

He could have told them more, and doubtless more was known than he had been told in the

first place, but he was there to watch, to learn, and ultimately to intervene as he saw fit to do

so, preserving what must be preserved.

We should. Kiro said, returning the smile. Id very much like that.

***

Back in the Clerks Ward, Nisha and Tristol sat across from one another, blushing and grinning

like fools. After having snuck back into the Portal Jammer and then snuck their way back

upstairs, they had spent a solid part of an hour or so learning just how to kiss someone you were

falling in love with. A few kisses were invariably followed by silence and the catching of breath,

or a few comments or questions, and then right back to the fun that even though it was only a

kiss, still felt naughty on some level to them both.

Time had started to slip away from them both however, and in their fun they hadnt really

noticed what hour it was.

Wait, what time is it? Nisha said, glancing out the window. Is it after antipeak?

Umm... why? Tristol replied.

Something happens at anti-peak. Nisha replied. Nothing to worry about.

Huh?

I mean you dont turn into a pumpkin or anything at the strike of the clock or anything like

that. She answered with a grin.

Tristols ears kinked to one side in confusion.

Its a secret. Nisha said, leaning in to kiss him again. Its one of those things we talked

about over dinner that I said youll find out about eventually.

If you keep kissing me whenever I ask about it, I think I might need to keep asking. He

said, grinning.

A few kisses later, they were catching their breath again. It was a fun little activity, but

you had to stop and breath eventually! Inconvenient air! Stupid need for oxygen messing up
915

romance! The elemental plane of air had to be lawful, there was no other explanation for it! It

was all a conspiracy by oppressive, quick-to-spoil-enjoyment-in-life Law! Arrrgghh!

But my first question, is it after anti-peak? Nisha asked, happy and giddy at what seemed

to be, to both her and Tristol, a newfound guilty little pleasure to share.

Just by a little bit, yeah I think. Tristol answered as a bit of a glow illuminated the room

from outside the window, followed seconds later by a rapid series of tiny knocks.

Eeep! Nisha exclaimed.

Hovering outside of Tristols window was the glowing, grinning form of Amberblue. The faerie

dragon was wearing some sort of tiny hat, a sailors cap actually, as he hovered there, tip-tapping

on the windowpane, trying to get Nishas attention. He also didnt really seem to understand

what he had seen the tiefling and the aasimar doing, regardless of it not having really been much

at all.

Get blinds or curtains for next time. Nisha said, self-conscious over being caught in the act

by the drake.

I dont expect people to knock on my windows past anti-peak! He said defensively. Actu-

ally I dont expect people to knock on my windows at all. I have a door for that!

Youre a wizard, get a prismatic wall, or maybe a prismatic window or something. Nisha

said as she got up to open the window for Amberblue. Next time Im dropping a globe of

darkness over us both.

The tiny dragon fluttered into the room as soon as Nisha opened the window.

Alright Amberblue. The tiefling said with apology. Sorry Im running late. Follow me

and well get started.

Tristol watched with bewilderment as Nisha did her best to herd Amberblue towards the

door to the hallway, turning around as soon as the dragon was out of sight to blow the aasimar

a kiss and wave goodbye, mouthing that shed had fun on their first date. Tristol could only

smile, the tiefling really didnt want to leave but it seemed that she had some manner of prior

commitment. Hopefully nothing exploded, and hopefully whatever happened it was reversible.

Out in the hallway, Nisha was doing her best to play ignorant of anything and everything the

young dragon might have seen her and her boyfriend doing.

What were you doing with Tristol in there just now? The faerie dragon asked with befuddled

innocence.

Nisha blushed in the relative darkness, thankful that the little fellow couldnt see her full

expression.

Oh nothing, we were just talking about something that happened the other day. She replied
 916

back, trying her best to brush off the question. I was just...

You were so close to him, it looked like you were doing something to his face. The dragon

said, tilting his head to the side. And why is your tail rattling?

Oh you little traitor! Nisha whispered to her tail as she snagged it in one hand.

Traitor? Amberblue asked.

Tristol! Tristol, yes Tristol. He had something on his cheek and I was just helping him with

it... yeah...

Umm... I dont believe you... He whined. ...Im confused...

Im confused... Captain. Nisha corrected him, holding up a finger.

Opps! The faerie dragon quickly corrected himself, straightening up in the air where he

hovered. Im confused Captain Nisha.

Dread Captain Nisha! Haharrrrggghhh! Nisha said with faux sternness followed by a wink.

Dont worry about it First Mate Amberblue. We have much work to do now that its after

Antipeak!

What will we be doing tonight Captain? First Mate Amberblue asked his Captain.

Oh, youll see. Dread Captain Nisha instructed. A proper vessel needs a proper sail!

***

Skalliska waited, watching to see just what the cleric of Kurtulmak would end up doing,

waiting for the opportunity to do something herself.

Shed believed her story, that was the amusing part, and over the next twenty minutes she

variously prayed and whispered about jink to the idol of her deity, and collected together a

large assortment of various ritualistic items.

What -are- you doing? Skalliska muttered, looking at the collection of objects intended for

the ritual that she was never going to willingly take part of.

There was a collection of garments, two pairs in fact, one presumably for the priestess, and

the other one intended for the newly re-exposed faithful, Skalliska in other words. There were

a number of bowls, a number of small idols or fetishes, and an incense burner in the shape of a

snarling head of Kurtulmak that seemed to double as a pipe.

And then there was the incense and the drugs.

Bowls of colored powders that Skalliska vaguely knew of, all of them intended to induce

various intensities and durations of hallucinogenic trance.

Saravtesh be praised, Skalliska said. Youre handing me this on a silver platter. With or

without that tiefling, not a problem.

917

Of course at that statement, she twitched and recalled Nishas curt reply to her earlier sending.

Making out... She muttered, mildly disturbed. ...with Tristol.

Skalliska stuck her tongue out and shuddered. Mammals... eww.

The cleric of Kurtulmak in the meantime had begun arranging the objects of her planned

ritual. First she stepped to one side, out of common view, and dressed in the more elaborate

vestments that she had selected. And that was when Skalliska took action.

The incense burner and the hallucinogens, they were intended for use together, but the latter

were intended to be cut and mixed with the less toxic, more aromatic mixtures. They were all

simply powders, with little but color to distinguish them from one another until they were mixed

and burned.

By the time the cleric had returned, the colors had been switched and the bowls had been

rearranged to match. The alterations wouldnt last of course, but they didnt need to. They only

needed to deceive till theyd been mixed, in inverse proportion of incense of drug, the burner lit,

and the smoke inhaled by the cleric.

After that, all bets were off.

Oh most great one, first and greatest of us. The cleric prayed, bowing her head to the idol

as she placed the incense burner next to it. Lord of buried wealth and holder of hatreds long

simmering, grant me your wisdom as I bring one more of your children to your hands.

Not likely... Skalliska muttered to herself.

Accept her into your heart, accept her faith as nourishment and accept her wealth and power

into service of your mortal church.

The cleric moved closer to the altar and set the incense alight. Purple smoke welled up in the

vessels basin, and to the cleric seemed to swirl and gather around the body of Kurtulmaks idol

as if the god himself was holding his breath, waiting to exhale with some great pronouncement.

What the cleric couldnt see however as she leaned forwards, hands clasped in prayer, was

Skalliska whispering the words to a number of spells, manipulating the smoke and preparing to

do her best impression of Kurtulmak himself.

Guide me Kurtulmak. The cleric whispered. Empower and enrich me, especially with the

jink of this new fool.

Skalliska saw red and snarled as the cleric snickered with unrepressed greed. A moment later,

seemingly in response to the clerics request for guidance, the idol exhaled, engulfing the cleric in

a cloud of burning hallucinogens, almost immediately reducing her to a delusional, wailing idiot.

Thirty minutes later the shrine was in shambles, both from Skalliskas actions and from the

deluded thrashings of the cleric of Kurtulmak. The priestess was still screaming and hacking
 918

holes in the walls of her own shrine, trying to ferret out the greedy gnomes lurking therein

who were waiting to steal everything when she looked away. For her part, Skalliska was openly

laughing, both as herself and throwing her voice to make it seem as if Kurtulmaks idol was

laughing at the whole surreal scene himself.

Eventually the cleric passed out, drooling on the floor amidst piles of broken wood, shattered

ceramic, and whatever spilled coins Skalliska hadnt expropriated for herself.

Serves you right. She said, grinning as she left the shrine.

For their part, as Skalliska left, the other clerics in adjacent shrines did their best to not

watch and not get themselves involved in any way. It didnt affect them, and if anything the

lack of one shrine in the end was a benefit to the rest of them.

As for Skalliska, after putting some distance between herself and the scene of her crime, she

handed over her stolen jink to the first gnome she could find who didnt run away from her.

What the hell is this? The gnome asked, looking at the bag of gold and silver coins.

Its a long story. Skalliska said to the peery gnome. If you happen to see the shrine of

Kurtulmak, youll understand, and Im sure your pantheons head will likewise appreciate it.

The gnome continued his peery look, but after examining the jink and finding it legit, he

didnt make any protest and simply watching the kobold walk off and around the corner. Jink

is jink, even if it comes from a kobold he supposed.

Sarevteshs will be done. Skalliska said, brushing her hands free of the remnants of incense

and dust that shed collected in her vengeful little exploit. Not as subtle as it could have been,

but shes none the wiser and all the worse off, so alls good in the end. Intrigue is intrigue, and

my hands are clean from the actions of swift mind, swift tongue and swift hand.

She chuckled, well pleased with herself and made a simple, subtle gesture, mixed with a hissed

phrase in draconic: a prayer to her deity.

She walked away, light on her feet and swinging her staff, newly decorated with a number of

obscured, embedded, and understated holy symbols. And as she walked away from the scene of

her crime a pair of eyes from the shadows were keenly watching her.

It was another kobold, one who seemed to blend into the shadows themselves. In fact, hed

been watching her for some time, virtually since the first time that she had prayed and whispered

the phrases of a prayer, a divine spell, eager to see what next step she would take.

Indeed. He said, lifting his holy symbol to his lips. Let Sarevteshs will be done indeed.

***

Several days passed, and in that time Skalliska had been largely absent from the inn, Nisha
919

and Amberblue had been doing... something... that both of them refused to pony up to when

asked. Actually, to be fair, Nisha simply grinned and professed ignorance, while Amberblue said

he couldnt say because hed promised to, and that hed have to walk the plank if he did.

Suffice to say, at least for that pairs activities, the others were curiously worried what was

up.

That however was the least of the things on their minds that caused its own fair share of

worry. For the last couple of days, several of Shemeskas boys -and Toras insisted on referring

to them as her boys- had been showing up at the inn and simply sitting and observing, casing

the place, taking note of things. Their mistress was keeping tabs on any changes being made in

accordance with her letters suggestions, looking for progress before she made her visit.

Guys, we should probably talk about a few issues. Florian said. For starters, your foil

and mine, the 12 Factols is still closed for renovations, thanks either to a flash mob of drunken

dwarves or everyones favorite b*tch in a razorvine headdress.

And I should be concerned about them why? Toras asked.

Because it allows us time to capitalize on their misfortune. Florian replied.

Clueless smirked. I think the b*tch would approve...

Incidental, but probably true. Florian said with a nod. And speaking of the b*tch, we

have a week before she visits.

I feel so honored. Fyrehowl grumbled. And now I know how Rhys felt the week before

she skipped town before the faction war.

As a Cipher... you dont have an unnatural sense of foreboding about this do you? Tristol

asked warily.

Dreading it yes. The lupinal replied. Dreading it in that sense, no. Dont worry.

With that answer, the others collectively felt a sense of relief. Nothing good ever came with

worried ciphers, unless of course you noticed them noticing something and likewise got the heck

out of town when they did.

Behind the gathered group, Nisha stepped into the room with Amberblue perched on her

shoulder, and a stuffed parrot perched on the other. As much as she could be, the tiefling was

dressed in a makeshift pirates outfit, cobbled together from whatever stories she had heard over

the years about what pirates where like, be they on the seas of the prime, the phlogiston of the

prime, or the Styx. It might have been jury-rigged, but the oversized black pirate captains hat

and the eye patch over one eye, not to mention the Jolly Roger pattern on the cloth tied around

her waist, it instantly made her the center of attention.

Tristol grinned; he should have seen something like this coming.

 920

So yeah, speaking of renovations. Florian said, not having noticed the pirate-tiefer-Xaositect...

Nisha thing approach. Ive already arranged to... what in the 9 Hells Nisha...?

Nisha stepped past the dumbfounded cleric of Tempus and tapped the table with a wooden

peg leg. Not one attached to her own leg replacing a lost limb, no, just a wooden peg leg held in

her hand like a jury-rigged gavel or sorts. Odd yes, but given that it was Nisha, and given the

whole pirate motif, it somehow fit.

But first, if you dont too terribly mind. Nisha announced.

Scurvy dogs... Amberblue whispered in her ear.

And now, if you dont too terribly mind, ye scurvy dogs! Nisha said, slipping into character.

Not to suggest that two of you might happen to have scurvy.

Tristol and Fyrehowl glanced at one another.

Having shanghaied this gathering of landlubbing berks, we have some renovations of our

own to announce!

Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh. Amberblue quickly added.

Chapter 83

Nisha. Florian said. Youre insane.

Wary ye, or ye be walking the plank! Amberblue chattered in mock warning as Nisha

continued grinning like a fool while two of the still animated tables rattled, apparently tossing

their input into the matter.

Speaking of which, we do have a plank now. She said. I could make you walk it too!

Nisha? What have you done? Toras asked, a loaded question if ever there was one.

First mate Amberblue and I have been having fun with wishes, and all sorts of little things

that I can do.

Another grin from the tiefer.

And what exactly does that mean? Florian asked warily.

Come outside and youll see. She replied, taking a moment to switch her eye patch to the

other eye.

They hesitated and glanced at one another, considering, and worrying, about what Nisha

and the faerie dragon might have done.

Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon come on! Amberblue said excitedly like the relative child

that he was. Youll like it! Come on!

The group looked at one another one more, then to the Xaositect and Faerie dragon pirates.

What did they have to lose after all? Well, actually quite a bit, but given that Fyrehowl was

still there and not diving through the nearest portal, and given that the ever so lovely combination

of wish granting dragon and Nisha hadnt already by that point blown up the Portal Jammer or

gotten them all mazed, they were probably safe.

One by one they walked out the door and into the street, glancing around and not immediately

seeing anything special, or dangerous, or really indicative of the assumed mischief Nisha was

foreshadowing. Then, punctuated with a rolling Arrrrrrrr! they looked up and back at the

Portal Jammer.

921
 922

Nisha, you are a joy. Florian said. I take back anything I might have ever said about

you.

Clueless looked up and immediately his wings began to sparkle a brilliant shade of green

mixed with streaks of yellow.

Except maybe the crazy part. Florian amended. But thats a good thing in your case.

Looking up, the Spelljamming ship, the inns namesake, the one that appeared to be crashed

into the top of the inn itself, had undergone a rather spectacular renovation in the past few days.

It sparkled with glittering lights on the forecastle and along its sides, and motes of starlight or

swirling phlogiston swam around edges of the ship like dancing, drunken coures.

Wow. Tristol said. Halruan ships have nothing on this.

Then with a great rustle of illusory wind and flapping of canvas, the ships sails filled as if it

had caught hold of the phlogistons current or the breath of a Djinn, making the vessel appear

in full flight, in full impact onto the inn. The effect was nothing short of amazing.

Nisha, you have outdone yourself. Toras said. I have to really commend you.

I think they like it! Nisha said to an equally enthused Amberblue, holding her hands to her

chest and bouncing lightly on her hooves. Not very pirate-like, but quite Nisha-like to say the

least.

We absolutely like it. Clueless said, watching the undulation of the sails in a nonexistent

wind.

No plank walking then! Amberblue shouted happily.

Nisha whispered something else into the faerie dragons ear frill.

Ah, okie. He said. And were open to suggestions for more things to add.

Already a few ideas were forming in Cluelesss head, even if making them a reality involved

begging wishes off of the dragon. He would have to talk to Nisha, or maybe just Amberblue,

about them later.

Once the group had stopped gawking at the inns improvements, and also to avoid the gath-

ering local crowd that was starting to do the same, they wandered back inside to get back to

their original discussion.

So now we need to discuss what all were going to do regarding the fuzzy. Florian said.

You know, calling her the fuzzy really downplays just how sickening she and most of her

kind are. Fyrehowl said.

Theyre not -all- bad. Nisha interjected.

I said most of them, not all of them. The lupinal replied. Dont worry, I wont paint Akin

with the same brush.

923

But fuzzy ? Yeah, Im sure the change would do wonders for cautionary bedtime stories.

Toras said. Be good kids or the fuzzy will come eat you! Ooooooooh.

Fyrehowl made no comment, but her ears cringed a bit self-consciously.

Sorry there. Florian said. Wasnt intending to paint everything with fur with the same

brush either.

Nisha raised a finger, about to say something, but the cipher was quicker.

I know you know the Painter. Fyrehowl said. But do -not- get any bright ideas.

But yeah. Florian said, getting them back on track. Ive already gone over a lot of the

suggestions we had in her letter.

Tristol nodded. It might help if we split up handling the changes we think we want to make,

and those we can stomach on a temporary basis.

Ill handle the food and booze. Clueless said. I handle the bar enough as it is, but I could

use your input on the food half of that Florian, youve got a cook handle on our kitchen staff.

No problem. Florian said. But for what the fuzzy had in mind for a meal the last time

she graced us with her presence, Im not really sure where well find a Bebelith egg. Anyone

have an idea, short of a visit to the Abyss?

Actually... Clueless said, turning to Nisha When we were on the Gray Waste, you know

that Bebelith eye you had?

Yeah?

Where did you actually get that at?

It was an eye, not an egg. She answered. And it was pickled. I think. Or maybe just old.

Clueless winced at the memory of the taste.

Still tasted icky either way. Nisha said, turning to look at Tristol with a grin.

Looking at her boyfriend, the tiefling opened her mouth and pantomimed picking up the

Bebelith eye.

They go -pop!-. She said. All kinds of gooshy! Just imagine the egg.

Tristol tried not to gag as the tiefer giggled, and likewise Clueless again tried not to remember

what the rancid little thing had actually tasted like. Pickled or not, it had been revolting.

Ill go talk to Akin. The bladesinger said. He might have some eggs, or know someone

who would.

Bebelith eyes, Bebelith eyes... Nisha muttered in singsong to herself, doing a tiny little

dance while the others talked.

Ill handle the entertainment. Toras volunteered. Ill get something good. No Bleakers,

no mephits, nothing so avant-garde as to be hideous.

 924

Roly-poly Bebelith eyes...

Ill see if I cant start on the furniture changes. Tristol added. The chairs meant for people

with tails was actually a good idea.

Bebelith eyes, Bebelith eyes...

Ill help on that and the other decoration suggestions. Fyrehowl said. And with that, I

think well have everything ready.

...eat them up yumm...

***

Some time later, Clueless stood outside of Akins shop in the Lower Ward, looking up at the

gleeful caricature of a grin carved and painted into the shops sign. Odd that Akin just always

seemed to have -just- what you needed if you asked him, like he had bound Efreet or bottled

Djinn stuffed into a back room somewhere. Or maybe he just carried odd things for odd people.

Clueless shrugged at the notion and stepped into the shop.

The tiny silver bell jingled overhead as he looked around for Akin, hoping to discretely ask

him if he had any other parts of whatever Bebelith the eyes that hed sold to Nisha had come

from. Assuming of course that hed sold them to her and she hadnt just lifted them from him,

or shed forgotten where in the heck she had in fact gotten them, and figured that Akin was as

good a postulated source as anywhere else.

How in the hell did you get loose?! Came a frustrated, exasperated voice from the rear of

the shop.

Clueless raised an eyebrow. That had been Akins voice.

This is twice now youve gotten out. The loth muttered. And the lock is broken. Great.

Now I have to change it again. Lovely.

Clueless moved around to the rear of the shop, looking for the fiend, following the sound of

his voice that was gradually slipping over from common into his native tongue. He finally found

him standing over a table, hands on top of a small lockbox, trying to hold the lid shut or force

something into it.

Yes I know this looks bad. Akin said, not turning around but keeping his hands firmly on

the top of the box.

Under his grip, something in the box rattled and shed light.

Whats that? Clueless asked, looking at the object that Akin was doing his damndest to

keep in the box.

Hmm? The Friendly Fiend asked, seeming a bit rattled and preoccupied.
925

Whats in the box?

Oh. This? Akin asked. You don... oh dont you dare! Get back in there!

Clueless looked askance at the buzzing, humming, glowing object Akin suddenly and with

little warning was doing his damnedest to cram back into the box as it tried to escape. Whatever

the hell it was, it was doing its own damnedest to get out, and the thing was putting up a fight.

It looked odd. That was for certain. In fact, some random berk walking into the shop might

even have assumed the worst, thinking that the shops fiendish proprietor was snarling whilst

shoving an eladrin into a box. Clueless at least was going to wait and give him the benefit of the

doubt.

A mistake! Akin said, finally closing the lid and popping the latch into place before whis-

pering the words of a spell to seal the box magically at least for the time being.

That said, with a sigh, the loth slumped back, hovering on the air like hed fallen into the

restful retreat of a favorite chair after a long day at work.

A mistake? Clueless asked.

Yes. A mistake. Akin replied.

Clueless gave him a peery look, but waited for the fiend to catch his breath and calm down.

Its not exactly a cursed item. Akin said. At least it wasnt intended to be.

What is it though?

Youve seen dull gray ioun stones, yes?

Clueless nodded at the fiend.

They just orbit around and dont really do anything. Akin continued. Well, at least

nothing conventional for most mages, but thats neither here nor there. But this little bastard

item was supposed to be a joking extension of that.

Uh oh.

Indeed. Akin said, rolling his eyes. It flies around, it makes noise, it moves at random, it

makes an annoyance of itself. That was the plan.

But this thing. He added, jerking his muzzle towards the box. This thing is above and

beyond just being annoying. Its maddening. And it keeps getting out.

... How much? Clueless asked.

Very funny. Akin replied, laughing and giving a shake of his head.

Seriously. How much for it? Clueless repeated.

Akin glanced over at him with a strange look on his face, and then pantomimed clearing out

his ears with his claws.

 926

Excuse me, I dont think I heard you right there. Did you just ask to buy that thing? Why

in the name of a giggling Hashkar would you do that?

Because if I buy it now, then Nisha cant. The bladesinger replied in a very sober tone.

Akin pursed his lips and extended a finger. You have a point.

Well handle the price later. Clueless said. But Im actually here for a specific thing, and

oddly enough Nisha pointed me in your direction.

What exactly are you looking for? Akin asked, tilting forwards from where he hung, seated

in the air.

Nisha said shed gotten some Bebelith eyes from you. Clueless explained. And they were

very useful by the way. But I needed to know if you had any Bebelith eggs.

Bebelith eggs you say? Why ever do you want one of them?

We need a few to serve to, well... Clueless reluctantly started to explain, before slipping

into his own bit of pantomime, cupping his hands like he had breasts, and then sneering while

using his hands as big, pointed ears.

Say no more... Akin said, easily getting the point.

Have any? Clueless asked, stopping his mocking little mimicry of the -other- loth.

How many do you need? He asked. I can probably come up with a few of them. Preserved

or fresh?

... Clueless stared at the fiend. ...Fresh obviously. You can eat them otherwise?

Pickled, rotten, embalmed... Akin said, trailing off. Poison and disease isnt exactly an

issue, and depending on the pallet...

Fresh please. Clueless said. Ill assume fresh and then the cook can prepare them as he

wishes from there.

Probably a safe bet. The loth said with a smile, hopping down from his perch. Ill go get

them for you.

Clueless nodded and settled down to wait, and of course stare at the periodically rattling box

left on the table. But sure enough, a short time later, Akin emerged from the curtain-shrouded

doorway that led into the rear stockroom of his shop, holding a glass jar. Inside the jar, still warm

and slathered in jelly-like, blood spotted mucus, were a half dozen bloated eggs, all probably

within a week of hatching. All said, they were as fresh as Clueless might have hoped for.

One thing down, several more to go.

***

Toras stepped into a small office just off of the main entry corridor of the Public Festhall.
927

The place smelled conspicuously like a mixture of sunflowers and sandalwood, with a half dozen

other assorted undertones that defied his nose and brain to identify them. But that of course

was the intention of the former Sensates who ran the Festhall, and by extension the Entertainers

Guild.

The fighter looked around and finally approached a desk that sat directly underneath a multi-

tiered mobile decorated with a large variety of musical instruments. A single guild functionary,

an aasimar with some obvious eladrin blood, sat at the desk, looking through a large book to

the ticking sound of a metronome while humming something under her breath.

Im not certain Im at the right place. Toras said, tapping a finger on the desk. But Im

looking to hire some musicians from the guild.

Well youve found the right place. The clerk said, looking up with a smile and stopping

the ticking, timekeeping device on the table. What sort of thing are you looking for? We have

a large number of members crossing every sort of musical genre you might find.

In general, a nice mix of things. Toras said. Especially people looking for a venue for their

music, especially if theyre relatively new but decently skilled.

Getting known as a place to see up and coming musicians was never bad press.

But for a specific date here. He said, pointing to the date circled in red and underlined

repeatedly on the calendar. I want something more upscale, very classy, worth the lamentably

expensive tastes of ....

He half coughed and half mumbled the King of the Crosstrade.

Excuse me? The aasimar asked. I didnt make out that last part.

Suppressing a frown or a snarl, Toras coughed out the name again. But again, the clerk

didnt exactly catch it.

Say what?

...The Marauder. He finally said, bluntly. Shemeska. The King of the Crosstrade.

Ah... The functionary said, trying to tread the thin line between wary but polite sympathy

and self-preserving non-response.

Lucky us. Toras grumbled.

Caught between a grimace and a smile, the aasimar began to rattle off a list of suggestions,

finally settling on a musical quartet of an eladrin and three elven tieflings.

Are they any good? Toras asked.

Facto... She began, before correcting herself. Guildmistress Annali rather likes them

herself.

Will it fit the tastes of a fiend though?

 928

Depends. She replied. Is she looking for something she enjoys on grounds of personal

musical taste, or does she just want someone to give her the best of something regardless, or

simply spend money on her behalf?

Toras had to admit that in either case he was kosher for it all.

Well spoken. Well take them.

They continued talking, eventually signing an agreement for established groups or individuals

to perform on certain nights of the week, and then on other nights to have the floor open to

groups new to the guild and still perfecting their art. Hopefully at some point they might find a

few uncut diamonds amongst the pebbles, both furthering themselves and the musicians in the

process.

But all through the discussions however, Toras was making sure to keep some quality control

on just what made it into the inn. No harpies, most undead were right out, and one other group

was permanently banned from making an appearance.

And I swear to my god, if any of you ever send us Bleakniks I will hunt you down and throw

you to into the plane of fire.

The clerk politely smiled.

Ive done it before. Toras said. No Bleakniks. None of them. Ever.

But they wouldnt be getting any of that artistic school of bad taste in the coming days. No,

they had other things in green gowns and razorvine tiaras to worry about, equally known for

questionable taste in and of themselves.

***

Clueless was already thinking about where he was going to find a cook for the Bebelith

eggs, but for the moment he needed to find the needed ingredients for the fiends favorite drink:

Hordeling pineal gland. That of course meant a trip to the Waste, but hopefully a quick one.

Taking a decent sized amount of jink, and a few minor magical items if he needed to trade

for one. Clueless figured that he could either find a Hordeling himself, or deal with a Night Hag,

because there was no way that he was going to deal with any loths for the pleasure of another

loth.

Ill be back within an hour. Clueless said to Tristol and Fyrehowl as he walked downstairs

and into the taproom. If Im not... please come find me.

Just where are you going? Tristol asked, looking up from some swatches of cloth.

Where else am I going to find Hordeling pineal gland? He replied. The Waste.

True and uggghhh... Fyrehowl said with a smirk. Be careful though.

929

I will. Clueless replied.

Sure you dont want anyone along with? Tristol asked. We can tag along.

No, Ill be fine. Clueless replied. Besides, you all have other things to take care of.

He was confident at least, having been to the Waste before. But it was hardly a trip to

Elysium or a weekend respite in Arborea, it was a descent into the collective pit of mortal

despair and misery. But as dangerous as the time there would be, getting there in and of itself

might be a trial.

I have time at least. Clueless said after he had left the inn. So how to get there, how to

get there... And hell if Im using portals suggested by fiends, even if theyre fixed in place and I

have their key.

Chapter 84

He shuddered at the disquiet that surrounded his memories of that particular spot in the Lower

Ward. Unless by force, he was never going to visit that ruined temple again, even if it would

make the transit to the Waste or Gehenna easier. That of course, left open several other options,

most of them either fairly roundabout or simply out of the question.

Tradegate isnt all that bad this time of year... Clueless remarked as he strode off in the

direction of the portal to Bytopias gatetown.

And indeed, the industrious gatetown, swarming with merchants, gnomes, members of the

Free League, and buyers and sellers of goods from across the multiverse, was rather nice as he

momentarily paused to look around once hed arrived through the gate. But the pause was

brief, and in a flash of magic the bladesinger was sent hurtling across the planes and into the

disease-ridden expanse of the Wastes first layer of Oinos.

A deep breath, a cold and bitter stare at the endless Gloom and the spire of Oinos far in

the distance, and Clueless cast another spell, transferring him deeper into the plane, to the

2nd Gloom, and ironically enough, away from the immediate danger of the Blood War while he

searched for a native of plane that he might bargain with.

Clueless shivered as he emerged into the darkness of Niflheim, reacting more to the innate

moral chill and his memories of the place, than to the cold mist drafting through the stunted,

malformed evergreens of the forest that surrounded him. He hoped that he wouldnt be exposed

to the touch of the plane very long, but at the very least, if it took him too long to find a seller

of what he needed, or the raw source itself, hed simply leave the plane and recover from the

exposure back on the Outlands.

As it was though, he was looking for a Night Hag. While the loths could have easily sold

him just what he needed, the pineal gland of a Hordeling, he was in no mood to deal with any

of their kind, especially when it was going to pacify another of their wretched ilk. Hordelings

themselves were common enough, especially on the first layer of the Waste, but they typically

930
931

traveled in roving packs, and given that, plus the other obstacles that the first Gloom presented,

that wasnt an attractive option either.

Thus the Hags.

The crones of the Waste were its itinerant merchants of larvae, they had their hands mixed

into the cross-planar trade of soul gems as well, and they seemed to be nominally free of the

loths influence. Either that or the loths simply didnt care, but in any event, they were at least

one step removed from the true children of the Waste, and Clueless had fewer qualms in dealing

with them.

Once he steeled himself against the draining chill of Niflheim and walked through the tangle

of trees, seeking one of the Hags. He didnt have to search long, almost as if the plane itself

delivered him into the clutches of what normally would have been a dire thing for any random

planar traveler.

It stood in the middle of a wide, fenced in clearing in the forest, a small wooden hut on a plot

of blasted, dead soil, decorated at the eaves with wind chimes and dream catchers of bone and

string. The wriggling motion of several larvae at the fringe of the hut gave clear confirmation of

just what manner of creature called it home, and where Clueless would have to go knocking.

As he approached the hut there was a sharp and discordant avian squawk and rattle of chains.

A pair of tattered, starving diakka regarded the bladesinger with sunken, hollow eyes, craning

their elongated necks up and staring at him from across a yard swarming with wriggling but

otherwise silent larvae.

Clueless slowed his approach as he reached the gate, a construction of bones, frayed lengths

of flesh, and errant bits of silver wire. Upon closer inspection, the fence itself was held together

in similar fashion, cobbled together from the various bones of animals, lesser fiends, and a fair

number of mortals.

Across the yard, up an ill defined pathway cobbled in half-buried craniums, flanked by the

diakka, the open doorway to the hut yawned dark, threatening, and coldly enticing.

Clueless gave another glance at the diakka, staring hard but not moving to open the gate.

He wasnt there to cause trouble, he just wanted to purchase something, assuming the resident

Hag could supply it.

The darkness in the hut swam with the hints of movement and the sounds of myriad footsteps,

claws on bare earth, the shuffle of pages of parchment, and the whimper of a small child.

What is it youre looking for dearie?

The voice was indirect, an echo from the interior of the hut, a sort of chilling pseudo-maternal

warmth that reminded Clueless of his own mother, a noblewoman among the Unseelie courts.
 932

His mother was not evil in the same sense, but the false concern in the Hags words played the

same timbre on his heartstrings.

I wanted to purchase something from you. He said, still not able to discern the source of

the hags voice.

A sharp snap of bone, a wet wriggle across a dusty floor, another whimper, a matronly

chuckle. The darkness continued to swim, hiding its occupants.

Youre hardly the sort to be purchasing what I sell. Came the darkly amused reply. Neither

fiend nor lich... you remind me of an Eladrin I once had o...

The Hag trailed off, her words slipping into incomprehensibility.

Then I can take my business elsewhere. Clueless stated. Come out and we can talk,

otherwise Ill find one of your sisters.

A gnarled hand emerged from the darkness of the huts interior, long, brittle, yellowed fin-

gernails curling around the doorframe to preface the emergence of the Night Hag herself. Had

she wished to conceal herself as simply an elderly, hideous woman, she might have been able to

do so, but the smoldering touch of her eyes, the larva cradled in her arms, wrapped in cloth like

an infant, and the aura of sickness she exuded made it clear that she was anything but.

No need for that child, Ill deal with you. She said with a grin, lips parting to show a row

of chipped and rotting teeth. What might you be looking for?

Clueless stood firm at the edge of the gate while the hag strode up the path, making hollow

echoes of her footsteps on the buried skulls.

Not quite a larva. He said, giving an incidental glance at the wriggling petitioner cradled

in her arms. Tiny drops of blood despoiled the blanket from where the crones touch had cut or

punctured the creatures flesh, incidental or intentionally, it didnt change the discordant image

that was presented.

I sell plenty of them. She replied, squinting one eye and peering at him with the other like

some sort of gypsy evil eye. But I didnt figure thats what you wanted.

Something a bit more evolved than a larva.

What do you want one of them for? She replied, clearly knowing just what he wanted.

Not the whole creature actually. He said, Just its brain, a specific part of it. The pineal

gland.

The hag raised an eyebrow. For yourself or for another? You dont strike me as the type to

be needing that sort of thing, pardon me for saying so.

A bit of both. Clueless replied. But in any event I need it, and while itd be simple enough

for me to find a random hordeling and just cut the whole brain out on my own, I dont care to
933

go digging around in gray matter trying to find a specific portion of it and risk having to go get

another if I slice the wrong direction.

The hags suspicion seemed to abate, though she continued to stare at him for several more

moments, judging his character, or simply trying to determine how much he might be able to

pay.

I can get you what you need. She finally said. How much are you willing to pay?

How much are you asking?

Depends on what youre offering in payment in the first place.

Clueless reached a hand down to open his coin purse but the hag shook her head in the

negative.

Worthless to me. She said. I might visit Center or somewhere else that values coin once

or twice a century... give me something practical.

He nodded and reached into the smaller bag of holding at his belt. Hed been prepared for

having to trade items rather than simply purchasing the gland with raw coin, but at least the

hag wasnt asking for favors or anything disgustingly personal.

How about this? Clueless asked, removing a series of wands, all lower level spells with

varying amounts of charges remaining.

The hag looked at him skeptically. What else do you have?

Clueless shrugged and put held up several scrolls.

Something else that I ave a reasonable chance of being able to use myself. The hag com-

plained dismissively. Im neither a wizard nor a priestess. Make this worth my time.

Alright. The bladesinger said. Lets see what else I have to offer.

Over the next few minutes, Clueless removed a dozen minor magical items that hes picked

up in various places. Rings, wands, a pair of bracers, anything that the hag might conceivably

take as payment for a bit of a hordeling, but for all of them the hag simply shook her head with

increasing boredom as if her time was being wasted.

Finally, getting desperate, Clueless took out the only other item he had that wasnt far more

valuable than the ability to pacify the Marauder with her favorite drink: the idiotic cursed little

bauble that hed bought off of Akin on a lark only a few hours earlier.

Whats in there? The hag asked, pointing a ragged fingernail at the box in the bladesingers

hand.

If you dont mind, Id rather not open it up. Clueless said. Its a cursed item.

Keep talking. The hag prodded.

Clueless gave a surprised look and then deliberately rattled the box containing the ioun stone.
 934

Predictably the stone rattled back violently, and the air was split by a jarring, discordant buzz

as angry flashes of colored light leaked out from the seams of the container.

Its a cursed ioun stone. The bladesinger explained. Itll latch onto the person its put

near and then do its best to circle around them. Supposedly it has the habit of running into

them, running into things of theirs around them, and annoying the hell out of whoever has the

misfortune of being in the area.

The hag muttered something under her breath.

Pardon? Clueless asked.

The hag smiled a mouthful of broken, blackened teeth. Just talking about a dear sister of

mine... that sounds like a lovely gift for her...

Clueless said nothing as he handed the box over to the hag.

Wait here and Ill get you yer pound of flesh. She said, wandering back towards her hut,

rattling the box and listening to its angry buzzing as she did.

Over the next few minutes it was relatively silent, and nothing, not a sound, escaped the still

unnaturally dark opening into the hags demesne. Eventually though, there were some whispers,

just inaudible, and a series of animal whimpers and something dragging nails or claws against

wood. Then another pause before there was a sudden, sharp *snap!* of bone followed by the

sickening crunch of breaking, tearing cartilage, and the sound of a wet, fleshy scoop.

Clueless winced in distaste before the hag returned from her hut, cradling the box with the

ioun stone under one arm, and in the other hand holding a sack weighted down with something

heavy and wet.

Enjoy it dear. The hag said, handing over the sack and its soft, giggling contents. What

you want is about the size of one of your eyes, a bit off color from the rest of the brain in there.

He muttered his thanks, collected the other things hed offered, and then taking hold of the

dripping, bloody satchel in one hand, Clueless strode away from the night hags home, only

briefly turning back to watch her snickering as she clutched the cursed ioun stone. He had what

he needed, wrapped in a cushioning layer of brain and length of cheesecloth, and the hag had

something she would using to torment another one of her kind with. All in all, in a perverse

sort of way, the Waste had outdone itself and its joy in misery had gone towards something in

Cluelesss favor for once.

Unless of course things were ultimately just going to fall apart when one of the Wastes

children back in Sigil got her manicured claws involved. Clueless certainly hoped not.

***
935

What -is- that? The head cook asked, his head tilted askance, as Clueless stood in the

doorway of the Portal Jammers kitchen and held up the warm, mucus filled jar of Bebelith eggs.

Very funny. Clueless said. You ever tried to poach one of these before?

The kitchen was dead silent as the staff stood and stared at the clutch of fiendish eggs, and

also at the other bloody satchel that their boss carried like some sort of mad butchers boy.

Im serious. The cook replied. Not only havent I poached one of those before, I dont

have any bloody idea what they are or what they came from.

Bebelith eggs. Clueless explained. Fresh and raw. Youve never cooked one of them?

Ive never even seen one of them...

Lovely. Clueless muttered. We have two days before fuzzy McB*tch visits the inn, and

none of you can cook the food she wants.

I can try. The cook offered. If we can get more I can see what makes it work best.

Clueless shook his head. Its a limited supply. Very limited. That wont fly.

The cooking staff made their apologies, but clueless wasnt much paying attention. No, the

bladesinger was thinking about what to do so that his kitchen staff wouldnt have to overextend

themselves into an area of the culinary world that they rightfully had no experience in.

Guys, Im going to go find another cook. Clueless said as he walked back into the common

room.

What, our own cant handle it? Tristol asked as he glanced up from a newly delivered batch

of cutlery, glasses, and plates. He and Fyrehowl had, in a very short period of time, gone about

some major cosmetic improvements to the common room of the inn.

The bladesinger glanced back into the kitchen. Its so far out of the range of the food they

normally handle... no.

Fyrehowl glanced up from one of the new chairs, her tail happily swishing behind it, courtesy

of a partially open back.

Whats in the sack? The lupinal asked, her nose twitching in obvious disturbance as the

lump of hordeling brain slowly leaked its rancid fluid through the cloth to evaporate into the air.

Ah... yes, that. Clueless said. Some hordeling brain for a certain fiends favorite drink.

Does it have to slowly go putrid here in the taproom? Fyrehowl asked.

Clueless nodded and walked around the bar, putting the sack and its runny contents into an

unused cabinet.

Whenever Florian gets back can you ask her to keep it from spoiling? The bladesinger

asked.
 936

At the very least. The lupinal replied. Thats pretty awful. I might hire the first priest I

see to make sure it doesnt spoil here in the next hour.

Clueless shot her an apologetic look. My apologies. Good luck with that. But in the

meantime Ill be over at the Black Sails trying to buy the time of one or more of their people.

I should be back in about an hour or so. And since I havent said anything about it since I got

back, nice job on the redecorating!

***

Funny. You dont look like a Baatezu. Zaren, the proprietor of the Black Sails tavern said

as he looked up at the bladesinger from his desk, there in his office high in the stern of the galleon

that served as the buildings frame.

No no no. Clueless said, raising an eyebrow. I said I wanted to -hire- one of your cooks,

not -buy- one of your cooks.

Ah. The man said. Large difference.

A considerable one. Clueless replied.

Dont you have cooks of your own?

Yes, but I need someone to cook food for one evening thats rather different than what we

normally serve.

The human gave a nod of his ashen complexioned face and listened.

While neither of us is the Bottle and Jug or the Styx Oarsman, lets be honest, you cater to

more fiends than we do. I was hoping that we might be able to reach some arrangement where

Id hire one of your cooks for an evening, either paying you directly or paying him plus a fee of

convenience to you if it causes scheduling issues with your own staff.

I dont have a problem with it myself. Zaren said. Youre not competitors, and so long as

you dont try to hire my best cooks at your place on a permanent basis, what they do on their

own time off shift isnt my concern.

Clueless nodded as the man continued.

Plus, both of our establishments have the ignominious honor of being excluded from mem-

bership in the Innkeepers Fellowship. The owner of the Black Sails added, holding up a signet

ring emblazoned with the symbol of the Free League. Some mutual friends have also spoken

well of you. Go ahead and see if any of the cooks want the extra work, and theyll set their

price.

It seemed that he had permission to speak to their cooks, and not only that, he had a tacit

confirmation of his own acceptance into the informal ranks of the Indeps. Nothing more than
937

that needed to be said, and so they exchanged handshakes, shared a shot of whisky, and that

was that. Suffice to say, Clueless was smiling when he made his way into the kitchen, looking

for a particular member of the staff, a minotaur named Garzech.

It wasnt difficult to find him, being that he towered a full two heads or more over any of the

other staff in the Sails kitchen.

Pleased to make your acquaintance. Clueless said to the minotaur as he was currently

hacking apart the hindquarters of what looked like some breed of nicepona.

For his part the cook didnt immediately respond except for a cursory glance as he methodi-

cally took the corpse apart and separated it into separate cuts of meat, slid them down the line

to a pair of apprentice cooks, and bellowed out his orders.

Clueless patiently waited and eventually the cook turned to him.

So what is it that you want? He asked, sinking his cleaver an inch into the butchers block.

Im looking to hire a cook, and you came recommended by your boss. Clueless explained.

Go on.

My own cooks dont have a clue how to cook for a fiends taste. He continued. And I have

to cook a meal for one here rather shortly.

Just one evening?

Only for one evening yes. And Ive already cleared it with your boss, assuming that youre

up for the additional work.

The minotaur nodded. Potentially. Tell me more.

Ill make it worth your while, and my normal staff will be at your beck and call for whatever

you need them to do for you. The kitchen will be yours for the duration of your stay, and well

get you whatever you need.

Garzech chuckled. Thats appreciated. What sort of fiend do you want me to cook for, and

did they give you a menu ahead of time?

A greater yugoloth. Youll have heard of her. And can you poach Bebelith eggs?

The minotaur rubbed a thumb across the polished, elaborately engraved length of his left

horn, clearly considering the offer.

Yes I can, so long as you have them and theyre not more than three days old. He answered.

That said, Im interested. Lets talk specifics over a few drinks once Im finished in the kitchen

tonight in a few hours.

Clueless smiled. Things were working out well, and so long as Toras, back at the Portal

Jammer, didnt feel the need to repeat his previous verbal deconstruction of a minotaur with the

new chef, there didnt seem to be any problems looming on the horizon, at least not outside of
 938

the fiend theyd be catering to.

***

Well tonight is the night. The fiend said to her reflection in the mirror.

The Marauder closed her mouth and held still as one of her flock of groomers reached up

to paint her lips a glossy black with reflective undertones of red. Of course, that only caused

her to switch over to telepathy, and what was previously her act of thinking out loud in the

conventional sense, was suddenly all the more true to its name.

Go with the blue diamond and fire opal necklace.

They took her comments as gospel, and they swarmed over her, adjusting clothing, changing

out items as they fit or failed to fit their mistresss specifications or momentary whimsy for

how she cared to appear that evening. And all the while, she rambled about that evening and

anything else on her mind.

Seems that the owners of the Portal Jammer have been scurrying about like brainless little

Formians for the past week.

There was a malign little snicker from the fiend and she rolled her eyes.

Well have to see if they can hold up to my standards of course. I did give them enough

notions of how to cater to me.

She pursed her lips, evening out the layer of gloss before turning her head slightly towards

the mirror and giving an approving head nod to the servant.

If theyre willing to kowtow, Ill turn my attentions elsewhere for people to take especial

pleasure in f*cking over. I have more options than them, and other people can absorb my

ministrations while that pack of fools enjoys a respite.

She paused and tapped a claw against a fang. At least for a while. Theres too much

incidental history, too much delicious sin to completely let them go. So a grace period then, a
tente,
moment of dA c that brief period of silent, numb oblivion after each little death.

Her tongue lashed out to tap the end of her nose. Hold the mirror higher Colcook.

And in any event, send out another polite little letter to our friend in Carceri. The King

of the Crosstrade said. The darling dear needs to remember her place in the world and in this

city, my city. Despite her current elevation in status, shell always be something less than me,

even if she unconsciously patterns a few points of personality based on my example. In fact

Im sure she has a special place in her rancid little black heart for me based on the duration of

her apprenticeship under my thumb. Lingering affection, spite, or both, Im getting tired of her

sending minions in her employ into Sigil, whatever theyre doing. She gets a pointed letter this
939

time, but next time shell be getting back their limbs, gift wrapped in a box.

Her groomers let her ramble as they adjusted her dress, attached each and every bauble,

polished her claws and made certain that her fur was brushed -exactly- to her specifications by

mundane means rather than by magic. Circumstance wasnt letting her move, and so in the

absence of that freedom she was letting her tongue make up the perceived difference, cutting the

air with her spite, letting its crass hatred boil over her pack of tieflings.

Of course, it may also be jealousy on my part for her current position in Carceri. She said,

giving first a sneer and then a chuckle. But if so, I think jealousy is rather becoming of me. Ill

happily continue to brew my own personal stock and vintage of that delicious little vice.

What about the Oinoloth maam? Colcook asked her.

She twisted her features at the question.

The Ebon. She said with particular reverence. Has nothing to do with this. These current

incidents were entirely on his b*tchs time. He has my respect and has purchased my loyalty,

while as for her, well... I can smile as she slowly rots away, and she can thank me for that.

None of her toadies made a comment, both on account of knowing their place and that when

she desired them to comment, she would make her wishes known verbally, or they would be able

to tell by virtue of her body language, a talent that theyd each honed out of necessity during

their employment. Plus, none of them, Colcook included, had been alive in the centuries previous

when that bit of history had occurred.

The Marauder smiled at herself in the mirror once again as on her tieflings crowned the top

of her head with a freshly braided tiara of living razorvine, a single strand left intentionally loose

in the likely event that she felt the need to lash out with more than her tongue.

History is the hearts cupboard of vice, The loth began. All stored up and preserved,

sins treasured for lean times. And Ive a history with both of them I suppose, both that tattered

little b*tch from Carceri, and the berks serving tonights dinner, especially the half-fey. I rather

enjoyed him. Shame I had to let that songbird fly, I was just getting to appreciate him. At least

we get to see him and his fellows tonight.

Fully dressed, she turned to those of her tieflings who would be accompanying her as an

entourage.

Stay at hand, scatter through the rest of the inn, but dont actually cause any trouble. Make

a decent show of suggesting that you might, but just to keep them on edge. I want them jumpy.
Chapter 85

I take it that the new chef is all settled in? Florian asked.

Clueless nodded from behind the bar. Already settled in nicely, but perhaps a bit too nicely.

Oh? Tristol asked.

A bit more demanding than our normal head cooks, who have the night off.

Ill give the staff time and a half for the night then.

Sounds fair to me.

For the moment at least then, things seem to be working out nicely. Toras hasnt even

picked on the new guy.

The fighter snickered and picked at a bit of leather on his chair.

Hey look! Your mom! He said, recalling the insult hed made to another minotaur some

time ago.

Yeah yeah. Clueless said. Get it out of your system now.

Toras simply smiled. Ill be on my best behavior. And by that, I mean Ill be in my room,

reconsecrating the place in the hopes that our happy little guest tonight wont give me trouble

sleeping.

I think Nisha is off doing something of her own as well. Tristol said.

Thats probably for the best... Fyrehowl replied.

Tristol smiled and gave a shrug. She took Amberblue with her, and said that shell be back

later. Ill cover any damages I suppose.

But at least weve got some time to relax before we have to cater to the Marauder.

Hed no sooner knocked on the wood of the table when one of the King of the Crosstrades

tieflings walked in the door and took a seat at the bar.

No more talking for you! Florian said.

Toras frowned and stood up, turning back to them as he reached the foot of the stairs. And

once again, I think I hear the sound of someone in trouble! Away I go!

940
941

Shes not showing up early is she? Tristol asked, he tail starting to fluff up from nerves.

It didnt seem as such. The tiefling was simply looking over the room from time to time,

scouting the place out to make sure that everything was appropriate for his mistress when she

did show up, hopefully at the appointed time and not a moment early.

Fyrehowl hasnt bolted through a portal yet, so were probably safe. Florian said. And

on that note, Im going to make sure that the band has everything they need.

And so over the next half hour, another two of the Marauders tieflings made their way into

the bar and took tables adjacent to the ones that appears to have been reserved for the fiend.

By then of course, the band had taken to the stage and its members were busily tuning their

instruments. The live music included, the bars regular patrons seemed to largely appreciate the

recent slew of changes and improvements, especially given that while the menu had expanded,

the prices hadnt.

It was only a few minutes after the band had set themselves up that the main event, so to

speak, made her presence known as the first of her formal escort stood framed in the doorway.

Fyrehowl and Florian looked at each other and steeled themselves for the coming abuse, while

Tristol whispered a little prayer to Mystra. Hopefully everything would go well.

Over at the bar, Clueless inhaled and then gave a sigh as the fiends entourage made its way

into the inn. Though the tieflings that she had sent in a half hour earlier had been dressed in

plainclothes outfits to help them fit into the normal cliental of the Portal Jammer, her clique of

bodyguards were all dressed in matching dress outfits of tight brown leather armor with shorter

half coats of darker and finer fabrics masking the armor underneath. They pressed into the

inn, causing a hush to go over the normal patrons, and a few errant notes to escape from the

musicians on stage.

Whos the dope with the mirror? Kiro whispered to Clueless as they both watched one of

the tieflings maneuver through the doorway carrying a floor-length mirror larger than himself.

Clueless bit his lip to avoid a chuckle. That would be Colcook. Hes one of the Marauders

favorites.

You get in her good graces and she makes you carry heavy things? The cleric replied,

watching the awkward acrobatics the tiefling was going through to get the mirror into the inn.

Apparently. Clueless replied. You wont see me beating down the door to apply for the

job.

Kiro nodded and stared at Colcook before walking back into the kitchen. A moment later

the tiefling paused and almost dropped the mirror as he awkwardly glanced around the room

for no apparent reason. But he quickly recovered and soon thereafter the fiend herself made her
 942

entrance.

And I even get an awed silence as I make my entry. Came the smug voice of the Marauder

as she stepped into the inn. Im flattered, but dont mind me, go about your normal routines.

Keep it authentic, thats what I came to see.

The fiend was dressed in a snug-fitting, sleeveless, floor length black velvet gown, and in

places the silk backing could be seen where the velvet had been burned out in elaborate patterns

that danced down the plunge of her cleavage and along her sides from bust to ankle, providing

translucent windows onto her own coppery fur. It was a different look from her normal attire,

but outside of the dress she was still adorned in typical fashion with a dozen jeweled bracelets

and armbands, a series of belled platinum anklets, and a glittering blue diamond and fire opal

necklace decorating her almost to the point of being obnoxious in their expense.

Flashing just enough hints of skin through the burned velvet to nauseate Toras, make Fyre-

howl feel like rolling her eyes, and exciting and pissing off Clueless, the fiend made her way to

her appointed table, arm in arm with two of her boys. Once there, having given her an escort

across all of twenty feet of floor space, they pulled out her chair, brushed the seat cushion off

and let her sit.

Shemeska was all smiles as she gazed over at the band, then the regular inn patrons, and

finally at the owners themselves who were on hand. She didnt seem to recognize Kiro, as she

completely skipped over him when her eyes settled on Clueless and she motioned him over with

a beckoning finger.

Joy... The bladesinger muttered under his breath as he picked up a menu and a wine list

and managed to obscure his lips with them for a brief moment.

But he was all smiles as well, mirroring the fiends pretensions, as he walked over to her table,

gave a slight bow and tried to hand her the menu.

So good to see you again dear. She said, brushing away the offered menu with a hand. I

like what youve done to the place, so far that Ive seen it.

We took your suggestions to heart. Clueless replied, still holding out the menu.

Now I would like to keep the experience as authentic as possible. She quipped. This isnt

slumming, not entirely, but it -is- the Clerks Ward after all. Go ahead and read me the menu, I

had my claws polished and I dont know who might have touched that before me.

...Alright maam. Clueless said, trying to let her barbs just wash over him without making

a fuss.

He began reading her the menu while Florian walked over to the table and set it with a fresh

set of napkins and explicitly non-silver silverware before lighting the candles that theyd used
943

to mark out the Marauders reserved table. In response to all of the attention, the loth largely

ignored them both, seemingly paying more attention to the new windows with her eyes, and the

band with her ears.

Clueless kept on reading the menu though, and was stopped on three occasions by a terse, Ill

take that. Please continue. from the fiends glossed lips. To no surprise of course, she ordered

a pair of pouched Bebelith eggs, and then out of whimsy she added a dish of pickled terlen roe,

and an ounce of seared bezikira loin.

Very nice choices... your fiendish majesty. Clueless said with as much grace as he could

stomach.

You remembered my preferred appellation. Shemeska said, finally turning her head back

towards the bladesinger turned waiter.

You specified it the last time that you were here. He said. I made it a point to remember.

She gave a mocking smirk that quickly turned into a smile as she pointed her snout towards

one of the inns windows.

You have a good memory I should say. And very nice taste in spells.

Spells?

The new windows. The one-way force walls? That was a rather nice spell, and as I recall it

was something that the previous owner of the inn had in his repertoire.

Really?

Yes, that fire genasi gentleman. Trenevain I think his name was. She said. A pity what

happened to him of course.

Of course the fiend knew exactly what his name was, shed hired him and used him as a tool

when shed been blackmailing Clueless and the rest of them before theyd managed to wriggle

out from under her palm.

What happened to him? Clueless asked.

Oh I dont recall. She said with a shrug of her shoulders. He wasnt anything of import in

Sigil after he lost the property and you managed to snag it. I didnt exactly keep up with him.

Clueless kept a straight face and didnt mention anything about her involvement in that

matter, despite her suggestions that Trenevain was dead, or that she might have had him disposed

of.

Would you like to hear our drink list? He asked.

Not necessary. She replied. You know my favorite drink I believe?

The Marauders Mirth. Clueless answered. Of course I can have that prepared for you.

She looked at him expectantly. Good.

 944

Her tone made it rather clear that hed said all he needed to say, and he turned and left,

narrowly avoiding noticing her shooing him off with one hand. But shed soured his mood, and

it showed in his features when he walked up to Fyrehowl behind the bar.

If you could handle the drinks Fyrehowl. Clueless said through a smile bristling with

clenched teeth.

The lupinal winced slightly and looked over towards the seated fiend and then back to the

half-fey.

Im going to do something I regret if I have to be around her any more. Clueless said. The

recipe for her drink is on the counter, and the pineal gland is already pureed. Please, please

make it up and serve it to her.

You owe me. She said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Having passed off the task to the lupinal, Clueless left for the kitchen, mouthing a very quick

thank you! to her as his eyes brimmed with bottled up stress.

Back at the Marauders table, she was busy commenting about the various changes to the

inn, both those she approved of, and those she thought had been half heartedly done, or done

improperly. But, oddly enough, she seemed to be having trouble finding things to genuinely

criticize, and one of her ears seemed perpetually swiveled back towards the band.

Theyre not bad. She said, looking directly over towards Tristol. Theyre obviously new,

but they do have some promise. What do you think?

Tristol just stared back for a moment awkwardly, he hadnt expected the loth to actually

bother talking to him.

You have big ears, surely you can hear them yes? She prompted him.

Umm, actually Im not certain what I think about them. He replied. Theyre talented

yes, but I havent had a chance to listen much to their style of music.

She nodded back. You should get out more. Yes yes, I appreciate that youre happy with

your nose in a book, considering what I am, but you do yourself a disservice by not having a

social life. I can suggest some places to broaden your horizons.

Tristol blinked, unsure how to take her comment.

I...

We could get you out, get you dressing better and more confidently like your friend the

bladesinger does, and maybe even get you a girl without having to pay her by the trick, though

I think you could use that too. Not to suggest of course that... ah but my drink has arrived.

Fyrehowl smiled and placed the vile looking concoction in front of the fiend before leaving as

quickly as she could.

945

The loth took a sip of her drink, staring over it and the tip of her muzzle all the while,

curious to see if Tristol would take her statements in stride, or have some other reaction. To his

credit though, he just nodded and tried to make some courteous small talk.

Eventually though, the food was ready and someone had to present it to her. Clueless had

already begged off once, and so it fell to him and Florian. Carrying her meal on separate platters

they flanked her and placed the dishes down one by one, announcing their contents and removing

the lids as elegantly as they could manage.

You know, Ive been thinking about running for election in Sigil. She said as she crackled

the shell on one of the Bebelith eggs.

What position are you thinking of running for? Fyrehowl tentatively asked.

Councilwoman. She said, barely hiding the fact that she was actually drooling at the scent

of the egg.

Councilwoman? The Marauder with legitimate political power and a public outlet for her

views was hardly a pleasant notion.

Yes, I understand that several of the current council members are up for re-election in about

a years time, though I think Chairwoman Rhys still has a longer term remaining beyond that

and...this really is excellently prepared.

The fiend rapidly hushed herself as she slipped a spoon of the white and then a gelatinous

dollop of the thick yolk into her mouth with an almost obscene vocalization of approval. A

moment later she slumped slightly in her chair and inclined her head back, letting the meal slide

down her throat on its own, allowing her to savor it on the back of her tongue before gravity

took its hold and she swallowed.

Give whatever cook you hired for me tonight a bonus. She said after she had finished the

first bite and sat back up in a more dignified manner.

Well give him your regards. Florian said. We made certain that he knew how to prepare

meals that youd like.

This is excellent. The loth said as she took a second, more yolky bite, her lips quivering

slightly to the taste like she was eating a wriggling soul of an innocent or something similar.

This almost erases any notions of moving someone in next door to you all. She continued

with a pleased tone.

Eh?

Yes, She said. I own all the adjacent buildings, and one of the tenants was late on a

payment recently. I havent decided who, if anyone, to move in.

This couldnt be good, but the loth still had an obscene smile on her face from the food.
 946

Id been considering a Tanarri brothel actually. She said. And that idea might help you

with what wed talked about earlier Tristol.

She popped the spoon out of her mouth and waved it in the aasimars direction. Maybe an

Alu-fiend, or a cambion I suppose, whichever you prefer.

She said no more at that point, but left hanging the obvious notion that she could swap and

rearrange their neighbors at whimsy. Thankfully the food, her favorite drink, and the music that

she rather seemed to appreciate, kept her occupied and not flinging barbs from her tongue.

After that point the loth made only a bit of small talk, including some additional comments

on current Sigilian politics and some pointed questions to Fyrehowl about former Factol and

current council Chairwoman Rhys. She seemed serious on the politics, but she also seemed

happy, either from the food, the alcohol, or the fact that everyone had been catering especially

to her. Either way, she was less hostile than they had hoped for.

I approve. She finally said, tapping her lips on the edge of her napkin. Youve made

something with promise, given where you started, and considering what it first looked like when

I was last here.

Thank you. Clueless said. Your suggestions certainly helped.

Besides them. She said bluntly. Its not a luxury restaurant, but it was never intended

to be. However for what it is, its one of the better ones in the city, and Ill be open about my

opinion as such when I talk to other people who follow and keep track of such things.

Her approval, genuine approval at that, came as something of a shock. Theyd played her

little game, theyd catered to her whimsy, and theyd pampered her as much as they could

stomach, but at best they had hoped to avoid any great abuse at her hands. Having her actually

offering to do something positive on their behalf, it seemed too good to be true.

And with your stunned silence in my wake. Ill be taking my leave. She said, standing up

as one of her tieflings pulled out her chair.

Its been a pleasure. She continued. And well have to do this again.

She started to turn to make her exit, but paused ever so briefly. She seemed caught between

just leaving and letting them off the hook, and extending her hand and making them kiss her

fingers. She did neither, and let her hand hang there for a moment, waiting to see if any of them

would take the initiative, guessing that she meant for them to kiss it. But then after a moment

she withdrew the hand, pursed her lips and blew a bit of dry wine from the tip of a claw before

flashing a grinning mouthful of fangs and waltzing out into the night.

***
947

Less than an hour after the evenings pleasantries had passed and the King of the Crosstrade

had left, taking along her gaggle of tieflings in tow, the metaphorical stench of fiend had al-

most evaporated from the Portal Jammer itself and from where it had hung like a rain-laden

thundercloud, dark and threatening, over the thoughts of the Inns owners. But it was not gone

entirely, and in the wee hours of the morning, some time after anti-peak, it came from a distinctly

different source.

Situated on the rooftop of one of the buildings across from the Jammer two figures milled

about, in fact they stood atop the building that had in previous weeks been the perch of the

magically dominated assassin who had done her best to kill Tristol. But the two fiends who now

stood there, were not under any domination, nor any compulsions whatsoever, they were there

because they desired to be, and because they hoped to advance themselves in the process.

A shame that we cannot handle this ourselves. The first of the fiends said as he gazed at

the remaining lights burning in the Jammers windows.

Indeed a shame, I must concur. The second of the fiends replied in lockstep with the first,

like they were both reading each others minds and simply verbalizing shared and concurrent

thoughts.

The first speaker, a jackal-headed arcanaloth by the name of Alpthis, was dressed in black

robes with cobalt blue swirls crisscrossing their folds, and had dusky gray fur with faded reddish

brown highlights. Of note however was the ragged notch taken out of his left ear, and the irritated

and hairless patch of flesh that surrounded it. Like a brand on a prized steer, it was present on

his brother and him with similar meaning, a mark of ownership on a greater yugoloth.

The second fiend, Apteris, was almost a reversed image of his brother. Also a jackal-headed

arcanaloth, his own fur was a faded reddish brown color, streaked through with dusky gray

highlights, and his right ear was notched and barren in the exact same manner as his siblings, a

shared mark of loyalty, a shared brand of servitude. But while Alpthis was dressed as a sorcerer,

his clothing elegant and decorative, Apteris was clad in a simple red robe that was gathered at

the waist by a monochrome black sash. His brothers feet were clad in silk slippers, and they

hovered off the ground, but his were bare and openly touched the rooftop.

The mistress does forbid us from such of course... Alpthis said, gazing with disdain down

at the Portal Jammer.

She wants it done by other means, but wheres the joy in that for us.

Outside of the joy of her service of course.

Of course.

They glanced at one another with matching smiles, wry and hungry, like they were exchanging
 948

a bevy of known, shared secrets with each glimmer of light on tooth and iris.

It would be so much easier if we neednt worry about disturbing others of our kind in this

city.

A pity that we have to tiptoe around them, it does make our task less direct.

Professional protocol is entirely too cumbersome.

You were always the more impulsive of us brother.

Indeed I am, but we balance one another nicely, and given our current position, I hardly

feel at ill standing.

They continued their telepathic banter, idly speaking as they kept their eyes locked on the

Jammer, their ears perked and more than a mortals share of senses plucking more esoteric

information from the ether.

Seems that theyll be leaving. Apteris said.

Only two of them?

And no kobold this time, rather the half-breed and the cleric, the new one, not the old one.

And this time there will be no mortal mercenaries to let their quarry slip their noose.

They both looked at one another and rolled their eyes in unison at the shared memories of

that group of now very dead mortals.

I blame the quasit. Apteris said with a sneer.

The quasit?

We should have handed Yethmiil a better group of mortals. A quasit familiar didnt speak

well for the sorcerer in that group.

Alpthis shrugged, Pray to the Oinoloth that we fare better than Yethmiil in our task.

Unfortunate what happened to him.

But deserved.

Of course.

Absolutely.

Once again they exchanged glances at the exact same moment, flashing smiles in disturbing

parity with the other. They had seen what fate had befallen that particular Ultroloth, and his

current status had been an object lesson for all of their mistresss servants, themselves included.

And while their loyalty was not in question, they had no desire to experience even one small

fraction of that agony that came with failure.

Next roof, I want to have a better angle for the portal scry. Alpthis said before vanishing

with a gesture, reappearing in an instant a dozen yards away, crouching like a jackal-headed

gargoyle on the rooftop across the street.

949

His brother followed him, but rather than using magic, he simply jumped the distance between

the rooftops with a disturbing level of litheness. In fact, near the end of his leap, the loth seemed

to hang in the air for a moment, suspended, before gently settling down on the shingles.

Not a bad assortment of portals I have to say. Alpthis said, narrowing his eyes as his

magic peeled away the walls, revealing a glittering assortment of bound spaces, each of them like

discrete membranes floating in the air.

Ive heard that it was better before the Tempest.

Ever the contrarian, you.

Regardless of their assortment of portals, Apteris said, shifting his eyes with the same spell

as his brother. Im more concerned with the ones theyll be using here in the next while. As

soon as we have a location, the matter is out of our hands.

And here I thought you preferred to use your hands. Alpthis said in faux mockery.

I prefer what it most expedient to the wishes of our mistress. Apteris said with a grin as

one of the portals flickered into life. The exact same as you brother.

Indeed. Alpthis replied, licking his lips.

Indeed.
Chapter 86

Do you mind if we come in and keep you company? Nisha asked, opening the door to Tristols

study a crack and peering in, followed moments later by the grinning face of a faerie dragon in

tow.

Tristol glanced up from the book that hed been reading. I suppose so, just so long as no

books or potions start dancing on their own, and I dont lose anything dangerous.

Will he consider a wand of web dangerous? Amberblue whispered to the tiefling.

Shhhh... dont tell. She said, hushing him with a fingertip to his nose. Besides, no more

than the sovereign glue, and I get enough of that regularly.

Do I need to speak to Akin about that? Tristol warily asked. ...And is he even aware

that youve been taking that stuff from his shop?

Nisha paused and put a finger to her lips, apparently having to think for a moment of that

particular question. I assume so...

That doesnt exactly comfort me on the issue. He replied. Hes still a fiend, and what do

you need sovereign glue for anyway?

Oh hes a sweetheart. The tiefling said with cheerful dismissal, ignoring the second half of

the question.

Tristol raised an eyebrow and chuckled in resignation. No use arguing against Xaositect logic.

But you were reading. Nisha chirped. Dont mind us, go back to your book as its sooooo

much more important than little ol me and Amberblue.

Tristol raised an eyebrow once again but took her advice, though he was certain that hed

regret it sooner or later. Nisha never acted innocent without some ulterior motive, even if that

motive was random rather than malign.

The books spread out on the wizards desk were the papers and notes that they had taken

from the astral study and carcerian palace of the Ultroloth, Yethmiil Kalsuth. The former

were written largely in the affected style of a Rakshasa, with tiny glimmers of the underlying

950
951

cold, clinical and merciless attitude of the yugoloths true demeanor that was fully evident in

the sickening notes that theyd found in Cathrys. The biological experiments in Carceri were

seemingly a pastime of the fiend, something that hed been involved with long before what he

referred to as his hideous loss of status with the rise of a new Oinoloth.

While sick and disturbing, those warped experiments had nothing to do with what hed been

doing in Rakshasa guise on the Astral, nor anything to do with his sister, who like him, was more

likely than not, something other than an exiled scion of a fallen noble house of Acheron. What

exactly was going on, what he and she were doing on the Astral, and why it was important enough

to try on multiple occasions to kill those who disrupted their activities, that was a question still

lurking in Tristols mind, and it was for that reason that he was once again pouring through the

notes and records currently piled atop his desk.

The research might have gone easier of course, but he kept hearing giggles and whispers

and odd noises from behind him. But of course inevitably whenever hed look back, Nisha and

Amberblue werent doing anything at all, except for the one time that she was grinning and the

faeriedragon was holding a tin halo over her head.

Innocent? Hardly. But she was cute enough to overlook it.

Well, that was Tristols intent anyways, to overlook whatever mischief that they were up

to, but that was before he heard a startled, Wait, no no not the tanglefoot bag! right before

something hit the floor, snarled around a chair and knocked into the table, sending piles of books

onto the floor, very nearly including Tristol alongside them.

With a bewildered sigh, Tristol stooped down to pick up the books from where they had

fallen. Hed have to move the tangle of roots later.

Soooooorry... Amberblue chirped from where hed darted behind a crystal ball on one of

the shelves, distorted like a funhouse mirror in the process.

No, its alright. Tristol said. He really had trouble actually getting angry at the tiny drake,

and even more so with Nisha, even as borderline nuts as she was sometimes.

Nisha meanwhile wasnt saying a word, but there was a conspicuous globe of darkness standing

right where shed been. Like a cat sticking its head in a box and being convinced that because

it couldnt see you, you couldnt see it, the tiefer was naught to be seen except for the tip of her

tail that was breaking the boundary of shadow.

It wasnt a big deal really, nothing had been broken, nothing had caught on fire, and nobody

had been hurt. Hed just have to spend a few minutes organizing papers before getting started

on his reading again... but what was this?

Tristol held up the book hed been reading, staring at a slight imperfection on the edge of
 952

one of the pages that hed read about an hour before. It wasnt a flaw in the grain of the paper,

it was two pages that had for whatever reason become stuck together and hed never noticed.

Whats that? Amberblue asked, the tip of his snout and his eyes blown up ten times and

out of proportion by the scrying globe.

Theres an extra page in here. Tristol said, tossing the book down and carefully peeling

them apart.

A new page? Whats it say?

I dont know yet, lemme read it. This is all new to me though.

Aha! Came a distinctive voice from inside the globe of darkness. My plan went off flaw-

lessly!

Tristol paused and silently giggled, smiling at the tiefling.

But the page was written in the matter-of-fact tone and distinctively angled handwriting of

the Ultroloth when hed assumed the form of a Rakshasa. It was a chronicle of some of the last

things that had occurred on the godisle of Maanzicorian.

Given that I was unable to finish my reports from before, and the original document appears to

have been destroyed, this will serve as an addendum to current activities. Postdated by several

weeks, surface stripping of the godisle is complete, and the outermost rock and crystalline layers of

the corpse have been sent for processing and evaluation at the Citadel of Broken Faith. Already

though, it seems unsuitable for use in the Crown, but there are others that have already been

deemed suited for that purpose, and alternate use remains, though she has not deigned to inform

me of just what purposes she intends to use them for beyond the immediately obvious.

Now in the present time it seems that the prisoner has been transferred away from the Citadel

and into Pitiless. He may have outlived his use to my mistress; shes gutted his brain for all

its worth it seems, though she hasnt shared but a fraction of that with me. I dont think she

understood all of what he told her, which is odd. Shes brilliant, even as unstable as she might

be, but I cannot grasp that a mortal would be capable of creating some of the things that she has

forced him to collaborate upon with her. I will have to visit Vast after this current matter of

revenge is completed.

The small notation of D-37r was scribed in the margin of the page. Tristol paused on the

number, the odd mentions of a prisoner, the vague mentions of godisle mining, and creations.

Without the context the loth had known, the words were devoid of meaning in many ways, but

whoever he was, this Vast, he might be able to tell them something more.
953

So what the hell is Pitiless? He mused.

A really bad character adjective? Personality traits for devoted Mercykillers? Nisha sug-

gested.

Tristol chucked as he glanced up at his bookshelves. Something about it sounds famil-

iar...Nisha, could you get me the 5th book from the right on the shelf behind you? Yeah, the

one with the red binding.

It was obviously a location, but hed never really heard of the place except some vague

recollection of it being in the Astral. Hed heard the name Vast before too, but again it was only

a vague memory. About an hour later, having combed through several books, he had an answer

on both topics.

From Zelif Ashikars Travels Upon the Astral:

The Doomguard has operated Pitiless as a prison and storehouse for approximately nine centuries.

Its role as a prison is largely incidental, as the entire purpose behind the sprawling structure is to

facilitate the observation of physical objects and persons in the supposedly timeless, zero-entropy

environment that the silver void presents. If objects decay even in the Astral, it would represent

a major confirmation of the factions ideology and their prophecy towards the ultimate fate of the

multiverse.

Pitiless exists at the center of an apparently naturally occurring bubble of empty space in the

Astral, devoid of color pools, godisles, and the normal Astral winds. It is isolated from external

influences, locked and frozen outside of time, the perfect location for the observation of the decay

of all things. At least this is the hope of its wardens, Aorth and Jaitch.

The prison complex accepts additional subjects from time to time for a nominal fee to the

Faction. Operating costs are virtually nonexistent outside of the pay given to some of its non-

faction guards, as there is no need for repairs, food, or other normal costs for typical prisons.

The objects and persons incarcerated in Pitiless are, with virtually no exception, some of the

most dangerous of their kind in the multiverse. They are individuals cursed by deities, things

imprisoned for the safety of entire spheres on the prime, artifacts of dreadful potency, and things

best left unknown. And Pitiless gathers them like unstable moths to a flame.

Still, it is possibly the most secure location on the planes, with the sole exceptions of Malsheem

in Nessus, or Chronias atop the Seven-Tiered Mount. No prisoner has ever escaped Pitiless in its

history nor been killed, nor have any objects been stolen. By unspoken contract, Pitiless is viewed

as neutral ground by all parties who avail themselves of its purpose. The threat of uniformly

angering Powers, Archfiends, Factions, and even Celestial hierarchs has served to additionally
 954

keep the prison secure above and beyond their own security measures. Pitiless is sacrosanct for

prisoner and experiment alike.

Lovely place... Tristol muttered as he marked the page containing a brief sketch of the

prison and a rough map of its location.

I dont think that sounds like a nice place for a date you know. Nisha said, peering over her

boyfriends shoulder. I was hoping maybe the Pinwheel in Limbo, or maybe the Gilded Hall if

we wanted to get out of Sigil. But not Pitiless.

Dont worry, Ill take you someplace better for a date when were done with this stuff.

Behind them both, Amberblue made a very distinct, Awwwwwwwwww...

Dont get too saccharin there. Nisha told the dragon. You might make us kiss or something

cute and icky like that.

That seemed to hush the dragon, though his reaction to that, viewed through the crystal ball

was priceless. But that aside, Tristol went back to reading.

From the last book he had an answer on Pitiless, but the name of Vast had also rung a bell in

Tristols head, and as he glanced over an entry in another book covering the Astral, his answer

to who the man was had a strange synchronicity with other things.

The Rakshasas. The sibling Rakshasas of the exiled House of the Blackened Paw; their names

were attached to that of one Ghyris Vast.

From Telligar the Alienists History of Madmen:

Among the ranks of the Bleak Cabal, madness is common, virtually an expected condition among

their higher-ranking members. Their philosophy can be one of incredible release, or one of mind

crushing despair. Recent history has led several factols into the grip of the so-called Grim Retreat

(and this pair is described in further detail in the next chapter) but others have remained extant,

outside of Sigil and the well-meaning incarceration of their fellows.

First among this group is the mad inventor Ghyris Vast. Entirely self-taught, Vast began his

career spouting bizarre theories in the lecture halls of the Civic Festhall, and several times it

seems that he was expelled from the Fortress of Enlightened Discipline by the orthodox members

of that other faction, seemingly above the objections of their Mathematician sub-sect. Vasts

theories...

Tristol flipped a few pages, skipping over the mans theories. He could always go back and

look at them later, but they seemed more mathematical and abstract than anything concrete,
955

and they werent something that hed ever studied in depth given how they didnt seem to relate

to arcane magic, at least not directly.

Expelled from Mechanus, and with the looming threat of incarceration in the Gatehouse by mem-

bers of his own faction eager to avoid official problems with the Guvners, Vast retreated into the

Astral. Once there he began to construct a device that he referred to as The Divinity Leech,

something that he claimed could extract some nebulous form of latent divine energy locked within

a targeted godisle.

The device itself is reported to be a device out of a god of inventions nightmares, a sprawling

thing which appears to have gone through multiple revisions of dramatically different form and

style. Vast has stayed consistent in his claims, but most sages admit that they cannot understand

his arguments for how it works, and others claim hes simply spouting off ideas that he himself

doesnt understand, essentially making the device a worthless piece of junk. Of course, very few

scholars have deigned to visit him, afraid as they are that his device, if it works, or even if it

doesnt, will attract the attention of the Guardian of Dead Gods, and by extension the Astral

Dreadnaughts.

On top of that last threat, there are also the Githyanki who claim exclusive right to remove

any magical or alchemical radicals from the surface of the dead gods of the Astral. To hedge

against them, Vast has apparently hired a troupe of Reave mercenaries from Acheron, and a pair

of exiled Rakshasa from the same plane. Siddhartha and Brampandra dont appear to legitimately

believe in Vasts claims, but theyre well positioned to profit from them if in fact he has managed

to do as he claims.

And there was the connection.

Regardless of the actual truth or fiction in the identities of the Rakshasas, there was the

connection between them, the godisles, and the so-called prisoner, Ghyris Vast. Tristols mind

rolled over the facts and their repercussions, mentally tasting them like sugared treats.

Nisha, youre awesome. He said suddenly, taking hold of the book before standing up and

planting a kiss on the tieflings face. Follow me, we need to get the others.

And like that, Tristol was out the door leaving Nisha blushing and grinning in her fading

globe of conjured darkness.

Was that another one of your Aha! I planned that all along! moments? Amberblue asked,

alighting down upon the remaining stack of books on the table.

Yep! The Xaositect replied. And even if it wasnt, which it wasnt, I doubt Id be com-
 956

plaining!

***

Guys! Hold up! Tristol shouted.

The portal framed by the doorway flickered, backlighting Kiro and Clueless as they turned

to glance at the mage.

What is it? Clueless asked. We were just about to go check up on things in the demiplane.

According to the staff, it looked like someone had been there and tried to pick one of the locks.

A pretty amateur attempt they said. Kiro added. They said it might have been some...

Nathri I think it was? We just wanted to check on the place, plus Ive never had the chance to

see it, though Ive heard enough about it.

I dont think Nathri will burn the place down if we wait a few more days. Tristol said.

Ive found something...

Twenty minutes later, hed explained the matter to first the bladesinger and the cleric, and

then to Fyrehowl and Toras, and finally to Florian. Of course each time he explained the affair,

he had to, and was prompted to each time, to recognize Nisha and Amberblue as master sages

and finders of nifty hidden stuff. Of course, each time he did, he had a grinning tiefling rub his

ears and give him a kiss on the cheek, so he wasnt exactly complaining.

Alright I think were agreed then? Tristol said as something else suddenly popped into his

mind. Wait... anyone know where Skalliska is?

I saw her earlier. Kiro replied. I think she was going to her room.

The kobold had been seriously busy with something over the past few days, and shed suddenly

seemed chipper, which was quite a bit of a change from the moody and irritable thing that shed

been previously. It had been a bit of a swing: shed started out elated at finding a god of her

pantheon still alive and shed seemed to have found something to believe in, but then when shed

had trouble actually finding a temple or a cleric of that god in Sigil shed lost some of that high.

But now something seemed to have changed.

Lets go fetch her. Florian said, glancing over at Fyrehowl.

Give us a minute. The lupinal said. Well see if shes up for the trip, and Ill ask her if

she knows anything about the place too.

A few minutes later, Florian stepped up to the door and gave it a series of polite knocks.

About the same time she did, Fyrehowls ears perked and she glanced around with an odd

expression on her face.

Did you hear something? The cipher asked.

957

Hear what? Florian said. The clerics ears were distinctly smaller than the lupinals, and

she hadnt heard a thing.

One minute. Came Skalliskas voice from inside her room, followed shortly after by the

clatter of kobold feet on the floorboards.

It was like she was talking to someone in there. Fyrehowl whispered.

Florian looked askance at her, Who did it sound like?

Maybe she has guy friends over? The lupinal suggested.

Guy friends? Florian asked with a wrinkle to her face, poking two fingers together and

missing each time. I dont know how that works with kobolds, and Im not sure I want to

know.

Hell, Fyrehowl said. Itd explain why shes been happier lately.

Florian shook her head dismissively. Eh...like you know much about that.

Fyrehowl grabbed the knob and held it fast, turning to the cleric. Wait wait... excuse me?

Whens the last time you went on a date? Florian asked with a good-humored chuckle.

Fyrehowl just stared at her. ...

And you were acting as goofy as a schoolgirl with a first crush when you had that thing

for Clueless back when we all first met. You cant tell me that youve got much experience.

Experience... if you know what I mean.

The doorknob rattled.

Guys? I think the doors stuck. Came Skalliskas voice, muffled though it was by her door.

Fyrehowl lowered her voice to a whisper, Im not justifying that with a comment. You were

the one who was cross-dressing, and you had a thing for him too! So hush!

Both of them had managed to remove the blush from their faces and clear the air of the

lingering aura of girly banter when Fyrehowl let go of the door and it opened.

Skalliska peered out at them. Weird, the door was a bit squeaky last week, but this is the

first time it stuck. Anyways, whats up?

The cleric and the cipher both stared past the kobold and into her room. It was empty, which

surprised Fyrehowl since shed been certain that shed heard another voice besides Skalliskas a

moment earlier. But no, the room looked lived in, but she didnt notice anyone else, hidden or

not.

Tristol found something. Florian said. Have you ever heard of a place called Pitiless, or a

guy named Ghyris Vast?

The kobold thought for a minute. Pitiless? Its a prison on the Astral. Why?

Florian and Skalliska talked, but Fyrehowl wasnt paying as much attention to them as she
 958

was to Skalliskas room. The room was empty, at least it seemed empty, and there wasnt

anything to suggest much other than that. But still, something didnt sit right with the lupinal.

When the cleric and the kobold had finished talking, Fyrehowl was still staring into the open

room. Thered been someone else in there. Had to be. She was certain of it.

You ready? Fyrehowl? Florian asked. Hey, radar-ears! You with us?

Hmm? Fyrehowl asked, snapping out of her preoccupation with Skalliskas room.

Were ready to go.

Ah, ok. The lupinal muttered, turning and walking away.

What Fyrehowl didnt notice was a very brief smile and wave by the kobold back into her

room when she closed the door. Had Skalliska been a mammal, she would have blown a kiss

back to the dusky scaled kobold that stood there in the shadows, waving back at her and giving

a protective blessing in the name of their shared patron deity.

***

Oh for lust... Alpthis snarled. They stopped!

Oh? Apteris asked.

They closed the bloody portal and stayed in the damn city. The sorcerer hissed, eyes

glowing red momentarily from the irritation.

So much for our own pastiche of Yethmiils escapades then. His brother replied.

Oh thats to be lamented there... Alpthis mocked.

Probably wise. Outside of his ascension to Ultroloth status, theres precious little of his Id

care to ape. But do try to be more patient than him brother.

The sorcerer huffed at the suggestion but did his best to take his brothers advice regardless.

Conversation trailed off however as they continued watching, eventually growing bored and

incinerating a few stray executioners ravens that sought to join them on the rooftop, till a freshly

opened portal gathered there attention once more. Both brothers narrowed their eyes and glanced

at the bound space hovering like a transparent rectangular membrane in the air on the second

story of the building. They couldnt see the interior of the Jammer, nor its occupants, but they

could tell between active and inactive portals, and when they transmitted a body.

To the demiplane, all of them. Alpthis muttered, watching the portal flicker with the

passage of each of their quarries.

Hmm... awkward. His brother fretted. Perhaps another time would be better.

I have to wonder what theyre doing there though.

959

Apteris shrugged. Perhaps we should visit and avail ourselves of the late Imshenviirs living

quarters? They did have style, at least for Mercane.

Perhaps. Alpthis answered. But Im more curious if theyre just using it as a convenient

egress from Sigil and from there to somewhere else... and Im a veritable seer! They just shifted

out and... wait...

The sorcerers canid ears instinctively flattened back again the side of his head and his eyes

narrowed in confusion.

Wait what? Apteris asked. Have your powers of prognostication failed you dear brother?

Alpthis snarled. They bloody well vanished!

Give me that! Apteris said, snatching at the smoky crystalline globe in his brothers hand.

Like a virgin f*cking succubus! The sorcerer ranted. Nonexistent!

That cant be right. Apteris said, furrowing his brow and snarling as he looked into the

sphere. But sure enough, like his brother had said, theyd planeshifted out and then... vanished.

Normally that would mean that theyd entered a portal to Sigil.

Are they back here? The sorcerer-monk asked without looking up.

No. That was the first thing that I suspected. Alpthis replied with a frown. Theyre not

back here to share our company. Theyre just gone.

Unless theyd dipped their toes into a powers domain: that was the other possibility, but it

was one that didnt help the loths at all. Antipathy to deities notwithstanding, they werent

going to disturb one, not now, not directly.

Deities... The brothers both said with disgust, coming to the same revolting conclusion.

Then lets wait for them to come back. Alpthis suggested. Theyll have to come back

eventually.

Or they die and settle the matter for us. The other suggested.

A moment passed and the two loths frowned. Their task wasnt going to be finished at any

point in the immediate future. Circumstance was conspiring against them more than any puppet

master, and puppet masters could be idolized and mimicked, whereas circumstance was simply

a bitch.

So what now? Alpthis asked, gazing out at the lights of the Clerks Ward. Orphans into

the ooze portals? Its been some time since we could be so pettily cruel.

If only. His brother replied. I dont care to piss off either of the citys resident puppeteers,

the Marauder or that grinning little bastard child of the Keeper of the Tower either.

They probably heard that. Alpthis warned, lowering his voice and glancing around with

wary, shifting eyes.

 960

Let them! Apteris said. We havent done anything but roast a few pigeons out of boredom

and snarl at a Hiver or two. They can spit all they want, but theyll have to take it up with the

mistress, assuming that theyre not already too occupied.

Probably f*cking one another senseless.

I wouldnt doubt it.

***

The glow of Tristols planeshift slowly faded from their eyes and the group was left adrift in

the silver void of the Astral.

So how far off are we? Nisha asked.

Doesnt matter much, distance is only relative here. Tristol answered.

Clueless glanced around at their surroundings, his wings glowing a pale shade of yellow.

Does anyone feel... off...?

Fyrehowl nodded. Its quiet.

Normally the Astral winds manifested as something akin to a pleasant breeze, the mind of

the planewalker warping their metaphysics into something physically recognizable. And with

the wind came thoughts, errant gusts of thoughts, notions and ideas from a hundred thousand

sources meandering through the intangible medium of the plane, filtering through the brains of

wandering souls traversing the void. But at present the air was still and calm, the rush of wind

absent and with it there was an almost deafening silence, cold and lonely.

Notice anything else? The bladesinger asked.

No. Nothing. Florian said, peering around.

Thats because there isnt anything. Fyrehowl replied. Its empty. No godisles, no color

pools, no githyanki, nothing at all.

Well, that sounds like what the books said about Pitiless. Tristol said.

Yep. Skalliska agreed. Its in a bubble of empty space, just the prison and nothing else.

Were not far off from it then.

And true to the kobolds word, soon enough the unforgiving ramparts of Pitiless emerged

out of the nothingness like the prow of some cursed slave ship filled to the brim with a cargo of

damned and hellbound souls. Cold and still, emblazoned with a great symbol of the Doomguard,

the gates of the prison beckoned in the perpetual half-light, and deep inside, Ghyris Vast waited.
Chapter 87

There was little preamble before the bells of Pitiless rang out a clear, hard note, signaling the

approach of visitors. It was not a strange event, as many of the prisoners were not simply

abandoned to rot, but they were regularly observed and their status checked upon by those who

had incarcerated them in the first place, or the servants or descendants of those.

The bell was a formality really, as the prison-fortress had never been put under siege during

its long history. But still, the wardens and guards of the edifice took no chances, and when

the gates swung wide to admit its latest motley group of visitors, it did so with heavily armed

formality.

A trio of blue skinned frost giants stood in the gap and stared down at the group, easily two

to three times any of their heights. They said nothing for a few long moments, just observing

them, before finally one of them, an officer, stepped forward and asked their purpose for coming

to Pitiless.

Are you here to deliver a prisoner, petition for ones release, or speak to one?

Well... that depends. Clueless said, looking up into the giants face. We wanted to speak

to one particular prisoner, assuming that hes still here. But if we can ask for his release and

take him with us, thatd work out too.

Speaking with a prisoner should be no issue, though you will have to explain your rea-

sons, answer other questions, and we will have to determine that you pose no threat to our

security. The watch captain said. Anything beyond speaking with a prisoner depends on the

circumstances and strictures placed upon them at the time of their incarceration.

Kiro looked at the giants. Were not here to cause any trouble. We just wished to speak

with one man.

Besides, Florian said. If youre the greeting party, I really dont think that were a threat

to the place.

The giant looked amused by the clerics sentiments, and he even chuckled, but not once did

961
 962

his hand leave the hilt of his sword, nor did his deputies take their eyes from the group.

Well thats good that we shouldnt have issues talking to him. Skalliska stated. How would

we go about finding out the details.

Step through, youll be escorted to a room and one of the wardens will speak with you.

The captain continued. Aorth or Jaitch will determine the specifics of your visit.

Well I suppose were off to a good start at least. Nisha said as they followed down a series

of twisting hallways.

Of course as they followed the guards, she looked first at Skalliska and then to the giants,

pantomiming the size difference with her hands with a giggle.

It would have been a better start if youd yet me bring along Amberblue. Nisha quipped

after a few minutes of walking.

This isnt a place for fairiedragons and you know it. Toras said. At some point we do need

to figure out what to do with him, but lets keep walking and well handle that later.

Nisha shrugged. Maybe theyll have dragons in here.

Several of them actually. One of the giants said, turning to mention that to the tiefling.

But follow us, Aorth will speak to you shortly.

***

They didnt have to wait long, a few minutes really, before a door opened to admit a lightly

armored dwarf dressed in garments similar to the fire giant guards, and bearing the distinctive

symbology of the Doomguard.

Do you think he knows that the doomies fell apart five years ago? Nisha whispered, just

low enough that the warden didnt hear her.

Interesting. Skalliska said, ignoring the xaositect and addressing the approaching dwarf. I

wasnt aware that the Doomguard still operated Pitiless. I take it that youre a member of one

of the factions splinter sects?

Salt. He gruffly replied. Ive thrown my lot in with the Salters, though its more an

expression of their preeminence among the splinter groups than ideological agreement with them

in particular. It makes sense for our stability, and stability allows us to continue to observe our

prisoners, watching for the inevitable decay of all things, even here in the Astral.

Based out of Citadel Sealt in the great brine expanse of Quasielemental Salt, under the rule

of Greater Doomlord Roth, their branch of the Doomguard held that the collapse of all things

was not happening fast enough, and that the process needed to be encouraged when appropriate.

They were the most radical of the surviving groups, and their numbers had swollen in recent
963

years along with rumors that they had managed to take control of a Ship of Chaos, and had

used it in their siege and destruction of Citadel Vacuous, and the more moderate Vacuum sect

of the faction. The wardens of Pitiless had gone with power and resources, something the Salt

sect had in spades.

Aorth pulled back a chair and took a seat opposite them, running his fingers across an

obviously divinatory medallion around his neck.

Now that explains what we do here, but not who I am, and what we need to discuss. He

explained. My name is Aorth with No Heart, co-warden of Pitiless along with my brother Jaitch

with No Spirit. What brings you to my fortress?

Do you have prisoner here named Ghyris Vast? Tristol asked.

The dwarf studied him intently, his hands folded in front of his face, obscuring any reaction

he might have immediately had to the question. One by one his eyes moved to the others, finally

returning to the aasimar.

Yes we do. He replied calmly. And why would you be interested in him?

Less him than the people who put him here actually. Clueless said. Weve had some ugly

dealings with them, and we were hoping Vast could tell us something about them.

Hmm. Aorth said, fingering his medallion again, perhaps attempting to sift through the

surface thoughts of his guests. I doubt that you had worse relations with them than Vast did

himself. His parting with them was not of his choosing, and he doesnt seem to much care for

them.

Behind the dwarf, the same door that hed entered through opened and admitted his brother.

Similarly dressed, though he seemed more ragged than his brother in appearance and attitude,

the familial link was obvious.

Theyve had unfortunate run-ins with Vasts owners as well. Aorth said to his brother.

F*cking Rakshasas... Clueless muttered, curious if that would garner any response from

the wardens, or if they knew the true nature of Vasts owners as they termed them.

The statement gained a cocked head and cold chuckle from Jaitch almost immediately. Rak-

shasas eh? He asked questioningly.

That was what they presented themselves as, isnt it? Fyrehowl said. Or did they take

another guise around you when they delivered him?

Rakshasas... There was a vaguely bemused tone in Aorths voice. Well, Im not at liberty

to discuss anything about who placed him here, or what the conditions of his release were. If

Vast wishes to be frank with that matter, that is between you and him, but I wont provide you

any details on the subject.

 964

So we can speak with him? Tristol asked.

Aorth nodded and put away his amulet. You can speak with any prisoner here so long as

theyll humor you, though with many prisoners due to their nature or their tendency to become

violent, we limit the duration of such visits.

Kiro hadnt said a word the entire time, but he occasionally glanced up at Jaitch. The other

warden of Pitiless was watching the party, toying with a ring on his finger, and Kiro was likewise

staring back at that ring. For a moment he seemed a bit on edge, but when Jaitch glanced at

him and said nothing, he fully relaxed.

The two brothers looked at one another, a shrug and a nod confirming their mutual lack of

objection.

We dont judge you to be a hazard. Aorth said. Therefore we will allow you to speak for a

short time with Vast. However, security is paramount here and you will be observed and under

supervision at all times. If the prisoner does not wish to speak with you, you will leave.

***

Pitiless was simple in layout once past the front gates, a series of mostly linear cell blocks

each separated by gates and checkpoints. The sections of the prison were separated and subdi-

vided into increasingly more secure sections, holding prisoners judged to be more dangerous or

problematic than others the further one walked through the prison.

The first section however was not precisely a cellblock, being that it held no living prison-

ers. Rather, it was a carefully organized warehouse, a massive chamber holding thousands of

crates, chests, tagged and segregated items of all kinds kept secret, hidden, protected, or simply

forgotten.

Do not touch any of the objects. Aorth said as the group stared at the mass of objects

within just the first ten feet from the walk. Though if you must, you may visually examine

them.

Books, royal regalia, heirlooms, weapons made famous for who they had killed, who had

used them, or simply from latent power thrumming through their length, the storehouse was a

treasure trove fit for a god. All of it was observed though, just as much as any prisoner was.

High above them, wide iron gantryways crisscrossed the heights, and more guards, giants

all of them, gazed down on both visitors and objects alike. At the same time, like black and

bejeweled apples hung by a fiendish deity, black and glittering orbs hung suspended thirty feet

high, each fifty foot increment in a grid pattern over the chamber. Constructs or magical scrying

devices, they emitted a low hum and rotated a random 90 degrees every other minute.
965

Tempting as it might have been for Nisha to make faces at her reflection in one of the polished

orbs suspending above, she was more curious about the fully constructed stone mausoleum of

pale grayish marble that occupied a substantial footprint of space.

Dare I ask if theres someone inside that tomb? Florian asked. Thats just rather creepy.

The tomb was ancient, whatever it was, and it showed heavy wear from the roots and tendrils

of adherent, climbing vines and lichens, the green, almost verdigris stain of which still marked

the stone in places, and had left only the vague and tantalizing outlines of old runes and low

relief carvings left to adorn its sides. But outside of age and wear, it was well built and seemed

to have been either moved in one piece, or deconstructed and then rebuilt stone by stone inside

Pitiless itself.

Well its one way to get your tomb free from looters I suppose. Fyrehowl said.

Aorth didnt reply, but his knowing grin probably said that they were more right than not.

They continued on through the chamber, reaching the halfway point before stopping once

more to look at one of the objects. This time it was a relatively small thing, only a few feet

wide, long, and tall, but they felt it more so than saw it immediately.

It was a solid block of ice sitting upon the floor, but instead of being surrounded by a pool of

spreading meltwater, it was bordered by a radius of frost and cracked stone; unmelting despite

the rooms temperature. But such things, while rare, were not unknown, and the coldest regions

of Paraelemental Ice did provide non-magical, unmelting ice.

Theres something inside of it. Skalliska said, peering at the very center of the ice, careful

not to actually touch it.

No. Fyrehowl said. Theres nothing inside of it.

Skalliska frowned and pointed at an obvious dark shape in the center of the ice.

Its not something inside the ice. Fyrehowl explained. Its a hollow in the ice of some

sort.

And indeed it was a hollow, a shape, an abscess in the ice. A word. A rune. Locked in the

ice was a shape, and though it was bizarre and distorted, viewed through the bars of its frozen

tomb, it did resemble a symbol or word of sorts. It was an odd thing, and even more disquieting,

the cold that radiated from it seemed to leak over onto an emotional level as well, chilling the

heart just as much as it did the flesh.

Weird... Clueless said. Dont know why, but that reminds me of something Ive read about

before.

Tristol gave a wistful shrug. I could probably spend a decade just looking at everything in

here.
 966

But I wont give you that long. Aorth said, motioning them all forward towards the gate

and checkpoint at the rear of the chamber. Please try to restrain your curiosity and not look

at everything.

They took the hint and continued on their way, progressing finally into the first of the formal

cellblocks. It was starkly arranged, that was certain: a single long hallway with cells each forty

feet, staggered and set on each side so that no two prisoners had direct eye to eye contact with

one another. Prisoners were separated: from the rest of the multiverse, from time, even from

one another.

Be that as it might, the hallway was far from entirely empty though, as several of the cells

and their occupants had visitors present, ostensibly to speak with them, or perhaps simply to

watch or torment them during their incarceration. The largest and most visible such group was

centered around a cell near the end of the hall, where a pair of babau and a trio of ragged and

diseased bulezau stood as escorts for a marilith who hissed and cursed at the occupant of one

cell, her massive coils tightening and relaxing by the second.

Thankfully though, they and the Tanarri were not there to speak to the same prisoner.

Aorth noticed them staring at the cells. As Id mentioned before, youre free to speak with

any of the prisoners here, though if theyre already occupied youll have to wait as long as their

visitors remain. Do not take overly long though.

Not as far off, nor as colorful as the Tanarri contingent, perhaps a dozen yards down the

hallway a single pentadrone modron stood before a cell, blankly staring at whatever was inside.

Behind the hierarch, a group of four spherical monodrones stood in perfect, equidistant alignment,

a golden glow flickering across their metallic bodies from whatever it was that had gathered their

superiors attention.

Hehee! Modrons! Nisha said, giggling and pointing at the group of geometric beings as

they suddenly turned and began to move away from the cell.

Aorth gestured them all out of the way of the marching exemplars of law, and the modrons

passed them without comment, or even any acknowledgement that they were there. Whatever

it was that they had been concerned with, it had been in the cell, and they seemed oblivious to

anything else.

What the hell was that about? Florian asked, turning to watch

They were here for me.

The voice echoed from out of the cell, a sound that was as beautiful as it was cold, and the

group turned immediately to face its source. A single figure, at first glance she appeared to be

a tall, almost spindly woman with chalk-white skin dressed in a form-fitting black leather gown.
967

But she was not human; her face was unmoving, appearing as a sculpted porcelain mask topped

with black, bristled tufts of hair that faded to gold at their tips. Golden light poured through

her rigid lips and glassy, sculpted eyes, betraying the presence of a single ball of coruscating

golden light that hovered in the blackened hollow behind the mask. The prisoner was a parai,

one of Mechanuss native races, and one who embodied a different aspect of universal Law than

the Modrons.

They stared at her for a few moments and the corners of her porcelain mask shifted and

turned to a smile before she spoke again, lips parting and leaking golden light once more.

What is it you seek here within the walls of Pitiless, this place of entropys death?

We... Clueless began, uncertain how to answer her, and uncertain if he should provide her

an answer.

Skalliska however was less uncertain.

Youre not a normal parai. The kobold said. What exactly are you?

What am I? The parai responded, her voice a thing of sterile, musical beauty. I am

perfection taken form, laws and truth given beauty, given purpose and life. I am what all will

be.

Parai believed that beauty was perfection was law, and examples of each were to be made to

conform to that logic, brought by force and assimilation into their own race. They reproduced

by absorbing the traits or knowledge of a victim that they saw as beautiful, burning off any

remaining substance as dross, and recasting that victim as one of their own. This parai though,

it was different. It had more emotion that normal, and its patterns of color differed from the

standard of its race, making it more unique than others of its kind.

Without any response, she continued. The Modrons fear me, what I am, what my existence

entails and foreshadows regarding their own fate and domination of Law. But of course, you

have yet to explain to me what it is that you came here for. I doubt that you are here for me.

She turned and gazed in the direction that the modrons had gone, casting a golden aura out

across the hallway.

Were here to see a mortal. Fyrehowl answer. A human named Ghyris Vast.

The golden orb seemed to turn and rotate upon its axis, shedding its light through the masks

open lips in waves, almost like the parai was thinking, pondering the lupinals response.

The mad inventor. The Bleaker. She finally said. His mind was beautiful, complex,

terrible to behold. I would have gone to him, but alas my imprisonment makes his beauty a

caged songbird, something I cannot touch and tend.

What exactly are the conditions of your release? Clueless asked. Not that Im inclined to
 968

release you. Im just curious.

Umm... good. Nisha muttered. Dont release scary lawful things, thats one rule Ill

happily go with.

I cannot be released from here while the fortress yet stands. The parai said, regarding the

Xaositect with a mixture of scorn and pity before continuing. I was imprisoned not by The One

and the Prime, but the pretender, slayer and usurper of the Gears, and He is dead and fallen,

no longer The Prime.

Why? Kiro asked, finally speaking up for the first time in their trip to Pitiless. He seemed

honestly curious.

I saw Him for what he was, The parai said, staring at the cleric of Sutekh oddly for a

moment. I saw the changes within him, the shadow that he was, the burning within him that

sucked at his soul, withered him from within and ultimately consumed him. I saw that, and so

out of fear, worry, jealousy I was confined by Him rather than risk my death spilling his secrets

across the gears. And so, here I am, perfection. Perfection exists, and is unattainable to the

multiverse at large... for now. But this place is not perfect, and it shall not last forever, and

then I will be free.

Kiro shrugged, but already the others had left the parai and begun to wander down the

hallway with Aorth, put off and mildly disturbed by the cold manner of the lawful exemplar in

the cell.

Further down the corridor, the group passed by several cells, only giving them a cursory

glance but not stopping: an empty cell filled with nothing but a blue haze and exuding a dull

malevolence, a catatonic human with pitch black eyes slumped in the corner of their cell, another

empty cell that echoed with the sounds of bestial snuffling and heavy, plodding footsteps, and

one cell holding a lizardman or similar reptilian creature dressed in a pale yellow robe and simply

staring off into space.

Lovely things you have here. Florian said to the warden as they passed a cell with a small

black lacquer box containing in three warding circles.

We have a rather diverse group of inmates. Sanity is not something all of them keep however.

They were put here to remain here, and were only concerned with watching them linger and

potentially die despite the so-called timelessness of the Astral. Their mental well being is a

separate issue entirely.

The prison is well named. Tristol said with a frown.

So am I. Aorth replied.

They continued, passing into another cellblock, but eventually they stopped as Toras paused
969

and looked into one cell. It contained a bleached pile of bones, some of them inscribed with

symbols and runes, a grinning skull perched atop of them all with a halo of pale green flame

licking from its eye sockets.

Wow. Toras said. This is one of those times that you dont even need to bother with a

do not tap the glass sign.

Tristol looked into the cell, whispered a spell and then stepped back. The entire cell was

warded with multiple anti-magic fields and layered with walls of force. Whatever the object, or

prisoner was, Pitiless was taking no chances with its escape.

Whatd you see? Florian asked, taking note of Tristols expression.

Tristol gave a nervous chuckle. Very powerful. Very undead. Whoever they are, or where,

theyre doing their best Larloch impression.

Whos Larloch? Fyrehowl asked, getting another nervous chuckle from the halruaan.

Meanwhile Clueless was also taking his time looking at the patterns of magic radiating off of

the bones.

Wow, he said, turning to Florian. It might as well be grinning and holding up a sign that

says, Please, please try to turn me. I havent laughed in millennia. Give me reason to do so

puny mortal.

Toras grinned. Then he wont mind me taking my time to make obscene gestures to very

powerful evil undead.

Umm... is that really wise? Skalliska asked.

Ill agree with Toras here. Florian said. When will we ever have the chance again to flip

off a demilich with impunity.

Still though, is it wise? The kobold repeated. Sure its just sitting there now grinning like

only a lichs skull can do. But what if it does something?

The demilich, or whatever it is, hasnt ever responded to anyone. A voice called out from

the cell opposite. Tap the glass all you like, Ive never seen it respond to anything, nor have

any visitors.

The group turned away from the burning pile of bones and towards the source of the voice.

Seated in the center of the cell, gazing out at them with tired looking green eyes was an elf with

tattoo covered, coppery skin and long, jet-black hair.

Its been some time since I spoke with anyone myself for that matter. The elf remarked.

Who are you? Clueless asked.

He shrugged. To tell the truth, I dont remember my name. It hasnt been spoken since I

locked myself away in this place.

 970

You locked yourself away here? Fyrehowl asked.

The elf nodded in the affirmative. Im a different sort of creature than the others here. I

can walk out of my cell at any point you see. The only thing keeping me here is me. I put myself

here, and I dont wish to leave, its safer for me that way.

Besides, even if I left, I dont have anything to return to. My world is dead. Threnody is

gone and lost, and Im the last of my kind. But those who killed us, they would finish their

genocide in an instant if I opened myself to their eyes and gave them the opportunity.

But surely you... Tristol began to say.

He waved a hand, This is my place. I can leave at any point, but I wont. I have my own

conditions that might change that, but thats for me and my own inner solace to ponder. Ive

made peace with my fate, but I appreciate your words.

They felt bad for him as they walked off, following the warden, but he seemed at peace, as

much as he could be.

At least the bones arent annoying. The elf said wistfully as they left. Better boring than

loud I suppose. I have solace here at the very least.

As they continued down the corridor, further into the prison, Aorth didnt bother talking to

them. Their repeated stops along the way however had started to get on his nerves and he was

pushing them forwards a bit more intently, especially when they passed the cell containing the

Devete Choir. The creatures were still acting disturbed since their collective attempt to mimic

Ghyris Vast, and since this new group of visitors was looking to speak to that man, he didnt

want them causing problems with the blue skinned mental chameleons.

Likewise he whisked the group past the cell adjacent to the Devetes, the one containing the

glittering, multicolored fog. The Scile, the Ravagers of Color, had the habit of attracting people

to stare at them, and on rare occasions theyd been known to feed on the colors of those whod

gotten too close to their cell. It wasnt lethal, but it was dangerous and it was difficult to reverse

given the advanced nature of that particular colony, which probably was the reason behind their

imprisonment in Pitiless, especially given who had put them there in the first place.

But the dwarf rapidly put his mind off of that old matter, and back to the present as he

gestured the new visitors into the next block of cells. Though once they did, theyd barely had

a chance to look at it and the even more incredible level of wardings, when a prisoner called out

to them from the first cell. The voice was pleading, desperate, and spoken in an archaic dialect

of Elysian.

Help me!

Almost pressed against the invisible force barrier of her cell door was an avoral guardinal.
971

Her hands were splayed out on the ground at first, but once they looked at her, she clasped them

together on her chest as if she were praying.

You! She pleaded, looking directly at Fyrehowl. You have to help me. Please.

She was weeping, and her eyes were red and bloodshot with grief, while the rest of her body

seemed to have suffered from the rigors of seclusion. Her feathers were dulled, a mixture of black

and speckles of gray, and the floor of her cell was littered with a considerable number of them.

Exquisite tattoos danced down from her face, swirling around her neck in plunging rings, and

then crisscrossing her bare chest on flesh and feathers alike.

Who are you? Toras asked, oddly enough being quicker on the take than Fyrehowl who

had been the imprisoned guardinals target.

Standing slightly behind him, quiet and tense, the cipher had yet to say a word. In fact she

was looking intently, almost warily at the avoral in the cell, lips pursed and coiled as tight as a

spring. Something wasnt right.

The avoral looked up at the fighter. I have no name, She said with a weary, tired voice.

They took it from me, so long ago. Since then, I have known only despair.

This is disgusting. Florian said, turning to look at Aorth.

The warden shrugged, showing absolutely no concern. You had no complaints for the lich,

the parai, the balor, the alu-fiend, or anything else. We dont have any philosophical bias in who

we incarcerate. But this is between you and the avoral.

How long have you been here? Tristol asked the imprisoned celestial.

Over a thousand years. She replied, looking with a glimmer of hope in her eyes up at the

aasimar. So long I can barely remember my home. Elysium is a memory, and it pains me to

remember it, so bittersweet the thoughts are. How I long to soar above Oceanus, flit above the

warm air of Belarian, soar above the great seas of Thalasia. They have denied me that.

Tears welled in the avorals eyes, and gut-wrenching pity flooded through Florian, Toras, and

Tristol alike.

You can release me though. She said to Tristol, wiping her face on a hand half bereft of

feathers. Please, I just want to go home. You...you or the lupinal can open the door.

Florian motioned the aasimar forward, and almost without hesitation he moved towards the

cell and the avoral.

Dont. Fyrehowl said, abruptly and deftly snagging Tristols hand and holding him back.

The figure in the cell might have sneered, or it might have just been the light.

Who put you here? Fyrehowl asked. And why?

Please, this place is torture. The avoral pleaded. Removed from Elysiums grace for so
 972

long is agony. You have the power to release me...

The prisoner began to cry again, her despair at being denied release by her own kind seemingly

too much to bear. The emotional catharsis was having an effect on her would be rescuers as well,

and Florian and Toras were staring at Fyrehowl.

The Guardinals put you here didnt they? They wouldnt kill you. Fyrehowl said with calm

composure. What was it that you did? Why did you fall?

Tristols ears fell to the side with Fyrehowls accusation, and likewise it took the others largely

off guard as well, though Kiro seemed entirely to take it in stride. But their manner of surprise

was short lived, and was soon replaced with surprise of another matter entirely.

The avoral snarled, a sound of absolute and utter contempt. Stupid b*tch, all it would take

is you or the vulpinal blooded one to willingly open the door and I would be free.

Guys, lets go. Fyrehowl said. We dont have anything else to do here.

Dont you even want to know why I fell? The sneering, fall celestial asked.

No. Fyrehowl said bluntly. I dont really care to know.

You can still let me out. The avoral retorted. You can have mercy on me, that wretched

little virtue I dont have to believe in to benefit from. Is it right to let me suffer here? Isnt it

better to release me in the hopes that Ill find redemption outside?

Fyrehowl motioned the others to walk away, but she lingered for a moment more.

You only need a guardinal to release you. She said. Youre capable of redemption here,

here where you cant hurt anyone else. If you rise, youll be able to free yourself. I wont set you

lose, I know what youll do.

The fallen avoral hissed and spat, her talons seeming all the more wicked and her feathers

darker and more like serpentine scales. Fyrehowl didnt response though, she just turned and

walked away.

Youre not so different you and I! The avoral screamed out, raw and ragged at the lupinal.

Ive stood at that edge! Ive looked over into that void! Im just looking at it from the bottom

now! We are not so different you and I, but even though I rot inside this cell, Im more free than

you will ever be.

We are not so different you and I... something in Fyrehowl felt cold and sick from that

statement as she walked down the central corridor of Pitiless with her companions. Elysiums

child felt nauseated at the idea of a willing fall from grace, an abandonment of universal altruism,

it was alien and horrific. But something else, the lupinal weeping at the blood soaked walls of

Rubicon, crying out in misery to ask Elysium, asking herself, asking a cold and unforgiving

reality why it sat by and did nothing in the face of atrocity... that part of her felt something
973

very different.

Fyrehowl? Fyrehowl? You ok? Florian asked.

The clerics voice prompted the lupinal out of her thoughts and she waved away the concern.

Sorry, that just disturbed me before. Dont worry about me.

Yes, yes it did disturb her.

***

The group had moved forward into the final section of the prison, facing several massive cells,

the oversized holding pens of some of the largest and most dangerous of the prisoners residents.

Aorth didnt seem to want them to linger, especially in front of the nearly utter gloom that

seemed to fill the first of the cells.

Whats in there? Clueless asked, noting that his own eyesight wasnt helping him any in

regards to the darkness beyond the walls of force.

The darkness momentarily swam in response to his question, and when a pair of massive

yellowed eyes opened in the midst of the darkness, he had his answer. Despite its lack of obvious

substance, the shadow wyrm was gigantic, and it was an impressive feat that someone had ever

trapped it in the first place in order to confine it to its cell in Pitiless.

But the shadow dragon paled in comparison to the occupant of the next cell. A twenty

foot long segmented worm with jointed, centipede-like legs, pinchered foreclaws, and a vaguely

humanoid and vaguely insectile head that sprouted a ragged mouth full of tentacles and fangs.

What the hell is that thing? Florian asked, watching as the creature drooled upon the floor

and shimmered a dozen different colors like the surface of its skin was a film of grease atop a

puddle of water.

Aorth grinned like a proud parent but said nothing, instead letting Skalliska take the question.

Its an Entrope. The kobold answered, glancing back at the warden. Id never seen one

before now, but they were something that the Doomguard created. They can eat their way

through virtually anything, including weak spots between adjacent planes. Thing is, everyone

thought that they were lost, or had been killed around the time that the Doomguard as a full

faction collapsed in on itself.

Seems you were wrong. Kiro said, a vague bit of distaste in his voice as he looked into the

segmented eyes of the beast.

Finally, turning away from the two massive cells containing the Entrope and the Shadow

Wyrm, the group followed Aorth along towards a block of smaller, more compact cells, each of

which glowed like bonfires under any sort of divinations.

 974

Son of a... Toras muttered as they turned the corner. Do these jokers have to show up

-everywhere- we go?

The next cell down the corridor had gathered a crowd of yugoloths and thus Torass unamused

ire. Clustered together some thirty feet distant, the group comprised several mezzoloths, three

snarling and laughing arcanaloths, and the tall and spindly figure of a lone ultroloth.

Sh*t! Clueless said. ...I dont want to be around this guy if theyre already there watching

him. I dont want them to even suspect we know much more about them than they think we

might.

Thats not the cell that Im taking you to. Aorth said brusquely, giving a cursory glance

and nod towards the yugoloths. Theyre here to see another prisoner entirely. They always

are. Every three days for as long as Ive been warden of Pitiless. If you wish to speak with their

ward, you may do so after theyve left.

Oh... Clueless said, dropping his notions of just leaving to avoid the loths.

Of course his words, or at least the general gist of them, his displeasure at their very presence,

had been overheard by one of the arcanaloths and the ultroloth as well. As Aorth motioned the

group off to one side to pass the loths, one of the jackal headed fiends perked his ears and snarled,

and a wave of cold malevolence from the Ultroloth washed over their minds like swimmers caught

in the undercurrents of a freezing riptide.

It seems the mortals take offense at our presence. Came the ultroloths voice like a buzzing

cloud of angry wasps hurling themselves at a pane of thin glass.

The trio of arcanaloths turned and sniffed at the air, curling their lips up and snarling at

Fyrehowl as if her proximity fouled the air.

Aorth felt the tension in the air and touched a second amulet around his neck.

The feeling is likewise though. The faceless fiend explained, his eyes burning and discordant

above the mocking, sterile cadence of his voice.

The lupinal shot back with a hard stare, but the loth wasnt finished.

Is it not enough that a layer of your worthless plane and so many of your dead along with

it must rot upon the Waste, that you feel the need to personally appear and become an affront

to our senses now, in person?

Fyrehowl snarled violently and her hand snapped to the hilt of her sword a split second before

the hard rattle of footsteps on the iron walkways above heralded the arrival of a squad of guards,

and exactly timed with Kiro laying a hand on her shoulder.

The air was taught and the lupinal only barely managed to hold back from gutting the fiend

then and there. Her nerves had been rattled, her anger provoked, a bitter memory stoked, and
975

a races collective wound made to run fresh upon her heart. The ultroloths mouthless face gave

no expression, but the sick and petty smile could be felt regardless of its lack of a grin.

But I wouldnt wish to cause difficulty for our hosts. The loth said, turning and bowing

its head ever so slightly to the warden. Weve had our customary time with this piece of

incarcerated filth, and well return again as we always do. But for now, the stench is growing so

thick that it disturbs the mezzoloths, and it would be best if we left.

With Fyrehowl still snarling at them, the group of loths hurled their last insults at the

prisoner they had been tormenting, and then departed down the hallway, the arcanaloths laughing

amongst themselves and the trailing, telepathic touch of the ultroloth licking at the minds of

those left in their wake like a serpent tasting the air.

Irredeemable son of a b*tch. Fyrehowl spat as she watched the fiends depart, letting her

rage simmer for a moment before turning to thank Kiro. Had it not been for him at that moment,

she probably would have acted, and very likely would not have survived. The clerics timing was

as good as hers normally was.

But that said, as she regained her composure, she glanced over towards the cell that the loths

had been gathered around in the first place. What she saw inside made her previous comment

a twisted bit of irony.

Small and stark, a single pale gray figure was seated on the floor, resting his back against

the rear wall, his chest rising and falling slowly and erratic like the pattern of a grieving man.

The light was pale and cold, almost physically so, and either the cell or its prisoner seemed to

radiate a tangible aura of sorrow, melancholy and resignation, though under it all there might

have been a twinge of hope that flickered like a tiny smoldering candle flame.

The figure was slumped, and it was clear that it had been weeping, or hiding its face in the

folds of its robe, avoiding the gaze and mockery that its yugoloth tormentors had been inflicting

on it. But regardless, the being was distinctive enough that it didnt have to lift its head and

show its face for them to realize that it was an ultroloth.

Normally the telepathic voice of an ultroloth was a terrible thing to behold, words like poi-

soned knives, a state of mental corruption honed and sharpened like razors, but this one... it

was different.

And are you here to mock me as well? The ultroloths voice was a hollow thing, mental

words that resonated through a recipients skull but which did so only gently, with reluctance, a

weapon grown dull with misery and shame.

No, we... Tristol began.

Do as you will. The loth said with a sigh. They have done worse than you could. Though
 976

perhaps I deserve it.

Who are you? Clueless asked.

I was known as Felthis ApJerran, but that was a distant time. His head was still slumped,

his wide, luminous eyes casting flickers of color across the floor. But none have used that name

for a very long time. They simply call me traitor, filth, heretic, abomination, wretch...

Why? Fyrehowl asked, her own voice touched by a bit of lingering emotion from her spat

with the fallen avoral.

Guardinal, let me ask you a question. He said, looking up and fixing his luminous eyes on

the cipher, their gaze and his blank expression somehow soothing to her in a way she couldnt

explain. Does salvation exist for evil? True evil? Does it exist for what I was, what I still may

be? Can one such as myself find redemption?

Could she answer him? Could she say, Yes? or maybe just, I want to believe that it does.

Too many conflicting ideas were filling her mind, and honestly she wasnt sure how to answer.

Could she even trust the fiend?

I want to believe that you can. She answered, though with some hesitation.

Seeking redemption. The loth replied. That was my sin against my kind. I rejected

everything of theirs once I ascended the pinnacle of their mountain of purity in vice. I stood at

the summit and looked down, and I was horrified. I fell, or maybe I sought to rise, depends on

your perspective I suppose. But my kind will never allow me to escape. This makes certain of

that, on top of my own reluctance to use many of my abilities, and theyve stripped me of many

others.

How can you escape? Tristol asked.

Nothing so simple. He answered. Youd have to find mercy among those who even then

would have been my superiors. Its a concept that makes me smile, that warms my heart, but

even so it still feels alien. Could they feel it for an instant and release me? No. But perhaps

thats just another drop of penance for my crimes, and those are many.

Fyrehowl felt inwardly sick. Something inside of her felt shame by comparison. The guardinal

standing on Rubicon, suffering a crisis of faith was watching her own candle be eclipsed by a

creature thatd climbed his way up from an abyss of utter darkness. He suffered, and here she

was with doubts regarding everything that shed thought herself composed of. This was difficult.

Could the loth be a risen fiend?

I partook of actions that would make a celestial weep, but I pray to whatever powers might

hear me to forgive me, because my victims are far beyond my ability to ask of them what I do.

They locked you away here simply to prolong your torment? Fyrehowl managed to ask
977

without her voice breaking.

Felthis nodded sullenly and his voice echoed in their heads, They wont kill me, they wont

grant me the gift of oblivion, which is perhaps more than I deserve. Theyll keep me here, make

me live forever in this cage they can, but they wont allow me to reclaim anything of the twisted

bits of soulstuff I once possessed. There was a spark of something better there at the beginning,

and though millennia of promotion and purification might have done their best to scour and

sterilize it, they only cut it free and allowed it to surface.

A risen Ultroloth? Such a thing was unlikely. Perhaps the fiend was just another puppeteer,

experimenting on those outside the cage rather than the other way around. Or might he be

telling the truth? They might not kill him for fear of letting an infection or flaw resurface in

the flesh of another mezzoloth, or spread to others. Bottling him up in Pitiless might have been

worse than death anyways, being that it would never allow for the fiend to actually complete

any rise that hed begun on the Waste. Hed never find true redemption and theyd dangle that

in his face for eternity.

The ultroloth turned to look down the hallway where his kindred had departed. Their mocking

laughter was still audible both in barks and insectile chitters, and from telepathic broadcast alike.

He sighed once they had fully departed, and then continued. Im a hollow shell of a thing

seeking to find itself, having given itself up so so long ago, but I have only myself to see and

search, my own mind to plumb. And what exists here but sorrow, regret, and the inability to

change the past? A broken creature condemned by its own kind.

They looked at him with pity, and though by default they didnt trust him, simply being

what he was, his self-loathing misery and bittersweet desire for penitence made them wish they

could help him.

We know how they are, weve had dealings with them before. Clueless said. Thats

somewhat why were here to see another prisoner.

Felthis nodded. If your prisoner has had interaction with my kind, then nothing on the

surface may be valid.

Weve already learned that to some extent. The bladesinger continued. We didnt even

know till recently that we were dealing with yugoloths in the first place.

Never trust my kind. The loth said emphatically. Dont trust them, not in anything.

That was my first mistake, perhaps my greatest. Carceri and Gehenna simply hold the overflow

of the traitors from their sister plane, its source that bubbles over, with the Styx the merest

trickle. Beware, and take care of yourselves.

Cant we help you? Clueless asked.

 978

The loth shook his head. I doubt you could, not now anyways. Maybe one day, but for

now go speak with the prisoner you came here to see. Perhaps later if you think I could provide

some insight, Ill be here to speak with you. Temporary release from my own isolation would be

the most you could give me, and I would enjoy that.

There was a cough from behind the group.

When youre ready, Vasts cell is right across from you. Aorth said with a bored tone to

his voice.

The dwarf gestured with one hand towards a cell virtually opposite from the ultroloths, one

that seemed even more insanely overly warded for a single occupant.

You have fifteen minutes after you start. He said, the bored tone of his voice shifting steely

and authoritative. Try not to rile him up, he may seek to hurt himself again.

***

The man was sitting in the middle of his cell, tracing his finger along the stones in the floor

like they were a chalkboard, and perhaps in his mind it was, because he muttered to himself

incessantly, and even glanced down from time to time as if double checking notes. He was a

spindly thing, wasted from lack of food prior to his incarceration, and less well dressed and

kempt than any but the most absentminded member of the Fraternity of Order. A single look

at him left no doubt why his own faction had tried to incarcerate him in the bowels of the

Gatehouse, but the yugoloths had done them one better in Pitiless.

Ghyris Vast? Clueless asked the deranged looking man.

Vast stopped and very slowly turned to look at the bladesinger.

Hello... Clueless began, trying to avoid looking at the disturbingly intense look in the mad

Bleakers eyes.

Vast grinned as the bladesinger turned back to his companions.

So how exactly do we start this? Were here, what do we ask him?

I figure that you want what everyone wants from me. Vast muttered proudly. You want

to know about my machine... my creation...

Clueless turned back to the madman. Alright, thats a start I suppose.

Yes I created it, not that it matters... Vast admitted before turning and looking at the

floor. Oh look, another crack in the floor...

Its talking to me... He whispered before putting his ear to the floor and giggling softly.

And you call me crazy. Nisha said, tapping Tristol with her tail.
979

Oh yes I do too, thank you for asking. Vast said in a singsong voice to the crack in the

floor that had gathered his rapt attention.

The group looked to one another awkwardly. Getting information from Vast might have been

easier said than done. His grip on lucidity was tenuous at best.

GET OUT! Go away! Dont you see that youre upsetting him!? Vast bellowed at them,

startling them with his sudden outburst, pounding his hands on the floor before mellowing in an

instant like a switch had been flipped in his brain.

My name is Ghyris. He said. Have we met before?

No, we havent. Kiro said. But weve heard of you.

Im famous! Vast said, clapping his hands together. A captive with an audience!

His audience grinned at him, hoping to keep him in good humor.

What to talk about what to talk about... Vast muttered. Ive all the time in the world

you see. No hunger, no sleep, no wine, no woman, not much to do but slowly go mad.

He was far past that point.

Id read something about you. Tristol said. It said that for a while youd hired some reave

mercenaries to guard you and your work on the Astral, and that youd been working with a pair

of Rakshasas, Siddhartha and Brampandra.

A disturbing grin spread across the mans face.

Oh, the Rhakshasas? Them? Those two? He asked.

There was a sparkle in his eyes, and he seemed absorbed by a moment of nostalgia.

Yes, them. Toras answered.

Oh, they were killed. Vast blurted out rather matter-of-factly.

No surprise there of course. It would make sense that theyd killed the original Rakshasas

before they stole their identity.

Someone named Yethmiil. Vast continued. He had a lot of interest in me and the de-

vice...HE STOLE MY MACHINE!... Nice chap he was. Didnt talk much, not in that sense

anyways. Said stuff, just didnt talk.

Telepathy. The ultroloths mind had spoken as much as any tongue, and even without a

mouth, his voice still rattled cold and discordant in their memory.

Then there was the woman, kept him on the proverbial leash, what a BARMY she was...

His voice trailed off and he turned his head before bickering back and forth with himself. Oh

youre one to talk Ghyris...Shut up you....

They let him babble to himself, and eventually his pride made him turn back to them, the

intensity back in his eyes, and his focus returned.

 980

Heh... He said derisively. Mangy little furballs, both of em. Mostly her in comparison.

Manged I mean. Powerful, but still... Ragged little rag doll of a b*tch. Never explained to me

what she wanted, too busy killing those Godsmen to really appreciate the view of the storm from

Aoskars corpse. Not that it mattered of course.

Fyrehowl glanced at Clueless, then to the others. Busy killing godsmen? Storm? Aoskars

corpse?

Finger painting... Vast explained, holding up his hands and wriggling his fingers before

adding the sound effects and pantomime of a person ripping open a victims chest and drawing

with their guts and viscera.

The bleaker gave a whimsical shrug as his audience expressed their disgust. They knew what

he was talking about. Shed painted the wards that theyd seen on the Astral and in Carceri.

She had sparkly eyes. Vast said. Bits of green and blue and red and orange all flicking

and dancing. I remember that.

Another Ultroloth? It certainly sounded like Vast was describing an ultroloths flickering,

multicolored eyes.

Anything further on that train of thought was lost though as it flew off its tracks. Oh you

dont remember much you nutter...Didnt I tell you to shut up?

What did they want from you? Clueless asked.

They wanted everything that Id worked on. Vast explained. They valued me, they believed

me, they -needed- me.

What did they need you for? Tristol prompted.

Vast might not have heard the question, but he began to ramble nonetheless.

Oh... but theyve had their fun with me. He snarled. Theyve taken my device and

plundered my brain, and now they think they know everything they need to know.

Vast laughed, a bitter and vindictive sound. But theres something I didnt tell them you

see, something they dont even suspect...

They hinged on his answer, and he didnt disappoint, even pausing for dramatic effect.

I. Had. Help. He giggled and gave an insane grin.

Vast had help in constructing his device, whatever the hell it was? This was something new.

Something the loths didnt seem to know in the slightest if Vast was right.

Never told me his name... OLD f*cker... Just as crazy as me! He said with a cackle. Said

EVERYTHING was falling into place even if it took them eons.

They collectively felt cold at his answer, even if they didnt necessarily understand what it

meant.
981

Vast clapped his hands again and gave a wild shrug. But not that it matters of course! Sad

he was... depressed... full o despair... Much like me, but worse... told me I wasnt supposed to

EVER tell anyone about him. But... then again... that was before I gone and went barmy off

my sodding skull! SURE hell kill me!

But! He exclaimed, punctuating his mad ramble with a poke of his finger against the force

walls of his cell. Not that it matters, he muttered about it being a present for an old friend,

long time in the making. It seemed to bring a gleam to his white eyes.

What the hell did much any of that mean?

Vast looked around as the pendulum of his mood shifted back from its extreme.

Ah but there... Ive gone and said too much I think. Vast muttered, looking away and

tugging repetitiously at a loose thread on his right sleeve.

Youre locked inside a high security cell in Pitiless. Toras said. Youre in no danger of

anyone killing you, not there.

Vast smiled, eyes ablaze with a frightening intensity, his expression set somewhere between

fear and pride. You really think so? You really think so... that I could retain that ignorance

still and die in my sleep.

What use were wards and veils, symbols and sigils? What use were doors and locks and

gates? What use were any of those things when it could simply rip and tear its way across and

through the planes, burning the spaces between them... escape was a hollow word, sanctuary a

foolish notion, Pitiless was only a postponed damnation.

It isnt right for them to take my ideas! It isnt right for them to steal my device! Its mine!

They have no right to profit from what they do not understand!

And again, like a switch being flicked, Vast flipped from righteous indignation to whispering

and bitter pride.

...even if they where supposed to do so in the first place... that was the plan...

What does it do? What did they want with it in the first place? Clueless asked him.

Please leave. His request was simple, cold, and given the rules of Pitiless, final.

Time is up. Aorth called out to them. Hes requested that you leave. Come with me.

They didnt have all of their answers that theyd wanted. The mans insanity had prevented

that. But they had little option otherwise. And of course, Vast was already muttering to himself

as they walked away.

I listened. I learned from you. Oh please... please dont... I did everything that you asked

me to do... oh please... please please please...

Vast watched them go, eyes blurry with tears. Ah but at least hed made a name for himself,
 982

hed had a chance to stand out from the crowd, hed been a made man in a universe where

nothing was given, where the utter meaninglessness of it all was as much opportunity as it was

damnation. Hed done as hed wanted, even during his so-called slavery to the mock-tigers, but

hed done so willingly, a price paid for a glimpse into theories undreamt of.

So much for a last meal before the headsmans axe, no need to eat within the Astral.

And then he felt it. He was no longer alone. It was there. It had come.

A last pair of teardrops fell, poetic and simultaneous. One of them froze before it struck the

floor, the other boiled away in an instant. But without turning to look, hed seen its terrible face

reflected in their surface.

Please, make this quick...

Behind him, Lazarius Ibn Shartalan smiled.

Chapter 88

Azcajal ap Shelloth stood and looked out across the Waste from his vantage point above Oinos,

three miles up on a balcony carved from the tower of his ultroloth master. The arcanaloths

hands gripped the railing with such intensity that his knuckles were white and his claws curved

back to the point of cutting into his palms. He was not afraid of falling from that height, nor

was he pensive. No, he was terrified.

Time ticked by with only the wind in his face as a reminder of the passage of a commodity

he treasured in his present state even more than he ever had. An immortal being, he suddenly

felt as a mortal must when confronted with their own mortality, realizing that their mayfly lives

would shortly end. Azcajal felt old, he felt mortal, firmly aware of the insignificance of his own

existence, and he had felt that way for an hour; ever since he had been summoned by his master

and escorted to speak to his.

He had been given a task.

Already twitching from the periodic gusts of wind that whipped erratic at that altitude, one

of the loths ears canted and swiveled at the sound of approaching footsteps. As his master had

taken him, so too would he escort another in the same capacity, but blessedly this time he...

Azcajal shuddered and pushed the thoughts from his mind. He at least would survive, but as

for the fiend who now approached, that was a question whose answer he did not care to know.

The arcanaloths nose inhaled reflexively and his tongue tasted the air like a serpent as his

mind reached out to do the same to the dull but promising psyche behind him. Without turning

his head, without betraying the fear and dread in his eyes, he already knew the identity of the

other fiend. It was a nycaloth, Narsaleth the Brooding, a relatively young and ambitious fiend

who he had previously marked as being potentially worthy of promotion to arcanaloth. Azcajal

had followed and tracked the progress of the other fiend till eventually he had met with him,

tested him, and agreed to sponsor his trial before their mutual ultroloth masters.

The wolf-headed arcanaloth frowned and held up his hands, letting their wounds heal before

983
 984

turning to face the nycaloth. Narsaleth had waited months to learn how the ultroloths had taken

his bid for promotion, if they would consider him or not, and the lesser fiend likely believed that

the purpose for his summoning would be news on that front.

Twice his size, the nycaloth nonetheless knelt and looked up at him, spreading his wings and

putting one pair of hands on the floor and holding the other up in a sign of plaintive submission.

What did they say? Narsaleths eyes were anxious, pleading, even though he otherwise held

his breath. His promotion was at stake. He was at the cusp of advancement, surely he was.

I... Looking down at him, Azcajal seemed to pause before answering, it was awkward.

Could they have denied his petition even before judgment? My advocacy of you has been taken

into consideration.

That was a start. It was not a negative. But the answer was evasive, the arcanoloth had

minced his words and twisted them together, but he hadnt actually answered the question.

Yes... but what did they say? Narseleth asked a second time, hoping for a clarification.

You will be judged. Azcajal said. Today.

The words struck the nycaloth like a hammer blow and Narsaleth shook in anticipation. Tiny

shudders, nervous jitters, ran down the length of his wings and the nail beds beneath his claws

ached as the muscles in his hands unconsciously tensed and relaxed.

The higher fiend bade him to stand, a perfunctory gesture that foreshadowed their approach-

ing equal status in terms of caste. At least that was the nycaloths impression.

However I will not be present with you during your judgment. Azcajal said, drawing his

robes together and crossing his arms. ...things are going be... altered from their normal pro-

gression.

What? Azcajal was his sponsor. If he failed, then his life would be forsaken as well, and

Oinoloth knew that the spires of Khin-Oin still dripped with blood as it was. Why was the

protocol of advancement being altered?

The arcanaloth looked directly at him, not sounding weary, but proud, sympathetic even.

You will be judged, that is your honor. Follow me and I will bring you to the place where you

will be questioned, your worth determined, and your purity ascertained.

g
Leaving Narsaleth filled with uneasy pride, Azcajal drifted past his protA c A
c and off of

the balcony, back into the darkness of Khin-Oin, motioning for the nycaloth to follow. As they

departed, the wind whistling off of the empty ramparts seemed to snicker.

***

There was the great tumult of the spawning pools as they descended, a roar of flowing, drain-
985

ing liquid, a silky soft and heavy sound like bubbling syrup or rendering fat, punctuated by the

birthing cries of newborn mezzoloths. It was the place in which both Azcajal and Narsaleth had

both first clawed their way from nothingness, nonexistence, and then become beings, individuals

distinct from the Waste.

Instinctively they felt the thrum of the place in their bones, in their blood, and memories

resurfaced: their first breaths, their first step, their first scream, first pain, first act of drawing

blood and taking the life of the first thing they encountered, where they became the first stage

of what they had become.

With perverse nostalgia fresh upon their minds, both loths knew that those same spawning

pools had seen a major increase in activity in recent weeks, though the output of mezzoloths had

only seen a marginal increase. Rumors that filtered down to the nycaloth and were recorded by

the arcanaloth said that a great many ultroloths and the higher tiers of arcanaloth researchers

from Gehenna and Carceri had visited the lowest levels of Khin-Oin. But to what purpose they

could only speculate.

Only briefly did the two of them cross over those caverns and vaults. A hundred yards and

they passed beyond them by, though they did pause to take in the sight, if but for a moment.

Massive by any measure, they were filled with newborn mezzoloths crawling and feeding upon

one another, filled with others yet only half formed, pools and engines, blood and pain, unending

screams, and the ossified viscera of a dead god like a cradle for its killers young.

Eventually though, and without a word spoken between them, they both arrived at the door,

a simple thing of petrified bone.

We have arrived. Azcajal stated.

Narsaleth blinked. Somehow he had expected more, something grander. Surely a circle of

Ultroloths could not be expected to convene in the depths and judge him in such a paltry, banal

chamber. They were better than that, and he deserved more. He glanced down at his patron,

had he lied? Did he seek to betray him for some slight?

The arcanaloth motioned with his hand towards the door. Step inside. He instructed. Be

judged. Be cleansed. Be purified.

Narsaleth hesitated. If his patron was not deceiving him, he should not show temerity in

the face of promotion, he would best show his worth by grasping it. But of course perhaps a

deception here, now, that could conceivably be a part of his trial, a part of his judgment and

their masters could be watching now for any signs of weakness on his part. A middle ground

between blind faith and foolish disregard would serve him best.

He reached out to touch the door, but turned to Azcajal first. Why will you not accompany
 986

me?

The arcanaloth bowed his head and spread his hands. I was told to remain outside.

Why? Narsaleth asked. Why so many changes to the trial?

g
A momentary swell of pride surged through Azcajal. His protA c A
c doubted him, expected

duplicity, felt a hunger for answers, for secrets... he was ready for promotion. That pride let him

suppress his own worry and maintain his composure.

Because this is no longer the Khin-Oin of Mydianchlarus. He said. We are no longer ruled

by Anthraxus, nor does the General of Gehenna dictate upon our race from afar. We are living

in a new age. You are the child of a new era. Things have changed and they will never again be

the same. Do you understand this? This is why things are different.

Because He has made them different.

Because He wishes them to be so.

Because He spoke to me.

Azcajal pushed that from his mind and continued. But you would not be here if I did not

suspect that somewhere in your heart you knew this, or at least suspected this. You will be

found worthy. I would not jeopardize myself otherwise. My selfishness is your gain. I believe

that you are worthy, but beyond that door... we shall see.

Narsaleth took in his sponsors words and nodded. It frightened him and uplifted him at

once. There was a place for him, a position and rank prepared for him; he would seize it, make

it his, take his place among the elect.

Yes. I understand.

The door opened and Narsaleth slipped inside, headstrong and feeling worthy, his elevation

imminent. The arcanaloth did not follow, he could not even look, in fact he turned away, averting

his gaze and holding his breath, trembling unconsciously.

The door closed with a hiss, and Azcajal exhaled with one of his own, his knuckles white as

he removed his hand from doors handle.

I will not accompany you because I am not worthy. He whispered to himself, his voice

beginning to break like the first lines of a self-abusive mantra.

He slumped down and clutched his head, weeping and shaking.

And also because I am terrified.

***

Narsaleth entered the chamber expecting to bow before the gaze and burning minds of a

council of Ultroloths. But as he stepped into the gloom he saw nothing before all was swallowed
987

by shadow, the momentary light from the corridor betraying only an empty floor devoid of all

but dust.

The light was fading and his shadow stretched out before him, racing across the chamber

to meet the embrace of the deepest dark. Narsaleth turned to look as the door began to shut,

expecting to see it drift with gravity, or perhaps a last glimpse of his mentors hand. But no,

the door simply seemed to swing on its own accord.

His eyes averted momentarily, the nycaloth never saw the dust of the floor twitch and move,

showing the articulated lines of thousands of words traced in their medium. Nor did the fiend see

the darkness ripple and move where his own figure painted in black stretched and touched them.

He never saw the multitude of fingers reaching out to caress and paw at his shadow though. He

never saw them, he only felt a cold chill and the thrill of apprehension when his shadow was

pulled, writhing and contorting, by those hands into the curtain of pitch.

But that was the space of split second, and then the door closed behind him with a whisper

and a click of bone on bone, leaving the only light in the chamber a thin sliver from underneath

the doors margin. A second more and then it was snuffed completely and he was alone.

All was darkness.

Narsaleths eyes adjusted, or tried to adjust. His pupils dilated and his retinas slipped from

their normal spectrum to something unnatural, the quasi-magical sight that would normally

allow him to see in anything but the most profound magical darkness. He expected to see the

breadth of the chamber, to see the council of Ultroloths who would test him, but the gloom

refused to retreat beyond a certain depth, and he saw nothing.

I am here. He said, addressing his unseen masters. I am ready.

Nothing.

All was silent. The darkness gave no reply, but Narsaleth waited and listened anyways.

Somewhere beyond the range of his vision he expected his ultroloth judges lurked and observed,

taking cues on his fitness before they even whispered a response.

But there was no circle of ultroloths. There was only the darkness, and the darkness had

already made its judgment before the nycaloth had stepped through the door and into its pres-

ence.

*clatter*

A metallic object landed at Narsaleths feet, sliding out of the gloom and across the floor,

coming to a rest only a few inches away from him. The fiend looked down and tilted his head as

he recognized the object for what it was: a knife, a dagger, a blade, a shard of obsidian.

The fiend looked at the blade and waited, though for what he wasnt entirely certain. The
 988

obsidian glittered, jewel-like in the faint circle of dim illumination where the loths eyes managed

to peel back the otherwise complete gloom. Surely the ultroloths who would judge him would

expect him to wait for their commands; that was the proper role, the proper protocol, orthodoxy.

Pick it up.

The nycaloth instinctively knelt at the command and reached for the blade, but still his eyes

searched the darkness for the speaker. And that was the disturbing fact of it all, that there had

been a speaker in the first place. Ultroloths had no mouths. They did not speak except with

their minds, but his ears had clearly keened to an audible voice, and he had obeyed it.

And oddly as well, hed begun to kneel before hed even registered the sound in his ears.

Commanding, seductive, hypnotic; a succinct trio.

One of Narsaleths hands curled around the blades hilt and he stood back up, still scanning

the darkness.

The voice spoke again, this time echoing in his head as well as his ears. What is the object

in your hands?

The nycaloth turned the blade over in his hands. Ragged and unbalanced, it was not a blade

that was ever intended for use in a battle. Runes in high yugoloth were etched into the glass,

weaving in decorative and poetic spirals across its entire length, while deeper still, beneath the

black mirrored surface, even more glyphs hung suspended like bubbles; deadly little insects with

promises sealed upon their lips in their tomb of jet amber.

An obsidian blade. Narsaleth replied. A work of art and a tool at the same time.

A very special type of blade yes. What about such things do you know?

Narsaleth though for a moment, paused and then gave his reply. It is the object of a

nycaloths ascendancy to arcanaloth status. It is what I seek.

And is that so? There was an amusement in the voice, a paternal tone, a hunger.

Yes. Yes I do.

You desire its caress?

Thoughts flooded into the nycaloths mind, burning their way into his consciousness. For the

briefest flicker of a moment he stood on Khalas as his heart was gutted from his chest, he felt

the flicker of flame on his flayed skin still cold from shock and blood loss, he felt his bones hum

as the sigils were carved into the soft plates at the ends of his long bones, and he begged for

more as he choked and drowned on his own blood from the knife embedded through his neck.

And then it was gone. A hundred thousand flickers and flashes of memories of promotions

from the perspective of the promoted and from some other observer.

What you saw, is that is what you want?

989

Narsaleth knelt on the floor, bracing himself with two arms even as the other two cradled

the blade. His legs had buckled from the intensity of the visions but hed held the knife like a

mortal gripped to their soul or a priest to their faith.

Yes... He whimpered, still tasting blood on his tongue from the visions like a physical

afterimage.

Look at the blade and tell me about it. Feel it, understand it.

The nycaloth nodded and traced first one finger and then two down the blunt edge, rounding

the tip and pricking his flesh in the process. A single drop of blood welled from the wound and

traced down tiny, cunningly crafted channels carved into the blade like little sanguine rivers.

It draws away my blood. He said, watching that same blood fill the patterns and whorls of

decorative glyphs. The runes speak of purification, pain as a doorway to release, glorification

of the self and submission to Evil. Its poetic.

Poetic?

Yes, the words, the patterns. I never considered some of what they say, little word plays

and hidden, double meanings.

Absorbed in the task, he ran his fingers over the razored edge of the blade, slicing deep,

intentionally cutting his flesh simply to feel, and the pain felt different, the suffering was tinged

with a spiritual aspect that it had never possessed before. It might have been the blade, it might

have been his mindset at the moment, or it might have been that he was already being promoted,

in mind if not yet in body.

You are already learning then. Good.

Narsaleth turned the blade and its glossy, mirrored surface caught a reflection at a distant

angle. The reflection wavered and his ears heard the wet slip of lips parting over teeth.

Look up child.

Obediently, the nycaloth look up and at his judge, the speaker whose voice filled his ears and

mind.

Teeth and eyes. That was what he saw, that was -all- he saw in the darkness, and he very

nearly dropped the blade.

Ivory white fangs, perfect and glistening with a sheen of spittle; a pair of reddish-pink eyes

like burning souls suspended in ruby cages; they seemed to hover in the dark, suspended in a

formless wash of darkness, not so much standing before him but surrounding him, encasing him,

swallowing the light.

A fraction of a second passed and in that moment the darkness seemed animate, swimming,

writhing like some shapeless abomination...

 990

Narsaleth blinked and the trick of the light, for that was what it had to have been, resolved

itself. The figure stepped forward and the darkness peeled back to reveal him, or perhaps the

darkness congealed to form him, but regardless of that, the nycaloths judge stood before him.

Teeth parted as a tongue licked at a fang and tasted the air, crimson-pink eyes glittering and

now distinct from the shadows, locked within the skull of an arcanaloth.

The Oinoloth stood before him, physically present, physically manifest at his judgment.

Narsaleth knew this, understood the incongruity of the situation, and intellectually understood

the enormity of it all... but it never registered to him. He was already numb, already slipping

into a state of expectant religious ecstasy to do anything but obey.

The Ebon pointed to the obsidian blade. Normally you would be slaughtered for touching

that blade before you were ready.

The nycaloth stumbled to answer, but there was no need.

But I asked you to do so, I felt that you were ready, that you needed to learn from the past

before embracing the future, and the blade is simply another aspect of that past. The knife you

hold, it was the same blade used to promote Anthraxus, and the knife that he used on himself

when he underwent his process of self-mutilation in order to ape his makers, attempting to ascend

to something better on his own. He failed, in numerous ways, and of course I punished him for

that impurity and that failure.

The Oinoloth stepped closer and held up his hands, displaying his claws.

That blade, if you had been judged by a council of Ultroloths and been found worthy, they

would have flayed your skin from your muscle, then sliced the muscle from the bone, and carved

into you like a block of marble to reflect your metaphysical essence, all before setting you into

the furnaces of Gehenna, the pools that already today you have seen, or the reflective chasm in

Carceri. Normally this process is long, lengthy, protracted, inefficient, rote, routine, archaic...

The Oinoloths claws extended and shimmered ivory against his flesh and coat, glittering like

scalpels in their own right, set against the darkness.

The process is long and protracted. He repeated. Unless of course I choose to expedite

the process in my own fashion...

The nycaloth barely had time to register the archfiends meaning before the claws burrowed

into his chest and clutched at his sternum, digging and twisted, slicing and carving skin from

muscle and symbol to bone. In fact, the only reaction that Narsaleth made was to relax his arms

at his side, to accept what came.

Willingness was key.

It might have taken a minute, an hour, a day... time lost its meaning to the nycaloth as his
991

world became a blank haze of pained ecstasy and a blossom of darkness flooding his vision. Claws

of liquid darkness slipped into flesh and ripped him open, forcing the transition and shedding

the metaphysical cocoon of the nycaloth.

Claws and fangs and septic mind, they lanced deeper than any blade, slipping through sud-

denly plastic and liquid flesh like a potter to clay, a sculptor freeing a statue embedded in its

marble tomb; not creating so much as releasing. There was no blade, no invocations, no ritual,

no runes, no furnace but the light from his eyes.

Time passed and eventually the screams and pain ceased.

All was silence.

All was darkness.

Blood dripped from claws and teeth, slicked and matted fur, and where the thrown off corpse

of the nycaloth had come to rest it streaked the bone-white godflesh under their feet a shade of

crimson.

Narsaleth was dead and Narsaleth was reborn. Shaking and trembling, naked and slathered

in his own blood like some perverse amniotic fluid, the newborn arcanaloth looked down at the

corpse, his corpse; the ba staring at the sekhu. At the arcanaloths feet, the nycaloth husk was

a mangled pile of flesh and viscera, but from it he had stepped like a moth from a cocoon, and

though spattered with blood its face was unmistakably his own, and he smiled when he saw his

new form reflected in the glazed and frozen eyes of the old.

I have given you what you wanted. Remade in body and spirit into what you desired. The

flesh of the nycaloth, the lesser fiend, the impure fiend, that you were, you have shed and that

is forever behind you. Welcome child to the next stage of your existence.

Left unsaid was a final line of the Ebons welcome, But there is of course, something that I

need of you.

Impurity had been physically shed, and Narsaleth stumbled at the realization of his ascen-

dancy even as the floodgates of his newly sculpted mind opened and touched him, kissed him

with the birthright that Larsdana Ap Neut had tethered, millennia ago, to their kind in Gehenna.

But in all of that knowledge, in the collective archive of their racial memory, the Ebon who stood

silently behind him like a shadow, he was entirely absent.

The Oinoloth might have been absent from that tide, but something was also seeping into

Narsaleths mind like a slow trickle of oil atop the raging floodwaters of information, secrets and

illumination. He knew him. Somehow he recognized him. He felt it in his bones and in his blood

like a wave of cold sepsis.

Numb with his increasing o, his dawning revelation, the loth turned around,
 992

looking for the Ebon like a pilgrim searching for their prophet, their icon, their saint. The Ebon

was gone, but after turning a complete circle, the loth stopped and gazed back at his own face,

a reflection trapped in the surface of the obsidian dagger that hed held and examined before his

promotion. The blade hung suspended in the air and though he had not been standing there a

moment before, the Oinoloths eyes and teeth shimmered in the reflection as well, disembodied

in the darkness.

These blades are simply tools. The Ebons voice whispered from out of the knife and in

the arcanaloths ears. They are artifacts and ephemera of a species grown corrupt and blind,

content to accept a status quo blindly without any conception of their potential. The words of

the faithless have accepted a gospel that has been handed to them and they do not question it.

The yugoloths have become a false vacuum waiting for the pressure to collapse and fall.

The cold shock in his blood leached higher, deeper, like a man drowning in frigid, unholy

water. The cold brought knowledge. The pain brought illumination. He was close to something.

He was close to understanding.

Step to the edge and tell me what you see.

Narsaleth opened his eyes and stared at those of the Oinoloth.

What do you see?

The young arcanaloths lips curled back into a grin and a trickle of acidic tears began to roll

down his face. Like Azcajal before him, he was terrified and overwhelmed, but unlike his former

master, he was caught up in zeal and a desire to prove worthy of his new status.

They might have walked, they might have teleported, or the room itself might have altered

and shifted in response to the Oinoloths will. But as Narsaleth stared into the Ebons eyes with

idolatry and a dozen incarnations of servile lust, there was water at their feet, water at their

ankles, water at their waist; the cold, murky, dark waters of the Styx welled up from the arterial

branches of the river, the place where some of the first yugoloths had been spawned beneath the

Wasting Tower.

The Ebon kissed the other fiend, slowly and deliberately licking away his tears and then

sharing the taste upon his tongue like a sort of sacrament.

You have seen. Vorkannis whispered. Now what will you do?

Anything, absolutely anything Father. Anything that you ask of me.

The Oinoloth cradled the others chin, bracing his hands against the sides of Narsaleths

muzzle.

Again, willingness was key.

The astraloths were unthinking beings, individual automatons, but the creations bubbling
993

in their vats, slipping towards sentience now, they required a willing mind spread through their

essence. The newest slaves of the Oinoloth required a martyr within the synapses, a crucifer to

sustain them and link them in their obeisance. And that sacrifice now looked with quasi-religious

ecstasy into the eyes of his whispering master.

Pressure to collapse and fall... The Ebon dipped his finger in the water and then stroked

the others cheek. That was what I said your race required before it could be purified a second

time. Perched on the edge as you are now, there is no need to push, no need for pressure, no need

to force this purification, because after all, why should I push when you will willingly jump?

A telepathic spark leapt between them both, but that further instruction was unnecessary,

because already the newborn arcanaloth understood his role. He understood what he needed

to do to prove himself worthy and to please the Oinoloth, though that title was paltry when

compared to what hed been shown.

Narsaleth kissed the Ebon and stared longingly into that ones burning eyes before kneeling

and slipping below the surface of the numbing, soul sucking waters.

Even as the darkness of the water obscured his vision and began to cloud his mind, he knew

what had to be done. Anything you ask of me. Without hesitation, without compulsion, the

fiend parted his lips and inhaled.

Chapter 89

They werent entirely sure what to think as they walked down the corridor and away from Ghyris

Vasts cell, leaving the madman to his babbling, delusional psychosis.

So what do you think? Clueless asked.

Florian shook her head. I think hes a nutter.

Well yeah. Clueless said. Besides that.

Behind them, back in his cell, Vast began to whimper.

The loths were interested in him, Toras said. And they certainly took his ideas seriously,

and they acted on them.

Fyrehowl nodded. They did, and they were cautious enough to hide their involvement as

best they could, and then to bottle him away in case they needed him later. Id say thats enough

to get us interested in what he said as well.

Itd be easier if he wasnt a bloody loon. Florian said, rolling her eyes.

But still, I... Clueless began and then abruptly stopped. Vast had begun to scream, and

then it was snuffed like a flame with an explosive, wet splatter.

Florian spun around to look. What the hell...?!

Vast was no longer sitting in the center of his cell, and in fact they couldnt see him at

all. Gazing in horror through the transparent walls of force that had girded the cell, they saw

only a fine crimson mist. Only slowly condensing and dripping down the walls like a red rain,

aerosolized blood hung like a fogbank within the cell, completely obscuring the interior except

for the darker stains and outlines of larger bits of flesh and viscera.

Barely registering above their shock, Aorth was shouting and running, and an alarm bell

began to ring.

Florian stammered, Bloody f*ck!

They watched as the wall of force ran with a liquid covering of blood as it continued to fall

out of the air and condense, peppering the conjured surface with bits of flesh like the alluvial silt

994
995

of a perverse, hellish river delta.

Suddenly a shape loomed out of the red and a hand slammed up against the interior of

the wall, smearing the blood, slowly and deliberately wiping the surface and clearing it of the

madmans remains.

The hand was too big to be human, easily three of four times as large, and thin, sickly,

elongated and completely untouched by the slaughter. In the space, a window into the cell,

the carnage could be seen, and standing amidst it, leering out of the gap was something out of

nightmare.

It was huge, barely fitting inside despite its hunched, stooped position as it leaned forwards

and gazed out of the cell. A wasted, nearly skeletal head craned close and a serpentine, milky

white eye peered outwards before retreating and gracing the gap with a smile of teeth set in

rotting, dripping gums.

But the eye, in those few brief seconds, when it moved and twitched, it seemed to swim with

symbols, like runes tattooed upon the corneas, formed within the capillary beds upon the retina,

and floating and adrift in the humour, all of them glowing and forming the whole. But then

with a blink the notion was gone, the flesh was real and the face retreated from the impromptu

window.

Holy f*ck! Toras stammered.

The others wanted to say something, they wanted to verbalize some fraction of the thoughts

in their heads, but their tongues, like their legs, simply refused to move. They had no words to

describe it as the claxons blared louder and the distant footsteps of giants gave a rattle of metal

on metal.

The red curtain still covered the cell and they watched it dribble and pool with the faintest of

sounds like heavy raindrops on temple steps, gradually obscuring the cleared swathe once more.

All was still within the cell, no movement, no sound, nothing.

Where had Vasts killer gone, and what was it? Hed known it. Hed known it was coming

for him whatever it was.

Florians eyes went wide, What the bloody f*ck was that?!

No sooner had she spoken though, when the wall of force rippled like water and Ghyris Vasts

executioner stepped through, summarily ignoring the wards in their entirety as if they didnt

even exist, emerging from the constricting quarters of the cell and standing up to its full 15 foot

height. Despite its massive size, easily as large or larger than the frost giant guards that formed

the backbone of the security forces of Pitiless, the fiend was hideously thin and wasted, looking

like some fanatical ascetic or a man dying either from disease or starvation.
 996

Tristol blanched. He hadnt seen any magic being performed. The wards had simply parted,

bending to the side and flowing around the creature that had stepped through them like they

hadnt existed. That wasnt possible.

The Baernaloths flesh was sickly and pale, stretched tight across its underlying muscle and

bone, almost bleached white under the prisons illumination, and as it looked first down the

corridor in each direction, and then towards the cell across from Vasts, its flesh seemed to crawl

and move.

Tristol saw something different though. He didnt see the Baernaloths sickly frame, skin gray

as the Waste, nor the cold and dead eyes, nor the shimmer of movement on its flesh. He didnt

see that, in fact he didnt even see a physical body standing there under the lights of Pitiless.

Tristol saw a hollow, an empty space defined only by a seething, writhing carpet of alien glyphs

and runes all moving, mating, merging, and cavorting across an oily skein of nothingness. The

Baernaloth didnt glow with magic so much as it was composed of it, defined by ancient and

alien symbols that burned the eyes and refused to be understood by the mind of a mere mortal.

The aasimar looked away. It was like staring into the sun.

The Baernaloth glanced to either side, looking at the guards marshalling at the corridors

end, and then towards Vasts last guests and beyond them another troupe of giants. The look

was barely cursory, more curiosity than worry as it paused for a moment outside of the cell,

stretching with an almost callous disregard for the alarms and approaching guards; it didnt

seem worried in the slightest.

Aorths screams could only distantly be heard over the ringing alarms and the rising screams

of the other prisoners, those who had seen the event, and those who simply used the opportunity

to add to the chaos out of spiteful rage. But the cells closest to the scene of the slaughter, they

were deathly silent, and no more so than the cell in which Felthis ap Jerran sat.

With one last look back at Vasts mangled, pulped remains, the proto-fiend turned and looked

directly at the imprisoned ultroloth. It chuckled and waved, strumming the fingers of one hand

upon the air and gazing into the eyes of its flawed and risen child as if to say, Hello there. Funny

that -you- would be here isnt it? So good to see you again, did you miss me?

But within his cell, the ironic gesture was something else entirely to the loth who sat there

paralyzed with fear. Had he lips he would have gibbered, stricken as he was with a sense of

revulsion and horror from the proximity of one of the Father/Mothers, a being who hed thought

mythical to that point, and one which had just so casually strode into the prison and slaughtered

a man before his very eyes.

Would he be next? Would it so calmly butcher him as it had Ghyris Vast?

997

For a single long moment the Baernaloth stared at the lesser fiend, looming over him in

physical stature and sheer presence alike. Felthis ap Jerran was frozen in place, unable to move,

with his eyes spontaneously bleeding from shock and unwillingly fixated on the white orbs set

in the sunken sockets of his ancient creators skull. Neither of them said anything as the Baern

broke into a sadistic, uncaring smile, and if any communication had passed between the two of

them, it hadnt been verbal; the Baernaloth had never made a sound.

Lazarius Ibn Shartalan gave one last derisive sneer of contempt at the risen ultroloth and then

turned away, taking two steps before abruptly vanishing without a trace, slipping into the spaces

between the planes with a method of transit older even than the paeans of the lesser fiends to the

Maeldur et Kavurik. When the guards arrived only moments later there was nothing there for

them to fight or detain, not a scrap of flesh or speck of dust to use as a material focus for a scry,

nor even a single lingering dweomer to show that something had ripped open the impregnable

prisons wards like theyd been crafted in haste by an apprentice mage. There were only the

soulless remains of the man formerly known as Ghyris Vast and the whimpering of a risen fiend

whod looked the Devil in the eyes.

The next few minutes were a confused blur as they rushed towards Vasts cell and stared at

the carnage and heard the nearly insensate whimpers and mutters of The Architect... from the

ultroloth whod born witness to it all. They had precious little time on the scene though, as

the wardens of Pitiless were fiercely quick to order a full facility lockdown and security sweep

to ensure that the intruder was no longer within the prison, nor was anything else in their care

at risk. Something had punctured a thousand years of foolproof security in a place kept safe by

agreement amongst factions, sects, races, even entire pantheons... and something had shattered

those thousand years of sanctity with a brutal murder. Given the horrors bottled up elsewhere

in the prison, they couldnt risk that the same intruder wouldnt plunder as well.

Hours of interrogation followed the incident, and the wardens were loath to admit their

failures. Aorth and Jaitch only wanted someone to blame, but they didnt know how the murder

had happened, or even what manner of creature had been responsible. What had happened

should not have happened, and the brothers were performing damage control as best they could.

Jaitch had been particularly unhappy after their talk, as no amount of magic had given him

any definitive answers. On behalf of the Doomguard, we strongly urge you to not speak of this

event. There might be repercussions from other outside groups that we cannot control. And

beyond that, we may have other questions for you. Please dont drink from the Styx before that

point. Anything else we can work around.

Their subsequent expulsion from Pitiless was as quick and harsh as the slam of its gates.
 998

***

Back in Sigil, they all went straight to the inns private meeting room at the rear of the bar.

They hadnt talked much on the way back, and the mood was cold, quiet and glum, at least until

liberal amounts of alcohol began to loosen their tongues.

Clueless downed a shot of whisky. I need a break from anything remotely dangerous. And

I dont really want to burden myself with anything involving deep thought.

Go pick fights in the Hive. Toras replied.

Nisha waved a finger at the fighter. Ive seen you doing that. One of these days youre going

to run into something bigger than you.

Clueless just looked at the tiefling. Nisha, Ive seen you throw pumpkins off of rooftops at

Cornugons while shouting In Hashkars name!

Tristols ears perked and he looked at the tiefling. You what?!

The Xaositect slunk down in her chair and gave a guilty grin. It seemed like a good idea at

the time...

Clueless shook his head and downed another shot. Nisha thats your motto in life.

Hasnt failed me yet. She replied, sitting back up. Hashkar would be proud - Xaos be

unto him.

The bladesinger paused and looked at the empty shot glass. I want to get drunk. Why the

hell am I drinking this, it doesnt even faze me.

Florian finally asked the question burning on their minds. So what the bloody f*ck did we

see in Pitiless?

No one answered immediately.

Vast is dead. Something killed him. She continued. In bloody Pitiless of all places. It just

ignored the wards.

Thats not possible. Skalliska said. At least its not supposed to be possible.

Florian threw her hands up in resignation. Well, someone go find him and tell him that,

because he didnt get that memo apparently.

So what the hell was it? Toras asked.

I dont know. Fyrehowl said with considerable apprehension. I cant answer that, but Im

guessing thats who Vast was worried about would kill him if he talked to anyone.

Kiro was disturbed. Why leave Vast open and available to even talk to anyone in the first

place? Why not just kill him before that point? Perhaps doing so would have revealed that

beings hand before it wished to step out from behind the puppeteers drape.
999

And do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Clueless deadpanned. That statue

under the Palace of the Jester...

Realization dawned upon them as they recognized the creature for what it had been: a

Baernaloth.

Aww sh*t... Florian said.

Fyrehowl dug her claws into the tabletop. F*cking loths.

Something doesnt make sense though. Tristol said. Vast was talking like the yugoloths

he was working for werent aware of certain things.

We saw a damn Baernaloth. Clueless. But I dont think it was working with the yugoloths

weve been tangling with.

Nisha was holding her head and dramatically swaying to either side. That didnt make sense:

Yugoloths doing something on the Astral, getting help from a human madman whod been the

vector for a Baernaloths manipulation of the yugoloths, all of who seemed to be unaware of its

role in those events. But still, why had Vast still been alive to spill those secrets then?

Kiro was thinking the same thing. Perhaps the information Vast had been killed for revealing

wasnt a secret in the first place, or at least not one of great importance, not except for the strings

that would be tugged were it known to various players across the cosmic stage. Kiro didnt know,

but since when did the Gloom Fathers remove a playing piece from their board till they were

finished with them? Maybe Vasts hellish execution had just been a way to pull the strings of

those who had seen it, including him. Everything was an idle game to the Gloom Fathers, but

in this instance, they werent the only ones on the playing field, just the ones that he knew the

least about. His own lords presumably knew more, but theyd neglected to tell him if theyd

suspected such.

So what now? Tristol asked.

I need a break. Clueless said. After everything that just happened I need to take my mind

off of things and get some perspective on it all.

The feeling was almost universal. They all needed to think about what had happened, and

what it meant, especially in light of their own conflicts with at least two powerful yugoloths, one

of which was still lurking out there.

Ill be visiting the temple of Andros. Toras said.

Skalliska looked up at the fighter. Divine guidance is a good thing.

And you suddenly gained religion... when? Nisha asked. Or did I miss a memo somewhere

as well?

The kobold smiled and looked slightly evasive. Dont worry about it.
 1000

Back at the bar, Clueless was preoccupied with looking at the wine bottles and ale casks.

Something wrong? Florian asked.

He held up an empty bottle. Were running low on booze.

That bad? The cleric asked. I can have the staff pick up some more from the stocks back

on the demiplane.

Dont bother. The half-fey replied. Before we went to Pitiless Id wanted to go there

anyway.

Fyrehowl tapped a claw against the table. I remember the staff mentioning something about

squatters.

My fault. Tristol said.

You hardly look like a squatter dear. Nisha replied.

The aasimar gave her a look as he chuckled. No no. Not that Im a squatter, just that

Clueless and Kiro were on their way there when I drug us all out to the Astral. Sorry for all

that.

The bladesinger waved a hand dismissively. Not an issue. I dont expect the alcohol to just

have vanished.

It better not have! Florian said. Shed handled the contracts for their suppliers in the first

place, and shed be pissed if it had all been stolen.

Fyrehowl tapped Tristols sleeve. Besides, the trip to Pitiless was something... She paused.

...Its something alright... dont fret over it.

The wizard smiled and tried to relax. Hed probably just relax and maybe work on a spell

or two in the next few days.

Mind if I come along this time too? Kiro asked, looking towards Clueless. Ive never

actually seen the place.

Clueless smiled. Please do. I could use an extra pair of eyes.

The cleric stood up and gathered his things.

So when should we expect you back? Florian asked.

Clueless thought for a moment. Nothing more than a few hours. Its probably just some

Nathri messing with the place.

Or the mercanes creditors. Florian mused. Which I suppose is actually a legitimate

notion. We never looked heavily into their background after we assumed control of the place.

In any event, Clueless said. Well be back after we find out who was messing with the

locks and some of the exterior of the keep.

1001

From there it was only a quick trip up to the second floor and a portal away from the

demiplane. But it wasnt Nathri they had to worry about.

***

The creature inhaled, if the analogy really held, smelling/tasting the ether upon the edges of

the demiplane. The fringes of the near and the deep had rung like a bell, a single pure note to its

psionic awareness when it was broached by one of Sigils portals. It was a thing of beauty, but

the yugoloth construct had never been given any sense of beauty, no notion of art, no notions at

all outside of obedience and ferocity as it hung there in the roiling mists, half suspended between

a trio of planes like a spider feeling the touch of insects upon the strands of its web.

It hungered. All of its kind hungered. And it had been given a target.

The mistress had told it what to hunt, the mistress the chosen and favored of the Maker, the

Creator, the Father. He had granted her authority, and by virtue of that, she was to be obeyed

till that authority was rescinded.

She desired the removal of a shallow scratch, a minor thing that could fester if allowed to.

She wished for blood and death, and so the creature desired the same.

The demiplane loomed larger as it plunged through the mists, the ether shifting consistency

as it neared the fringe of the little bubble the mercane had constructed a century prior. It felt

its prey, it felt them close, and so with one last flick of its trailing pseudopods, it added one final

burst of speed and hurtled downwards into the demiplane.

***

Kiro gazed up at the demiplanes violet sky with wonder, and then with equal amazement at

the castle hovering in the void across the bridge from where the portal from Sigil had opened.

Its one thing hearing about this place. But its really something else to actually see it in

person.

Clueless grinned. Whatever else I can say about them, the mercane we took this place from,

they had a pretty good design sense.

Its certainly something. Kiro said as he looked over the side of the bridge. Thanks for

taking me along.

Im surprised that we hadnt shown you this place before.

Kiro shrugged. It happens. We had other things to worry about.

Very true. Clueless said. But still, thanks for coming along. The staff said it looked like

someone tried to break into the place, but we dont keep anything here except some things the
 1002

mercane left behind, and a bunch of foodstuffs and the generic booze, none of the more expensive

types. There isnt much to steal, so whoever came after the place, if anyone did, its probably

only a cleanup job for one person.

The gate did indeed show signs of tampering as they approached it, and very crude tampering

at that. In fact it looked as though someone had tried to burn down the door, than hack a hole

in it, and then finally tried to pick the lock. The last attempt had been successful.

Ah... damnit. Clueless said, noting the damage to the gates and that they were ajar.

I thought you said there wasnt anything to steal?

Clueless gave a resigned shrug. Im less worried about theft than I am about vandalism

now. This is pretty inept for burglary. They better not have trashed the place...

It wasnt petty theft however that had Kiro concerned, nor was it a desire to see the mercanes

demiplane that had led Kiro to accompany the bladesinger. Not at all. He was there for the

same reason that hed first stepped into the Portal Jammer in the first place: he needed to watch

over them.

Unfelt by them both, something sensed them and began to move to intercept.

They used to have this place pretty well trapped. Clueless said, motioning towards a stuffed

Simpathetic and a broken statue. Both had originally been animated to attack intruders, but

since the mercanes had died, theyd just sat and collected dust.

So I gather. Kiro replied. But if you have problems with vandals, it might be a good idea

to try the same, especially if youll be leaving the keep unoccupied for long stretches of time.

Clueless nodded and pondered the idea as they stepped into what had once been a courtyard

near the center of the keeps ground floor. Some of the plants that had grown there looked

trampled, and someone had scattered some broken dishes on the ground. Obviously theyd had

visitors, probably a small tribe of Nathri.

Useless humanoid vermin of the ethereal, there wasnt any real way of getting rid of them,

except for the obvious method: killing them. But that hardly seemed fair in some ways; a bit

heavy-handed in Cluelesss mind. Perhaps Tristol might be able to create some sort of antipathy

warding to exclude them from approaching the demiplane, or...

Clueless paused and extended his hand. There was a breeze in the courtyard all of a sudden.

He turned to Kiro, Does it feel cold in here to you?

The clerics eyes suddenly went wide as he looked past the bladesinger.

Translucent, jellyfish-like tentacles congealed out of nothing, shifting between the dimensions

like fingers dipped below the surface of a pond. They lashed out blindly at first, stabbing and

slashing at the open air before the rest of the creature fully solidified and gave the pseudopods
1003

lethal direction.

Kiro darted instinctively to one side, rolling out of the way of a dozen tentacles. Half of them

struck open air, still others seemed to slip ghostlike into the hard surface of the floor, and one

grazed his shoulder, sending a cold and painful numbness spreading through his flesh. His arm

was barely bruised, the flesh wasnt broken, and there were no traces of poison; the creature fed

upon soulstuff.

They had no cleric. Protections against energy draining effects were usually superfluous and

unnecessary unless you were planning on encountering the undead. It was a demiplane, their

demiplane, there were no undead.

But while Kiro had managed to dodge, Clueless caught the brunt of its surprise attack. At

least five of its tentacles slapped against his flesh and sent shockwaves of negative energy through

his body as he managed to flick his wings and retreat just out of range.

What the hell is that thing?! He screamed out in shock as he drew razor. He felt like hed

been dunked in frigid water, and the numbness was spreading from where the thing had sunk its

tendrils into his skin.

Kiro didnt verbalize a response, and for once, his calm demeanor seemed broken. His eyes

were wide and he could only shrug; he hadnt the faintest idea what the thing was. But that

was no surprise since the astraloths had never been used outside of the halls of Khin-Oin and

the demiplane of their mistress. Yes, theyd fed on restrained tanarri and baatezu, screaming

petitioners, and enslaved mortals, even some lesser yugoloths, but theyd never tasted the life

force of anyone who harbored hope of survival. It was sweet, and the creature hungered for more.

Clueless flicked his wings and darted further back out of range as the astraloths tentacles

drifted and undulated around the bulk of its elongated, sickly frame. The thing was only partially

corporeal, portions of it seeming to drift in and out of phase with everything else as it hung

suspended in mid-air as the bladesinger dodged out of the way of its stupendous reach.

The creature let him retreat, giving only a few half-serious slaps of its tendrils, all of which

failed to strike. Its nostrils quivered and it grinned. The attacks werent meant to truly harm,

not again, not yet, they were only intended to taunt. It enjoyed the struggle. It anticipated it.

Having had a moment to recover, Clueless pointed razor at the creatures chest and began

to chant. The tip of the sword danced in a tight spiral, jumping slightly to either side at each

pause and break in the song, and all the while a charge was building.

The lightning bolts erupted both from the tip of the blade and from Cluelesss other out-

stretched hand, crossing the space between the astraloth and him in a flash of light and delayed

clap of thunder. The creature made no move to evade the spells however as the first bolt of
 1004

lightning was snuffed several feet from its target, failing against its innate resistance to magic,

and the other made contact but likewise failed to harm it.

Son of a b*tch! Clueless shouted as he barely managed to dodge a trio of the things

tentacles.

Try something other than lightning! Kiro shouted back as he faded from sight and tried to

move into a flanking position.

Clueless dodged again, hacking at one of the slower moving tentacles, only to watch his blade

slip through it like he was flailing at an illusion. But undeterred, he followed through with the

intricate motions of a bladesong, invoking another spell in the hopes of finding something to

pierce through the creatures resistances.

Kiro struck first however, and though he was invisible, the impacts of both of his swords

into the astraloths back were visible like trails through mist or ripples though water as they

repeatedly stabbed and slashed. The thing hadnt moved to defend itself, perhaps it hadnt

noticed him, but neither had it responded to any of his attacks, not in any negative fashion.

The blades hadnt caused any damage, none at all, and Kiro realized that fact a moment too

late as the creature grinned and stared down at him. The loths empty eye sockets should have

made it apparent that it wouldnt have been affected by invisibility. It had no eyes, and so it

didnt rely on vision or any other mundane senses to target its prey.

Kiros flesh tingled with the touch of psionic fingers a moment before the astraloths claws

and tentacles lunged for him. He tried to dodge, and normally he would have been able to do

so, but it had lured him in too close, and he only had two arms and two swords to block with,

while it had its own claws and a shifting, swirling mass of pseudopods all lashing independently

of one another; it was inevitable that some would break through his defenses, no matter his level

of skill.

The astraloth struck quick and hard, raking its claws across Kiros arms and chest while

several of its tentacles passed through the cleric causing him to jerk and shudder in pain. He

exhaled in ragged stutters and dropped to one knee, completely open to further attack as he

struggled to shake off the effects of the life-sapping energy drain.

The fiendish construct loomed over him, cackling with a wet, rasping laugh, and it would

have continued against its injured and drained opponent, but a burst of flame erupted across

its shoulders causing it to hiss and turn to face Clueless. Its translucent frame was clouded and

discolored at the point of impact, and while a second flame arrow was snuffed against its magic

resistance, the result was clear: it had no innate protections against flame.

Visible once more, the spell absorbed or dispelled by the creatures attacks, Kiro limped out
1005

of range. He wasnt visibly injured except for a deep gouge on his chest from one pass of its

claws, but he shivered from the effects of the energy drain, only some of which hed managed to

resist.

Its not immune to fire! Clueless shouted as he dodged several attacks. Use it if you have

it!

Kiro shook his head. My swords arent doing -anything- to it. And I dont have much else

to use, not today... Sutekh preserve...

That his swords hadnt worked had been a shock. They were enchanted near to the pinnacle

of his peoples ability and considered a bane to most every exemplar race across the Wheel, and

theyd failed to so much as draw a scratch. On top of it all even, the thing didnt seem to possess

any vulnerable points to its anatomy, it was more construct than living thing, and that made

his own abilities almost worthless. It was a harrowing feeling.

Clueless inhaled deeply, still fighting the cold shock of the astraloths first attacks, realizing

that he only had two more fire based spells left, and that his own attacks against the creature

had failed to affect it as well. Normally his blade bit through any normal resistances to damage.

The astraloth was grinning, hovering there amidst the writhing cloud of its own tentacles,

drifting in place like it was soaking up the fear and worry leaching off of its targets. It was toying

with them, and that moment of respite when it indulged the tastes imbued by its makers, it was

the moment that Clueless and Kiro needed.

Clueless motioned to Kiro as he began to chant. It wasnt an offensive spell, and typically

it wasnt necessary, but for whatever reason, be it random chance or brilliant foresight, hed

memorized it earlier that day. The spell was designed to increase the magical potency of a

weapon, and at its completion Razor was glowing more brightly than ever, and with a brief

touch of blades, so were Kiros Twins.

The astraloth inclined its head, sensing both the movement of its targets, the change in their

emotional state, and the scent of the waxing dweomers upon their weapons. It snarled and

dropped its fickle toying with them, lashing out in a frenzy of pseudopods and claws.

Kiro and Clueless responded in their own way, darting to either side and circling around

it, slashing and stabbing at every opportunity, working off of one anothers attacks as much

as possible. They both relied on speed more than strength, and while their fighting styles were

different: Clueless with his unseelie supplied style, and Kiro with his own techniques that seemed

alien to a cleric of a mystical aspect of Set, the styles meshed.

It was difficult at first to determine who was causing more damage, the yugoloth construct

with its claws and energy draining pseudopods that both seemed to ignore material armor, or
 1006

the cleric and the bladesinger who dancing around the creature in a flurry of slashes. While

previously, the astraloth had been able to completely ignore their weapons, the temporary boost

to their enchantments had removed that immunity, and the ground was slick with a translucent,

half-corporeal oily blood.

It might have been seconds or minutes, but it seemed much longer to Clueless and Kiro.

Time had seemed to slow down as they repeatedly struck against the creature, drawing deeper

and deeper wounds even as their bodies burned and they felt cold and sick from the astraloths

killing, sapping touch. They fought as if in a trance, moving automatically in a way that would

have made Fyrehowl or Rhys smile, but in the end they broke out of it as their eardrums rattled

with a bloodcurdling shriek of pain that resonated on the inside of their skulls like an ultroloths

screaming.

Numb with shock and injury, they staggered and fell to the floor, only vaguely aware of the

astraloth as it flicked its tentacles in unison towards the floor like some perverse deep-sea squid,

hurtling towards the ceiling and rapidly slipping out of phase and back into the depths of the

trackless sea. Facing death it had fled, the selfishness of its yugoloth creators trickling down into

their creations as a flattering little flaw.

Pain followed swiftly on the realization that they were both still alive, a combination of

burning pain from cuts and slashes from its claws, and the utter chill of its draining touch. They

didnt say a word as they staggered to their feet and helped each other limp towards the portal

back to Sigil, eventually collapsing in the hallway across from a very startled Nisha.
Chapter 90

What the hell happened to you guys?! A voice lulled them out of a dreamless slumber.

Clueless and Kiro both lay on beds in one of the inns guest rooms, the closest one to where

theyd collapsed in the middle of the hall. Florian stood over them, whispering a prayer of healing

and firmly tapping each of their cheeks to get their attention as they regained consciousness. The

others stood further back against the wall or in the doorway looking in with concern.

Clueless winced and muttered a curse as he tried to sit up. Dots of color swam across his

vision and he slumped back down prone on the bed.

Not something very pleasant. He finally answered, his voice still sluggish and groggy.

Kiro opened his eyes and blinked. And I didnt even get a free sandwich out of it this time.

The implication was pretty clear and a wave of mutters washed through the room.

Tell us what happened. Toras asked. How many people did they send after you?

Clueless gave a bewildered chuckle. People?

I dont like the sound of that. Fyrehowl said.

We dont actually know what it was. Kiro replied, sitting up a bit. Some kind of fiend,

but nothing Ive ever seen before.

The lupinal twitched her nose. Something didnt smell right, something lingered in the air

around both Kiro and Clueless, something distinctly fiendish, but on another level she couldnt

place just what it was.

Describe it if you can... Fyrehowl asked.

None of them liked what they heard as both Clueless and Kiro described the astraloth, its

appearance, its attack, and its eventual flight from the demiplane.

What the hell... Skalliska muttered. I dont have any idea what that thing was.

It certainly didnt match up with any type of known fiend, yugoloth or not, both in terms of

appearance or abilities.

Its almost like someone felt imaginative when they made a batch of guardian yugoloths.

1007
 1008

Fyrehowl said.

And then they promptly sent one of them after us. Clueless replied. I feel so honored.

Youre alive though. Toras said.

Clueless frowned. Barely. The thing was a few seconds away from leaving Kiro and me both

just husks on the floor.

We need to talk about what were going to do. Florian said. The partner of our dearly

departed faux-Rakshasa, whoever or whatever she actually is, isnt willing to let things slide.

Clueless frowned again. Now its just gotten to the point of being pissy. She sends assassins

after us that can track us down inside a demiplane... shes serious about killing us.

The cleric of Tempus strummed her fingers impatiently. This little circle of retribution is

getting out of hand.

Ive been at that point for a while now... Toras said, pursing his lips and throwing a mock

punch.

The mood was shared amongst the others. Each time that theyd encountered the loths, the

loths had struck back, and the level of violence had increased each and every time. With the

death of an ultroloth on their hands, theyd hoped that theyd dissuaded the fiends from further

fickle vendettas, but Yethmiils mistress apparently had other plans. They needed to figure out
tente,
what they were going to do to settle the issue; there was no chance of any sort of dA c

they were far past that point.

Ill be back later. Clueless said, getting up from the bed and stretching the last few re-

maining sore spots out of his muscles.

Nisha shook her head and muttered in scramblespeak, Crazy you and me call.

Without a word but with a look of determination, the bladesinger picked up Razor and made

for the door.

It shouldnt take me more than an hour or two.

Fyrehowl looked up at him hesitantly. What wont take you more than an hour? Only an

hour ago something almost killed you when you went wandering off. Dont you think its safer

to stay in Sigil, at least for the moment, where youre not as likely to have fiends trying to kill

you?

Not that they wont try surrogate assassins... Tristol muttered, remembering his own brush

with death along those lines.

Clueless waved away the concern. Im not leaving Sigil. I just need to ask someone about

something. Ill be back in a few hours.

He didnt provide any further details as to whom he was going to see, or just what he was
1009

going to be asking them once he got there. They were only left to wonder as he walked away

and out the door, but once he was gone that wonder turned to concern in the light of what had

very recently happened.

Dont you think one of us should find out where hes going? Skalliska asked. You know,

just in case he gets into trouble?

Nisha rolled her eyes. Nooooo chance of that happening... never... gracious no.

Without a word, Kiro started to get up.

Nisha chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder. I got it handled this time around, dont

worry about it. You stay put Kiro, Ill shadow him.

You sure? Kiro asked. Im feeling better, I mean I can...

Nisha waved her hand dismissively. Im good at this sort of thing. Dont worry.

***

Nisha whistled to herself as she trotted after Clueless, carefully and adeptly staying out of

sight. But as she followed him along surreptitiously through the streets of Sigil, Nisha had her

own ideas about where the bladesinger might have been going: probably the Indeps, who despite

their own were not a bloody faction! status, still had a decent if informal information network

through a few of the wards and various spots across the planes. But no, no dice on that idea.

Akin maybe? No, he wasnt going anywhere near the Lower Ward, rather he was headed in

a beeline towards the Ladys Ward. Perhaps... no that would be crazy, could he be going to

bargain with the Marauder?

That was an icky thought, and a shudder ran through the tieflings spine, but no, it wasnt the

thought about the b*tch in a razorvine headdress. Even worse than her, it was the looming blocky

faces of the City Courts, the Prison, and the Armory: Sigils own little trio of institutionalized

boring.

Nisha paused. Wait. What was she thinking about before?

Beats me. I wonder if Black Marian is over by the fountain today, or no, she only does that

every other day, or was that the schedule for Cupgrass going on a bender? No, thats every day.

Maybe I can trot behind a pony cab in just enough of an offset pace to annoy them into... but

wasnt today when I was going to pick up that one thing for Tristol Id promised him a month

ago and then forgot about? Hmm, that must have been it... Oh cool! A thri-kreen!

Needless to say, Clueless was long gone by that point.

***
 1010

The elaborate symbol of the Athar glowed from its position on the wall, still shedding a

phosphor glow in indication of the status of its former factol: locked away in perpetuity within

the Mazes. Clueless had been there before along with the others when theyd delved into the

labyrinth beneath the Palace of the Jester.

The last time they hadnt lingered for very long, but theyd spoken with several of the figures

contained within the symbols. Mostly hed been interested in Shekelor at the time, but hed

also spoken with Terrance, or rather an elaborate simulacrum of the man, and at that time the

former factol had held onto his secrets. Times had changed however, and the bladesinger had

knowledge that might render the ex-hierophants tongue less prone to secrecy.

Clueless reached out and touched the symbol.

I see that youve returned. Terrance said with a patient, if sad smile. I remember saying

last time that I wouldnt mind speaking in the future about other things. So what brings you

here?

Where is it? Clueless bluntly demanded.

Terrance looked at him blankly, Im not sure that I know what youre talking about.

You know exactly what Im talking about. He fired back. Remember my friend, the elven

cleric...

The factol tensed, like a man remembering a difficult time in his life, a bitter memory.

Him? What about him?

I take it you remember him then.

If him is an accurate description. His body yes, but it wasnt him that I was speaking to

when we did. As I mentioned when we last spoke, the fiend who was controlling him did not

obtain their answers from me.

Did you know who in specific was asking you those questions?

The ex-factol turned to question in response. You know?

It was Cluelesss turn to nod in reply. The yugoloths, Ive known that since the start, but

you were loathe to discuss the whole affair. Did they admit their involvement to you?

Admit it? Terrence scoffed. He openly told me who he was even before he asked his

questions. Did your Great Unknown ever mention me? Did your Great Unknown promise you

this? Do you still hold your faith old man, or have you simply abandoned this new and nameless

divinity the same way that you abandoned Mishakal? The fiend mocked me.

What did you tell him?

That is personal Im afraid. Deeply personal. But regardless of what exactly I said, I

removed the smile from his face.

1011

Clueless smiled. The factol still believed, even during imprisonment, even in the face of

mockery.

He asked you questions of course.

So very interested in gods, divinity, the nature of divinity, its purpose, its flaws, and the

consequences of its death. Obviously my faction was concerned with many of these notions, and

he as a yugoloth was as well, but from a -very- different perspective. I dont hate the gods, I

dont hate their believers. I feel pity for those who cling to false powers, thinking they have

embraced the truly divine. But him? He hated them, he despised them, he embraced the despair

of lost faith, and he was hoping to see that in me as well.

Terrance frowned, obviously remembering the experience.

The gods are powerful beings, The factol continued. And I might even be capable of

respecting that power and respecting their actions towards the furthering of many things and

many goals, but I cannot respect their deceit. They arent divine. True divinity is beyond us all,

unknowable at least in this stage of our existence, but it exists and it is there if we are willing

to step free of our cradle and look beyond.

Clueless motioned with his hand. Youre changing the subject from my own question.

Terrance smiled and shook his head. Im proselytizing as badly as any of their priests. I

apologize. But I told you when we last spoke, I didnt give them what they wanted, and its

not something Ill discuss. We can talk about much anything else of course, I do appreciate the

ability to speak with someone else.

I suppose you appreciate having someone to talk with. Clueless said, losing a bit of his

previous edge, hoping to cajole the former priest. It has to be lonely where you are.

A shadow passed over the factols features. I never said that I was alone in my maze...

Clueless looked at him curiously, wordlessly asking for an explanation, but none was forth-

coming. For a very brief moment the Factols face seemed transfixed with emotions, somewhere

between humbled, haunted, and terrified. But whatever he meant, he said nothing more, and

the awkward silence served to prompt Clueless to continue trying to find out other things.

Which one of them was it? Clueless asked. I already suspect which one of course.

Terrance frowned. Helekanalaith.

The Keeper of the Tower.

Cold, pragmatic, and cruel. Terrance said bitterly. Hed suffered the fiends questioning.

He epitomizes their kind. I suppose it was only a matter of time before he sought power beyond

his caste.

So what exactly did that mean? Unless the Keeper had told his plans of revolution to
 1012

the factol, an unlikely prospect, whatever hed demanded from Terrance must have involved

something of power, or a way to power. What was so special about a single specific godisle that

had a factol refusing to so much as speak of its location, and had the yugoloths obsessed with

it?

Hes a bit of an ass... Clueless said, suddenly and fervently hoping that the Keeper himself

wasnt aware of the current conversation. In fact that was a risk, that one loth would work

with the others, but so far that had never seemed to be the case. The entire affair on the

Astral wasnt something of his, hed admitted so much himself, but then promptly refused to say

anything more.

Terrance gave a curious look, but t*t-for-tat, the bladesinger gave no elaboration on the topic.

But let me get to my point. Clueless said. Theyre mining the dead gods. One of their

kind, we dont know which one exactly, is doing something deep in the Astral and theyre centered

upon Aoskars godisle.

Terrance closed his eyes and grit his teeth, Faithless abominations!

You refused to tell them where it was, but they found it regardless. Clueless said. Where

is it Terrance? I need to know where it is.

The factol still had a look of fury on his face, a countenance completely at odds with his

typical serenity. Hed taken the secret to the mazes with him, and hed held out from betraying

it to the yugoloths once, but it seemed to have all been for naught.

Terrance looked back up, Listen well...

***

Things had escalated in the past twenty-four hours. Ghyis Vast was dead, butchered at the

hands of a Baernaloth, and the unnamed lord or partner of the ultroloth Yethmiil kal Suth had

directed an overtly yugoloth construct to attack her enemies. The radical alteration of the status

quo required more information, if information was forthcoming, and it required advice.

Kiro sat cross-legged in the center of a small extradimensional pocket. From the exterior,

his room in the inn would have appeared empty, with the hidden space contained within a tiny

wooden box sitting upon the edge of his bed.

Aszira, speaker to the 9th of They-Who-Sit-Beneath-the-Spire. He intoned, requesting an

audience with one of his superiors. The message was brief, it had to be, as within Sigil the send-

ings were at the mercy of any open portals to the Outlands through which to route themselves.

Kiro waited, inhaled and then opened his eyes as a silvery light flooded the tiny demiplane.

What are your concerns Deodrathas? The voice from the light asked.
1013

Things are developing quickly, and in unexpected directions. The issue of the yugoloths is

more complicated than expected.

The council is aware of these matters so far as I am aware. They have not given me any firm

answers when it comes to the Baernaloth though. It remains one of two large variables, and one

about which I have little knowledge or details upon. The golden ones are likely to know more,

but they have not shared this outside of themselves.

Kiro nodded. The group is likely to return to the Astral shortly, presumably to seek revenge

on the other yugoloth. What can you tell me that I do not already know?

The silvery light paused, either in thought or because the portals had shifted. Follow them

and continue to protect them. The council has deemed them important, and so far you have

done well in shadowing them. You have full authority to take actions as you see fit should they

encounter the archfiend.

Archfiend? Kiro asked. Another ultroloth, or something else? Just who is involved in

this?

Another pause, We have suspicions, but no firm answers. The yugoloths have been partic-

ularly secretive in certain affairs since the arrival of their new Oinoloth. One of our contacts in

Khin-Oin was restrained and feasted upon, while still alive, by the Oinoloth and several others

of his kind less than an hour after taking his position. A dozen severed heads were also hurled

through the gate in Hopeless less than a day later, and what few remaining members of our kind

we had there have gone silent intentionally or have vanished. We have gained considerably less

insight into the fiends activities since then, and given their activities of late, this is incredibly

troubling to us.

Very troubling, but there was no firm connection between the activities on the Astral and

anything else the yugoloths were known to be doing on the lower planes. Where was the con-

nection?

Much of our resources have been devoted to the situation with Belarian. Aszira explained.

For obvious reasons this is a priority, and the events on the Astral are smaller in scale, and for

any immediate impact. On the former we are acting, and in the latter case, we need you to find

out the truth of the matter.

Kiro nodded. Im to discover just what theyre doing on the Astral, and which of their kind

is controlling it... Understandable.

Kiro had what answers he would be given, but many more of them were ones hed have to

find out on his own.

 1014

***

Three hours after hed left, Clueless walked back into the Portal Jammer.

So where were you? Florian asked, glancing up at him.

The bladesinger raised an eyebrow. Id have thought youd have tried to scry me, or maybe

send someone to follow me. No?

Tristol coughed and Nisha gave a guilty chuckle.

I got distracted... she said.

Clueless shrugged and did his best to avoid commenting on the fact that Nisha appeared to

have been dyed a spectacular shade of green, and her hair a brilliant, florid red. Everyone else

was doing the same.

What? The Xaositect asked.

Tristol cocked his head to one side. And why arent your clothes dyed as well?

Nisha blushed and leaned over to whisper something to the aasimar. A moment later he

returned the blush and she giggled.

So anyways, Florian said, trying to ignore Nishas adventures in skinny-dipping. Run-ins

with a dye factory or a winepress aside, whered you actually go?

I went to talk to Factol Terrance. Clueless answered.

Florian gave a cockeyed look. Scure me?

Not the real one obviously. But the simulacrum of him, you remember in the room under

Jeremos palace?

Interesting... Skalliska said. Why?

Clueless grinned. Ghyris Vast mentioned Aoskar, and I knew that the Athar used to know

of a portal that opened into the Astral near his godisle. I also knew that the loths had tried to

find out something from the real Terrance in his maze some time back.

Not too far of a jump from there. Fyrehowl said. Whatd his replica have to say?

Clueless gave a determined grin. I know where we need to go.

Chapter 91

Only ten years prior, during the waning days of the Golden Age of the Factions, the Athar

had occupied the sprawling ruins at the heart of the titular Shattered Temple district. There

the faction derisively known as the Lost established the heart of their organization. In their

conception the place was a pinnacle of truth rising up in the ancient bastion of a false and fallen

so-called god, and to their enemies it was blasphemy and arrogance of the highest order.

Oh to be certain, the members of the faction viewed their headquarters in different ways.

Some saw it as cosmic irony, others as a pointed observation on the transience and ultimate

mortality of the gods, and others enjoyed it with more spite towards the faithful than anything

else. The factol in those days, the former high priest of Mishakal named Terrance, he personally

saw it as the second of those three, and he rather loathed the third, but he had other reasons to

value the precise location of his factions most holy place.

Long before the Athar were conceived of and founded by Dunn and Ciro, long before the rise

of any of the current faction, and long before the rise of the city-spanning guilds, millennia ago,

the shattered temple had been the grand cathedral of Aoskar the Portal Father, god of portals

and planewalkers. When the powers greed for Sigil had waxed to its zenith and his hold over the

faithful of the City of Doors had become nearly monolithic, like the later founders of the Athar,

he too fell from grace. In a few bloody moments of shadows and blades, his temple and much of

the surrounding district were razed to the ground, his priests were slaughtered, and he himself

was made an example of. With the dust settled and the blood still fresh and slowly steaming

upon the cobblestones, Aoskars corpse drifted within the Astral, petrified and pierced through

with dozens of immediately recognizable blades.

Legends of that time and those events glossed over much of the original facts, letting them

slip away into the mists of the collective past of the multiverse, but the lore of factions and

sages told things that held closer to the truth. Terrance had been aware of much of that truth,

and hed known that the Shattered Temple held fragments of the portfolio of long-dead Aoskar.

1015
 1016

Even with the death of the power, the slaughter of his clergy, the staggering death toll among

his most faithful, and the virtual nonexistence of his faith thousands of years later, the site of

his destruction by the Lady of Pain was still linked to him in subtle and mysterious ways.

It was always rumored that the Athar knew of a portal that opened onto the Astral, a stable

portal leading to Aoskars drifting godisle in the silvery twilight of the graveyard of dead gods. It

was true, but while the Athar sometimes spread the tale as proof of the falsehood of the so-called

divine, they never shared access to the portal itself, nor to the location of the petrified corpse

either. For some reason the corpse and its environs terrified them. Even as they sat clustered

around the Bois Verduros, unified in their faith of faithlessness, sacrificing the holy objects of

a thousand different powers, unafraid of the wrath of those gods and the rage of their servants,

somehow the visage of the petrified corpse of Aoskar was the one thing that truly frightened

them.

But Terrance was locked away within his maze, entrapped by the one whod slain the Portal

Father in the first place, and despite his knowledge and his worries and laments, he couldnt see

the godisle, nor the hurricane of psionic wind that centered upon it, nor the men that hed left

in place to watch over it. Locked away in his maze, he had no way of knowing the fate that had

befallen them.

***

Deep in the freezing, fog shrouded depths of Niflheim, a single figure stepped out from the

trees and into a solitary hollow in the heart of the layer. She emerged out of the forest and out of

nothingness, the space between spaces, and began to walk uphill with intent but with difficulty

at the same time.

A chorus of cries cut the air as her first footfall broke the soil and the thin, gossamer layer of

frozen water that had formed as a crust atop of it. A slow and awkward drag and then another

step, and the screaming and mewling grew in pitch. Hundreds of larvae lay within the forest

clearing, cluttering the hillside like stranded and suffocating fish gasping for breath. The placid,

almost serenely happy look upon the young girls face stood in stark contrast to the cries of

agony of the wriggling, dying petitioners.

She ignored them and continued onwards, smiling as she gazed up at the massive obelisk that

dominated the top of the hill. The Niflheim Loadstone shed an ambient blue glow from the runes

cut into the mottled surface of its stone, looking like a cross between stone, meteoric iron, and

long-dead marrow.

At her feet, blocking her way, a starving hordeling looked up at her with flecks of bloody foam
1017

on its lips and a ragged, raw sound rattling up from its trachea, begging her for more, begging

for release, begging for something it couldnt comprehend or understand.

The young girl moved awkwardly, repositioning her lame left leg, leaning on her crooked

shepherds staff, and bending down to take the wretched things chin in the palm of her hand.

It snarled and purred and whined as blood swam in the humour of its eyes, blinded by the stress

hemorrhages in its retinas. It could not comprehend its agony, nor the yearning that had drawn

it to the second of the three great monoliths.

Tellura Ibn Shartalan smiled, false innocence sparkling on her face and dancing in her eyes

as she shushed it with pursed lips.

It looked up, blind and helpless, pleading.

Your agony is meaningless.

The hordeling, whether it could understand her or not, paused and was still in her hands, all

a moment before the proto-fiends shadow snatched it with two dimensional hands and hurled it

to the tree line with a hissing snarl.

The young girl smiled, stood up, and resumed her climb as if nothing had happened.

Once at the summit of the hill, she leaned once more upon her staff and stiffly, awkwardly

sat down. She brushed the dust from homespun clothes, moved her one crippled leg into a more

comfortable position, and laid her staff across her knees before turning towards the Loadstone.

Speak with me Brother.

The dust and frost at the base of the Loadstone sublimated and for a brief moment the errant

fog hung in the air and seemed to cling to and define a figure rising up from the earth, partially

embedded in the stone of the monolith. The shape tilted its head, the glow of the runes turned

from blue to red and the particulates fell out of the air and the Shepherdess was once again

alone, at least apparently.

She gave no expression but her shadow smirked.

The matter within Pitiless is concluded. The Architects voice echoed across the clearing.

She touched the stone and immediately her mind was filled with a recollection of the events

from a dozen different perspectives, including Vasts in his last moments.

Tellura closed her eyes and smiled, soaking in the experience. Momentarily she indulged in

Vasts murder from his and the Architects perspective until the radiating aura of sick malice

drove the surrounding field of larvae into a screaming chorus.

Be silent... she muttered, taking her hand from the monolith, breaking contact and turning

to face the soul-worms.

Wretched little filth of the mortal realm, they had their uses in the current era yes, but they
 1018

were flawed, filthy things who had only the most vague conception of the alignment tethered to

their souls.

She snapped her fingers brusquely and turned back to the Loadstone with a sour look of

distaste crossing her features. Silence resumed its reign over the clearing as all around the

Baernaloth the vocal chords of each and every larvae and hordeling were severed with a whim.

We have our silence again Brother. She said, a calm but cold smile returning to her face.

You seem to have enjoyed yourself most recently. But more of interest, how have our children

dealt with our gifts given to them through Vast?

The Overlord of Carceri has most of what she desires.

Tellura nodded. Given the godisles she already stripped, with and without access to the

divinity leach, she can reasonably finish the Carcerian tower, and she has enough of what her

owner requires.

Through her, the Ebon has much of what he desires, but not everything. The Architect

said with a peculiar intonation as he spoke of the Oinoloth. They will fall short.

Heavens no... Tellura laughed with a malicious grin. We cant spoil them, handing them

everything they need. That does them nothing, and benefits us little.

There are enough parties opposed to them in the Astral at this point. One of them will take

action given enough motivation and pointed in the right direction. Vast did well in that regard.

We spite their face and let them struggle, thinking they have accomplished something. Let

them dance on their own, but well supply a tune for the marionettes to rattle to.

The mental presence of the Architect nodded. That is the intention so far as this current

matter is concerned. Whether the Ebon will dance or not is something else entirely. Through

his subordinates we can force the affair of course, but for the moment it appears that he is not

aware of the full scope of our interest and action.

Are we certain though? A bit of hesitancy crept into her voice and her shadows eyes

narrowed.

There are aspects that remain uncertain. Lazarius stated calmly, firmly. He had the same

hesitancy though, all of The Demented did, even if they didnt care to admit to it.

The shepherdess stood up and leaned heavily on her staff, tapping her fingers out of nervous

habit, thinking and absorbed in her thoughts, temporarily beyond the reach of her brother.

Aspects? Funny to use that thrice-bedamned word. Aspects indeed. Weve had half of

eternity on this. Assumptions will do us no good when the stakes are so large. Weve set our

stage, populated it with our chosen actors, chosen scenes, chosen f*cking lines in many cases.

Now is not the moment to lose control to someone else, something else, especially when weve
1019

been worried about it since the start.

The Clockmaker has told us that... The Architect began, taking his sister from her worried

speculation.

Crippled fool that he is she thought as her shadow sneered and dug into claws into the soil.

Uncertainly was frustrating.

She gave a resigned sigh and cut off her sibling. Harishek can say what he wants, but at the

heart of the matter his resources, our resources, on the issue are not infallible.

The future is an uncertain thing. The Architect replied. While we may guess and grasp

at possibilities, I am not convinced. I accept none of this at face value, and while some of the

others may question the need to so closely watch and manipulate events, there are other variables

involved.

We need to find out for certain. She narrowed her eyes, shadow and shepherdess alike now.

Do you actually think that...

Yes. Lazarius replied. It is a concern.

***

Back here once again, Skalliska thought as she stepped through the portal and emerged into

the silver expanse of the Astral. The last two times have been a mixture of hope, exploitation,

and revelation. Im not exactly certain which of those, if any of them, might apply this time

around. I just hope that closure is one of the things we find, one way or another.

She drifted as gravity slipped away and inertia carried her free of the glittering, swirling

portal behind her as the others emerged to join her. They chattered behind her and reflexively

drew their weapons, scanning the endless omni-directional sky for githyanki, psurlon, and any

other hazards of the plane. Skalliska however was still plumbing her memories, deep in thought.

An image of a dark scaled kobold flooded into her mind. Hed taught her so many things in

the short time that she had known him, and known their mutual god. She thought back to the

last evening shed spent along with him, whispering prayers and burning incense, going through

a specific ceremony marking the anniversary of her flight from her world and onto the planes.

The date held old memories, old significance, and now held the promise of a close of another

chapter of her life and the start of another.

The soft current of the astral breeze gently caressed Skalliskas snout and she smiled, thinking

of Sekeledars touch, gentle and reassuring, wise, calm yet passionate, the smell of his scales

mixing with the incense and...

 1020

You ok Skalliska? Nisha asked, tugging on the kobolds tail and breaking her out of her

moment of introversion. You were drifting off to the side there for a bit.

Skalliska blinked and shook her head, Oh yeah, Im fine. The wind had something weird on

it, snagged my thoughts for a moment. Sorry about that.

Were she a mammal, she would have been blushing tremendously.

Of course with Nisha being a mammal, of perhaps dubious admixture of blood, she would

have turned purple if she blushed, given that her skin was still a faint shade of green, even

after having taken a bath. With her hair still colored red, and looking something like burning

absinthe on hooves, Tristol was amused, and he suspected that when shed washed up after...

well... whatever shed done in the first place, shed spent more time playing with bubbles in the

tub than actually getting clean.

Bubbles provided by a young faerie dragon of course. And speaking of Amberblue, the tiny

drake was back in Sigil for his own safety, and perhaps everyone elses. A camping adventure

all by himself in a wild and untamed bar in the Clerks Ward! At least that was how Toras had

tried to play it off as.

The tiny drake was more than a bit suspect; even he wasnt that entirely naive, not always

at least. They couldnt risk taking him along, it was simply too dangerous, but than again, it

was perhaps just as risky leaving an immature, wish-wielding, butterfly-winged dragon back in

Sigil with only the kitchen staff to watch after him.

So... where exactly are we? Florian asked as she gazed out at the largely featureless void

theyd emerged out into.

The cleric very immediately paused to add one particularly salient point: First person who

says, The Astral gets punted through a color pool.

And what good timing it was, as Nisha babbled a few syllables of nonsense, good sense

catching her tongue before it went off on its own. No fun at all...

The question remains though. The cleric said. Are we anywhere close to Aoskars godisle?

I think weve got a while yet to travel. Skalliska answered, orienting herself and looking at

her planar sextant for some sense of direction.

We did the best we could though. Clueless said, giving a shrug.

At least we wont get hungry on the way there! Toras said, chuckling.

Hey, I would have suggested another portal, but it wasnt an option. Clueless explained.

Best we have is a location and some known landmarks to get there.

They were some distance away in fact since the portal in Sigil that they had taken, a stained

glass window on the flank of an arboretum in the nobles district, it hadnt opened up directly onto
1021

Aoskars godisle. The original portal within the Shattered Temple had, but after the Tempest

of Doors, it had ceased to function. And in any event, even if it were still in operation, the site

was inaccessible due to the squatters, thugs loyal to Muriov Garianas, who kept it free of Athar

influence, or anyone else for that matter, pending their employers petition to build a temple of

Pluto atop the ruins.

But the hours passed, and time slipped away from them, leading to long periods of silent

travel through the silver sea juxtaposed with moments during which the psionic winds sent

random, errant visions filtering through their heads, nudging them from their mutual solitude

and prompting them into conversation.

Landmarks passed by, one waypoint of their journey falling behind and melding into the

others as they continued to travel, the distance slipping away as much as the passage of time.

And ultimately, they drew closer and closer to their destination, the godisle of the Portal Father,

Aoskar.

Does anyone notice anything different? Tristol asked, brushing his hair out of his face.

Thats your line Fyrehowl. Nisha interjected.

Kiro drifted to a halt, having rapidly adapted to the unique mode of transit the plane pre-

sented. He might have said hed never been there before, but hed seemed to skip over the

awkward period of adjustment that most newcomers to the experience underwent. The others

didnt notice or had other things on their minds though.

The wind. He said, Its getting stronger.

Youre right. Fyrehowl agreed. For a while now. Just random sensations.

They were on the right course then, because from what theyd been told by Clueless, according

to a semi-tangible simulacrum of Terrance, the location was surrounded by an astral storm to

dwarf all astral storms.

It didnt take them long to confirm that either, as soon the silvery light of the plane grew

choppy and blurred at the edges of their sight. Less than an hour later the sky seemed to lift

back to reveal a massive, continent sized whirlpool of turbulence, color, and congealed thoughts

spinning and whispering in the void.

Somewhere Talos is drooling over this. Florian said, adding a mild curse, not out of anger

but out of wonder.

They stood at the fringes of the largest astral storm they had ever seen, a psionic maelstrom of

such size that it staggered the imagination. Even there at the fringe of the storm they could hear

and feel bits of errant thoughts and random perceptions slip into their minds like less physical

sensory equivalents of the dark birds of an ocanthan bladestorm slicing through Hriste.
 1022

And this is where theyre bottled up? Toras asked, motioning towards the roiling, multi-

colored hellstorm. In there?

The fighter inhaled and shook his head. It wasnt a pleasant place.

Clueless nodded, wholly sharing the sentiment. So it would seem.

Just one question though. Florian asked. How long has this storm been out here?

Fyrehowl twitched an ear and looked out at the storm. Why is that?

Because if its recent, Im going home. The cleric said with a half chuckle. Bye, see you

later sort of thing. Anyone capable of making a storm that big... yeah.

Clueless shook his head, No, its been here for as long as anyone can remember.

Fiends or not though, thats beyond anything weve seen out of them. Fyrehowl added.

Theyve been keen to hide themselves, and theyre probably happy to use the storm as a natural

feature to keep anyone else away.

Skalliska nodded. The githyanki, even the psurlon too, they consider this whole area as

cursed. If someone was here, they wouldnt be bothered.

Which brings us to another question. Toras said. How are we supposed to handle the

storm? Id rather not lose my mind or get separated from everyone, only to find myself with no

way back to Sigil.

I can help with that. Florian said. I cant completely deal with the issue, but I can at

least make it less dangerous.

The cleric looked out at the storm and then back to the other spellcasters. Tristol? Skalliska?

Kiro? Do you have anything?

Tristol shook his head, Not at the moment no.

Skalliska likewise gave a shrug, I can keep myself safe, and if it comes to it, I have a scroll

of planeshift in my pack that youre welcome to.

Assuming we dont get disintegrated. Nisha added with a giggle.

Kiro smiled, I trust that Sutekh will keep us safe, but he hasnt provided me with any

specific protections. Have faith, I take that as a good sign, rather than a bad one.

Toras winced, Ill try. But I still dont relish the idea of just diving into a storm.

Well be fine. Fyrehowl said.

Without anything further to say, the group paused at the edge of the storm and let the casters

take what few precautions they had which might help them against the winds. Once they had

done so, they gathered close to one another and dove into the swirling currents.

Perhaps oddly, the influence of the storm wasnt immediate, only a bit of mental static that

clouded the senses and nothing more. But then they began to daydream, or at least that was
1023

the closest descriptor of what they experienced. Random thoughts, random images, the dreams

and musings of uncounted millions rotating in space and flitting around lost, forever separated

from those that had first dreamed them. It was distracting, but the deeper into the storm they

progressed, the harder and harder it became to just shrug them off and keep to the task at hand.

Confusion came easily, and combined with the ever increasing barrage of lights and the physically

manifest current, they were likely in trouble if they had any preconceptions about staying on

course into the heart of the storm.

It might not be possible.

But... what is that? Fyrehowl thought to herself as she noticed something within the storm.

Shed been fighting off the constant infiltration of alien thoughts and perceptions into her mind,

but what she saw seemed different. It began as just a weight in her mind, an urge to turn and

look, then a physical tug like a gravity well, something more than just an errant thought from

out of the storm. There was something there.

Wait... Fyrehowl called out, barely audible. Does anyone else see that?

Almost imperceptible against the swirling immaterial winds of the storm, there was an im-

perfection in the void, a massive volume of space that seemed somehow distorted, almost like

a spot in which some deific poet had imperfectly erased a line of verse, leaving the parchment

smudged.

The distortion was oblong, nearly spherical, almost exactly like the shape of the wardings that

had surrounded Maanzicorians godisle. Set against the storm, they perceived another warded

and obscured god-husk.

Hmm... Nisha said. That was quick.

It was. It was far too soon in fact.

I know that distance is almost entirely subjective on the Astral, Toras said. But with all

due respect to Nishas mayfly attention span, theres no way we can be here already.

Florian gestured to the distortion. I agree, on both actually, but then whats that?

And she had a point. There was something there, seemingly a godisle, and one that was

either warded or by some natural trait was warping the storm around it. If it was the former,

there was a chance it was hiding something, and if the latter if might actually be Aoskars corpse.

They couldnt be sure till the actually looked.

All eyes looked to Fyrehowl, their decision seemingly hinged on the ciphers sense of horrible

impending doom or lack thereof.

What? The lupinal asked. Im not Rhys you know.

Shes not objecting, I think were safe then. Clueless said with a nudge.
 1024

Florian grinned, Well then, that settles it, we check it out.

Fyrehowl rolled her eyes. They gave her far too much credit, though in truth shed begun

to have those sorts of hunches and premonitions more and more of late, half the time acting on

them before she felt it, the responses flowing naturally as needed.

Just so long as you dont blame me when something attacks us the moment we go through.

She said. Or if the wards disintegrate anyone, not that weve had anyone disintegrated before...

Buzz buzz. Nisha chirped, doing her best mayfly impression.

Kiro smiled at the Xaositect, but his mind was preoccupied on other things. He was worried

about what they might find inside the distortion. But no need to concern the others with his

thoughts, best to show them the outward appearance of a faithful, ever certain priest of a deity

of wisdom and mysticism.

Breaking the barrier there was a gentle ripple, like an insect slipping between the gossamer

meniscus of a ponds surface, but as their vision cleared and they came into view of the interior

of the hollow, there were no indications of any dire wardings in place.

No storm. Tristol said, his mind suddenly silent of the storms mad whispers and sensations.

The interior was entirely devoid of psionic turbulence, a shelter against the current, and

sitting nestled in its heart was a godisle. Rising up out of the void like an ancient and petrified

dragon, the rocky island was large and reptilian, some ancient and nameless saurian power long

since having slipped into eternal twilight.

The group drifted to a swift halt as they drew close enough to see the fortress constructed

atop the godisle and a githyanki carrack tethered to a platform carved into the dead gods snout.

Ah sh*t. Skalliska said, immediately moving to chant a spell from a scroll to conceal them

all from sight.

Once invisible however, they drifted gradually closer. The upper floors of the keep bristled

with cannons, the same as theyd seen earlier, but from the exterior the structure seemed almost

vacant. Only a few of the crystalline windows burned with light, and but a handful of githyanki

stood guard on the ship, but none at the main entrance; whatever the place was, it seemed to

be run on a skeleton crew.

Fyrehowl paused and furrowed her brow. Does this strike anyone else as being odd?

How so? Skalliska asked.

Thats not Aoskars godisle. The lupinal said. Were nowhere near the center of the

storm.

She had a point. If the loths were so keenly interested in that specific godisle, why was there

a massive structure built atop what appeared to be another god-husk barely inside the fringes
1025

of the storm. If theyd occupied another unrelated godisle, why had they done so, how many

resources had they hidden inside, and how many other such places drifted within the current of

the storm like breakers above the tide.

A shadow suddenly passed over them, slowly drifting across the godisle, the keep, and the

githyanki. The shell of wardings shimmered and crackled momentarily, reinforcing itself as the

distorted shape of a pair of astral dreadnaughts passed overhead and then out of sight, passing

by and continuing deeper into the storm. The guards didnt so much as give it a cursory look,

the entire affair seemed almost routine to them.

Like Maanzicorians godisle, the desecration of the divine corpses drew the attention of the

Guardian of Dead Gods and his servants, but they seemed unable to pierce the wards to vent

their fury on the loths servants.

Fyrehowl narrowed her eyes and looked at the building. It was solidly built, almost like

a fortress, but the defenses were incomplete, almost an afterthought really, and half of them

seemed like theyd been partially dismantled recently. But then moving down to the windows, a

majority of them seemed to have heavy bars in place across them.

Less a fortress, the building was a prison.

Chapter 92

Well, its not Aoskars corpse. Clueless said. But damn did they arm this place to heck.

They noted the towers and the half dozen cannons that each of them sported. While the

bulk of the building looked cold and dark, the outermost defenses still seemed potent by any

measure, though probably more suited to larger attackers like Astral Dreadnaughts or fully

manned githyanki carracks, not small groups of invisible raiders.

Id say we just fly over the walls and open a window or a trapdoor on the roof, Nisha

mused. But theyre githyanki, they assume youre flying and they plan for that. Bah.

Front door then? Florian asked.

Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow, Thats right in line of two of those towers and their guns. Plus

the doors heavy and probably locked, with who knows how many defenders inside. Bad idea.

But shes a cipher, Nisha said. She has bad feelings about our reckless and foolishly brave

plans. Again, bah I say.

Clueless glanced up at the towers, noting the arrow slits built into each of them in about eight

places around their circumference, plus the slight openings around each of the cannon muzzles.

The bladesinger grinned, Need a distraction?

Skalliska looked up at him skeptically. Youre willing to stay out here and draw fire?

He shrugged, Let them try.

There was a sly look on his face though, and it was getting a slew of suspicious looks from

the others.

Tristol turned to the bladesinger, Youre grinning like Nisha.

Exactly! The tiefling said, at first beaming with glee before narrowing her eyes conspirato-

rially. What mischiefs afoot?

Tristol chuckled and the others prompted the bladesinger to elaborate on whatever he had

planned.

Clueless held up a slim length of reddish crystal, I have a wand of fireballs.

1026
1027

***

Three githyanki and a pair of goblinoid petitioners sat at their positions inside the tower,

overlooking the interior of their artificial bubble that encompassed the godisle. Two of the

githyanki were in the midst of priming a number of the cannons, checking the seals and the

integrity of the hollow, explosive filled metallic spheres used as ammunition.

Behind them, a single githyanki warlock ignored them as he gazed intently into a psionic

version of a crystal ball, watching the interior of the bubble for any signs of intrusion. In the

past week theyd seen an errant elsewhale drift into the space, purely by accident of course since

the creature was badly confused and disoriented by the storm by the time it reached them, but

the intrusion had raised the ire of their commander Dzukash, and through him the Rakshasas

had probably been informed.

Yes, it was utterly monotonous drudge work, but the warlock felt secure that hed prefer

being bored for a few hours rather than being at the mercy of his half-blooded commander, a

powerful and menacing sorcerer, who as far as he knew, was some manner of duthkagith.

How are the cannons? The warlock asked his subordinates without looking up.

So far theyre in good condition. The first of the engineers said. But wed be further along

if the goblins hadnt taken an hour longer than expected to drag the black powder up here.

Theyre slow. The second guard-engineer frowned and set his coal-black eyes towards a

stack of twelve barrels and the pair of goblinoid petitioners who were presently stacking another

into position.

The petitioners were still several barrels behind, and it was taking them in upwards of a half

hour to just bring a single container up from the armory and into the summit of the tower.

The warlock, Feszrikal, rolled his eyes in agreement. The physical spirits that the Rakshasas

had brought in as slaves werent ideally suited to the Astral, at least not anywhere near the base

competency that was inborn to githyanki. But at least they were there to handle the physical

labor so it didnt fall to him or his subordinates, though on the other hand it left them with

nothing much to do at times.

Oh there were the interrogations of some of the prisoners, but that didnt interest him in

the slightest. Those sessions, they were just recreational torture on the part of his commander

and his superior whod visited on several occasions, an absurdly tall githyanki with a curious

abnormality, one of his arms was either grossly overdeveloped or doubled in size from some

magical accident.

Feszrikal shrugged and took his attention back to his crystal ball, half hoping on some level,
 1028

just to break the tedium, that something interesting might happen.

***

So how long before were finally done with the whole pissant lot of them?

Dzukash Ibn Gariseth paused in his writing and glanced up at his familiar. The nalg was

perched at the edge of the desk curled around an ornate, smoky quartz crystal ball. A bit of

a mixed blessing, the imp-like creature had originally been a gift to the half-fiend githyanki by

the nycaloth whod birthed him after coupling with his father, a githyanki warlock in Vlaakiths

service.

Hmm? The nalg prompted its master.

The familiar was certainly an odd looking thing, something like a sickly imp with the head

of a hairless fox. Its hairless, violet skin was stretched tight over its nearly skeletal frame, and a

scorpion-like tail twitched behind it, a trace bit of pearly venom slowly evaporating on the end

of the barb.

Looking down at him, Dzukashs fiendish blood was blatant. The normally jaundiced skin

of the githyanki race had taken a greenish tinge, and his facial features were ever so slightly

elongated, like the blunt muzzle of his nycaloth mother. But those were the subtle features his

blood had granted, with the wings and multiple arms mirroring his parents being as blatant as

possible.

Sooner rather than later. Dzukash replied, putting his pen down and folding his lower set

of hands before resting his chin on the palm of one upper hand and reaching out to rub the chin

of his familiar with the other.

Good. The nalg said, gnawing impotently on its masters clawed index finger.

You seem to like them even less than I do. The half-yugoloth said. I dont particularly

care much one way or the other, but youre just bloodthirsty this week.

The nalg shrugged and nuzzled his masters hand. More a yugoloth construct than a true

child of the Waste, the creature was the embodiment of a particularly petty, cowardly and selfish

evil more so than true depravity, but he had his uses both to his master and his masters masters.

The part-githyanki sorcerer, warden and overseer of the prison and its local godisle, knew that

gifts such as his familiar were most often given out by powerful yugoloths in order to corrupt

mortal wizards. The familiars would steer their so-called masters towards actions that would

benefit the loths in general, or the specific loth whod presented their mortal tool with the

familiar in the first place.

Imps and quasits were interested primarily in souls; they were working as much for themselves
1029

in the hopes of becoming true fiends as they were for any other purpose, but nalgs operated under

slightly different precepts. Yugoloths had no interest in mortal souls, not in the same way as

the other fiends, and so they wanted their mortals to have a direct benefit in their actions, and

the general spread of their alignment across reality, not just cherry picking of specific souls like

choice, low-hanging fruit. The nalgs were the puppet strings theyd first manipulate and then

finally hang those mortals with.

The nalg of course could never become a true yugoloth, and so it obeyed by virtue of what

it had been programmed on some base level to do.

Dzukash of course was fully aware of all of this. He knew the nalg was as much his familiar,

his tool, as it was a method by which his full-blooded parent race would loosely monitor him.

Hed also noticed something about the tiny pseudo-fiend: while it reflected his moods, and he

shared its thoughts and emotions, the nalg also appeared to soak up and reflect the nascent

mood of any powerful yugoloths in the areas.

The violet-skinned little bottle of hate had been particularly irritable and anxious of late,

apprehensive more so than usual, and its master strongly suspected that it was unconsciously,

unknowingly playing ambulatory drain to the actual mood of their mutual mistress lairing near

the heart of the storm.

Youre thinking of something. The nalg said, tapping its claws against the crystal ball.

Youve got that look on your face again.

Dzugash shrugged. Things are winding down here, and Im simply curious how long before

well be moving on to something else. Weve less than fifty prisoners at this point, and only the

factor is left as anything resembling a valued one.

The familiar gave a cackling hiss, its canid sneer being blown up and distorted by the reflection

in the crystal ball.

Blood and viscera and blood and screams and blood and mortals being put upon the sla-

banddissectedforthesoulstuff...

Yes, I suppose some of them will. Dzukash replied back as the little fiends mind rambled

with a dozen concepts it cherished but was largely incapable of ever doing on its own.

It was true however, that theyd already divested themselves of most of the valued prisoners,

and those that remained would likely be fed to the Astraloths, or shipped off like so many

individually wrapped souls to clients in Gehenna or Carceri. One could only speculate on the

factors fate, but it wasnt likely to be pleasant, given how much he and some of his men had

already been tortured for sport.

The nalg made a face and stretched its tail, At least were rid of Vast.
 1030

The sorcerer snarled at the mention of the madman. Hed only kept the crazed inventor for

a week after hed been dismissed by The Manged, but after those few days, hed been happy to

have shipped the man away to Pitiless. He supposed that he might see Vast again if his mistress

ever required it, but the thought wasnt a pleasant one.

I doubt it. The nalg commented, sharing the thought. I think the mistress will have us

just wash our hands of everything here. Including the githyanki.

Half-yanki himself, Dzukash neither doubted the statement nor did he resent it on the grounds

of any racial loyalty. After all, he had no loyalty to them or his late father. His bloodline was

more fiendish than githyanki, his fathers contribution had been momentary and fleeting, after

which his mother had feasted on the man.

Loyalty to the githyanki that worked for him on the bizarre assumption that they were all

working on some level against the lich queen along with a pair of sorcerous Rakshasas? Loyalty?

Hed never been loyal to anyone but himself, and his current work for the fiends provided him

with opportunities he would never have had under Vlaakith, or under the cosmic liability that

opposing the lich-queen while a part of githyanki society would have gained him.

I fully expect it. He said. On some level I almost think it likely that theyll be the first to

go, even before some of the prisoners. Well see I suppose...

The nalg smiled and snarled gleefully as his master batted at his tail with a claw.

But once Ive finished this ledger and sent my report to Alsikelius, we can go back to our

fun with the godless cleric...

He never finished the sentence though, cut off by a sudden explosion that rocked the chamber,

flickering the magical illumination and deafening him momentarily while it sent his crystal ball

flying off the table to shatter on the floor, spilled wine across his papers, and launched his familiar

into a scrambling, screeching paroxysm.

***

The githyanki warlock gazed up from his scrying crystal just in time to scream before the

fireball blossomed.

Jets of sorcerous flame shot from the arrow slits and the cannon slots, forced by pressure

to expand out of the confined space of the turret chamber. The flame would have gutted the

interior as it was, consuming the defenders entirely or leaving them to die of suffocation from

lungs too badly seared to breath, but that was hardly the result, something far too mundane

for the combination of such a superbly lucky shot, and the unfortunate presence of the explosive

powder.
1031

I think you got their attention. Fyrehowl said, moments before the barrels went off.

With a deliciously symbolic delay as the vacuum literally inhaled, sucking in air to feed itself,

the top twenty feet of the tower exploded with a deafening roar into a massive fireball.

Toras reflexively winced, Holy sh*t!

Scorched rubble and spherical gobbets of burning, imperfectly combusted explosive powder

expanded out from the ruined tower, peppering the battlements of the fortress and the godisle

it sat upon like a bloated tick.

Shave my head and call me a thayan, thats one hell of a distraction! Florian said, eyes

wide at the results of a single spell.

Yes! Clueless cackled with glee as he looked at the tower and then at his wand.

Within seconds there was a flurry of movement as the few guards posted at ground level

alternately ran for cover from the burning hailstorm of rubble, searched the sky for attackers, or

ran to aid any survivors trapped in the standing portions of the tower.

If youre going for the door, I suggest you go now! Clueless shouted as a magical alarm bell

began to peal across the void and the cannons on the other towers began to swivel into activity.

And leave you out here alone? Fyrehowl asked, incredulously. Are you nuts?

There was a sharp crack and then a trio more from atop one of the towers as musket fire

erupted and whizzed past the bladesinger, all of them striking close but deflecting ever so slightly

against his protective spells.

Let em try and hit me. Clueless said, raising the wand again as he turned towards the

source of the gunfire. Assuming they can see me.

The bladesinger faded from sight once again as he whispered the words to another spell of

invisibility, and darted across the void like a spell-hurling firefly dancing about a silvery night.

Shouts echoed out as githyanki launched up from the ground

Alright, do what the crazy man says. Nisha said, prompting the others to move as she

started to descend down towards the godisle.

The others followed, still cloaked with invisibility as they watched a group of githyanki burst

from the main entrance of the keep and another smaller group emerge from the carrack tethered

at the other end of the island. Meanwhile, still invisible himself, and cackling with glee, Clueless

flitted about above the fray, hurling spell after spell at whatever targets presented themselves.

Time and time again, a fireball erupted against the side of the keep or atop some of the

githyanki vainly hunting for their source. Each and every time there was an explosion, a cackle

of laughter, and the sudden flickering image of a gossamer winged caster darting across the sky

before he vanished once again with a recasting of the spell.

 1032

But with one last glance out towards where their companion was gleefully drawing fire and

returning more than that, the rest of the group dashed through the main entrance of the prison-

fortress.

***

No welcoming party. Toras said as they approached a wide-open portcullis at the end of a

defensive narrowing in the hallway.

Florian grinned, No love for you.

Still invisible and somewhat perplexed by the utter lack of resistance, they peered into the

chamber past the archway as from outside they continued to hear the partially muffled din of

spells and explosions. Past the portcullis the chamber was wide, a meeting point of two main

side-wings of the structure, and two doors, one of them open and leading into what appeared to

be a barracks.

Looks like Clueless cleaned out the barracks. Florian speculated, noting the lack of occu-

pants.

Cleaned them out? Skalliska asked. I saw maybe a dozen people out there. Id expect

them to have more guards than that.

Kiro peered into the open chamber, noting that most of the bunks appeared unused, and the

armory was largely cleaned out of any usable weapons and armor.

This place is desolate. The cleric said, motioning to the state of the barracks before deftly

popped the lock on the other door.

Nice. Nisha said, lightly kicking the heavy iron lock where it had fallen. Sutekh seems

like a pretty cool guy sometimes.

Kiro smiled and shrugged, gently pushing the door inwards and drawing his swords.

Our brave and intrepid explorer has discovered a storeroom. Florian said as they looked

into the chamber, expecting... something other than boxes of mundane odds and ends.

Bravo brave hero. Bravo. Toras added.

Kiro raised an eyebrow and smiled. For my sake, well just close the door and assume we

avoided an ambush by a room full of mimics.

Fyrehowl grinned and moved away to peer down one of the corridors that branched off from

the room. She listened for the footsteps of any guards, and hearing none, she motioned the

others over to follow.

They passed an unmanned guard post, and found themselves walking down a long corridor

lined with empty prison cells. Twenty yards later they turned around after curiously finding
1033

nothing of note, and made their way down the opposite corridor on the other side of the keeps

central chamber.

Another batch of cells. Kiro said as they entered the other wing, nearly identical to the

previous one.

As they entered the second cellblock, the keeps structure regularly rattled with the retort of

cannon fire high above, and shuddered at uneven interval from Cluelesss fireball bombardment,

but the stone was well built and there was never any risk of collapse. But as they wandered

through the empty hallway, that it had been solidly built was no surprise, given that had indeed

been a prison.

No prisoners though. Toras said, looking at pair upon pair of empty cells.

So Ive noticed. Fyrehowl said, tapping her nose briefly as she looked into one empty cell.

They havent been gone for more than a week. And there were a lot of them.

So whered they go? The fighter questioned.

Nowhere pleasant Im sure. Kiro said, tapping the tip of his sword on a large, dried blood-

stain on the floor of one of the cells.

Fyrehowl nodded grimly, The whole place smells like blood, most of it human, but some

other types of mortals tossed in there as well.

Torture? Florian speculated, looking at the pattern of the stains. It looks like less than if

theyd been executed in their cells.

The lupinal sniffed at the air some more and nodded. Torture probably. And there were

fiends here.

Toras grimaced. What kind?

Not many, and they werent here populating the place. Fyrehowl said, doing her best to sort

out the lingering scents. Its mostly githyanki, some petitioners, and a dull trace of something

that sort of smells like a nycaloth, but not quite, and something that was definitely a yagnaloth.

Florian nodded, We should get moving and maybe try to take out one of those towers before

they blow Clueless out of the sky.

And then, as if on cue, the entire structure shook with the force of a godquake as another

lucky shot detonated the gunpowder in another one of the prisons towers.

Tristol cringed at the sudden shudder and there was a soft giggle as Nisha laughed at how

his tail involuntarily fluffed itself.

Clueless is having way too much fun out there. The mage said with a chuckle, self conscious

of the fact that his ears were likewise bristled from the surprise like a chimney sweeps tools of

trade.
 1034

Fyrehowl just hides it better. Nisha whispered to him, Plus, I think shes older than you.

The cipher chuckled and rolled her eyes in good humor as she stepped away from the open

cell. But as she did so, she paused and tasted the air.

And one other thing. Fyrehowl said, a confused look on her face. Theres something else

on the air. Fiendish, yugoloth, but I cant place it. Its not something Ive ever smelled.

I doubt the loths would be so obsessive about hiding themselves here. Tristol said. Inside

an astral storm, shielded by magic, theyre probably not too concerned about anyone knowing,

so we should expect at least a few of them.

Florian nodded. And that said, we have some of them to kill, but not here in this corridor.

Nisha spun around on one hoof, We go up!

Swiftly moving back towards the barracks, they stumbled upon and just as quickly disposed

of a pair of githyanki swordsmen. Between Kiros blades and a lightning bolt from Tristols

fingers, the astral natives never had a chance despite being on their home ground.

Bad timing boys. Florian said as she reached down and picked up a set of keys from one

of them.

Nisha looked at the cleric like she had a hole in her head. You have me and Kiro. Me, Nisha,

and Kiro the discoverer of horrid ambushes of fiendish mimics and you need a set of keys?

Backup is good. The cleric said. In case something happens to you!

That seemed to mollify the tiefling and so, after carefully making sure there were no further

guards waiting for them in ambush above, they ascended up to the keeps second floor through

a hole in the ceiling, a uniquely githyanki bit of architecture made to replace staircases in the

absence of gravity. One level up, they then emerged into a second barracks, virtually identical

to the one below.

Like it had been below, a pair of hallways branched off into opposite prison wings, but a

cloud of smoke was rapidly billowing out of one of them, presumably from the explosions that

theyd been hearing out of Clueless and his little distraction. A moment later, a pair of goblins

came stumbling out of the smoke, looking harried and distracted, struggling to move a badly

singed barrel of gunpowder away from the source of the flames.

Unfortunately for the petitioners though, they never noticed the danger before both of them

were frozen nearly solid by a blistering cone of frost from Fyrehowls outstretched hand. The

slaves crumpled to the ground with the dry crunch of frozen flesh, and suddenly removed from

all heat, the barrel of powder was suddenly the most stable it had been in the past hour.

Everyone watch out now. Florian said as she tightened her grip on her axe. Its not

entirely empty, we might run into more githyanki, and this next time they might not be caught
1035

off balance.

They didnt see any guards, but with Clueless outside somewhere, kicking the metaphorical

hornets nest, it was probably only a matter of time before some from the other side of the

keep came rushing through the area. But in the meantime, the smoke from the direction of the

burning watchtowers was growing thicker and thicker, and from the smoke itself, and the risk of

further explosions if the githyanki had a battery somewhere near to the flames, that direction

was effectively blocked off.

Ok, Toras said, glancing down the smoke-filled corridor. Were not going that way.

Prisoners? Nisha asked with some concern.

Fyrehowl shook her head, I dont hear anyone calling out, so I think were safe passing on

that side.

As the lupinals ears were perked and listening down the one hallway, Kiro was quickly

scouting down the other. A minute later he returned and shook his head as well as his sword,

cleaning a bit of obvious githyanki blood from the tip of one of them.

The other sides empty too. He said, Empty of prisoners at least, and now its also down

a guard who wandered down from one of those towers on the other side.

Nice catch. Florian said, Anything else?

Fyrehowl motioned them all into a quick silence as her ears suddenly perked. Something was

coming down the burning hallway. Someones coming, be ready.

A moment later, screaming and brandishing his blade like hed been intending to ambush a

barracks full of githyanki, Clueless burst from the smoke and into the room. His scream and

his expression, intended as menacing to any githyanki, died stillborn as he all but stumbled in

mid-air, beating his wings backwards to stop himself as he realized hed found his friends.

Not a bad show out there... Kiro said. Considering you burst in here on the attack, and

not running from a gang of githyanki.

Clueless grinned and touched down on the floor. Youve got your distraction, and theyre

down a pair of towers and a half dozen guards.

A half dozen? Nisha asked, counting on her fingers with a perplexed look.

Clueless waved his hand. I know. There were more than that chasing me. And they still

are. Theyre just all still outside, flying around without a clue Im in here.

Thats a hell of a distraction. Toras said, And I think Tristol agrees. Or his tail did at

least.

Tristols ears lay back and he gave a face to both the fighter and bladesinger.

Sorry about the noise. Clueless said, apologizing. But anyways, whats in this place?
 1036

Florian shrugged. Not a whole hell of a lot. It was a prison, but we cant find any prisoners,

and the place seems to be in the middle of cleaning itself out. Its mostly empty, and not too

many guards either.

Clueless nodded. Well theres one more level to this place so far as I could see from the

outside.

Nisha poked him in the ribs, When you werent zipping around dodging certain doom at

least.

I came out of that pretty well. The bladesinger said, looking down at a few burns and a

single shallow sword cut on one arm. They got lucky once or twice, and believe me, look down

that hallway and tell me they didnt come out of that worse off than me.

There was no argument from anyone on the issue, and so with one quick glance down the

burning hallway, they drifted up from the ground and passed through to the third level of the

prison.

Another barracks. Florian said. What a surprise.

This one was actually used though. Kiro said, noting the state of the beds and the spare

weapons and trophies scattered about each of the bunks.

The chamber was somewhat larger than the others, probably to contain more troops closer

to the top of the building where attack was more likely to take place in the three dimensional

space of the Astral. There was also a large cage or pen that took up the back half of the room.

Fyrehowl walked over to the cage. No prisoners, but the smell of unwashed bodies and

greasy metal made it almost a given that it was a virtual stockyard for the Acheron petitioners

the yanki, or their fiendish employers, utilized as slaves.

And no welcoming party up here either. Toras mock grumbled. Though I suppose you

dont need lots of people to defend... nothing.

Kiro nodded. True, this place looks like it used to have a large number of prisoners, and

guards for them, but they were all moved elsewhere. If theres a commanders office in this place,

we might be able to find out what they did with them.

The layout is a bit different up here it looks like. Fyrehowl said as she glanced at the

reinforced door on side of the room, and a short connecting hallway opposite. The previous

floors had each had two prison wings, but the third level seemed different.

Id possibly suggest we split up and check both directions while the githyanki are still

occupied outside and with that fire, Skalliska mused. But something really tells me that

Fyrehowl, to say nothing of common sense, might suggest otherwise.

Clueless grinned, Its tempting. But anyways, lets check the hallway, then we hit the door.
1037

Without objection they followed Clueless down the hallway, eventually turning into a rela-

tively large torture chamber. The rust-brown stains and ferric odor that liberally filled the room

attested to recent use, and there was a heavy undercurrent of githyanki and fiend. But what was

most disturbing was that there were no actual implements of torture.

Big room, lots of use, and no tools. Toras said. What? Packed up their favorite toys

first?

Kiro shrugged. No, Im not so sure they needed the tools.

Fiends... Fyrehowl said. If theres a nycaloth here, it has claws enough to not need

anything else.

The prisoners, if any remained, had been brutalized if the chamber was any indication. In

fact, they might have been kept as amusement and practice, but if so that wouldnt entirely

explain why the place was still occupied without any other purpose. Something had been kept

here, or someone, and it was likely that behind the fortified door they might find out what.

***

Back in the main chamber, they found the door disturbingly untrapped, unwarded, and not

even locked. If the place was still serving as a prison, the prisoners were either locked away to

the point where they didnt need even the least security, or else theyd simply been broken to

the point of not seeking freedom.

The actual truth of it was, unfortunately, more disturbing: even if they did escape, they

had nowhere to go where they wouldnt be found. Obedience ensured a temporary respite from

anything but the random torture, but it left open the chance of eventual discovery and release

from an outside source. The chance was virtually nonexistent, but flight was certain death given

what the prisoners at least knew of what flitted about on the winds of the storm.
Chapter 93

The door swung open to one last corridor lined with prison cells, but unlike all of the others

previously, its cells were occupied. Huddled away from the light, many of them showed the signs

of torture and oddly enough, starvation, despite the astral removing their need for sustenance.

Each cell held a collection of humans, demihumans, and planetouched, roughly four to a cell, all

of them wearing faded, tattered, and bloodstained clothing decorated with symbols of the Athar

and the Godsmen.

Athar? Florian asked, feeling a bit of uncharacteristic pity for the prisoners, given their

ideology.

Clueless shrugged. Terrances illusionary copy hadnt mentioned anything relevant, though it

was possible theyd all been abducted in the process of the loths finding where Aoskars godisle

lay.

The Athar were at least relevant in some way to where they were, given what the loths were

after, and their own factions historical involvement. But what made no sense at all were the

men and women bearing tattoos of the Believers of the Source. What were godsmen doing there?

Toras approached one of the cells and called out to a despondent looking elf slumped against

the rear wall. Who are you and what are you all doing here?

The man didnt answer, in fact he looked away, almost as if he feared rescue, or the risk of a

rescue gone wrong, more so than simply staying there in his cage.

The fighter called out to him again, and then to another of his cage-mates, but neither of

them answered.

Toras, Fyrehowl said. We can come back for them once weve made sure the place is safe.

If theyre frightened to leave, we need to kill whoevers got them conditioned.

Perhaps reluctantly, followed by the haunting stares of the inmates, they continued on down

the corridor, expecting githyanki guards, or something worse, to confront them at any moment.

But nothing did, and eventually the corridor ended at a pair of doors, one leading into what

1038
1039

seemed to be a warded, high security cell, and directly opposite it, a finely decorated archway

cut with a githyanki symbol for Kithrak or Captain, smelling of a quixotic mixture of fiend,

candle smoke, and incense: presumably the wardens chamber.

Run you fools!

A pained, terrified voice called out to them from the cell.

They turned to see a man huddled at the far end of the cell. Dressed in the robes of a high-

ranking member of the Athar, factor or factotum, he showed the signs of hideous and recent

torture. Thin and shaking from starvation, he was missing an eye and one of his legs was bent

at an awkward angle from multiple breaks that had healed without proper care. Throwing aside

his torture ravaged body, he would have been forty, assuming he hadnt been on the Astral for

centuries, but he looked more like a man in his early elderly years, showing the ravages of energy

draining magic.

The astral fiends! He shouted, self-consciously touching the darkened, smoky trails that

discolored his skin. Run! Run now!

Whoever he was, the man was a hollow, walking shell of his former self. From whatever

horrors hed been through during his incarceration, his face showed more an expression of dread

and fear of what might come, than any measure of hope.

Whoever you are, you need to run. He said, glancing around his cell nervously, seemingly

expecting something to come through the walls. Leave as fast as you can and they might not

catch you.

Toras pointed to Clueless, Hes already taken down half the guards here. I dont think we

need to worry about them.

No. Not the githyanki. The astral fiends. He self-consciously looked at the bruised trails

along his skin. I dont know what they are but they watch this place, flitting through the walls

and the storm, they serve Her.

Clueless and Kiro both looked at one another. They knew what the man was terrified of.

Theyd fought one of them before.

Just who are you? Tristol asked.

Youre Athar. Clueless said. And so are a number of the other men here, I know why

youre all here. But why the godsmen?

And who do you mean by Her Kiro very pointedly asked.

My name is Tethonas Marfall. The man explained. Factor of the Athar, priest of the

Great Unknown.

Florian raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

 1040

Never heard of you... Nisha said. I know how many of you guys were around when Terrance

went all I need some time alone by myself.

Skalliska nodded, Shes right. I dont ever recall hearing your name in connection with the

leadership of the Athar. And that still doesnt explain the godsmen.

Marfals hands shook and he gave another nervous glance at the walls. You wouldnt have

heard of me. I was a secret appointment by Factol Terrance, and co-appointed by Ambar Vargrove

of the Believers of the Source. Nothing was ever said publicly, or outside of the leadership of

both factions about what we were all doing here on the Astral.

Watching over Aoskar? Kiro asked. The Athar for their own reasons, and the Godsmen

for their interests, with some slight overlap?

The factor nodded, Yes. And even after the factions fell I stayed here out of duty, necessity,

and respect as did all of my men, even if many of them didnt know perhaps all of the orig-

inal rationale behind why wed constructed the citadel, or that it was Aoskars corpse that it

overlooked.

Kiro looked hard at the man and repeated his earlier question, Who did you mean by Her.

Who is doing all of this?

The factor trembled and grew even paler at some half suppressed memory. Hed seen her.

Shed questioned him. Shed done to him what had been done to Terrance. Shed tried to break

him.

Her... the fiend.

The yugoloth yes. Kiro said. Which one?

He shuddered again, You dont know the half of whats going on here, nor do you want to.

She... this is much larger and goes much deeper than you know. I...

The room grew cold and something like a shudder ran through the psychic space of the astral

like a ripple across the surface of a lake when something passed from one side to the other.

Marfal jerked and screamed as something burst through the ceiling and began to take physical

form. Its here! You brought it here with you! It followed you in! RUN! Great Unknown, run!

With a horrified look upon his face, like he was staring into the depths of a portal to hell

itself, the factor went rigid. Coalescing out of some space only vaguely connected to the Astral,

a space between spaces, a dozen glistening, translucent tentacles lashed out and wrapped around

him. His flesh turned black as they pulsed with negative energy and dug deep into his core, and

his eyes went wide and then glazed over as he went limp and began to age and shrivel in the

space of seconds.

Glistening with ectoplasmic mucus, looking like the bastard spawn of some hellish jellyfish
1041

and a starving and deformed nycaloth, the astraloth fully congealed and turned towards the

intruders it had been called to dispose of, a rictus grin upon its blind and eyeless face.

Florian stepped back in shock, What the f*ck is that?!

Clueless and Kiro looked at one another, having only recently survived against the same type

of creature.

But by then, a fraction of a second had passed, and the astraloth had finished feasting upon

the already withered lifeforce of the Athar factor, and it lurched through the air towards fresher

victims.

Watch out for the things f*cking tentacles! Clueless shouted as he dove to the side, barely

managing to avoid a pair of the things.

The astraloth was looking at the bladesinger and Kiro both. In fact, it seemed to somehow

recognize them. It might have been the same one that had earlier tried to kill them in the

demiplane, or the abominations might have had some sort of shared memory. In fact it was the

latter, but the possibility of the first gave the pair additional motivation for revenge.

Son of a...! Toras cried out as he moved his sword to block a swipe of the astraloths claws,

only to have the hand flicker immaterial just long enough to avoid the flat of the blade and dig

into his flesh like his armor wasnt there.

Skalliska hurled a series of glittering orbs at the fiend, and watched as they all struck, but

apparently to no harm whatsoever. While the spell had managed to avoid the creatures partially

corporeal nature, it wasnt powerful enough to overcome its innate resistance to magic.

Ah sh*t. The kobold said as the fiend spun in mid-air, completely ignoring a flurry of

slashes from Fyrehowl.

Small as she was, and quicker than most, Skalliska wasnt fast enough to dodge all of the

tentacles that flicked out from where they hung down behind the astraloths back. Two of them

missed, from another three of them lashed into and partially through her, dragging their telltale

discolorations through her flesh like theyd done to the now-dead factor.

Florians eyes went wide as she watched the astraloth drain Skalliska. She remembered what

had happened to Clueless and Kiro, and with what theyd seen happen to the dead factor.

She immediately began to whisper a prayer to protect her companions and herself against the

astraloths draining touch.

The spell took effect, and the next few tentacles strikes by the creature failed to do any

damage, but neither did any attacks directed against the thing either.

Dont worry about anything else. Clueless shouted. You can heal us later Florian, just

get some extra enchantments on our weapons.

 1042

Kiro looked at Tristol, Use fire if youve got it!

The mage complied as Florian backed away and began to chant a spell of her own as Toras,

Fyrehowl, Kiro and Clueless did their best to keep the things attention, causing it whatever

minor damage they could at the moment.

Fyrehowl and Clueless both winced at their wounds and worried as they could feel Florians

protective warding slowly weaken and begin to buckle under the astraloths draining touch. The

fiend was striking at them and the others with supernatural quickness, and most of the time

it was largely ignoring any armor when it hit, which was more and more often as the seconds

stretched by.

A moment of respite came however when Tristol detonated a pair of fireballs near the top

of the chamber, aided as he was by the quickening effects of the Astral on magic. The flames

blossomed above his companions heads, missing them by inches, but both burning spheres

enveloped the astraloth as they erupted.

The air in the room seemed to shake from the fiends psionic roar of pain, and though it

immediately lashed out in fury at its attackers, they were ready for it, and they met it with

blades tempered by the might of Florians deific patron. Time and again blades bit deep and

hard, and while only half of them interacted with the astraloths bizarrely incorporeal form,

those that did inflicted heavy wounds.

Not so easy when its not two people by themselves is it?! Clueless snarled at the fiend as

he hacked at its flank.

The fiend was bleeding something like syrupy mist, some of which made contact with the

floor but most of which drift off like immaterial globules of liquid in a vacuum. Despite its

wounds though, the creature continued to claw and bite even when it realized that its tentacles

were having little effect, but then a burning column of holy flame struck it across the shoulders,

directed by Florian.

Letting loose an unearthly scream, the astraloth abandoned its mission, and fled with a

downwards stroke of all of its tentacles.

***

Dzukashs eyes went wide as the creature he knew as an astraloth, and more formally as a

Spawn of the Ebon, screamed and rocketed upwards through the ceiling in full flight. It had fled!

While they nominally served him in patrolling the regions around the prison, and occasionally

taking their pick of prisoners he selected to feed to them, he didnt control them, and few things

put fear into his own fiendish heart like they did.
1043

Yet one of them had just been gravely injured and driven off, forced to flee! Hed seen them

feed upon a captive goristro before, and hed never seen them actually harmed at any point. So

far as he was concerned, they were the handmaidens of the Oinoloth and his consort.

So now what the hell do I do? He thought, sorting through his mental catalog of spells,

already feeling the urge to flee that radiated from his familiar.

There were eight of them, and he was grossly outnumbered, but some of them were injured

and they were all within an enclosed space.

Theyll kill you! The nalg hissed as it feebly hopped up and down, togging on his lower

right arm.

He didnt bother looking down at the quasi-fiend, The Manged will do more than kill me.

It was true, and his fear of her vastly overrode his fear of the people hed just watched take

down an astraloth.

***

Just how the hell did the two of you survive one of those things?! Florian asked, incredulous

as the room returned to the normal, ambient temperature of the Astral.

Were just good like that. Clueless said with a grin as he shrugged off the touch of an

astraloth for the second time in as many days.

Florian knelt next to the factors body and shook her head after only a brief inspection. His

body was withered from the things touch, and past experience told the cleric that his soul was

probably in tatters, if anything remained of it, and it was probably a useless thing to attempt

to heal the body when thered be nothing to inhabit it.

The factor isnt coming back. She said, passing a hand over his eyes and oddly for her, but

out of respect for the dead man, she refrained from whispering a prayer in blessing.

Guys, Fyrehowl said. We need to consider something. Just how many of these things are

we going to be facing?

It was a concern, and consideration passed through the heads of her companions, but then

another look came over the ciphers face: concern.

Before she opened her mouth to shout a warning, Fyrehowl was already diving out of the way

as a cone of flame erupted into their midst from the outstretched hand of the prisons half-fiend

warden.

Bodies tumbled and the air was filled with a mixture of shouts of surprise and pain as the

unholy flame burned hot and true, taking all of them but Fyrehowl off balance. She snarled and

leapt to her feet and charged the half-fiend, but with two sets of hands, the sorcerer could cast
 1044

multiple spells at once.

A bolt of force that took the shape of the massive, grossly overdeveloped arm and fist of

a Yagnaloth took form in the air and slammed into the lupinal with enough force to hurl her

backwards across the room.

Having turned his attention to the guardinal, playing towards the bias of his blood, the

sorcerer hadnt given enough credit to the others, and as he prepared to send the force construct

slamming into Fyrehowl a second time, he left himself open.

Aided by the side effects of being on the astral, Tristol was the first to go, especially as how

hed been unharmed by the astraloth. He made a quick gesture and spat a series of words, hurling

a fireball at the four-armed githyanki mage.

The fireball erupted, but outside of the shock and surprise on the face of the sorcerer, it had

no effect. By some protective spell, or by nature of his fiendish heritage, the flames did nothing.

The same could not however, be said about the lightning bolt that Tristol sent streaking after

him a split second later.

The half-fiend abandoned his spell as it was about to slam into Fyrehowl, and he dove out of

the way, narrowly avoiding the worst of the bolt. He was only mildly injured, but the pause in

his attacks gave the others the chance they needed, even injured by the astraloth as they were.

Spinning around in a blur, Kiro let go of one of his swords and watched it spiral across the

hallway towards the warden, but it wasnt aimed at the half-loth, it never was. The warden

assumed it was, and dove to the side accordingly, but a sudden shriek and the sound of metal

impaling flesh and wood preceded his recognition of what happened a split second before the

loss of his familiar rocked his senses.

Dzugashs nalg was nailed to the door like some living proclamation spiked by a kings

messenger to a signpost. The clerics sword had pierced the quasi-fiends heart, severed its spinal

column and embedded itself three inches into the door leading to the other room.

The half-fiend screamed and hurled his arms out, shouting in a garbled, expletive laced mix

of yugoloth and githyanki. A spell was quick to his tongue and a bead of flame flashed across

the distance... and fizzled.

Like hell you will. Tristol said, the last words of the very same incantation freshly dropped

from his own tongue as a counterspell.

Desperate now, and in pain from the loss of his familiar, the half-loth pointed at the cleric

whod thrown the sword and let fly a bolt of acid that forked like a bolt of living electricity. It

connected solidly on Kiro, and burst from there to strike at the others around him.

But something was wrong.

1045

He only realized a moment later that neither the priest whod been the primary target, nor

the half-celestial fighter next to him had been harmed by the acid. But by then it was too late,

and by the time hed half completed his next spell, a protective spell even, theyd closed the

distance and virtually hacked him to pieces.

***

Stepping over the sorcerers remains, and around the tiefling who was busy making faces at

the dead nalg, Kiro pushed the door to the wardens chamber open with the flat of one of his

swords.

Sorry Nisha. He said. No mimics this time around.

Dont worry, Nisha said. Sutekh will find you more mimics I suppose.

Kiro grinned and opened the door.

Anything else in there? Toras asked, not yet walking forward and looking back down the

corridor to the prison cells.

Nothing alive and waiting to kill us. Clueless said. Well, nothing yet that I can tell.

The fighter nodded, Then in that case, stay alive ten minutes without me, I want to let all

of the prisoners out and make sure they can at least get outside on their own.

Ill be going with. Florian said. And Ill even be polite to the Athar. I cant offer them

a planeshift or a gate, but Toras, you and I can at least get them outside of this place. I doubt

that flying jellyfish from Hades is going to be coming back, at least not immediately.

Fyrehowl nodded. If you need any help, just come get us.

Florian and Toras nodded and walked back down the hall to handle the prisoners, leaving

the others to inspect and pilfer the commandants office.

The fortress had been rather spartan up to that point, and outside of their own weapons

and armor, githyanki tended to have little use for decorations, the wardens personal quarters

were distinctly different: A combination of baroque githyanki elegance and the personal, and

grotesque, luxury found in the lairs of the more intelligent breeds of fiends.

Half of the room was occupied with bookcases filled with books of questionable content and

even more questionable binding, a cushioned familiars perch, and a desk covered in a pile of

wine-stained papers and the broken fragments of a scrying globe. By themselves it gave the

impression of a relatively powerful arcane spellcaster, though one who seemed to rely more on

inborn spontaneous ability than on study and research. By itself it was impressive on a number of

levels, if of a radically different style than any of the groups casters were used to, or comfortable

with.
 1046

But what was most immediately noteworthy were the illusory maps and diagrams of the

astral storm that floated in mid-air throughout the latter half of the chamber.

I might hold back on my normal opinions here, Tristol said. Thats almost impressive.

Kiro gave the mage a confused expression. Normal opinion?

Oh, hes just got something agains... Nisha tried to explain, but Tristol cut her off with a

terse, Illusions suck.

The wizards ears were flat against his head and there was a bit of fluff to his tail.

Ill let Tristol explain about that some time. Nisha said, trying hard not to giggle slightly

at her boyfriends reaction.

That said, the group stood and watched the illusion as it slowly spun with hurricane-like

rotation around a central eye. Floating within the intricately detailed model were more than a

dozen objects like bubbles or hollows in the storm, more locations, more warded godisles just

like the one they found themselves in at the moment.

Holy cr*p. Skalliska said, taking note of the number of locations hidden within the turbu-

lence. Thats a lot of places to take down.

And take a look at this. Fyrehowl said, walking into the illusion and peering closer at some

specific spots as they drifted past her in transit. Some of these are marked with names.

Sure enough, it seemed as though the half-fiend sorcerer had taken it upon himself to write

descriptors of some of the spots in his own hand, incorporating them into the illusion. Some

of them were given names, and some of them had notes on what had been sent there from his

prison and at what time.

Lots of movement of githyanki and petitioners Fyrehowl said. The way he marks it, he

doesnt seem to have really considered himself a githyanki.

Clueless rolled his eyes, Yeah, that would be the loth in him showing itself.

Meanwhile, Tristol moved over to the wardens desk and began to sort through the papers,

some of them half-penned scrolls, and a wine-soaked journal of sorts. But as he looked over that,

the others continued to look at the illusory map.

Interesting names on some of these places. Kiro said. Kleerik, stillborn child of Io. The

green hollow. Nameless humanoid god of the forge.

The cleric of Sutekh looked disturbed. All of them names of dead gods. What are they

doing with all of them?

Probably what we saw them do to Maanzicorians corpse. Fyrehowl said. And probably

related to what Vast babbled about before he died.

Kiro only looked more disturbed by the implications.

1047

Oblivious to the clerics worries, Tristol glanced down at the most recent entries into the

wardens logbook. They were written in githyanki and seemed to denote the movement of

prisoners into and out of the prison.

Theyve been clearing this place out in the past month. He said, running a fingertip over

several lines of text. Some of them it looks like they just killed, some of them they sold into

slavery, though this seems to indicate they only sold their souls.

Fyrehowl snarled and muttered something under her breath.

Tristol pointed to a few of the bubbles floating within the illusory diagram of the astral storm.

Looks like they moved a bunch of supplies, weapons, and most of the guards to several of the

other godisles that theyve occupied.

Theyre abandoning most of the godisles and pulling back, consolidating. Kiro mused.

Clueless nodded, Thats certainly what it looks like.

And heres the most recent entry, Tristol said, reading it out loud. Factor Tethonas Marfall

to be transported in ten days time to Pitiless. Remaining prisoners at that time to be moved to

the eye of the tempest and transferred to the...

He paused and looked at the text with a more critical eye. Thats odd, the text switches

over from githyanki and uses a yugoloth word.

Where does it say they were to be moved to? Skalliska asked.

The Citadel of Shattered Faith

***

She drifted down from above and gently made contact with the rough, pitted surface of the

dead god. Padded feet flexed and felt the cold chill of petrified, dead faith beneath them. Her

feet were bare, and although cloaked in a dozen layers of illusion to hide her ravaged, manged

coat, she was virtually naked, wearing an outfit composed only of a loincloth and a single long

ribbon of blue elf-leather that wrapped about her body to give the barest level of modesty.

Power provided her with a vanity that transcended her actual physical capacity for such,

but she was heedless of that dichotomy at the moment. The fiend smiled as she walked across

the deific corpse, enjoying the profound symbolism of a yugoloth walking across such a being.

Exquisite profanity.

Youve been dead long enough Aoskar. She whispered in a pidgin of yugoloth and its own

older, root tongue. Youve festered in your grave undisturbed, and now we rape your corpse.

The cold stone underneath her feet gave no response, though she smiled as she thought she

felt a mild tremor in the subtle, psychic ether that radiated up from the rock, a subconscious
 1048

mixture of the dead gods memories and dreams leaking into reality.

The archfiend crouched upon the ground, slowly bleeding from a dozen open, weeping wounds

as she spread her hands out upon the ground like she was caressing her victim. I have every

intention of wrapping my tower in your flesh, carving it with hymns to me and to my lord, I may

even drape myself in a portion of your hide.

Light glittered down on the Overlord of Carceri from a dozen points overhead, and from the

sickly emerald fire in her own eyes as each source touched and refracted through the many glass

tubes and cylinders that composed Ghyris Vasts so-called Divinity Leach.

Already weve skinned your flesh, mined your body in ways the githyanki barely understand

after tens of thousands of years, and now... now I give the Oinoloth what he desires for himself.

The fiend gestured with a hand and telekinetically flipped a lever to fully activate the Leech.

She waited and held her breath as at first, nothing happened, and there was only the whine

and static crackle of crude, arcane capacitors to show that anything had changed. The ether

trembled, she smiled, the tremors increased and the rocky island began to physically shake as if

the dead god were wracked by a seizure and screaming in agony. Light poured from the glass

of the Leech and arcs of bizarre, uncategorized energies leapt and arced up to meet it, playing

along its surface and seemingly absorbed into it and taking a physical, liquid form.

Bleed for me broken one. She whispered, leaning forward to whisper to the rock like some

defamed icon usurped and perverted by a perverse, unholy being.

The ground continued to shudder and the stone grew warm, almost sticky.

Bleed for me Aoskar. She whispered, reverting to a spoken mixture of yugoloth and Baern.

The volume of the Leech increased and the ground into which it was anchored began to

glow with a dull, reddish light and all the while, the Oinoloths consort whispered in words that

predated herself. The words made her ears sting, words that caused her wounds to open and

speckle her arms and legs like a multitude of crimson raindrops, and in a warped reflection of

that, the godisle itself began to bleed.

Glistening silvery liquid bubbled up and precipitated from the petrified godflesh, forming a

shallow lake of mercury around the Leech, mixing with the archfiends blood as she cackled and

fiercely bit into her forearm, drawing blood and letting it dribble and cascade down on herself

and onto the desecrated godisle.

Bleed like I do. She said with the conviction of a fanatic. Bleed because we will it to be

so.

She knelt and licked the rock. Bleed for me god. Give my master his desires. Feed us.
1049

***

It was near to antipeak in the Lower Ward, and many of the wards businesses had long since

shut their doors, and only a few shop windows still burned with the waxy yellow light of oil

lamps or magical flames. It might have been a flux in the wind across the ring, some shift in

the operations of the Foundry, or perhaps even the opening of portals to paraelemental ice, but

regardless of the reasons, the night felt colder than normal.

In one of those shops whose windows still shed light out upon cold, cobblestone streets, its

proprietor felt the cold on multiple levels both physical and metaphorical. Something was wrong.

The city was holding its breath. The night was cold, and he was worried at what portent the

City seemed to dangle before him.

Fell the fallen dabus turned and locked the door to his studio. Something was wrong and he

wished to be alone.

Hed walked halfway to the back room when he felt it, a scream that hed only heard once

before, the day that Her shadow fell upon the Portal Father. Since that time, hed felt his gods

dreams, the lingering passing memories, the hopes and wishes of the power that flowed to his last

proxy. Fell had been condemned to survive, alone and shunned, an object lesson for his betrayal.

Perhaps it was Her knowledge all along of what would transpire. Perhaps She left him alive

to make him suffer for his crimes. The other dabus did not know, nor did he. Fell had heard

his god whispering to him for millennia, a bittersweet comfort. But now, but now with a scream

that echoed his first death, that voice was gone.

Silently, with not a symbol above his head to show his grief, Fell wept, and outside in the

darkness of the streets, a bladed shadow drifted past with neither explanation nor pity.

***

Well damn. Toras said. Weve got our choice of where to go next.

Hopefully they wont know were coming. Tristol added. With that astral fiend, for lack

of a better term for it, with that thing having fled, lets just hope it doesnt put a few hundred

githyanki and whatever else theyve got on high alert.

Clueless shook his head. Let them be on high alert. Let em come here, let them fortify the

godisles that are the closest to here.

Excuse me? Florian asked. Why in the Foehammers name would you be that suicidal?

Because we wont be here. The bladesinger said. And we wont be going to any of those

other places either.

Kiro began to grin. He knew what the half-fey had on his mind.
 1050

Kiro? Clueless asked. How do you deal with a snake?

The clerics smile widened. You cut off its head.

Correct. Clueless replied, pointing with the tip of his sword to the eye of the storm. Well

be going right for the center.

Chapter 94

Fyrehowl paused and tilted her head as a thought bubbled up in the back of her mind. It wasnt

that shed noticed something, no; it was more something that they hadnt found.

Poetry. She said.

Nisha frowned, Poetry?

The wardings on the first godisle, and on the palace in Carceri. The lupinal explained,

brushing a hand against the wall like she was painting with her fingertips. That poetry.

She gave a shudder at the recollection, both the imagery in her minds eye, the smell when

they had found it, and the horror that must have been its creation. Though she had no way of

knowing, the githyanki whod served as paint and pallet on Maanzicorians godisle, theyd been

alive when the walls were decorated with their wardings. One by one theyd been killed, piece

by piece at times, forced to watch as their killer wove her spells wearing nothing but a sticky

coating of their blood. Their agony had been prolonged as much as possible, and the emotional

taint that had hung over the place like the blessing of a dark power still haunted the lupinal.

But while their current location was just as warded and concealed as the earlier locales had

been, theyd yet to see any hint of the same frescoes of blood, bile, and pulped viscera. That

didnt make sense. What was serving to produce the same type of wardings?

Weve been through every room in this prison. Fyrehowl said. And weve even searched

the ship and its moorings, but we havent found anything making the warding.

Thats not something you easily hide... Skalliska said, repressing a shudder of her own.

Clueless gave a smirk, Not like they even tried to hide it the last few times. Hell, they

enjoyed it.

They made a spectacle of it. Toras said, shaking his head. They only put it out of the

way just to avoid it getting messed with.

The fiend that had painted those wardings had treated it as much an art as she had spell-

casting. Grisly, perverse art, adjoined with brilliant, frightening spellcraft.

1051
 1052

I dont think its here then. Fyrehowl said. Tristol, do you think they could have anchored

the spells somewhere else and still had them effect this prison all the way out here?

Tristol blinked. Well...

It was a frightening thought. Magic was boosted on the Astral plane yes, but as it was, the

wardings themselves -from what hed experienced of them- were hideously powerful spells as it

was. They seemed to have been cast as rituals, anchored to a location, which would allow a

spellcaster to create more powerful effects if they put time and sacrifice -of one form or another-

into the casting process. But still, he didnt honestly want to meet anyone capable of working

that sort of magic, given how theyd cast it.

Its possible. He reluctantly admitted, a double-edged mixture of worry and respect in his

voice. But Im not sure I want to really think about how powerful youd have to be to create

that sort of effect. And from what we saw before with the painting, I really dont want to see

what the place where they cast it looks like.

***

Tristols thoughts weighed heavily upon them when they left the prison complex and plunged

back into the storm, leaving the godisles bloodied and bewildered defenders -those that were

left- to lick their wounds and ponder how theyd explain the loss of their prisoners. But while

it was unintended, those same defenders wouldnt have anyone to explain themselves to in short

order if all went according to plan.

But protected against the storm as much as was possible, the group hurtled through the

currents ever deeper towards its heart, towards the eye of the tempest, and towards the waiting

corpse of Aoskar.

Though the astral winds screamed in their ears and pulsed against their flesh with random

sensations, they were silent as they passed through the constellation of warded godisles that they

knew also haunted the storm as bleeding, desecrated companions to the godisle of the Portal

Father. They paid them no attention though, avoiding them as much as they could from their

vague awareness of where they were from the map theyd found among the half-blooded githyanki

warlocks chambers.

They passed by a half dozen warded godisles in their line of transit, each of them sealed

safe and invisible inside their own bubble of wardings. They passed them by without a second

thought, without the guilty aftermath of curiositys ever-present war versus pragmatism.

The first to be left behind unmolested and untouched was the drifting and severed head of

an unknown, unnamed god whose rocky flesh sprouted thirty iron pillars, each of them serving
1053

to tether a githyanki carrack. Shelter against the storm and a marshalling point for the fiends

githyanki servants, virtually none of whom had a clue who they actually served. Over two

hundred of them stared up at the winds swirling against the magical bubble like a skein of oil

on a soap bubbles surface, and they were passed by like so many inanimate objects.

Every portal key is sacred to me. Every bounded space is a window into my heart. Every

portal is a piece of me.

Miles deeper into the storm and they passed the strip-mined corpse of a long dead elven

power mutually ignorant of the githyanki defenders encamped upon its surface. They drifted

past without a second thought while far below, a githyanki warlock sat and barked orders to his

troops while his familiar, a hordeling that looked like a stunted, twisted, insectile human infant

drooled and chattered upon his shoulder.

The swirling, raging currents of Aoskars storm only increased, but they didnt pause or seek

shelter from the screaming metaphysical wind. Even when it threatened to push inside their

heads with the agony of a dead gods last screams and stillborn hopes, they continued on, deeper

towards the center.

Sigil flocks to me, and my name is synonymous with the very act of planewalking itself. This

is right, this is proper, and this is only the beginning.

How much further do we still have to go? Nisha asked.

Her words fell on deafened ears. None of the others seemed to have even noticed her ask

the question, and given the howling metaphysical wind in their ears and their minds, they could

hardly be blamed.

The Xaositect said it again, shouting the second time, I said how much further till we reach

the center!

She frowned and drifted closer to Tristol. Another shout and another lack of a response, and

at that point there was only one thing to do: she pulled his tail.

Hey! Tristol shouted, not even hearing his own words over the storm.

The mage turned around and looked into Nishas face, watching her lips move but not hearing

a thing.

What?! He shouted in reply as she let go of his tail and shouted something back.

Same result. None of them were hearing anything, so deep were they within the storm.

That in mind, Tristol paused and whispered a relatively weak spell, but one that hopefully

would let them talk to one another despite the storm. The spell went off, and oddly enough,

despite the howl of the storm and the discomfort the psionic winds had been up to that point,

he suddenly felt incredibly happy.

 1054

That was a pretty nifty spell; Tristol thought to himself, it was really fun to cast. Its not all

that bad out here either.

Is this working? Tristol said in an unusually cheerful voice, telepathically speaking into the

minds of his companions.

Working like a charm. Toras replied, thinking the words rather than speaking them.

Skalliska mentally nodded. Dont have to worry about sending stones or anything else.

Is anyone else having weird thoughts getting inside their head? Florian asked.

Always. Nisha replied without a pause. But thats normal. But yeah, the whispering, I

know what you mean.

Clueless nodded, As if it wasnt already feeling crowded up here, Im feeling it too. Not just

little stray thoughts either, its entire memories and bits of perception. It doesnt make much

sense out of context though.

Tristol found himself pondering what sort of spell he could cast that might tell him more

about it. But to his frustration he couldnt think of one; but the frustration came more from the

lack of an excuse to cast a spell than from any inability to help relieve some of their confusion

about what the storm was bringing them.

Well at least I know Im not going crazy. Florian said. At least not yet. This is getting

pretty bad as we go deeper, and Im half expecting some yugoloth jellyfish... things... to come

flying out of the storm at us.

Fyrehowl grimaced as they plunged through a glistening barrage of filamentous, silvery astral

wind, Im still worried about that last part.

But worries or not, deeper still they continued, past the forest covered corpse of a god of raw

and bloody nature, unseen from the surface by the packs of fiendish gnolls who kept watch under

the eyes of their leader, a half-fiend gnoll cleric whose holy symbol of a snarling crimson canid

head in profile his followers foolishly thought to be Yeenoghu.

This is my will Imendor. This is my vision of what is to come. Already they view me in their

hearts as master of Sigil. All that remains to be done is to solidify their perceptions into reality.

Go now, speak to the Dabus, and spread my will among them. The Lady does nothing; she dares

not. I am not some mortal wizard seeking to claim the City, so go and influence the belief of

her servants, bring them to me, welcome them, reveal to them the mysteries that I have shown

to you. They will listen. Surely they will listen.

Closer still, and nearly at the heart of the storm, they passed a dead power of fire, forges

and craftsmanship, blissfully ignorant that the flaming glow that licked up from the open cavity

beneath the arches of its ribcage was an open portal to Gehenna that had been constructed there
1055

by the fiends. Not everything to be mined was for the use of the Overlord of Carceri, and in fact

her intentions were a secondary objective when all was said and done.

But all of that was gone and past them in an instant as they broke through a nearly physical

wall of multicolored astral wind and into the hollow beyond.

Suddenly the storm was calm and all was silent.

What the hell... Toras whispered, his voice standing out once again.

They hung in the eye of the storm, a massive hollow almost a hundred miles across lit by the

electric crackle of the swirling, rotating eyewall that encompassed its boundaries. They hung

there alone in the silence, suspended in the silvery and unnatural calm amid, drifting in the vast

emptiness where Aoskars godisle should have been.

Where the hell is it? The fighter asked.

Its here. Kiro replied. Right in front of us.

Fyrehowl blinked. She felt something, something that felt wrong, something that screamed

to her to flee, but she couldnt see it.

Right in front of us where? Florian asked. Im not seeing anything.

Kiro turned and looked at her and the others. Move forward about a dozen feet.

Clueless hesitated. They warded they entire eye of the storm?

Tristol whispered a minor spell to see the auras of magic and smiled, ...wow...

The bubble was massive. Not only did it encompass the entirety of the eye of the storm, but

also it seemed to agitate the natural rotation of the maelstrom, turning it, twisting it further

and faster than it would have otherwise. It wasnt enough to hide themselves; the fiends had

made the environment even more hellish and turbulent.

Warded or not. Clueless said, holding back from breaking the boundary. We havent seen

anyone yet. That worries me.

Kiro nodded, Same here.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he honestly worried that the fiends and their ignorant

servitors might have been well aware of the intruders in the heart of their storm. Was it a trap

just waiting to be sprung? Or were they so worried about betraying their presence for what they

actually were, and so secure in the idea that their wards and the storm would keep them safe,

that most of their forces were still encamped on the dozen other godisles hurtling along with the

current?

Whispering a silent prayer, already able to see the godisle at the storms heart, he hoped that

it was the latter.

Lets not worry about that though. Clueless said as he and the others neared the boundary
 1056

of the wardings. They might be able to sense when we go through, so lets go in as fast as we

can before they can react, and then do as much damage as possible.

Fyrehowl nodded. But the first fiend we see is mine.

Worried and tentative, but as headstrong and confident as they could be, with a round of

prayers, chanted spells, and pleading, hoping whispers to powers and planes alike, they burst

through the bubble and into the eye of the storm. The wardings rippled at their combined pas-

sage, something they hadnt done when Kiro had breached them, subtle enchantments reacting

to thoughts and life more so than movement.

The cascade of magic built and reached threshold, collapsing and screaming a single message

across the planes to the ears of its creator:

Someone has discovered us.

***

Xolikarth Femat nodded. As you requested mistress, the scaffolding above the third Spoke

of Torment will proceed, followed by the others. Aoskars flesh will be reserved for the Crown of

Agony.

The ultroloths eyes flickered with their own malignant glow, but that particular quality was

barely perceptible over the cold, sapping corona of light that washed over him and the rest of the

chamber he stood within. Behind him, his own underlings, a trio of arcanaloth sorcerer-scribes,

stood cringing back ever so slightly in the face of the frigid, burning touch of the light their

mistress delighted in. Whatever she had become, she was no longer one of them.

A dozen yards ahead -he had no desire to approach any closer- the darkened outline of her

figure stood with her back to him, like a spot against the sun, before a pair of open doors and

the source of the indescribable light. She enjoyed it he figured, awash in emotions he had shed

millennia before her birth, and at first there was little sign that shed even heard his statement

as she basked like a drowsy lizard sunning itself upon a rock in the euphoric/masochistic glow

that spilled forth from the Reflective Chasm.

By intent or as a side effect of the heart of the Towers proximity, his mistresss layers of

illusions were absent, and only scattered patches of fur stood on end, bristling from the static

amid the occasional crackles of purple lightning; most of her exposed flesh was raw and bloody,

manged as much as her name would indicate. However there in the hellish light of the Chasm,

any self-consciousness on her part was lost, or only an afterthought.

A reptile might sun itself upon a rock, and even a great wyrm might enjoy such an opportunity

to indulge itself in a moment of vain, lazy relaxation. But she was hardly a reptile, she was hardly
1057

mortal in any way, and no reptile would have shivered with arms spread wide, listening to the

deluge of screams that erupted from the Chasm like music.

Was she even listening? The ultroloth stepped forward, his robes brushing against the obsid-

ian floor, casting shadows over the screaming visages of the petitioners locked beneath the glass

like tormented insects in amber.

Four steps forward and the floor rippled, losing the glassy consistency it had held a moment

before to rise up like a fleshy wave, prompting the greater yugoloth to stop and reminding all

present of the true nature of the Tower. Whatever bits of the structure seemed like rock, obsidian,

or steel, they were only illusions and affectations, soulstuff forged into the likeness of physical

materials. The Tower was a living thing, a gestalt of billions of souls cobbled together and fused

into a single massive construct; an edifice wrought of endless suffering.

Good. Was all she said in reply, not turning to her underling even to acknowledge him

with eye contact, but for the briefest moment the agonized faces locked in the floor below the

ultroloth smiled up at him with the same flickering, multicolored eyes as hers.

She was absorbed in the sensations of the chasm, and though Xolikarth knew that he was

looking at her actual physical body, her mind was probably dispersed through the entirety of the

Tower, to say nothing about any avatars she might have manifested and cast out across Carceri

or the other planes. She wasnt the Oinoloth, she was young, but she was learning more and

more to use the powers and abilities that her predecessors had possessed.

Additionally, the first shipments of godsblood have been received and accepted at the Wast-

ing Tower. The...

The ultroloth continued on with the details, confidant that at least some fraction of the

Overlord of Carceris mind was listening to him, despite being more intent on listening to the

deafening screams of the Towers living bricks and watching the patterns in the chasm. He

spoke and she listened, mixing his positive reports with the narcotic rush of the agony that was

channeled, funneled, amplified, and purified by the hollow spine of her tower.

Twenty minutes passed by and he was midway through his report when a ripple passed

through the chamber and the archfiends ears flattened against her head.

...What? She whispered softly, speaking to herself as the words were simultaneously mouthed

by tens of thousands of wriggling petitioners accreted into the walls.

Obediently, Xolikarth and his retinue remained quiet as their mistress tilted her head to the

side and ignored him.

Something had gathered her attention.

Remain here. She said abruptly as hands formed and reached up from the floor to ensnare
 1058

their ankles. I will hear the remainder of your report when I return. Matters elsewhere require

my attention.

***

Aoskars petrified corpse hung within the void, nestled within the relative calm of the eye

of the storm that its presence generated within the Astral. The former god of portals and

planewalkers had died in an instant of horror, a fate recorded in Sigilian legend, but a fate that

history did not elaborate upon the nature of, such was the shock of those long past events. But

there in the silvery void, free of the wind of the storm, free of the whispers and free of the

screams, the Portal Fathers death was laid bare, stark and harrowing for all to see.

Several miles of slate colored stone were twisted into the rough, weathered shape of a tall and

bearded man of indeterminate age. The dead gods face was young, but his eyes and the weight

of the lines upon his features bespoke of ancient age, and the weariness that accompanied the

elderly after a hard and distraught lifetime.

Virtually all of the dead powers that littered the Astral had a sort of austere grace about

them. They hung in the void with an air of former glory that still gathered respect and a certain

amount of awe at the lingering presence of what they had once been. But Aoskars corpse

presented not any sense of grace, but one of absolute, chilling horror.

The Portal Fathers petrified mouth was frozen in a permanent expression of terror and shock,

one massive stone limb held up as if to ward off an attack. The godisle was like a mans death

mask as he looked down at the blade in his stomach, simply writ large, a concept taken to its

extremes and solidified as an example for each and every god in the multiverse.

Holy... Florian whispered as she focused on the corpse.

Clueless went pale as he noticed the details, noticed the light reflecting back from the corpse.

In no fewer than twenty places, Aoskars corpse was pierced through by massive, building

sized, perfectly formed blades of a shape and style that made them instantly recognizable. Where

they pierced the gods flesh, the rock was discolored and a dull hum filled the air, seeming to

visibly disrupt the very fabric of the astral, while the light that glinted off of their mirrored

surface couldnt have been colder than the feelings they invoked simply by their presence, and

by their implication.

Mystra preserve... Tristol whispered, a noticeable tremor in his voice.

But the horror of millennia past was not the only indignity that Aoskar had felt, no, it was

only the first. Death had not spared him of anything further. Carefully avoiding the area around

the blades, great clefts and furrows crisscrossed the isle where lengths of petrified godflesh had
1059

been ripped from the corpse across virtually 60% of its surface. The loths had treated the

godisle like a freshly buried corpse in a shallow grave still fresh and fit to drag to the surface and

repeatedly rape as one more act of pointless rage against the divine.

But the blades were not the only things to defile the would-be lord of Sigil.

Like a spear piercing the breast of the recently deceased, a gnarled tree tapped for its sap

by an iron spike, or a mocking, defiling monument in place of a headstone, a tower, or rather a

conjoined trio of towers, rose up from the center of the godisle. Sunk down into the rock, very

much like a tower whose memory lurked in the back of Cluelesss mind, a trio of towers rose up

to half the overall structures height. The towers were linked by dozens of crosswalks, passages

and connecting walls like spittle stretched between teeth, before the smaller towers merging and

fused together into a twisted, almost organic upper spire.

Light, like immaterial blood leaking from the corpse, erupted up at the towers base and

flooding the hollow, reflecting dimly upon the otherwise invisible walls of force that seemed to

fill the gaps between the towers. It wasnt normal light either, it was a mixture of cold, gray light

centered about halfway up the towers height, and a multicolored, shifting halo of light erupting

from the stone itself.

Thats not originally fiendish. Fyrehowl said.

Indeed it hadnt been, and those familiar with fiendish architecture, or the styles of Sigil over

the past several centuries would have immediately noticed that the towers were rebuilt from an

earlier, original structure.

Skalliska took immediate notice of its original architecture. That was an Athar building...

...which was originally in orbit. Tristol said, remembering in some small measure the floating

castles and buildings of old Netheril. The fiends drove it into the corpse like a knife.

And like a sacrificial victim improperly restrained, Aoskars lingering divine presence was

reacting violently to the intruding presence, while somewhere in the back of their minds, the

connection was made between the light rising from the godisle, and Vasts Divinity Leach. While

the fiends bled the dead power dry, random flashes of light and burst of crackling energy erupted

from the stone and raced along the rocky flesh of the godisle, leaping up as multicolored bolts

of lightning and arcing towards the spires and cornices of the tower.

But outside of the presence of the tower, the hollow at the heart of the storm seemed almost

desolate, a sterile blasphemy, a mocking silence around a desecrated tomb.

I like the guards theyve got. Toras said.

Skalliska looked at him, There arent any guards. Not a single one.

Exactly. They replied.

 1060

Not that they really need them. Clueless said as another burst of lightning erupted out

into the void before curling back and grounding on the towers top spire.

So what now? Nisha asked. We make a mad dash inside and make like Slaadi during the

Modron March? Because Im fine with that you realize.

Well... Clueless said, glancing at the blades embedded in the corpse. Thats the only place

on top of the corpse Im frankly willing to go. And its not like the entryways are guarded.

They dont have any doors either. Florian remarked, pointing to the open archways at the

base of each lower tower portion.

Hold on. Fyrehowl said abruptly, a fraction of a second before Kiro put his hand on Nishas

shoulder to hold back the oft impulsive tiefling.

Following the lupinals line of sight, and what Kiro had likewise seen, was a translucent figure

high above the tower. Glistening and ghostly, it flitted about the boundary of the storm, leaping

out and drawing bolts of the crackling lightning before then diving back into the eyewall once

again. Almost as if it were playing, like a mad sea dragon cavorting at the base of a waterspout,

it didnt seem to notice them in the slightest.

Not yet at least.

Yeah... Clueless said as they all came to the same rapid conclusion. We make a mad dash

for the door.

***

Someone had found Aoskars godisle? Impossible; at least anyone finding it intentionally.

Certainly some creatures, and more often their corpses, had drifted blindly through the storm and

pierced the protective, obscuring bubbles that shed sealed each of her godisles in like treasured

trinkets under glass, promised little heirlooms as part of a brides dowry.

But someone intentionally seeking out and finding the godisle where shed found so many

wonderful, wonderful treasures to give to the Oinoloth? It seemed impossible. The storm waylaid

most, the Dreadnaughts were blind to their presence, the psurlons and githyanki had no reason

to intrude, and the astraloths were keen to devour anything that they smelled upon the currents.

Perhaps it was a false alarm, a false positive upon her contingent divinations.

Surely that was it.

The Overlord of Carceri shrugged and closed the door to her private chambers, shedding her

illusions as soon as the physical closure was made, and as soon as the layered, overlapping wards

sealed her inside from less prosaic avenues.

I wonder if its her... it... She pondered to herself as she unconsciously began to itch at an
1061

open sore. We never did manage to find you Taba, errant little ghost of a thing that you are.

Youre a fleeting little abomination that should never have been born.

It was a possibility, but she doubted it. The Infiltrator of the Planes was better than that,

and probably would have gotten deeper into the godisles defenses before shed been noticed. So

no, unlikely that the altraloth was responsible for the intrusion.

So who indeed might you be? The archfiend whispered as she leaned forward and perched

over a golden bowl filled to the brim with Styx water.

Momentarily remembering to stop her violent worrying of her affliction, she reached forward

one hand and dipped a claw into the surface as she whispered a few sibilant words in a language

that vastly predated her own existence. A drop of puss on the tip of the claw contacted the

liquid surface, diluting immediately into a gossamer membrane across the already polluted pool,

and a moment later betraying an image of several mortals.

Now that was interesting. And unexpected. Especially that one. She remembered him from

a chance encounter in Center.

Though the chamber was filled with the screams of petitioners that composed the walls, there

was the distinct and subtle sound of spreading spittle and parting lips as Shylara smiled with

a moment of entirely inappropriate glee. Licking her teeth with a raw and bloody tongue, she

cancelled the spell and turned to one side to stare at the wall.

And there you have it. She said, looking into the wide eyes of the ultroloth embedded

into the writhing mass of conjoined petitioners. I know you can still hear me, even through

everything else. A pity you couldnt kill them in the first place, little gnats that they are.

Consider it a gift from me to you, because very shortly theyll be joining you Yethmiil.
Chapter 95

Ok, Nisha said, peering through the door of the tower. Theyre not so much for doors, and

not so much for normal architecture either.

Not so much for guards either. Toras muttered with more surprise than anything else, not

that he lowered his guard for a minute though.

Clueless looked through the door as well, then leaned back and gazed up at the rising exterior

of the building to compare. They didnt seem to match, not entirely, but extradimensional spaces

werent normally possible on the Astral, so it had to be some bizarre trick of design and optical

trickery on the part of the interior; on the astral or not, geometry brooked no violations.

Abruptly, a crackling bolt of lightning erupted from the pitted, rocky flesh of the godisle

and launched up into the sky to ground against the towers summit, rebounding a moment later

and striking back at the ground in a dozen places. Any guards left outside of the tower would

eventually draw the bolts simply by accidental discharge, or sooner if the tortured and enraged

essence of the dead god of portals could direct his rage anything more than blindly.

Guys, Tristol said. I really think we should get outside before one of those takes us out.

As pretty looking as it might be, and as amazing as the magic behind it might be to me, we need

to move.

Fyrehowl nodded her head, Lightning or not, we need to get inside before the bloody jellyfish

loth notices!

They took her advice and stepped inside, onto the lowest level of the bizarre structure. True

to what Nisha and Clueless had ascertained before, the interior of the tower was spacious but

contorted, like the twists of some petrified esophagus or spinal chord, with most of its interior

space being dominated by a juxtaposition of curling stairwells, open space, and elaborate interior

buttressing rather than rooms, chambers, or anything functional one might expect inside of such

a large structure. The tower was more decorative than anything else, a monument rather than

a living building.

1062
1063

Maybe theyve got rooms elsewhere. Florian mused as she approached the bottom of the

stairs.

Kiro shrugged, Maybe there arent any rooms at all.

They slowly made their way up the wide steps of the stairwell, inching their way towards the

first landing

Florian looked back at Kiro. What do you mean maybe there arent any rooms at all?

Kiro turned to Tristol for a deeper explanation.

Portals, extraplanar spaces, that sort of thing. The mage explained. Now while its prob-

ably just an optical illusion, it does look bigger in here than I might have expected from the

outside.

Even though its not possible to do that here. Clueless said.

Tristol gave a troubled look. Lets not think about that.

They didnt give too much thought to it, though it was certainly lurking there in the back of

their minds as they started to ascend the stairs.

Theres normal gravity in here. Clueless said, twitching one of his wings against the air.

Kiro nodded. Ive noticed that. It explains why they built stairs rather than just having an

open space and a shaft to ascend up like in githyanki buildings.

Maybe. Fyrehowl said. If they cobbled this place together from an older, original building

that the Athar had made, it might just be that the gravity is a lingering effect that they kept in

place.

And hey, Skalliska said, turning around to look at her chattering companions. Lets just

keep loudly talking and alert whatever guards they might have lurking around here, especially

when we cant fly away if they do find us.

Having said that, Skalliska turned back around, and coming around a blind twist in the stairs,

nearly fell backwards as she found herself at eye level with the grimacing face of a githyanki.

Almost instantly there was a wand in her hand and the sounds of steel being drawn preemptively

from behind her as all concern for their earlier discussion, and her rebuke to it, was put firmly

out of mine and forgotten.

But the weapons and wands were an unnecessary precaution. The githyanki wasnt a githyanki,

not entirely, not anymore. But it was a familiar face nonetheless.

Wow. Fyrehowl said. Nice touch in decorations theyve got here...

Situated in the center of the landing, arranged like any other statue taking up space, collecting

dust, and providing a bit of ambiance, there was a stone githyanki cradling its own severed stone

head in its arms.

 1064

So thats what happened to that son of a b*tch. Skalliska said as her wand hand relaxed.

Staring up at her with a shocked expression was the petrified face of the githyanki warlock

who had attacked them during their fight with his faux-rakshasa master, the ultroloth Yethmiil,

when theyd first ventured onto the Astral. The last theyd seen of him had been the fading

flash of a contingent planeshift spell. They hadnt known at the time where hed gone, or what

had transpired to him after his masters inglorious defeat.

Florian chuckled, Isnt that the...?

Thats him alright. Toras answered, sharing the mood.

The statue was pristine, immune to anything but deliberate damage while on the Astral, but

it was covered in slashes and obvious claw marks in places, all of which had been inflicted prior

to petrification. Mercifully though, the head had been cracked off -after- the mage had been

transmuted to stone, rather than before or during. But regardless, his killers point was clear,

and an example had been made for her other servants to see.

Decoratively carved into the floor, transmuted by magic rather than cut by tools, a single

phrase in Infernal repeated itself in a winding circuit around the statue: The Price of Failure.

They werent able to spend time pondering who had killed the warlock, as a shout of alarm

rang out from the stairs above them.

Weve got company... Fyrehowl said as she raised her hand and sent a cone of cold swirling

over a trio of githyanki soldiers on patrol.

No time to gawk at the poor sense of style! Clueless shouted. Up the stairs!

Running up from the landing, they barreled past the githyanki patrol still stunned and injured

by Fyrehowls spell, pausing only long enough to send another, uninjured gith, flying off of the

stairs and plummeting to the floor far below. But whether it was his death scream as he fell, or

the shouts of his companions a moment earlier, or something else, the seemingly vacant expanse

of the tower exploded into a flurry of activity.

Alerted to the presence of intruders, githyanki soldiers swarmed up the stairs from below,

apparently teleporting from elsewhere to give chase.

The githyanki, although handicapped by fighting within a gravity well, were intimately fa-

miliar with the layout of the building and the turn of its winding stairs. A short time later, the

first group of guards caught up with the invaders, and the fighting began.

Toras readied himself and parried the first blow, using his size to block any of the approaching

githyanki from getting around him and threatening the less heavily protected members of his

party. Steel clashed against steel, and the fighter blocked another strike against the flat of his

sword, giving his more spellcasting oriented companions the moment they needed to take an
1065

action of their own.

Tristol hurled a bolt of lightning and Clueless did the same, each of them catching one or two

soldiers in the path of their blue-white bolts. Florian was busily casting a number of defensive

spells, and apparently feeling that clerical niche already filled, Kiro pointed at the githyanki in

combat with Toras and launched a sizzling bolt of acid that caught it full across the face and

chest.

What the hell?! Toras said as the githyanki simply brushed the bubbling acid off of its face

like it was sweat and nothing more.

The giths actions took him off guard, and before he could recover, the knight turned a blade

under his guard and stabbed his shoulder. Toras grunted and stabbed back, striking the soldier

but seemingly doing no damage despite having felt his blade slide into flesh.

Something wasnt right.

Again he parried a blow, and again his companions hurled their spells. Nisha and Skalliska

both sent a flurry of magic missiles into the soldiers further down the stairs, and Clueless hurled a

fireball into the midst of a newly arrived group of gith whod just burst through the main doors

at the towers base. Tristol however, didnt use a directly offensive spell, and after he spoke

the last words of his spell, the githyanki on the stairs shuddered and began to move sluggishly,

fighting as if they were numbed by cold or fighting a constant watery current.

That was all that Toras needed, and his next strike caught his opponent completely open.

The githyanki shuddered as his sword pierced its breastplate and sunk into its chest, nearly

lodging in its spine. It exhaled in a single ragged breath, spilling the remaining air in his

punctured lungs like so much blood as his last abortive moments of life flickered briefly. With

no breath left to use, he couldnt scream as he died, it wasnt physically possible, but he did

anyway.

Even as Toras wrenched his blade free and turned to meet the advance of the next knight,

the air was split by an inhuman, insectile shriek issued forth by the one hed just skewered.

F*ck! He shouted in surprise as the githyanki underwent a sudden, hideous change.

Red blood turned milky green and sap-like before it hit the ground, half of it boiling off on

the air and the rest erupting in a burst of flame as the corpse of the githyanki erupted through

a monstrous transformation into something wholly inhuman, and not even mortal in the first

place.

Rather than a dead githyanki bleeding out upon the floor in front of him, Toras looked down

at the twitching, chitinous corpse of a full-blooded mezzoloth. In the middle of their innermost

sanctum, even if theyd never expected invaders, the yugoloths had tasked their own kind for
 1066

defense alongside their duped mortal pawns.

Toras took several steps back, and for a moment his sword dipped from its ready stance

purely out of shock, and he wasnt the only one to have such a reaction. Standing behind the

fallen fiend, several githyanki stood dumbfounded as well, apparently ignorant of the true nature

of their own masters.

Run! Toras shouted as he clenched his fist and a pulse of golden, celestially empowered

light enveloped the stunned githyanki and the true fiends embedded in their midst.

Some of the githyanki staggered in pain and confusion, while a scattered handful of them -the

glimmered or shapechanged yugoloths- roared in agony from the holy power of the spell. Below

them, already blocked by corpses and living but stunned soldiers, further reinforcements faced a

bottleneck and were and unable to immediately give chase.

Given the opportunity, Toras took his own advice and turned and ran, him and his companions

all using the moment to gain ground on the towers defenders.

A minute or so later, and several hundred feet of stairs higher in the tower, Clueless turned

around and pointed Razor. The bladesinger chanted and hurled a bolt of lightning to ensnarl the

first three githyanki that had recovered and were rushing up the stairs at them, still a number of

flights and turns below still. They screamed in pain, and one of them fell backwards, either dead

or badly injured, but either way their fall would slow the progress of their fellows that would

follow behind them.

Youve got to be kidding me! Toras shouted, catching Cluelesss attention as he turned

back around.

The bladesinger stopped in his tracks as he saw the two figures standing at the top of the

stairs: two figures dressed in richly appointed robes, two figures covered in striped fur, with

backwards oriented forepaws, and the heads of snarling tigers. Rakshasas, but Rakshasas that

looked to have died and been raised from their graves years before, slowly rotting despite the

timelessness of the Astral, shambling on in some state of quasi-undeath or magical compulsion

that cared nothing for the limitations of life or death.

What the f*ck are they? Skalliska asked, feeling the chill of undeath radiate off of the

Acheronian fiends, and knowing the contradiction that they represented. Undeath normally

couldnt claim true outsiders since they had no body to animate, yet the fiends were moving

along with the periodic crackle of emerald energy flickering from their joints.

Theyre our old pals! Toras shouted, feeling almost like clapping. The original ones!

Still dressed in the clothes that theyd been executed in, both fiends still wore jewelry embla-

zoned with their family emblem of a withered silhouette of a black tigers paw. One male, and
1067

one female, they were the original Lady Brampandra and Lord Siddhartha who had been the

late allies and guardians of Ghyris Vast, the fiends whose identities had been usurped by fiends

of an altogether different sort.

Kiro inwardly smiled. That answered some questions of what had actually happened to the

original pair. It had been possible that the female had escaped, or played some actual role in all

of these events, but her walking corpse standing in front of him seemed to put those possibilities

into the grave as much as she was. The yugoloths had slaughtered them both at the same time,

probably within hours of seizing Vast and his device.

The undead rakshasas opened their mouths and snarled, dry and hollow death rattles only

amplified in volume.

Florian grinned and raised her hand, taking aim with a crossbow. And just like the last time,

this time Im ready for you bastards, and this time its for real and not some bloody Yugoloth

impersonating you. Enjoy becoming rug material.

Neither tiger-headed fiend responded; they didnt even seem to notice that the cleric had said

anything at all as they both raised their hands and began a stiff, disjointed, unnatural series

of spellcasting movements. Florian didnt seem to care that they were casting either, and she

didnt move an inch for cover after pulling the trigger and letting the blessed bolt fly.

It should have slammed into the fiend and buried itself to the fletching. I should have slain

it without pause. But it did nothing of the sort as if the multiverse, or just perhaps Ravenna

himself, were mocking Florian in the worst possible way.

Sons of b*tchs! Florian shouted as the bolt embedded itself in the rakshasas chest but

didnt seem to cause any major injury, though a web of emerald energy was leeching out of its

skin and crackling around the offending missile.

The fiend didnt seem to notice, and the impacts damage was marginal and irrelevant as

the corpse raised its hand to cast, joined a split second later by its sibling. Stiffened, rotting

lips moving without sounds, desiccated finger bones moving in arcane gestures, both rakshasas

hurled their spells.

Tristol was quick to counterspell one of the undead fiends, shouting out a series of arcane

phrases causing the hands of the female to crackle with the abortive magics of a failed casting.

Her male counterpart, the original Siddhartha, didnt seem to notice however and a cone of frigid

air burst from his outstretched fingers to engulf the group.

It would have caused much more damage, but thankfully theyd already wrapped themselves

in protective spells earlier, and it at least abrogated the worst of it.

Son of a....! Florian growled as she clenched ice-coated fingers around her holy symbol,
 1068

unable to feel the object through the icy numbness as she incanted a prayer to her god.

Injured and frostbitten though she might have been, her gods fury lashed out nonetheless

and wrapped the long-dead fiend in a column of holy flames. But a moment later, the fiend

emerged from the fires without a singe upon its flesh.

Stupid! Stupid! Florian snarled at herself. Theyre still immune to most magic. The

bastards gained the benefits of not exactly being alive anymore, without losing the benefits they

had before they died.

Kiro nodded and dove into melee, wildly slashing at the female from a crouched position off

to one side and almost behind her as Toras hacked at her directly from the front. Being undead,

or something to the same effect, she didnt seem to care at the damage she took by the moment,

but the alternating blows to the front and the back made it impossible for her to remain steady

enough to cast, and unable to defend herself even had she tried.

The original Brampandra was reduced to a fiendish rag doll, batted back and forth by the

enemies of her killer, and alive or dead, oblivion was swift to reach up and find her, while her

brother faced a similar situation as he fought Fyrehowl and Clueless.

The lupinals strikes were being blunted by a defensive spell that absorbed most of the damage,

and though Cluelesss strikes were able to pierce the wardings, he had much less force behind

his than did Fyrehowl, leaving the fiend able to manage to cast. Before it was over, they both

were twice enveloped in fireballs that the former Siddhartha cast directly on himself, and a lesser

variety of energy drain, but ultimately the fiend was defeated by raw numbers and what seemed

to be a necromantic compulsion to fight till he was literally dismembered.

Anyone have a healing potion? Clueless asked as he winced at the burns that hed taken

from the fiends spells.

Skalliska uncorked one and tossed it in his direction, Here you go.

Florian could have healed her companions more quickly, but for the time being she was a

bit preoccupied. She smiled triumphantly as she looked down at the mangled rakshasa corpses,

both of them finally dead in permanent fashion, though it might have been arguable that theyd

died months or even years earlier. That felt good. That felt incredibly good. Justice that even

the Mercykillers couldnt have supplied any better, even if it was only the start of what justice

needed to be given.

Glory be to the Foehammer. Florian said. That felt good.

Toras grinned. Anyone up for the makings of a nice rug?

Im not sure even Seamus could do anything with that pair. Skalliska replied, noting the

advanced stage of dry rot that the two fiends were in. Theyre pretty far gone.
1069

F*cking mephit.

Well, I take that back. The kobold said, nudging the first corpse with her toe. Im sure

he could do something with them, just not making rugs that youd want to use.

Nisha stuck her tongue out at the very idea of the Mephit crawling around through the bodies

collecting the next daily special for his shop.

But surely there had to be more.

Something doesnt feel right. Fyrehowl said, glancing around in vain, itching a notion in

the back of her mind that felt like someone was about to jump out at them in ambush. Rarely

were such feelings just a mundane bit of paranoia.

Clueless looked down at the corpses and whispered a minor spell to examine any lingering

bits of magic on the corpses, because for all he knew, they might behave in the same undying

capacity as had the mortal assassins the fiends had sent into Sigil, and beyond that whatever

animated the tiger-headed fiends hadnt been something normal, because normally such beings

had no true physical body to animate. The magic had to have been something that shackled

their essence into a quasi-physical existence rather than dispersing back to Acheron upon their

original death.

Hed hoped to find something to clue him in on what the case with the undead Rakshasas

might have been, but instead as the spell went off, he found something else entirely, and not a

moment too soon. Cluelesss eyes went wide immediately as he recognized the burgeoning glow

of a contingent spell on each of the corpses rapidly ticking its way down to detonation.

Oh sh*t! He cursed as he made an immediate grab for the nearest corpse. Get em over

the side! Now!

Fyrehowl looked at the bodies and realized that her worries hadnt been unfounded, and she

and Kiro both dashed to help the bladesinger as the bodies began to leak bits of crimson light

from their eyes and their wounds.

Increasingly swollen with the glow of triggered spells, they dumped the bodies over the side of

the railing and watched them drop, just seconds before their magic triggered. Then, with a roar

of flame and the startled screams of githyanki soldiers caught on the stairs, both contingencies

triggered and the inside of the tower was momentarily painted in orange and yellow. It hadnt

been simple fireballs either, nor relatively conventional delayed versions of the same spell; the

spells entrapped upon the dead rakshasas had been grossly amplified to the absolute height of

their capacity, and the disturbing lack of pained groans from below attested to their death-dealing

efficacy.

Kiro looked over the side at the spherical scorch patterns on the stairs and walls below, and
 1070

at the charred remains of a dozen githyanki knights. That didnt much concern him honestly, but

the eight other figures standing on the stairs in the middle of the carnage, all of them seemingly

unharmed, they did. Yugoloths were typically resistant to flame, but whatever exact subtype

the pseudo-githyanki were, either theyd been bred more resilient than the norm, carried magical

protections, or by some virtue of the source of the flames, theyd been spared its fury.

Florian looked back up from where shed ducked down for cover. Yes sir, overkill, Im very

pleased to meet you...

Kiro shook his head, Dont say that quite yet. It didnt get them all.

Then, as if to punctuate his statement, the first flashes of teleporting fiends flickered across

the interior walls of the tower. The loths had abandoned any pretense of being something other

than what they were.

And now is when we run! Clueless shouted, his wings already starting to beat at the air.

And so they ran, bolting towards the top of the tower in a breakneck spiral as more and

more fiends gave chase. Higher and higher they went, following the twisting, contorting stairs

that wound their way up the interior hollow, but to their confusion they didnt encounter any

resistance on the upwards ascent: the fiends were only appearing at ground level, and from there

giving chase. Something seemed to be preventing open access into the tower through magic,

affecting both defenders and intruders alike.

The respite didnt last forever though, as soon enough the stairs intersected with the openings

to the various connecting passages that ran between the tower and its two adjacent neighbors.

At the first such passage they were caught unaware, ambushed by a trio of mezzoloths and

misshapen, insectile half-fiend githyanki warlock. The loths hadnt just gained the loyalty of

duped, misguided githyanki renegades on the run from the lich-queen, nor had they just brought

in their own resources from the lower planes, no, theyd also bred soldiers from the unholy union

between them.

Fyrehowl and Toras absorbed most of the assault, and replied with a deadly mixture of

attacks of their own, forcing the fiends to retreat and leaving two of their own behind, writhing

and missing limbs. Reinforced by troops in the next tower over, the fiends would have surged

back, but they never had the chance as Tristol abruptly stopped on the landing and passed his

hand over the passages entrance.

What are you doing? Nisha asked, hastily tugging on the mages tail. Come on!

Tristol mumbled something that didnt seem to her to be an answer, if hed ever heard her in

the first place. She trotting in place for three random, noncommittal paces before grimacing and

gesturing down the stairs towards a group of approaching fiends as they came into view three
1071

turns of the spiral below.

Their spells went off more or less simultaneously, with a colored hailstorm of flashing non-

sensical colors washing over the mezzoloths below, and a solid, crystalline wall of force sealing

off the passage in front of Tristol just in time for a charging fiend to slam into its surface.

I have no idea how I did that. But damn that was fun! Nisha grinned at the disoriented

roars from down below, and the sound of several fiends losing their balance and crashing into

still more of their kind rising up from below.

We can find out how later! Florian shouted a flight of stairs above. Grab Tristol and get

up here!

The cleric would have phrased it differently, but Tristol was still somewhat oblivious. In fact

the wizard was standing in front of his freshly created wall of force with a wide, inappropriate

grin on his face, admiring the spell and watching the last flickers of magic fade from his hands.

It was only a single spell, and there was a snarling mezzoloth only inches away behind the wall,

but nonetheless Tristol was still admiring his handiwork.

Nisha didnt stop to think why, though she did make a face at the mezzoloth trapped behind

the magical barrier, before she grabbed her boyfriends hand, getting his attention and yanking

him up the stairs after her.

Nearing the top of the tower where the three lower structures merged and joined, there were

more cross connections, but already clued in by Tristols earlier idea, Clueless had sealed a pair

of them and blocked off any further attacks.

Finally, the stairs ended at an open, unguarded archway and a dimly lit passage that snaked

off into the interior of the top tower. Tristol paused as they prepared to dash down the corridor,

then whispered a spell and simply sat down.

Something had caught the wizards attention.

Umm... what are you waiting for? Toras asked as the shrieking of mezzoloths grew louder

and louder in his ears.

Clueless and Kiro looked back at the fighter and gave nervous chuckles.

What? Toras asked again, not liking the bewildered tone in their voices and carried on

their faces.

The bladesinger pursed his lips and took a deep breath as Tristol continued to just sit in the

middle of the hallway and stare into space.

Were not going anywhere right now. Clueless said, jerking his head back towards the

seemingly vacant corridor. Its... well...

Tristol answered for him. The magic is giving me a headache.

 1072

F*ck. Florian said as she looked down the stairs and gripped her holy symbol, preparing to

cast. What sort of headache are we talking about Tristol? The This will take some time but

its well within my capacity to handle? or I have no idea what Im looking at, but its deadly

and unstable?

Nisha raised her eyebrows for the peanut gallery, I know that feeling a lot...

Someone warded this place all to hell. Tristol explained. Its like Im looking at a spiders

web made of magic, and half of the threads are coated in poison and woven into one another.

Its made to collapse and trigger if you try to pick apart the individual spells that are set up as

wards.

Florian grimaced and held her holy symbol high, calling forth a wall of blades into existence

at the top of the stairs, catching several fiends in its path and turning them into paste and bloody

mist within seconds. Enraged screams and telepathic taunts rung out as the wave of lesser fiends

was, for the moment, held at bay.

That wont last forever guys. Can you or can you not take down those wards?

Tristols tail bristled at the pressure, Ill try, but damn it... Im out of my league against

some of these spells. Some of them I dont know how to cast, some Ive never seen before, and

some of them youre not supposed to able to hang on contingent triggers like this. Some of them

look like theyre just dummy wards meant to trigger more deadly spells when they drop, and

frankly the whole thing looks like its intended to just toy with anyone who has skill in magic.

Its taunting me to just slip up once and make a mistake. But Ill try.

Clueless looked back at the blade barrier and the pack of mezzoloths behind it, one hand

moving up towards the captive bead of heavy magic at his neck. If it came to that, hed invoke

it and try to brute force his way through the wardings in front of them, but he didnt have any

idea if it would act differently here on the Astral, much less atop the body of a dead god.

Tristol began to cast, visualizing the act as trying to unravel and untangle a series of knots

without having any of the individual clusters of thread touch one another. It was maddeningly

complex as each tug of metaphorical string revealed the details of the things woven beneath them.

Geysers of acid, fireballs, lightning storms, antimagic effects, curses, chained petrification spells,

and death effects upon death effects were layered and sandwiched like a tapestry of perverted

magic, and Tristol was having to pick them apart one by one.

Time passed and Tristol was oblivious to the outside world as first one and then another spell

unraveled and vanished from the webbing. But for each few moments of success he had, there

was the inevitable failure to spot effects hinged to detonate upon the dispelling of other spells

that bore their metaphysical weight, and several spells went off inside the hallway, but thankfully
1073

none of them proved instantly lethal and beyond the ability of Florian to heal.

Florian? Tristol said. This next bit has about a half dozen death effects, so if you or

anyone else has anything to protect us from it, Id rather not repeat the time we met some

bodaks.

He was vaguely aware of the spell being cast, but thankfully for everyone involved he never

took his eyes off of the task, even when Toras was struck by an energy drain effect, and when

something triggered and sent Clueless and Kiro both diving to the side to avoid a burst of crimson

colored lightning.

An uncertain period of time later, Tristol was white as a ghost as the last ward dropped

and nothing else triggered. His hands were shaking from worry even as his head swam with a

combination of giddy pleasure from the act of spellcasting on the Astral, and the boost to his

ego from the success against the spells of a more powerful caster.

Kiro tugged on the mages sleeve, Sutekhs wisdom suggests that we go.

The clerics suggestion, divinely inspired or not, was a wide one, and the group rapidly

sprinted down the hallway. Clueless let the others go first, and as he prepared to follow, he

tapped his finger to the collar at his neck and willed a spell effect into place in the middle of the

hallway, setting a wall of force in place to block the fiends pursuit.

Moments later when the bladesinger caught up with his companions, they stood in the center

point of the upper portion of the tower, crowded around the chamber that stood at the connection

point of the lower three. They were all variously looking straight up, straight down, or at the

center of the room, all of them framed by the harsh shadows cast by a flashing array of light

that shown through the floor.

Fyrehowl stared straight up, looking at the unlit stretch of space that spiraled up above them

all. The upper portion of the tower was nothing but a shell, a single unoccupied space, a vault

above the platform between the three lower towers.

Florian was looking down through a number of clear crystalline sections of the floor, windows

down into the interior hollow bounded by the lower towers. Perched upon the rock far below,

the Ghyris Vasts Divinity Leach issued forth a cold and surreal light that washed up and over

her, highlighting the graven, artistic spirals of fiendish runes that had been hand carved into the

frozen flesh of the godisle; flesh that was bleeding. The spirals were an open, weeping wound on

the dead gods flesh, wounds filled with silvery blood that seemed tinged with scarlet, leaking

reddish light like the orbs of Carceri did. The carved designs and runes were where the wards

that protected the other godisles in the storm were anchored, it was a power drawn up from and

powered by the torment and desecration of Aoskars corpse.

 1074

Kiro was looking at the floor itself, and the mosaics that covered the floor in a unique and

disturbing iconography. There were nine crimson spheres set in a circular motif, each of them

composed of a smaller, recursive spiral of nestled orbs; all symbols of Carceri, and each of them

was marked and discolored by tarnish, verdigris, and unpolished sections as if the orbs were

diseased or rotting. The yugoloth dream of a conquered Carceri bent to their will, infected by

their kind just like theyd done to Gehenna when theyd bubbled out of the Waste into that

adjacent plane.

But regardless of what individual things caught their attention, eventually all eyes turned

to the center of the room where a sparkling portal hovered several inches above the floor like a

bleeding wound wrenched open in the flesh of the Astral.

So who wants to go first? Toras asked.

Umm... Florian replied, This isnt what I expected truth be told.

Nisha asked the obvious question, Wheres it go?

Please not the lower planes... Fyrehowl said, glancing back down towards another portal

far below that shed the light of the Waste onto the godisle and Vasts device alike.

No, it doesnt. Tristol said, casting a minor divination spell. Its a keyed portal to multiple

places.

Wheres it go now? Clueless asked. And where else can it go?

He shrugged, Its hard to tell, but the keys appear to be the whim of whoever made it. And

right now its going to the ethereal, but it can also go to Othrys.

A demiplane. Kiro said. The ethereal was the spawning ground of such creations.

Carceri... Clueless muttered. Othrys was its first layer, and hed been there before, and

never in pleasant circumstances.

Are we ready then? Florian asked. Now or never.

They inhaled, readied their weapons for whatever they might find on the other side, and tried

to ignore the idea that wherever they went, they might not all survive. Kiro more than the others

knew this was a possibility, but he wasnt as worried, not so long as the Balance was served,

and with that in mind he was the first person through the portal, followed closely afterwards by

Clueless who was also trying to ignore a familiar itch in his ankle.

***

Do come in...
Chapter 96

The voice was syrupy, thick with amusement and clotted with malice. As I said, do come in,

the quicker to get this over with.

They stood in an open air chamber at the peak of a high tower, a vaulted stone cupola whose

arched terraces overlooked a dark, perpetually twilight landscape of thick forest bathed in the

light of a full moon. The air was cool and carried the scent of wood smoke and tiny particulate

ash, hinting at the some hellish forest fire just beyond the edge of the dusky horizon. The portal

that had deposited them there was gone, apparently having been one way, and from where it

had dropped them in the middle of the demiplane, they stood looking up into the face of a fiend.

Playing with a crystalline scrying globe in one backwards oriented paw, a tiger-headed rak-

shasa looking down at them from where she lounged in a padded chair, a look of petulant

amusement across her face. Her form being what it was, they already knew that whatever her

true identity, she had killed the Lady Brampandra and it was that other fiends form that cloaked

her as much as the blue and silver robe that she wore.

The faux-rakshasa cupped the scry globe in both hands and grinned at her guests with a wide

tigerish smile. She didnt seem concerned at the group of eight standing less than twenty feet

from her with weapons drawn; in fact she looked to be perched somewhere on the line between

petty amusement and uncaring brutality. So full of herself, so self-assured, she might be goaded

into violence with a single wrong statement.

The gem in Cluelesss ankle was itching. Beyond the point of distraction, it was almost

painful. Fyrehowl had the urge to run, except that there was no apparent exit, and the demi-

planes visual appearance didnt seem to translate into its actual physical dimensions. Tristols

tail was fluffed out like the brush of a Sigilian chimneysweep, and he felt an almost static ripple

when the fiends eyes passed over him, such was the intensity of magic that seemed present on

her person.

Kiro however... Kiro didnt seem worried in the same way. Somewhere between confident

1075
 1076

and calm resignation, his gaze hadnt left the fiends eyes once.

Ive grown tired of you pin pricking at me and mine, She said, snarling softly. And

likewise I havent appreciated you sending Yethmiil back to me a bloodied husk on two separate

occasions now. But I can assure you that he suffered more at my hands than yours. It speaks

well of your competence, but as much as that is an admirable quality, I cant have you disrupting

my activities here anymore than you have already. With everything youve done, you havent

changed ANYTHING.

Just what the f*ck are you? Toras asked.

What am I? She asked in reply, looking down at one of her own backwards paws.

I already know -what- you are. Kiro explained. Its who exactly you are that I dont.

Something in the clerics tone was odd. Even for a Settite, there was too much cold confidence

there.

We know that youre a loth. Clueless said. You can drop the pretense.

Agreed, She said, tossing the globe off to one side where it hung in mid-air. This ruse

is tiring, but necessary I will admit. My Love does not desire the gith, or the psurlon, or The

Guardian to find out what we seek. Though in truth, the psurlon and gith are soon to be

embroiled in their own war presently and do not pose a threat, though Vlaakith has done her

best to peer inside even here... and been rebuffed harshly each and every time. I would like to

see the look of frustration on her withered, blackened face, but alas she has wardings nearly as

potent as mine, and I have neither the time nor the motivation to do so. Other things are more

important you see.

She shrugged and snapped her fingers, and they watched as the features of a noble rakshasa

melted away and evaporated like spilled wine, leaving in its passage not the dregs of the bottle,

but a corruption altogether worse.

Theyd expected an ultroloth, but the lithe, jackal-headed figure seated in front of them was

anything but one of the faceless lords of the Waste. An expression of exuberant, fanatical malice

was written in the lines of her face, the sheen of spittle on fangs, and the tension of lean muscle

under tan fur. She was an arcanaloth, at least that was what their first impression was, except

that her eyes were glowing and flickering with the fierce patterns of an ultroloths.

Cluelesss eyes went wide. Ah sh*t...

Hed seen her before.

Behind the bladesinger, Nisha cringed and a hand went to her mouth. As whimsical and

chaotic as her mind might have been at times, certain things burned themselves indelibly into

the brains fabric, and her memory lurched back to earlier that year in the Palace of Dandy Will
1077

in the City-at-the-Center.

Shylara AktAtarm. That was the name she had been called at the time by her erstwhile

lord, the ultroloth Palinarius, himself a servitor of Anthraxus. The former Oinoloth was dead,

executed, and very likely the same thing had befallen the arcanaloths former liege. But some-

thing suggested that shed never truly been working for him at all, and that her loyalties had

always lain elsewhere. Given the flicker in her eyes, whatever that truly implied about her nature,

betrayal had improved her lot in life.

Shed been a scribe then, just another one of the rank and file of her caste, endlessly jotting

down the names of the damned, the prices of souls, and the contractual obligations of the

purchased or deceived. Shed been the dutiful scribe, the obedient servitor, or shed at least put

on a good show of such at the time.

Clueless and Nisha had last seen her dressed in simple blue robes, nothing very special, with

fingertips singed and lacquered in a veneer of caramelized blood, much like a mortal scribes

fingers might be stained with ink and gum. But no longer, as the fiend sitting before them

glittered with nearly two dozen rings and earrings, and rather than robes, she was dressed, if the

word truly applied, in what amounted to little more than a blue satin loincloth and a single long

ribbon of blue leather that crisscrossed her body, obscuring a select few inches of her breasts but

otherwise leaving nothing to the imagination.

Now as for two of you, I believe that weve already met. She said with a chuckle, looking at

Clueless and Nisha. Though admittedly, circumstances were very different at the time, werent

they halfbreed?

Idly she reached up and itched at her neck, and a moment later at her ear. Clueless remem-

bered her doing that in the same habitual manner when hed met her in Center. He also recalled

that at the time shed been glowing with illusion magic, though he hadnt had the chance to

try to see beneath it, and he figured that if shed previously wrapped herself in illusions when

playing a rakshasa, who was to say that she still wasnt masking something about herself.

Quite different. Clueless replied.

Aping a nervous gesture and grasping a hand to the side of his neck, he tapped the bubble of

heavy magic nestled against the skin there, and willed a spell of true seeing into effect, hoping to

pierce whatever illusions might still be wrapped around the fiend. Immediately the magic welled

up inside of him like honey in his veins, thick and sweet, and a dozen layers of deception went

transparent around the loth, but Clueless immediately wished that he could take it back and

scrub the image from his mind permanently.

Far from the elegant, brushed and decorated fiend that sat before them preening and dressed
 1078

as provocatively as possible, the figure beneath the illusions was abhorrent. Clueless suddenly

understood why when hed first met her, shed been unconsciously itching, scratching and wor-

rying some unseen irritation: her flesh was a bleeding and manged patchwork of inflamed and

irritated skin covered in self-inflicted cuts, interposed by clumps of ragged, blood-slicked fur and

open, weeping sores.

Blanching slightly and swallowing hard, Clueless tried his best to mask his disgust as simply

worry or fear, something that played across the faces of every one of his companions.

But for the rest of you yet to make my acquaintance, mortals and otherwise, know that

you stand in the presence of Shylara the Manged, Overlord of Carceri, consort to the Oinoloth.

The archfiend spread her hands in mock hospitality. But your presence here is an unfortunate

one...

The room grew uncomfortably silent and the wind whistled softly through the chambers

open heights.

I could kill you one by one. Shylara continued, leaning forward. Rip out your organs,

paint the walls in your blood, give you the same experience Ive given to quite a few githyanki

in the past year.

Youre welcome to try. Florian said, keeping her composure.

She laughed and snapped her fingers, Bluster all you like godslave, but you stand before an

archfiend.

The space flanking the yugoloth lord shimmered and rippled, and the drifting, billowing forms

of a pair of astraloths congealed into being at the side of their mistress. They took no action,

but their blind heads craned towards her like slavering, obedient puppies held tight on a very

tenuous leash. They were eager for a sign, but her eyes were closed for the moment, and there

was a visible shiver that coursed through her body, a tremble through her breasts and twitch

of her tongue as she bit her lower lip and soaked up the welling sense of despair that filled the

room.

Youll be stopped. Fyrehowl said. Youll be made to account for what you did to Elysium.

Shylaras eyes sprung open and focused on the lupinal for the first time. The filth can speak!

Would you like to know just what happened there at Rubicon? I could tell you...

She sneered and Fyrehowl snarled, the first tear welling in one eye.

Alas, I was not there to see it myself. She lamented. I was not granted that pleasure, but

the Ebon has told me what he saw. He was there you know. The Oinoloth himself stood on

your plane before he ripped a piece of it away and drew it across the breadth of the planes with

him. He was there for the slaughter, the executions, and the defilement. He painted the walls,
1079

he drove the nails, he...

Toras and Florian held Fyrehowl back before she launched herself across the room.

But I am not the Ebon. She continued. Though every child of the Waste might act in

emulation of him, if even in the smallest way. I might emulate him, I might willingly submit to

him as his whore, but I am not him. I am a flawed creature.

She paused for dramatic effect.

And so I will be merciful to you.

What? They stared at the fiend, uncertain of how to respond. Surely she was mocking them,

toying with them, giving them false hope somehow. She was yugoloth, the closest thing to an

elemental of lies that there was.

What? Skalliska asked.

I will provide you with the means of your salvation. She explained, rapping the claws of

one hand across the side of her chair, and to Cluelesss vision leaving a smear of blood and puss

behind.

One of you will die. She said. One of you will willingly die at my hands, and in return, as

a flawed and imperfect fiend, I will release the rest of you to go upon your way. You will be free

to leave, and I will give you egress away from my demiplane, but one of you must choose to die

here. Now. Permanently and without hope of resurrection. Serve yourself up upon my gilded

platter, suffer for the sake of the others.

B*tch... Toras said, shaking his head and looking at his feet.

Fyrehowl snarled. The fiend was toying with them. She would dangle them hope and then

snatch it away, but the offer was one that more than likely several of them would actually

consider in order to save the others. The fiend would make their deaths meaningless and hollow,

but before that point the chance to save companions, friends, or loved ones was too much to

dismiss.

You know what I am. Shylara said. Youve seen what I am capable of. I could kill you

with an afterthought if I wished it. You have your chance at mercy. Will you accept it?

The room was cold and quiet. The astraloths drifted, the archfiend licked her lips, and eyes

darted to eyes as the question weighed heavily upon their hearts.

Who will be my martyr?

Kill me. Kiro said, abruptly stepping forward before any of his companions could say a

word otherwise.

The fiend blinked. The Settite. How unexpected.

So be it. She said, masking her surprise at the priests sacrifice.

 1080

But that was not the end of her surprise, or that of anyone elses.

Kiro put his hands at his sides, seemingly at peace with his impending death. But his eyes

were locked on the fiend, and he was smiling at her as if he knew some secret that she did not.

We are aware of you. He said calmly, a moment before his features blurred, shifted and

melted away.

Gone was the spindly human cleric in homespun clothes, and in his place was a lithe, copper-

skinned humanoid with eyes like liquid, molten bronze. The cuprilach rilmani was still smiling

at her, even as his former companions stared slack jawed in surprise at his true nature. Theyd

never once suspected him of being anything other than what he had claimed and seemed.

Destroy a world and we will piece it back together. Build a nation and we will tear it down.

Steal and plane and surely, surely you cannot expect for us not to act against you.

Shylara the Manged, the archfiend of Othrys was speechless, and if but for a moment she

seemed completely taken back. A rilmani?! Kiros revelation seemed to have blindsided her, com-

bined with the fact that she hadnt discerned the cuprilachs nature before that point. Doubtless

the Oinoloth was aware of their meddling, but had seen no need to inform her, or perhaps

hed known and considered it a test for her. A discrete portion of her mind tumbled over the

possibilities while the rest stayed focused on the present and the slaughter soon to be.

Kiro turned back to his companions. Do not worry for me.

He turned back to the fiend and once again smiled, We know of you yugoloth. Kill me and

let them go. May the Balance be served.

Done. She snarled at him, standing up and barking a single invocation.

Kiro flinched, felt the air ripple and something wash over him... and then he looked back

up at the fiend. Florians death ward. The cleric of Tempus had cast one on him earlier in the

day, and somehow it had held and nullified the fiends incantation. Hed forgotten about the

ward himself, and the fiend had never bothered to strip him of any protections before trying to

execute him.

Florians eyes went wide as she realized what had happened, and the others did a moment

later as well as Shylara snarled in embarrassed rage.

F*ck your Balance. She hissed, her lips peeled back in a snarl as she pointed at the Rilmani

and hurled a second spell.

A crackling greenish ray burst from a claw and lanced towards her victim.

I dont think so. Tristol blurted out.

The mage wasnt sure why he did it. It was part desperation, part the wish to save a friend,

and frankly it just felt like the right thing to do at the time. When he spoke his hands were also
1081

moving on instinct, weaving the motions of a counterspell, weaving the same exact spell that

Shylara had chosen to execute Kiro.

The spells glow had barely left the surface of her eyes when it returned, as Tristols conterspell

caused the original disintegration to reflect back to its source. It struck her square in the chest,

totally off guard and unprepared, and though it was blunted and absorbed by her own magical

protections, her pride had been gored savagely and her composure snapped along with whatever

veneer of stability shed managed to present.

YYYEEEAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! She screamed with mad rage, eyes erupt-

ing with emerald flame, her hands down at her sides, and her fur standing on end. DIE! ALL

OF YOU!!!

She was still shrieking when they attacked first and the two astraloths launched forward to

protect her.

Who the hell do we attack first?! Toras shouted as he clenched his fist and invoked his

celestial heritage to hurl a spell at the yugoloth constructs.

It was a good question. They fought a pair of astraloths, both of whom were only selectively

vulnerable to damage or spells, and both of whom could easily decimate them with their energy

draining touch. But ignore them at the expense of allowing their archfiend mistress to do

whatever she was capable of?! What a choice...

The incorporeal fiends hissed and recoiled, repelled by the holy force, but it was only for a

moment before they struck in a flailing, lashing storm of tentacles around Toras, Fyrehowl, and

Kiro. The result would have been hideous, but for the moment still, they had the protections

and wards from earlier, and an entire slew of beneficial spells that Tristol and Florian had cast

before they had ever entered the tower atop Aoskars corpse.

For the moment they held.

Florian held her holy symbol high and a column of holy flame descended on the Oinoloths

consort. The rage of Tempus was hot and strong, but his servants ability to channel it paled

against the archfiends ability, and the spell was snuffed before it touched her, but the process

of targeting the spell activated and launched the first of the fiends contingencies.

From Shylaras perspective Clueless was a dozen feet away in the midst of casting, Tristol

likewise, the kobold and Xaositect had yet to act, and the astraloths were enmeshed in combat

with the rest of her enemies, spinning mobiles of life-sucking tentacles frozen in mid-air, frozen

in time. The contingent time-stop afforded her the ability to layer the battlefield with spells

before a single beat of her enemies hearts, and though she was at the nadir of her power for the

present, her nature there in the demiplane being what it was, she was capable of much.
 1082

Time resumed and the air was cut with a hideous scream like the sound that surely must have

echoed across Carceri when Cronus deposed his father Uranus. A circular wave of necromantic

energy erupted from the fiends mouth along with bloody spittle, a web of lightning lashed to

each and every one of her enemies, and a bolt of darkness leapt from her finger towards Florians

chest.

All in the space of a scant few seconds the spells struck with the rising scent of ozone to

herald their passage. Florians death ward was still in place to blunt the force of the wail, but

Kiro shuddered and struggled to resist it with all the force of his being even as he lashed with

his swords at the tentacles of one of the astraloths. The lightnings effect was much more direct

though, and the smell of burnt flesh soon joined the stench of ozone as the fiends last spell struck

Florian with full force.

The mortal was a cleric, a representative of a deity, one of the ignorant and overblown children

of simpering mortal faith and worship. It was an object of faith, an object of belief, an icon

of hope in whatever flavor it might present, and these things were anathema to the misery and

hopelessness embodied by the yugoloth ideal; of course Shylara would target the godslave.

Florian staggered back and clutched her chest, feeling her heart quiver and skip a beat, and

then another and then another as the fiends spell sought to snuff her life-force. Shylara sought

to will her death like she was a solitary yugoloth blowing out the last candle in the last temple

upon a freshly sterilized world on the prime, snuffing the light into darkness before sending the

worlds star to nova.

Florians hand clenched tight around her holy symbol, a prayer to Tempus tumbled from her

lips, and she resisted, somehow she resisted. Somehow. And the fight raged on.

Blades flashed and tentacles dug into flesh, spells flickered and died against wards or innate

and inborn resistance to magic. Everything seemed to happen so quickly in a maddening blur,

but paradoxically to all occur in a sluggish fog moment by moment and action by action with

each beat of the heart. The fiend was laughing, cackling with mad abandon and sadistic glee,

acting without any apparent regard to herself, offering no defense outside of whatever she might

have prepared earlier.

But that might have been enough as a bolt of lightning from Cluelesss sword, and a cone of

cold from Fyrehowls hand both dissipated against Shylaras body without touching her in the

slightest. Her astraloths were faring poorly as they darted to cover her, opening themselves to

opportunistic strikes by Kiro, but they were giving as much damage as they took, leaving their

targets drained multiple times over, Toras especially.

Tristol saw the toll the astral fiends were inflicting, and likewise the brutality of the archfiends
1083

spells. Even one of Shylaras spells might kill, or kill multiple times over, and their own defenses

simply werent sufficient; in fact he was surprised that they were still alive, and he wanted to

remain that way as he cast his next spell.

Nisha! Skalliska! He shouted as his spell blanketed him in a bubble of antimagic. Get

close to me! The rest of you too!

In an instant Nisha was next to him, hugging tight around his chest almost to the point of

hindering his ability to breath, let alone cast, but the others seemed far too preoccupied with

the fight to consider a tactical retreat away from the archfiends magic or the worst effects of

the astraloths tentacles.

Meanwhile a slice from Razor clipped the archfiends flesh and drew blood just before once

again, for the second time, time stood still. Again, it was only a scant few moments, but the

fiend used her time to layer the air thick with spells without giving any regard to the quarter

inch of steel that had just opened a bleeding line across her abdomen.

The demiplane returned to the proper flow of time, and became like Phlegethos in an instant as

a trio of massive fireballs detonated directly atop of Shylara and expanded outwards to envelope

the entire chamber and everything in it. Air turned to flame and lungs were burned and wounds

cauterized wherever wards and resistances did not at least protect from some of the damage, but

the astraloths were struck just as much, and their nature seemed to preclude their resistance to

that element in the slightest.

Her servants or not, she didnt care; the Ebon would create more for her. Let them die. She

called more spells to mind and simply watched them absorb more and more wounds from her

mortal and immortal foes, themselves brutally injured or near death as it was. It would all end

shortly.

Toras plunged his sword into the center of the nearest Astraloth and watched it dissolve upon

death, falling backwards and out of phase and visibility as its twin was consumed in a column

of flame invoked by Florian. All that was left was the fiend.

Shes about the cast again! Skalliska shouted. Someone f*cking stop her!

Tristol whimpered and his tail twitched nervously as he half expected a shout of Get her

Tristol! to erupt from somewhere. He might be able to stop her from casting if he got close to

her, but she was an archfiend, and magic or not she could rip him to pieces with her bare hands

if needed.

Time didnt stop for a third time, but her actions were supernaturally sped up nonetheless,

and before they could act to counter her, she was hurling spells again. First a burning column

of multicolored light leapt from one hand and struck Clueless, some manner of single target
 1084

prismatic spray, covering him in a sheet of flame and cloud of poison. The bladesinger was

burned, but the spells effects could have been much worse, and his fey heritage protected him

from its other effects, but then the second spell went from the fiends mind and into reality.

From inside his antimagic field Tristol watched the spell erupt from the fiend as a thousand

drops of syrupy black blood leaking from her every pore and orifice, evaporating into sinuous

tendrils of glistening, sickly vapor that swirled about her body before enveloping the chamber

and surging towards nostrils and mouths, open wounds and anywhere they might find purchase

and avenue of infection. Whatever it was it was unique and personal, something 9th sphere or

maybe higher, he couldnt tell but only he and Nisha were safe from its cloying touch.

Get out of there! He screamed while Shylara laughed and then kissed two of her fingers

like she was giving a perverse blessing to the spell.

He turned away when the fiends gestures grew obscene and his companions began to stagger

and choke, sores erupting on their body from contagion, as the spell sought to siphon away their

physical and mental abilities. The effects were hideous, and for a moment he thought Skalliska

and Toras might have been dead, even as Kiro, Clueless and Fyrehowl shuddered and contorted in

agony, resisting the spells worst effects through pure force of will. But then Florian gripped her

holy symbol and hurled a spell while the fiend was still knuckledeep in self-indulgent perversity

and unprepared for any counterattack.

It was the highest sphere spell that Florian still retained in memory, and it was a powerful

spell at that. Directly invoking the wrath of her god, Florian called out for the fiends utter and

complete destruction, and somehow it seemed to actually work.

Shylara paused and shuddered as her spell abruptly ended and her hands went slack. Her

eyes went wide and their light dimmed as the flame that had previously licked from her sockets

guttered and died. She stumbled on her feet and blinked, momentarily disoriented before she

finally looked back up for one last moment of eye contact before her body imploded upon itself,

leaving behind only a ragged stain of slurried blood and ashes.

...f*ck... Florian said, falling to her knees and catching her breath amid the pain.

Clueless blinked in disbelief and looked over at Kiro, shocked and overwhelmed that they

had survived. They were both brutally injured and covered in lesions from virtually head to toe,

weakened terribly in mind and body alike, but they were alive.

Suddenly from behind them, there was a sound.

*CLAP*

A pair of hands slowly and deliberately smacked together.

*CLAP*
1085

Again.

*CLAP*

A third time.

They spun around to see the fading glow of a closing gate and the snarling, blood slicked

figure of Shylara the Manged, devoid of illusions, as she walked towards them leaving a trail of

crimson footprints in her wake. No words. No dire speech. Just a bestial expression and a rapid

gesture in the air before their moment of shock had passed.

How?! She was dead! Theyd watched her die! F*ck!

One gesture from the archfiends hand and Tristol watched as she called down a 9th sphere

evocation, one of the most powerful spells he was even aware of short of a wish. In a split second

the roof of the chamber was ripped apart and open as a burning globe of hatred and molten iron

hurtled from out of the sky directly onto where Kiro stood, striking home and then exploding,

immolating the rilmani and sending everyone, himself included scrambling, screaming, tumbling

for shelter from the rain of burning metal and fragmented stone.

He couldnt see anything except for the archfiends form standing black against the smoke,

alone on the rim of the crater overlooking Kiros atomized remains. Tristol didnt know if anyone

besides himself and Nisha were still alive. He didnt have the slightest clue.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and then for the second time that day, Tristol acted

purely on instinct, something Fyrehowl or any other Cipher would have been proud of, but to

tell the truth the second time around it was purely desperation. It was the first spell that came

to mind, a random enough choice to make Nisha proud, desperation or not.

Each arcane syllable fell from his lips in perfect sequence, each dropping into place with the

skill of an archwizard, and with a finality that would have resonated with his Netherese ancestors,

it forced its way into reality and found a chink within the archfiends wards. Perhaps she hadnt

planned for it, perhaps hed been lucky, perhaps her fury had distracted her from making the

proper defense, perhaps perhaps perhaps but the end result was the same.

Frozen in mid-snarl, the Overlord of Carceri stood there on the craters rim petrified fast in

stone, while deep within the bowels of the Tower of Incarnate Pain, the archfiends true physical

body lay catatonic and sessile, unable to act and unable to withdraw her mind from its stony

tomb.

***

Flickering blue light filtered down upon a desk carved from fossilized bones, a block of slate

cut from the depths of the furnace of Krangath, the last traces of an ancient battlefield long
 1086

since buried from a time only shortly after the beginning of the Blood War. A dozen books lay

neatly arranged alongside a similar stack of bound and framed petitioners, all of them holding

their own share of infernal knowledge, but for the time being theyd been roughly shoved aside,

as roughly as their fastidious master might treat such things.

It wasnt a book that occupied the primary surface of the desk, not a book at all, but rather

the feet of the desks owner that lay sprawled atop it as he leaned back on his chair with another

book leisurely perched in his lap. Pen moved across paper, and the pages were filled with an

intricate array of flowing script, arranged in elaborate detail so as to convey a picture in the

spacing and placement of their lines and characters.

There was a soft chuckle as the last word was penned into place and the picture of script

was finished, having taken the form of the Overlord of Carceris face at the moment of the

petrification of her surrogate astral body. There was another chuckle and a claw brushed the

surface of the page like its author were stroking the face of a child whod fallen, bruised their

knee, and then come running to cry and whimper to an adult.

Another chuckle, another smile at the page, and finally Helekanalaith broke into laughter.
Chapter 97

Several long minutes passed in complete silence, but nothing happened. The petrified yugoloth

lords statue remained cold and frozen, the spell didnt fail nor did some delayed counterspell on

her part release her, and no further projected copies of the archfiend sprang into existence.

What in the name of Tempus just happened? Florian asked, still recovering from the

double-edged shock of the archfiends reappearance, and her subsequent petrification.

The snarling, hideous granite visage of Shylara the Manged gave no reply.

Grace of Mystra. Tristol exhaled. That actually worked.

Florian turned and looked at the mage. What Tristol? What just worked?

I petrified her. He replied, breaking into a grin. Stone to Flesh.

Why dont you look worried? Skalliska asked. We just killed her a minute ago and she

came back. For all we know shes just sending avatars after us.

Tristol nodded, She was astrally projecting from somewhere else, probably Carceri, and

then...

Skalliskas eyes went wide and a grin sprouted on her snout as she understood where the

wizard was going. Shes stuck! Hah!

Somebody explain to the non-wizard please. Toras asked, not quite as relaxed as the others.

I figure she was astrally projecting, and then diving through a color pool somewhere, or

multiple color pools. Tristol explained. And when you do that combination of things, you

form a surrogate astral body on whatever plane the pool goes to.

It makes a perfect copy of you. Skalliska added. Complete with everything you might

have had on you.

She didnt exactly have much on her... Fyrehowl said with a mock gag.

Clueless looked at the naked statue of the archfiend, and fey heritage or not, the lack of

clothing wasnt helping anything.

But yeah. Tristol said. We kill that form and she just wakes back up, slightly pissed off,

1087
 1088

but no worse for wear. A few minutes is all it takes and shes back here going after us again.

But shes not dead.

Toras smacked his hands together. You cant end that spell if youre petrified. How long is

she stuck for?

In theory, in perpetuity. Tristol said. The petrification is permanent unless you counteract

it with another spell, and astral projection lasts till you end the spell.

Which the b*tch cant do. Florian said triumphantly.

We have our own archfiend. Clueless said. We. Have. Our. Own. Archfiend.

All eyes turned to the statue, but once again the petrified form of Shylara the Manged gave

no reply.

The fight was over, the smoke had cleared both physically and metaphorically, but there was

no apparent exit from the demiplane, and the lurid chunk of imprisoned archfiend was still there

like a metaphorical 800lb fiendish gorilla in the room.

Nisha noticed the proverbial gorilla. So what the hell do we do now?

Good question. Very good question.

We cant destroy the statue. Clueless said. Shell just wake up back in Carceri.

Well stick her in Pitiless. Florian suggested.

It was a nice idea. But the wardens of the prison werent likely to accept such an occupant

from them given their recent experience there. Plus, the loths seemed likely to raze the prison

to its foundations just to get one of their own back, and to hell with the consequences of various

displeased persons and deities who might have had things squirreled away there as well. A

dragon, a phylactery, a risen fiend, a fallen avoral... they paled in importance compared to an

actual archfiend.

Fyrehowl shook her head. Im not sure theyll even agree to see us, let along take Shylara

off our hands.

Clueless had to agree. She wont stay there a week. Her servants or the Oinoloth, or someone

who owes her a favor will break her out.

So no dice on that option. But it was a large multiverse, and there were other choices left;

plenty of choices.

We dump her into the Negative Energy Plane. Toras mused.

Shell eventually decay and die. Skalliska countered. Matter doesnt last long there.

The fighter tilted his head. The Positive Energy Plane then?

Again the kobold shook her head. The sentiment was nice, and it was a hellish place if there

ever was one, but without a way to keep it safe from the environment, it wouldnt last long there
1089

either.

Like ice in the plane of fire. She explained. Itd last longer in Negative.

Fyrehowl waved her hands, Alright, maybe were looking at this the wrong way. Rather

than thinking about where to stick her statue, maybe we should think about who might think it

valuable, and who might take it off our hands.

Toras started to snicker.

What? Fyrehowl asked, looking at him oddly.

How about we stoneshape her into an awkward position, and then give her to the Marauder?

Behind the fighter, Clueless opened his mouth and cupped his hand just in front of his chin.

Dude! Florian said, trying to avoid choking. I dont think shes got one of those to...

The cleric shook her head violently, breaking off that line of thought entirely. No. You

know, I really dont want to know the answer to that question. Thats knowledge I can bloody

well live without. Eeeeehhhhhh....

Clueless and Fyrehowl both laughed and the tips of Tristols ears grew red.

Ok. But seriously. Fyrehowl asked. Any ideas?

I was being somewhat serious. Toras said. At least maybe with the stoneshape part...

Im still worried about her underlings coming after us. Tristol said. Or the Oinoloth

himself.

Clueless shrugged. Her underlings are probably more inclined to kill her and take her place

once they discover that shes in a coma more or less.

Loyalty isnt their strong point. Fyrehowl said. And considering how much they were

worried about letting their activities here be widely known, Id bet that the Oinoloth would let

her suffer for any failure.

And she seems to love him. Clueless muttered, shaking his head. Shes messed up.

Be that as it might, its still a risk we need to consider. Florian said. If she gets out,

theyll be coming for us. So we need to think long term solutions.

We can always just dump her into one of the upper planes. Fyrehowl suggested. You take

Belarian, we take one of your lords. Kiro might like the sense of Balance.

There was a momentary silence at the mention of Kiros name. Rilmani or not, he was dead

for the moment, and given who killed him, and what he was, it was an open question if theyd

ever see him again. It was too soon.

Maybe. Toras said with a nod. Or we could find a god that wants to take her into their

domain for safe keeping.

 1090

How about another archfiend? Clueless suggested. Evil isnt monolithic by any means.

And surely Shylara has some enemies on the lower planes.

One very immediate answer was bubbling up like hot tar in their minds, but no one wanted

to be the first to suggest it as a possible answer to their dilemma. There was always one singular,

or triplicate, figure on the lower planes who hated the loths with a passion, and theyd already

had some manner of communication with it, or at least one of its creations/children/proxies.

But was it safe making a deal with an exiled deity/Baernaloth?

We could sell her to Apomps. Florian said, speaking what everyone else was thinking.

Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow. And youre willing to travel to Agathys to go ask him? And

thats on Carceri, right in the thick of where she holds power.

Well, weve already spoken to a gehreleth, Florian said. And its almost as if he can see

through them. We just need to find another one, and there was that Xideous fellow that was

supposed to get back up with us at some point anyway.

Id rather not deal with yet more fiends. Fyrehowl said.

Alright, so no fiends. Lets take her to Sigil, and throw her over the side. Skalliska suggested.

I dont have a clue what actually might happen, but nothing thats ever been hurled over the

edge, be it object or person, has ever been found again.

Tristols tail twitched uncomfortably. But umm... wed have to take an archfiend into Sigil.

I dont think thats exactly safe.

Nisha stuck her tongue out. Mazing equals not fun.

Point taken. The kobold replied.

They continued to discuss other alternatives, and Tristol and Skalliska started to examine the

interior of the demiplane/tower summit more closely for some hints of an exit, or latent portals.

But in the meantime, Clueless was in a mood to gloat, even if the imprisoned archfiend wasnt

in a position to reply, or likely even be aware of what was being said.

Funny isnt it. The half-fey said as he leaned in close to the statue and looked it in the

eyes. I bet none of this ever crossed your mind when we met in Center. Well b*tch, the jokes

on you I think.

He laughed in her face and tapped the top of her muzzle like he was correcting the behavior

of an ill-mannered puppydog.

Oh man... He said, grinning a mile-wide grin. I just wish I knew what the hell was going

through your head right now. Id enjoy that frustration of yours more than anything.

Clueless reached up and comically scratched between her ears, then under her chin, then

between her cleavage. I wonder if youve got an itch while youre stuck like this? Like that spot
1091

between your shoulder blades that you cant quite reach to scratch, but on your entire body,

and worse than anything Ive ever seen. Stuck like that with an itch you cant worry for a few

decades, or centuries, or longer... suits you.

It felt good to mock her from a position where she couldnt act against him. Something in

the bladesinger wanted more though, either to know what she was thinking, or to have a few

questions answered by her from her current position of powerlessness. She didnt have a mind

currently, so a normal spell to detect thoughts wasnt an option, and she was neither dead nor

did she have a regular tongue to use necromancy to speak with her body. But the statue was

inanimate for any relevant purpose, so it didnt seem absurd to attempt to legend lore the hunk

of intricate, grotesque stone and maybe glean a few tidbits of information about the fiend and

her plans.

Clueless turned around self-consciously. There wasnt anyone directly watching him to object

to his idea, as the others were still discussing what to do with her, or looking for any exit from

the demiplane.

Toras grinned at Fyrehowl, Elysium maybe, but I still say that we should just take her and

dump her in the shallows on Celestias first layer in view of Bahamuts domain. Im past just

useful location now and into indignity.

No, they werent paying attention at all. And so all it would take would be a delicate tap of

the heavy magic bubble on his neck and another slap of the archfiends petrified muzzle. It was

easy, it was elegant, and it was a needless and hideous risk to plumb the mind of such a creature.

Clueless tapped his neck and felt the magic well within him as the spell took shape within his

mind. A simple spell to use, and it would hopefully take little more than a few moments of real

time. The fiend was frozen in stone, and despite her snarling face only a few inches from his own

grin, she couldnt do a thing; of course not. But when he triggered the magic and touched his

index finger to her tongue with a soft chuckle, something felt suddenly terribly, horribly wrong.

***

In retrospect, it felt like the momentary pause after jumping over the edge of a massive

canyon, that single moment before gravitys clutches took their hold and pulled you down to

earth. Except the abyss he stood over wasnt some physical chasm, but the unplumbed watery,

frigid depths of an archfiends mind. The depths were hungry and enraged, and Clueless felt the

gravity of his mistake in that one moment before he was ensnared by a multitude of grasping,

gripping fingers that pulled him down into liquid darkness.

What the hell... Clueless said as he opened his eyes and looked around.
 1092

He was no longer in the demiplane, and though his finger was still outstretched in front of him

from where hed touched Shylaras statue, the archfiend-gone-lawn-ornament was gone. Gone

was the gentle breeze and open tower cupola of the demiplane, and Clueless gazed around with

a growing tightness in his gut as he saw what had replaced it.

A breeze washed across his face like the breath of a corpse or the wind off of a distant,

stagnant ocean bobbing with bloated corpses, warm air that smelled of steel and blood. Clueless

blinked and coughed. A moment later his reaction echoed back at him with a rustle of chains,

steel on steel, and his first step forward was uncertain as the ground shifted and clattered under

his weight.

Clueless stood at the center of an endless jungle of glittering steel chains. The ground was

an endless field of free lengths and coils of dulled, worn links spotted with rust, verdigris, sticky

patches of blood and viscera, all of which periodically moved, gave slack, or tightened like the

coiling of a slowly undulating sea of metallic serpents.

F*ck... Clueless said as he spread his wings and lifted off of the ground.

His ascent was blunted only a few feet up, and the hanging canopy of barbed, gore coated

chains hung like macabre serpents from great trees composed of upright, coiled columns of the

same steel links. The entire forest slithered and shifted, and a dozen barbs lengths gently brushed

against the half-feys back, some of them touching his neck and cheek where a moment before

there had been no chains within reach to do so.

The forest was alive, and it did not take long for Clueless to realize just where he was, and

how powerless he might be.

Sit down mortal. Shylara the Manged called out. We have things to discuss, and you are

hardly in a position to disagree. Welcome to the mind of an archfiend little subcreature.

Clueless shuddered as the archfiend was suddenly behind him. He hadnt seen her move, but

it was almost as if the landscape was simply shifting to her whim around him. Hot, wet breath

exhaled onto the back of his neck, and several drops of liquid, spittle or blood, dropped onto his

back and slowly dribbled down his spine.

We had such a short time to speak in Center, you and I.

Clueless closed his eyes and tensed as a claw traced its way across his shoulder blades.

Other business intervened you see. She continued, panting softly as the chains rustled

in time with her movements. But you see, you have interfered with much later, much more

important business of mine, and again you are here intruding. Twice now, and my irritation is

rising.

We have your astral form. Clueless said, eliciting a low growl from the fiend. I believe
1093

that youve confused just who controls what.

Claws dug into the bladesingers flesh, just deep enough to draw blood, and reality or not, the

pain was sharp and excruciating. He hissed and started to turn, but stopped short in a mixture

of revulsion and something else when he felt a tongue slide up his neck to lap at the wound.

Were frozen in a moment of time, you and I. Shylara cooed, slipping from fury to seduction.

I can make this last as long as I want mortal. I can make this agony if I cared, but first a few

things for you to consider.

Clueless shuddered as she licked his ear and tapped her claws along the side of his neck.

Do you think that the Oinoloth will leave his lover in mortal hands?

Do you think something like him actually cares about you?

Abruptly the chain forests light turned red and half of the trees and vines and shifting,

slithering iron floor were slick with blood and covered in barbs and blades. Hed touched a

nerve, and the environment had responded perfectly in time to her emotions, if not necessarily

her direct will. It might have been accurate and daring, but in the short term it might not have

been wise.

What do you know of the Oinoloth, little mortal sh*t?!

The fiend was no longer behind him, and her snarling, bleeding maw was only inches from his

face. Rivulets of emerald flame were seeping out of the corners of her eyes, and her appearance

had shifted back to its natural, ravaged state.

How dare you question something you cannot understand! She snarled. You of all people.

Clueless coughed as the gem in his ankle suddenly erupted with a pulse of agony.

You might no longer be an assassin, thief, or f*ck toy to that pissant little painted whore in

Sigil. But I am the beloved of the very creator of those baubles, and do you think that he would

not use you to secure my freedom?

Clueless spit in her face. Youre terrified of what hell do to you for failing him.

Her reply was much colder than he expected. Perhaps hed goaded her too far. You overes-

timate your position of power at the moment mortal, and your power back in reality.

Something snapped at that moment, and his breath was choked off as she closed a hand

around his throat and slammed him onto the ground. With the archfiend straddling him, fangs

bared and claws pressing into his flesh, multiple things seemed to happen at once. It all washed

by in a disjointed, mottled haze of sensations and terrible, violent, lurid moments of clarity that

would later haunt him.

- [Incredibly violent, gratuitous, and disturbingly perverse sex with an archfiend excluded for

the sake of the Grandma Rule, and the fact that Im frankly not willing to post that in public
 1094

just based on the content which certainly qualifies for the Have you ever crossed a line thread

over in the general section] -

It would end with Shylara looking into his eyes, naked and bleeding from a hideous array of

wounds, both self-inflicted and from his hands, leaning back with a lingering line of spittle still

stretching from his lips to his tongue.

Tell me mortal. She softly snarled. How do you like the illusion of control?

***

Clueless shook his head and looked up at the petrified archfiend, unchanged from when hed

touched her. The energy of his spell was dissipated, but his body ached and a phantom sense

of pain was only slowly working its way out of his flesh from where he remembered the fiend

touching him. He recalled what had happened, what shed said, what shed revealed, but it had

left him shaken and disturbed to experience even that brief exposure to the interior of her mind,

or more likely, what fraction of her mind shed allowed him to access. He wasnt sure what to

make of any of it.

The illusion of control indeed.

Chapter 98

Clueless? Clueless?!

The bladesinger blinked and shook his head, gradually becoming aware of Florians voice.

Hey! She shouted, tapping his head. Impulsive winged thing! What stupid thing did you

do this time and are you alright?

The mental fog lifted and Clueless looked up and focused.

Damn it... He muttered. Shylara is a freak of the first order.

His companions just looked at him.

What did you do? Fyrehowl asked warily.

Clueless winced, shook his head and got to his feet. They gave him room and backed away

on the off chance that he wasnt himself.

Just dont try to legend lore the statue. He said, trying to rid himself of select portions of

his memories of the experience inside the fiends mind. That wasnt pleasant.

What happened? Tristol asked.

She was aware of it, and she made it rather... Clueless started and trailed off. Actually...

lets just say it was unpleasant and leave it at that.

The statue itself hadnt changed in the slightest. Whatever the archfiends ability to rule

over the fortress of her own diseased mind, she was still imprisoned fast in stone.

How long was I out? Clueless asked, half expecting an hour or more, which was how long

his time inside of the forest of chains had roughly lasted from his perspective.

Not long. Toras said. You cast a spell, touched Madame Baldys muzzle, and hit the floor.

About three seconds.

He nodded. So then what exactly are we going to do with her? Is there a consensus? Shes

not exactly happy where she is.

Meanwhile, having apparently learned no lesson by proxy from Clueless, Nisha walked up to

the statue.

1095
 1096

Hey! Tristol! She called out to him.

Tristol looked over to find his girlfriend standing next to the statue, slowly rubbing herself

against the stone, one leg up and curled around the archfiends hip in the classical exotic pose.

Blood immediately left his brain and rushed to the tips of his ears, and a moment later elsewhere

as Nisha leaned in and passionately French-kissed the petrified loth.

Tristol didnt know what to think, and neither did anyone else, but a part of the aasimar was

getting far too turned on by watching it all, a fact that his tail conveniently helped cover in a

heartbeat. He was still staring when Nisha broke the kiss and her lusty woman act and fell into

a furious giggle.

Nisha! Florian said, fighting back a gag. What the hell?! I didnt even know you were

into that.

Statues, loths or girls? Clueless asked.

None of the above! She giggled, shaking her head before glancing over to Tristol. But the

reaction on his face was priceless nonetheless!

Tristols eyes were still wide and his ear tips were flushed as Nisha trotted up next to him,

still giggling, to give him a hug. She was still giggling even after shed calmed her boyfriend

down, looked back at the statue, made a disgusted expression and spit out a bit of gravel. She

also used the opportunity to slip a sensory stone into his hand along with a well-intentioned pat

on his tail.

In the meantime, Clueless had something else on his mind to worry about, so to speak, as

there was suddenly a deep, familiar chuckle inside his head.

This was unexpected. The agonizingly familiar voice exclaimed. Truly unexpected.

Helekanalaith. What the hell did he want? How was he involved?

Clueless tried to look normal as the archfiend made his mental presence known. The others

didnt know about his presence there, lurking in the back of his head, and it would truly look

bad if they found out suddenly that hed kept something like that from them, especially when

they were preparing to abscond with the bloody Overlord of Carceri.

The arcanaloth lords presence seemed to grin. Tsk tsk... He chided. Arrogance is unbe-

coming of you...

Cluelesss heart skipped a beat. Im being arrogant? he thought.

If the fiend took notice, it didnt matter, because his next words made the context of the

phrase much more clear. And arrogance Shylara is rather dangerous, but its a trait thats not

out of the ordinary for you in my experience.

His companions talked, and Clueless nodded and made his way towards the edge, putting his
1097

hands on the stone of one of the cupolas open window arches like he was turning away to think

and gather his thoughts. In a way he was, just not at all in the manner they expected.

Do what you will to the godisles, but you will relinquish her trapped surrogate body into my

care.

Almost immediately after the archfiends declaration, a surge of information flooded into the

bladesingers mind giving him the location of a specific color pool on the Astral.

Dump the body in and do what you will from there.

For what benefit Lord Helekanalaith? Clueless mentally replied. Our deal was for infor-

mation. I had expected you to be a bidder if wed decided to sell Shylaras imprisoned form. Why

should I not hold her till youre willing to buy.

Our deal provides you information when it suits me mortal. The Keeper of the Tower

replied. But not to worry. I wont leave you with nothing for your efforts.

Oh?

As for why you shouldnt hold her and seek to solicit bids, consider fifty gates opening on you

ten seconds hence and more fiends than you can count spilling out of them. And not all of them

would necessarily be mine. The longer you hold on to her is the longer you risk some contingency

plan of hers swinging into effect, or the Oinoloth seeking to reclaim what is his property in every

meaning of the word.

Clueless paled and turned away as he was, he didnt notice Fyrehowl looking at him oddly.

Alright, youve got a point there... Clueless replied. But what insurance do we have that

she wont strike us upon her freedom? I know your power. I know hers. Have no doubt of that,

but the others seem to have no understanding of her rank. I would dearly like her True Name or

some guarantee of a sequence of spells on her to keep us protected.

She will be... preoccupied for some time once in my tender care.

The archfiends voice was chilling.

How long? Clueless asked, not wanting to know what his plans might be.

At the least, 9 months. The Keeper of the Tower replied. But beyond that on my part,

once free she will have other issues to deal with of her own.

Long enough. Clueless said, nodding. But my companions will have to become aware of

this deal, and of you.

Then tell them. And impress upon them its urgency. She will not remain entrapped forever.

Noted.

Clueless? Fyrehowl asked, looking directly at the half-fey and poking him in the chest as

he finally turned around. This is twice now that youve completely zoned out on us. Whats
 1098

going on?

He gave an awkward look and she backed away to give him space. Weve got someone

interested in taking Shylara off of our hands.

Excuse me? The lupinal asked.

Helekanalaith. He replied, looking away. Gods this is awkward...

There was nothing but a silence that Shylaras statue would have had difficulty matching.

Remember that crystal ball I took from the tower in Elysium? He said with a guilty voice.

When I used it in Carceri... well... it was cursed. Apparently it had been floating around

between various loths for centuries and I just happened to be the next person in line to use it.

F*ck! Florian said. How much is he aware of, and how much can he do?

He can look but thats it. Clueless replied. He seems to regard me as a curiosity more

than anything else. And him wanting Shylara wasnt entirely an option were being offered.

Florian turned and flipped off Shylara. I repeat what I just said.

Is he bailing her out? Fyrehowl asked, gesturing to the statue. Or something else?

Hes taking her off our hands, and supposedly shell be out of our hair for close to a year,

possibly more. Shell be out eventually, but he seemed to suggest that shell have a wrecked

home back in Carceri, and well be the furthest thing from her mind when shes back in the

world at large.

They didnt want to be angry at Clueless, after all the crystal ball was something any of them

could have picked up and used. It was freakish chance that the archfiend had wormed into his

mind, but hed kept it from them for some time. Still, the offer or non-offer as might have been,

wasnt as bad as some ideas that theyd originally proposed.

And if we refuse? Toras asked. I take it he knows where you are?

Clueless nodded and grimaced. You can guess...

Fine. Skalliska said. Its better than some options. What do we have to do?

***

Twenty minutes of debate, group agreement, and twenty minutes of travel later, they stood

at the edge of a massive, deep russet color pool in the Astral.

Tristol looked warily at the swirling tear in the fabric of the Astral, half expecting a horde

of fiends to come bubbling up out of it. Keep in mind that if something goes wrong, Im pretty

much out of spells.

Tristol had used his last planeshift getting them to the Astral, and theyd been lucky to

avoid any conflict on their way to the pool, following the directions that Clueless had been given,
1099

carrying the petrified archfiend in tow.

I think that well be fine. Clueless said. At least when it suits him, Helekanalaith seems

to be a man of his word.

Fyrehowl rolled her eyes and kicked Shylaras statue as hard as she could, sending the fiend

spiraling head over heels towards the pool.

Enjoy whatever happens to you. She growled. Tell your master to go f*ck himself.

The swirling color pool swallowed Shylaras petrified body and almost immediately there

was a response inside Cluelesss mind. It ignored the lupinals sentiment, but seemed positively

beaming over the statue theyd gifted him with.

Package received.

***

The two loths stood on the edge of the natural bowl of land that surrounded the Tower of

Incarnate Pain, high up on the rust-red escarpment, just inside the veil of illusions and other

wards that segregated them from the rest of Othrys. One of them sat on the cliff, legs dangling

over the side, and the other stood several feet back, gazing out at the tower as the wind at those

heights buffeted at his robes.

They stood there in silence, having both arrived several minutes earlier, just after things had

gone to hell within the tower below. Theyd been there when Bubonix and Cholerix, the first

lords of the tower, had been toppled. Theyd been nycaloths at the time, and though theyd

since been promoted, they had retained a pact, a contingency plan that would leap into effect if

the leadership of the tower were to ever experience a state of flux.

That time had arrived.

Some of them had sensed it from the tower itself, or seen the ripple in the wards, or the

momentary flicker of the furnace of cold illumination burning within the heart of the Reflective

Chasm, and then rumor had spread from brain to tongue to ear and loyalty collapsed as should

have been expected. The mistress was in a vulnerable state, imprisoned or otherwise detained

off plane, while her physical body lay like a corpse in state within her personal chambers.

The ranks of her senior advisors and agents had, in a black little heartbeat, become the ranks

of her would-be killers and successors.

Hmm... The first arcanaloth mused as he kicked his feet into the wind and felt the cold

penetrate through his slippers and kiss at his toes. ...This is a setback.

A setback? The second arcanaloth asked. Or an opportunity?

 1100

Despite the whistle of the wind and the ambient wail of the towers petitioners, the brothers

smiles were audible.

Shell be upset you know. Alpthis commented. When she returns.

Absolutely. Apteris replied. The ashes outside her chamber at the edge of the wards were

only two inches deep by the end of the hour. Shell have wanted more, and shell find the lack of

treachery as a fault no doubt.

Seated upon the edge of the cliff, the sorcerer nodded. Oh indeed, there will be executions.

They both smiled and went silent, looking down at the base of the tower where the lesser

yugoloths in service to the Manged still continued their tasks, ignorant of the situation that

absorbed each and every nycaloth, arcanaloth, and ultroloth in the tower above them. The

towers mistress had stumbled, but her lowest servants still served nonetheless, and the tower

still screamed with the misery of its living bricks.

The two arcanaloths said nothing, either verbally or telepathically for some time as they

watched the tower. Finally, one of them spoke and broke the silence.

So what is it that youre holding there? Apteris asked, taking a step closer. I can smell it

on the wind, and the normal pitch is different from when we otherwise come up here to chat.

Alpthis chuckled and moved his hand to place a fist-sized object on the edge of the cliff.

Apteris wrinkled his nose and looked at the black lump of ragged flesh.

It was a heart, freshly removed from its recent body, likely by magic, probably within the last

few minutes, and there was a rather pronounced bite that had been taken from the left ventricle.

So who was the victim? The sorcerer-monk asked.

She was a traitor you see. Plotting against the mistress. Alpthis explained, licking a bit of

blood off of his lower lip. At least thats my excuse and Ill be keeping to it.

Apteris said nothing as he gestured to the heart and telekinetically brought it to his right

hand. He looked at the heart, sniffed at it like some expensive delicacy, and then bit into it like

it were an apple.

So? Alpthis asked while his brother finished his taste. Your opinion on the matter

brother?

I recognize the taste. Lucinda Ap Fireth. He said, taking a second bite before tossing it

back for his brother to finish. I -should- recognize the taste. I was f*cking her you know.

Only when I wasnt.

Not even then always.

They shared a mutual chuckle; a rival out of the way, even if their beds might lack a partner

for the short term.

1101

Ive shared, both admission of sin and a bite of a stolen heart. Alpthis said, turning around

to look at his brother for the first time. So now its my turn to ask: whats in your left hand?

The standing loth tossed the head to the ground where it rolled to a halt a short distance

from his brother, the glaze of death dulling the formerly blazing eyes of the ultroloth.

Congratulations brother. Alpthis said, poking at the claw divots in the scalp of the severed

head. Seems that you found him before I did.

Apteris gave a perfunctory bow. I apologize for the state of the cut, its a bit ragged I know,

but I was in a hurry.

Such can be forgiven. His brother replied, grinning ear to ear. I suppose we can share the

brain before he begins to dissolve. Weve never dined on ultroloth before.

It would have been the heart. Alpthis explained, looking at the palm of his hand. But

unfortunately that happened to explode in his chest at some point. Seems that today was my

turn to be the impulsive one.

Again they shared a look, a grin, and a conspiratorial chuckle as glanced from heart to head

and back towards the tower of their once and future mistress. Opportunity came to those who

had the presence of mind to see it and had the will to grasp it, and at the moment, in the moment

of their ladys weakness, they had an abundance of both.

A minute later and their fingers were scooped into the brain of the former ultroloth, Malzigran

of the Fetid Heart, and with a look and feeling of disturbing satisfaction playing across their

muzzles and beating a rhythm through their skulls, they shared in their victory meal, consuming

their kills while they looked up at the distant tower.

Heres to opportunity!

***

Within the tower, at its heart and nerve center, in the personal chambers of the Overlord of

Carceri, things were different. There were no toasts, no smiles, no greedy shared looks of lust

for power, nor any words or curses or sounds of any kind.

In the darkness where the mistress of the Tower of Incarnate Pain lay sprawled, naked and

catatonic, there was only the vacant expression upon her face and nothing more.

The screams were silent.

The walls of petitioner flesh were frozen in place, faces and merged bodies pushing against

one another like they were bricks trying to flee their spots in a towers foundations. Once-mortal

souls fused together into the unholy abomination that was the Tower of Incarnate Pain... their

agony was indescribable, but for the moment they were absolutely quiet.
 1102

Tongues were still, eyes futilely sought to close themselves, fragments of individuals trembled

and sought to bury themselves beneath the churning mass of their fellow amalgamated prisoners.

The entirety of the tower felt the status of their mistress, and their awareness of her titanic fury

and shame would have driven the flesh of her home to fever pitched wailing.

But instead, the silence was deafening.

Despite your claims to the contrary, I know that you wont delude yourself into thinking

that Ill so much as lift a finger to help you out of the situation that youve so foolishly placed

yourself within.

The reddish albino eyes opened in the gloom and the tip of a claw traced along the line of

the catatonic archfiends jaw. Despite her status, caught between two planes of existence, the

muscles of her jaw twitched involuntarily.

You will suffer for your failure child. And whenever you return to me, it will be on your

knees, and the suffering will be more violent.

Spittle coated teeth, lips parted, and the Oinoloth grinned.

Of course you are keenly aware of this, but you will be reminded of it nonetheless.

Claws tapped on cold stone, the same floor that had once been part of his office, and whose

walls remembered him keenly. Their silence was out of terror, not respect.

Still, this impacts me little. The Ebon remarked, once more tracing fingers along her flesh.

Most of the constructions and wards upon the Astral will collapse in the absence of your active

control, and the storm will erase the evidence of our activities in short order. The former

Athar citadel atop Aoskars corpse will suffer somewhat more of course, both from the additional

contingencies that you placed across the area, and a few of my own that you were unaware of.

Archfiend stood over archfiend and smiled as the wards of the chamber shuddered ever so

slightly, vibrated like a harps strings, soft yet discordant. Someone had attempted to breach

the first of the three doors that led to Shylaras chambers, but with that action Oinoloth knew

that the wards would react, and as if on cue they did. Exerting a bit of influence over his former

tower, he dipped his foot into the suddenly liquid surface of the floor and stirred his toes in their

substance. He felt the essence of the disintegrated greater yugoloth merge with the substance of

the towers billionfold tormented bricks.

One more to join you. He said to the walls.

The walls remained taught and silent.

Another one into your collection my love... He said to the towers mistress, sneering in

contempt at the last word of that sentence.

You warded yourself well though. He added, And I doubt that they will succeed in killing
1103

you anytime soon, probably not at all. But I already have what I want from the Astral, and

Vasts device has already been dismantled and returned to me along with its harvest. That is all

that matters.
g
The Oinoloth sighed with no little pleasure and leaned down to kiss his lover and protA c A ,
c

even though she couldnt have been aware of any of it.

Let Helekanalaith have his fun with you. He said, breaking the kiss. For whatever it is

that he might manage to gain, it honestly doesnt concern me. But know that when you come

crawling back, my touch will be anything but kind. Suffer for me.

***

The color pool still swirled with the telltale glow of its linked plane, but nothing more was

forthcoming, for better or for worse. Theyd delivered the petrified astral body of the Archfiend

of Carceri, but afterwards... nothing.

Were still alive... Florian said. This is a very good thing.

But were still here on the Astral. Skalliska said, backlit by the whirlpool. And Im out

of planeshifts.

Clueless waited, expecting the Gehennan archfiend to provide a gate, or at least give some

form of acknowledgement beyond his rather terse statement of receipt a minute earlier. But no

response was forthcoming.

Lord Helekanalaith? Clueless asked, looking at the color pool. Would you mind sending

us somewhere else now that weve gone to the effort of delivering your prize?

The color pool remained silent, and no words resounded inside the bladesingers head.

Dont look at me. Tristol said. I used up my last planeshift getting us here to the Astral.

Fyrehowl sighed. I should have expected this. I really should have.

Clueless gave a plaintive shrug. Hes probably preoccupied at the moment.

And truth be told, the Keeper of the Tower was incredibly preoccupied. Some slim fragment

of his consciousness was still tapped into Cluelesss mind, but he wasnt paying attention given

what had just been handed to him.

The f*cker stranded us out here! Toras shouted towards the color pool. We should have

given her to the Marauder!

Fyrehowl gave them all an awkward look. Lets vaguely insult him once were back home

and not standing in front of a color pool to Gehenna.

Tristol sighed, looking irritated. But we dont have any way back.
 1104

Nisha rubbed his shoulder and gave him a kiss, Id love to say that I had a scroll or something

that Id been holding in reserve... but no. Sorry.

The wizard sighed and kissed the tiefling back, noticeably relaxing towards his girlfriend at

least. I hate to ask then, but youll have to use... you know...

He was referring of course to the bubble of heavy magic affixed to the bladesingers collar,

but Clueless immediately waved that off as a possibility, and he didnt indicate it either. Theyd

never told Skalliska about it, expecting -rightfully so- that the kobold would want in on it.

Not going to happen. He replied. Ive used it too much recently, and I just did to poke

around inside Shylaras mind... for all that got me... and its irritated. I dont want to mess

around with that.

Tristol groaned, We dont really have any other option though. Were almost completely

out of spells, and were stuck on the Astral. It wont be pretty if we run into a pack of githyanki

while were out here, and who knows how long it might take to find a color pool to a less hostile

plane.

Skalliska looked up from her planar sextant. About two days to an Outlands color pool.

Florian winced. Joy.

Still though... Clueless shook his head. Id rather not... you know... more than I have to.

Ive done stupid things with this, but never one after another. For all I know my head might

explode.

Tristol sighed. Fine then. Give it to me. Ill use it.

Chapter 99

Clueless drifted backwards from the wizard, his wings fluttering in the absence of air purely out

of habit.

What? Tristol said, still holding out his hand. Do you have a better idea?

If Skalliska had had eyebrows she would have been perking them, and just as the spark of

covetous curiosity would have gone alight in her brain, Fyrehowl conveniently, presciently drifted

in between.

Well... Clueless began. You just seemed insistent up till now that I...

KEEP IT AWAY!!!!... from him. Nisha giggled from where she hovered behind the mage.

Yeah, you did seem pretty intent on not wanting to mess around with it. The bladesinger

said. Why the sudden change of heart?

Tristol looked away and reiterated his earlier position. Like I already said: no spells, tired,

typical githyanki social graces or lack thereof. Im willing to risk it more than Im willing to risk

two days unprotected travel out here.

There was a soft rattle of a bell. Can I try?

Clueless and Tristol gave one another a look of unadulterated dread before the tiefer added

a belated, Juuuuust joking...

The Xaositect chuckled one last time and drifted off to let them discuss matters, and to be

honest they were happy to see her carried away by the latest in her lifes series of absolutely

tangent whimsies, which at the moment was apparently the desire to see if she could turn

Fyrehowls tail purple by concentrating really hard while on the Astral. Nisha plus heavy magic

was not a pleasant idea. It would be like handing a slaadi a ring of wishes. As it was, back in Sigil

they had a faerie dragon which was bad enough, and eventually theyd have to find something

to do about him.

But yeah. Clueless said, pushing those concerns out of his mind and returning to the heavy

magic. I mean, if youre certain.

1105
 1106

At my own risk, I understand that. Besides, so far youve been fine as long as you havent

abused it.

Youre sure?

Yes.

Absolutely sure?

Tristol frowned and held his hand out. Keep that up and youll tempt me to leave you. Yes

Im absolutely sure.

Alright... Clueless said, reaching up to take off the choker from around his neck.

Tristol accepted it and turned it over once in his hands. How do I work the mechanism

here?

Clueless pointed out the spot to push to expose the raw, liquid bead of golden liquid. Expose

it, touch it, and think of the spell you want to bring to mind. You can do more than that, but

you wanted to play it safe.

Tristol nodded and did just that, smiling with no small amount of wonder as the light glittered

on the surface of the bead in the moment before he touched it. It was warm and viscous, and

it felt almost pleasurable when he felt some of that warmth begin to move up his fingertip even

before hed tried to call to mind a simple planeshift spell.

The sensation increased and his finger tingled as the warmth increased. Something in the

back of Tristols mind wanted to giggle and absorb the entirety of the tiny bubble of liquid magic

right then and there. But astral addiction or not, the borderline thaumaturgical junky was still

not far enough down that particular road to where the craving, the need, overwhelmed his normal

sense of self-preservation.

Just something simple like a planeshift. Clueless said. As much as a gate might be nice,

I wouldnt push it.

Tristol barely heard the bladesinger, and the blood was pounding in his ears as he did just

that and willed the feeling spreading through his senses to reproduce that particular spell. The

spell blossomed in his mind like a fireball, after the fact, when he recovered, he would vaguely

recall that he had the wherewithal to mold the magic and focus enough to direct his companions

and himself to the Outlands near the vicinity of Tradegate.

But the ecstasy of the magic transitioned into something altogether different a moment after

the spell took effect, and for a brief moment before he blissfully lost consciousness, his blood felt

like it was on fire and his mind felt like a nest of fire ants that had been poked and goaded by

an unwary child. Something went wrong. Something about the fickle, whimsical, unrestrained

nature of the heavy magic erupted inside of him like Shar herself was stabbing him in the eyes
1107

and mocking him for his presumptions. Perhaps Karsus had felt the same sort of transition,

albeit orders of magnitude larger, moments before the fall of Netheril.

Thankfully though, Tristol had no memories of appearing a dozen miles from the gatetown

seizing and frothing at the mouth, screaming and babbling incoherently as his mind and body

were both wracked by a magical drain that would have put a vampire lord and Prolongers

touches to shame. Florian attempted to immediately heal him, but for whatever reason her

prayers did nothing to abate or reverse the damage, and it was all that they could do to pick

him up and carry him the distance to the gatetown.

Several hours later his body had ceased rebelling against itself, but he didnt return to

consciousness for another three days, and when he did it became immediately apparent that

while the damage wasnt permanent, the healing process would be a slow and natural one. Hed

learned a lesson, and Clueless had as well by proxy, and so when they finally stepped through

the gate and into Sigil, the bladesinger wasnt wearing the collar, and he wouldnt for a while to

come.

***

At roughly the same time the next morning after they had returned to Sigil, while Tristol

was still bedridden, having spent the night puking and repeatedly wishing that he were dead,

Skalliska sat up in bed and yawned. The scales across her back and legs were warmer than

normal, the only sign that her priest and lover, a proxy of her newfound deity had spent the

evening next to her. He hadnt been there when shed fallen asleep, and his appearance hadnt

woken her, but the fact that hed been there warmed her more than the lingering traces of body

heat ever could.

Everything seemed to be going right in her life.

Saravtesh be praised. She whispered, kissing the holy symbol around her neck as she glanced

at the shadows, half expecting her lover to be there.

But no, the other kobold was gone once again, busy with whatever inscrutable tasks their

mutual divinity assigned to them. Of course, Skalliska realized, she was yet a neophyte priest,

though possessed of the fervor of a newly enlightened convert, while he was something more. Her

lover was a proxy, invested with a fraction of their gods power to serve as a direct intermediary

on his behalf.

I wonder what youre up to today? Skalliska mused as she rolled over and into the shallow

depression that hed left behind.

She inhaled and her nostrils flared ever so slightly as they caught the briefest trace of reptilian
 1108

musk still present and lingering. She smiled again and closed her eyes, laying there in bed without

a care in the world, drifting in and out of sleep and hovering on the edge of dreaming for the space

of several long minutes. She was happy, and the tumult that had been her life was suddenly,

finally looking stable, even with a Xaositect thrown into the mix.

Well, I cant stay here all day. She sighed contentedly.

Besides. She continued, looking at the shadows where her lover had vanished. You set an

example for me, and I have to try to stay faithful to it. Last night was enough self-absorbed

bliss on my part, I should get up and find out what everyone else doing.

Scaled, clawed feet swung over the side of the bed and hit the floor a moment later as Skalliska

hopped out of bed. Her toes wriggled and the lean muscles in her legs twitched at the sudden

cold of the stone, a far cry from her recently shared bed. One step, then another, and that was

when the wave of nausea hit and sent her down on one knee, retching and shuddering.

Morning sickness.

***

As it had before, and as it would many more times in the future, many of the groups more

interesting experiences, and many of their troubles alike, would begin with the receipt of a letter.

Later that same afternoon, just such a thing would land itself in the letter box of the Portal

Jammer.

Toras was the first to check the mail that day, and he found the curious envelope mixed in

with the more typical assortment of business offers, bills, and junk mail sent to the Inn. It was

a rather large envelope, and the first thing out of the fighters mouth was a curse of oh you

stupid gods-damned mephit, because the letter was sealed with a large glob of wax that initially

looked like one of Seamusxanthusxemuss special promotionals leaking from the interior.

Upon closer inspection however, Torass expression changed from homicidal mephit-killing

rage to curiosity. The wax seal was impressed with the symbol of the Bleak Cabal, the same

symbol that was used by the current administration of the Gatehouse since they were no longer

nominally a faction. In any event however, the letter carried a bit more weight than the typical

business offer.

Toras of Andros. Clueless. Skalliska. Tristol Starweather. Nisha. Florian of Amn. Fyrehowl

of Elysium.

Interesting. The letter was formally addressed to each of them and not just a generic greeting.

Hmm... He said, leaving the rest of the mail in the box for the moment as he walked back

inside.
1109

Hey Florian! Toras called out as he walked towards where the cleric was sitting. Take a

look at this if you would.

Florian glanced up as the fighter took a seat next to her and held up the letter.

Umm. Normally letters addressed like that involve legal disputes. She said with a worried

expression. Did this just arrive?

Toras nodded as Florian snapped a finger and called the others over.

Tristols ears twitched from where he currently sat, head down on the table, cushioned by his

sleeve. Whos it for?

All of us. Toras replied, holding the envelope up and giving it a speculative look.

The mage mumbled some non-committal, incoherent response in reply without looking up. He

was feeling better, but not completely recovered from his unfortunate experience with Cluelesss

heavy magic. In fact he still felt wretched in some ways, like a drug addict coming off of a high,

and so sitting in public rather than staying in his room was the best that Nisha had been able

to coax him into. Being seen and being semi-social was something hed acquiesced to. Being

pleasant was something else altogether.

Clueless looked over from the bar. Does it say all of us? or maybe owners of the Portal

Jammer? or what?

Toras shook his head, No, its addressed to each of us, by name. Well, everyone except for

Kiro, but...

Cluelesss wings dipped slightly and their color dulled briefly. They missed him. Cleric of

Sutekh or cuprilach rilmani, they really did miss him.

Florian held up her drink, To Kiro.

Tristols ears perked and he sat up to join in the impromptu toast, an act which made him

feel a bit better, and made them all feel a bit better. What followed was a pregnant moment of

silence, solemn smiles all around, and several minutes later their attention turned back to the

letter.

Skalliska meanwhile was silent, still pondering when, if, and how to tell them all that she

was pregnant. Shed been the only one without a drink, and shed only held her hand up and

pantomimed the raising of a mug, waving off Clueless when he offered the real thing since he

was tending the bar. Eventually shed have to tell them, but now seemed like an inopportune

moment. Another inopportune moment in the future would have to suffice.

But breaking the mood of remembrance on behalf of their fallen companion, Toras held the

letter up and into the path of one of the inns magical globes of light.

No watermarks, nothing concealed inside, and nothing funny looking. He said with a shrug.
 1110

Just looks like a letter. And here I was expecting to have the loths coming after us, even with...

you know...

Fyrehowl nodded as Toras slipped his voice lower and gave an evasive, secretive look. There

was no need to go into specifics. They all knew what he meant, and it wouldnt be a wise thing

to openly talk about it in public, within earshot of anyone else.

Florian looked up from her mug of ale. So if its not from someone wishing us death, whos

it from?

Well the envelope was sealed with the symbol of the Bleakers. Toras replied, holding the

letter up again to show.

Hey now. Nisha said, interjecting. So its from the Bleakers. They might still want us

dead... not that theyd have a particular reason for it or that it would matter one way or the

other to them.

Florian spit her ale across the table, and Fyrehowl preemptively ducked for cover while

Amberblue giggled from his position perched atop the head of the ex-Factol Lhar doll on the

mantelpiece.

You timed that Nisha. Florian said as she wiped her mouth of ale. I swear you time those

things.

But that wouldnt be random... The Xoasitect giggled back. And the Bleakers still might

want to kill us. You never know. Sneaky fellows. They might have a gang of depressive assassins

hiding in their soup kitchen or something.

Toras shook his head and broke the seal on the letter. No explosion. Were on the right

track so far then.

Whats it say? Clueless asked as the fighter unfolded the parchment and gave it an odd

look.

Toras quickly scanned the page, then scanned it again much more slowly. Dunno what to

make of this. Ill read it out loud.

Greetings to you all,

In light of recent events, one of my guests would very much like to speak with you. Typically

its somewhat difficult to obtain easy access to myself or much of the atypical portions of the

gatehouse unless you happen to be a member, former member now, of the Bleak Cabal. The

crowds at this time of year are long, and at times insufferably loud and you would do well to

avoid them by taking a route through the orphanage.

When you arrive at your convenience in the next few days, please ask to speak with Guildmas-
1111

ter (or former factor) Tessali. If you are asked by any of the gatehouse staff who you are there

to see specifically tell them my name, and that you are also there to see Marason the Shackled

Warden, or some variation of that name.

Guildmaster Tessali of the Gatehouse

The letter was penned in an elaborate script, not something that might ordinarily be expected

from the often dour members of the Bleak Cabal. While the faction might nominally have

disbanded, most of the staff in the gatehouse still operating its kitchens, orphanage, and asylum

were all former Bleakers. Perhaps Tessali, who Skalliska vaguely recalled being an elf, or maybe

a half elf, something out of the Sigilian ordinary, was different from the typical member of his

group.

Weird. Toras said, laying the letter flat upon the table and letting the others crowd around

and take a look.

Looks legit. Florian said. But Im not sure what to make of the offer.

Fyrehowl turned to the kobold. Skalliska, have you ever heard of anyone called Marason, or

the Shackled Warden, in the gatehouse or otherwise?

She shook her head. Its not ringing a bell.

Hmm. Florian said. So what do you want to do about it?

Toras shrugged. Its weird, but it has me curious. Even if its not from their guildmaster,

whoever wrote it has some connection inside the gatehouse at least. And if its a hoax or a trap,

Ill still want to see whos behind it.

Fyrehowl had an odd feeling about the whole thing, not that she could pin down the exact

reason for her vague concern though. It might have been the Cipher in her, or it might have been

the fact that she was a guardinal, increasingly lapsed in her status as a guardinal notwithstanding.

Something didnt entirely add up, but the words of a farastu gehreleth in Carceri hadnt yet

bubbled like so much tar to the forefront of her mind.

Clueless tapped the hilt of his sword, Then its a trip through the Hive then?

***

True to the letters words, the line of beggars spiraled down the hill that the ancient, massive

structure of the Gatehouse lay nestled atop. Thousands of the Hives residents awaited whatever

meager handouts they might gain from the efforts of the former faction that still operated the

facilities even bereft of political power. Ideology remained behind and in the hearts of the faithful,

even in the absence of organized, official power.

 1112

This place smells. Tristol said, still feeling frazzled and ragged despite being back up and

on his feet.

Nisha gave him a quick snug on his shoulder, Well, you dont have to wait in line. Its the

archmage privilege.

Tristol had to smile, even if just for her efforts to cheer him up.

Clueless checked his purse as they passed a cluster of beggars, given that they all rather stood

out as not being from the Hive, I didnt seem to need the archmage privilege when I was here

before.

Skalliska looked up at the bladesinger and checked her own purse. You had a member in

good standing with the touts guild leading you around at the time.

And they thought that he was crazy too. Nisha pointed out.

Clueless shrugged and smiled as they moved through the crowd and under an archway crowded

with bored-looking children.

Quickly moving through the orphanage, the group was largely ignored by the staff and avoided

by all but the most adventurous children. Toras smiled and waved at the few brave orphans,

and one or two of them waved back, though another made faces, and Nisha made a face right

back, sending the young tiefling running back to the safety of some hiding place elsewhere in

the building. But compared to the kitchens and its waiting, loitering throngs, there was little

traffic and no one approached them till they made it to a door leading into the originally Bleaker

specific portion of the Gatehouse where a pair of guards were casually posted.

May we help you? One of them asked, looking curiously at the group.

If youre looking for the kitchens, youll want to go to the back of...

Toras waved a hand and cut the man off. Actually were just trying to avoid the crowd. We

had a letter of summons from the guildmaster. Apparently he wanted to see us about something.

The guards looked at each other and then looked at the letter itself. They nodded approvingly,

confirming the identity of the writer, or at least the legitimacy of the seal on the paper.

Very well then. Past this door go down the hallway, take the second left and the factor Te...

excuse me, guildmaster Tessalis office is at the midpoint down the corridor. If you cant find it,

anyone you come across can direct you.

Toras thanked them and the group continued on, deeper into the gatehouse and into regions

that in years past would have been completely off limits to anyone not a member of the faction.

Had they been members though, they wouldnt have learned any hidden secrets or amazing reve-

lations though, because there wasnt much to see. Perhaps it was just the Bleakers sensibilities,

but as they stood outside the office of the man who in other times would have been their factol,
1113

there was little to be impressed about.

The simple wooden door to Guildmaster Tessalis office was open, revealing a relatively sparse

room filled with paperwork and a few curling wisps of incense rising up from an antique, blown-

glass incense burner of arborean design. The guildmaster, a slender gray elf dressed in simple,

relatively unadorned robes, sat at his desk looking over a spellbook while the remnants of his

lunch sat slowly cooling to one side on a chipped ceramic plate.

Clueless looked at Fyrehowl and they both shrugged.

Hrrrmmpphhh. Toras cleared his throat and knocked on the frame of the door.

Yes? Tessali said, not looking up from his studies. Just put the reports on the corner of

the desk. And actually, while youre here, I want you to go find Tyvold and have him speak to

that one merchant out of Bedlam when he arrives later today.

Obviously the guildmaster had been expecting someone else.

Actually were here for something else entirely. Toras replied, getting the elfs attention.

You sent us a letter asking us to come see you about something?

Excuse me? The gray-elf asked, looking up from his desk. He blinked and studied their

faces for a moment before frowning. I cant say I know who you all are. I didnt send you or

anyone else any letters, or request any sort of meeting. Im sorry, I really am, but you must be

mistaken.

Standing there in his door, they looked at one another with some confusion. The letter

had been sent from the gatehouse, sealed with the symbol of the Bleakers, and signed in the

guildmasters name. So why wouldnt he be aware of it?

Toras looked at the letter and then back at the elf. Well your letter mentioned that you

knew us, and wanted us to speak with you about someone by the name of Marason.

And then something odd happened. The guildmaster abruptly stopped and put down his pen

in a disturbingly mechanical fashion. He looked up with glazed, unfocused eyed and gestured

towards the door.

My apologies. He said, his words slow and deliberate, lacking inflection. That matter

must have slipped my mind.

Fyrehowl glanced to Florian with a look rapidly shared by the others. It was like the mention

of Marasons name, whoever he was, had flipped a switch in the mans mind. Might he have

been in the grips of the Grim Retreat and developed multiple personalities? He was a bleaker

after all. Or might it have been a magical compulsion or powerful geas? They didnt know, but

all of those ideas were plausible ones.

If youll follow me please. Tessali said as he walked to the door. Its only a short walk to
 1114

his cell.

His cell? Toras asked as they followed the man.

Tessali led them away from the more public areas of the Gatehouse, down a long, twisting

corridor towards a heavy iron portcullis. He paused at the gate and knocked on the iron to

summon the guards on the other side.

Yes, his cell. He finally explained, turning back to Toras. Marason is locked away in this

portion of the asylum.

Whats he in here for? Clueless asked.

Tessali paused and a stronger look of confusion crossed his features. I... I dont know.

In fact, the guildmaster seemed to just forget that hed been asked the question, much less

that he didnt know the answer. Parts of his brain appeared to be running like a bit of wound

up clockwork.

On the other side of the portcullis, a paid of guards appeared and looked at the group and

Tessali. Rather unlike the average bleaker seeing to the normal operation of the Gatehouse, they

were armed and armored. That was odd. What portion of the place was Tessali leading them

into?

Fyrehowls ears perked and she tried to listen to the words passing between the half-elf and

the guards. She didnt hear most of it, but as soon as the name of Marason was dropped, both

guards immediately went to open the door like they were zombies, slow, stiff, unthinking. There

went the idea of split personalities. Something or someone was controlling the wardens of the

Gatehouse.

The portcullis cranked open with a heavy grating noise of metal on stone and the thud of

landing counterweights somewhere behind the masonry. Beyond the entryway the stone seemed

thicker and less polished, with more grime and dirt to evidence a lack of open concern with

appearances. Whatever portion of the gatehouse that it was, it wasnt public, and the bleakers

had absolutely no concern about giving it the care due to a public place.

Tessali led them down another short passage and then through another set of iron doors, ones

that this time he held the keys to himself. Past the door they ascended a long flight of stairs and

emerged into a secluded hallway that held only a handful of darkened cells to either side and the

glow of candlelight from the cell at the corridors end.

Just what part of the Gatehouse are we in? Skalliska asked. This isnt on any of the maps

of the place that Ive ever seen.

The elf frowned. Its part of the center wing of the building, but its not something we like

to talk about. Welcome to the irretrievably and criminally insane ward. Special prisoners, and
1115

any of our members who fall into the Grim Retreat, are kept isolated here away from the public,

for the mutual good and safety of all involved.

Isolated was the key word as they walked down the dimly lit corridor past walls that ran

with bits of nitre and dripping water. The place was deathly quiet, and except for the drip of

water from the walls, there was no sound other than their breathing and their footsteps. Pitiless

was a vacation spot by comparison to the atrocious condition of the cells, since while they were

doubtless secure against escape, absolutely no concern seemed given to the comfort or health of

the prisoners.

Fyrehowl glanced at the cells and an odd, wary look crossed over her features. It was an

odd expression, and an even stranger feeling for the cipher. To be honest, outside of a sense of

apprehension, she didnt know what to think.

A sudden scream from one of the cells broke the silence. Shes coming for me! The bladed

Lady! She knows where I am!

Tessali looked at the cell and shook his head sadly. Former factol Lhar is a broken man.

He fell into the Grim Retreat a week before the Faction War, and conveniently enough he was

no longer Factol when his successor was mazed. Lhar seems to think that Her Serenity made a

mistake and will eventually come back for him. We cant put any illumination in his cell or he

screams to the point of hurting himself when the light throws shadows across the room.

Florian glanced to the mad factols cell and then towards the other three.

Tessali held up his hand, Please dont touch the doors. Id rather Esmus and Tollysalmon

not be disturbed. They...

The guildmaster shuddered and trailed off. Trust me. When Ive let you into Marasons cell

Ill be leaving. Call for me when youre finished and Ill return to let you out. Id prefer not to

remain in the ex-factols presence.

Why? Florian asked.

Theyre still bitter. There was an evasive look in the guildmasters eyes.

The cleric raised an eyebrow. About what?

The last time we tried to kill them.

Clueless turned and looked at the former Bleaker. What?

Not that we could... Tessali shuddered again. But we had to try.

From somewhere in the darkness of the cell opposite the elf, someone giggled.

Tessali glanced at the cell and hurriedly took out his keys. Take your time. I dont care to

come back here soon.

The moment the key entered the lock, the guildmaster resumed his marionette act, slowly
 1116

and unthinkingly unlocking the door and gesturing them forwards. A moment later he turned

and left, leaving the door open as he walked away in a daze.

Please come in. Came the voice from the cells interior. Ive been waiting to speak with

you for a while, and Im sure that youll find me a much better conversationalist than the barmies

in the neighboring cells.

As if on cue there was another unhealthy giggle from ex-Factol Esmus and in the darkness

of his cell a pair of luminous eyes opened and were just as quickly shut. Fyrehowl stepped back

and away from the former factols door, disturbed by the even brief expression of something

altogether unnatural from the madman to her right. She looked away and across to the cell

reserved for Tollysalmon, the githyanki ex-factol who had preceded Esmus.

The cell was pitch black and silent, but even without seeing so much as a darkened outline

of the woman, she felt watched nonetheless. Disturbed, she turned away and shook her head,

looking towards Marasons cell, but as she did so the fur on the lupinals head visibly moved

with a rush of static, and she felt a sensation that could only be described as something cold

ever so faintly brushing against her mind. Tessalis overreaction had been anything but.

Standing in contrast to the impression given off by the adjacent cells, the open doorway to

Marasons chamber seemed positively inviting by comparison. Looking inside the cell there was

a single table, a small cot and a lone candle pushing back the darkness. Outside of having a

source of light though, it was incredibly spartan, dirty, and had little to differentiate it from any

of the other cells in the asylum.

Greetings. Said a thin man seated behind the table. He was dirty but rather nondescript,

and outside of his smile there was nothing remarkable about him save that his fingers were

stained heavily with ink. There didnt seem to be a pen or paper on the desk however as he

rapped his knuckles on the wooden surface and welcomed his guests.

Do we know you? Toras asked.

In a round about way yes, you might say so. His fingers toyed with the air at the base of

his neck as if he were toying with a piece of jewelry, or repeating some old, ingrained habit.

Fyrehowl saw the motion of his fingers and something started to form in her memories. I

take it youre the person who wrote Tessalis letter to us?

He grinned and held up his fingers. Youd think so I suppose. I composed the letter but I

didnt write it, not really. Tessalis fingers held the pen. I just directed him and gave him the

words to write. Assign authorship as you wish.

The candles flame flickered and they stared at the man who was obviously more than just a

mortal man.
1117

So who and what are you? Fyrehowl asked, unwilling to come right out and voice her

suspicions.

Marason spread his hands and the veil of illusion that cloaked his cell lifted, revealing a room

cluttered with dozens of stacks of books, open handwritten ledgers, and piles of paper and loose

manuscripts. Rather than a single candle burning in solitude, a dozen globes of light drifted

through the air, illuminating the writer at his desk and casting a distinctly inhuman shadow

across the floor.

Back in Carceri you were promised aid. He said. You were also told that someone would

eventually contact you. And in light of your recent, and might I add brilliant, crippling insult

against the rotting little bitch of Othrys, I found it to be the time to make your acquaintance

and introduce myself.

The mans form rippled, shifted and expanded to fill the opposite side of the tables width.

The chair creaked and groaned under the sudden stress, and the light glinted off of the beings

glistening teeth and the simple black triangle that hung around its neck.

The shator gehreleth folded its hands across the book upon the table and smiled.

Had we made a bargain over what you did, I would count myself in your debt right now.

But in the absence of that, let me just say that I admire your actions and appreciate their

consequences. Allow me to introduce myself then as an admirer of your deeds and a kindred

spirit in terms of our displeasure with the yugoloths, wretched abortions of the Waste that they

are. In the event that you might have heard of me or my work, my name is Xideous.
Chapter 100

Shators were massive creatures by any measure. As tall as a pit fiend or balor, they were easily

twice as broad, and unlike kelubar gehreleths who might be described as corpulent, shators

presented something more muscular, and Xideous was no exception. Almost as wide as the table

that sat in the center of the cell, muscles rippled just below the semi-reptilian fiends flesh, flexing

with each movement as it looked down at its potential allies.

Beings of xenophobic hatred and callous cruelty, an aura of power and intimidation exuded

in his presence, but it also seemed apparent that the leth was intentionally holding back in

whatever sublime way he could in order to present a more amiable, more cultured, and more

trusting appearance. Still though, it was difficult not to be apprehensive, especially given their

experience with a mere farastu back in Carceri.

Would we know who you are? Toras asked, not showing any recognition.

By name or by deeds? The fiend asked, a boastful tone creeping into his voice. By name

I would certainly hope not. Ive done my best to make sure that my presence here in Sigil is

completely unknown to anyone who might care, and likewise to those who wouldnt. And by

deeds, for the moment perhaps, but the full scope of what Im doing has yet to be completed,

hence the desire for privacy.

The fiend was waiting for them to ask him what it was that he was working on; that much

was obvious. It was odd in a way, for a being as massive as a shator, one of the most powerful

fiends, to be as superficially giddy like a child hiding a surprise behind their back and asking

their parents to guess what it was.

Normally that sort of act would be met with a laugh and some comment or another, but the

leth was standing less than five feet from them, and could probably rip half of them to pieces

before they had the door open if they angered him. Humoring the leth was probably the wisest

course of action, especially when a being of his stature was also dangling an offer of mutual aid.

Clueless motioned at the books, Why the concern for privacy? What is it that youre working

1118
1119

on that you need the secrecy for?

Xideous chuckled.

My privacy allows me to complete my work. He explained as his smile grew wider to reveal

a maw full of glistening, ragged fangs and he gestured back at the stacks of books that surrounded

him. Im something of an author you see, and I happen to share enemies with you. In fact I

can assure you that the upper echelons of the yugoloth hierarchy have more reason to kill me

than for anything that you have done, including what youve done to the Oinoloths rotting little

harlot.

Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow. Theyd turned the Overlord of Carceri to stone and aborted her

plans on the Astral, probably thrown a wrench into the Oinoloths plans as well. What would

make any particular shator a greater concern? Just what had Xideous done?

The gehreleth set down his pen, leaned forward across the table ever so slightly and grinned.

On that last part, I really do have to say that youve made something of a name for your-

selves.

For better or for worse. Clueless said, knowing that it was only politics, petty internal poli-

tics even, that might manage to keep them from an endless succession of assassination attempts.

Id have preferred to f*ck the loths over without my name being known.

Nisha peered out from behind Tristol. ...Are we actually known for what we did?

Xideous shook his head. To me yes. But I do keep my finger on the pulse of who has done

what to engender the hatred of any of the loths. Your name probably isnt a known quantity

among the loths except for a select few, and it wont be spread because it would be politically

embarrassing to some of them. Their infighting and self-obsessive power mongering works to

your benefit.

The Xaositect let out a sigh of relief and went back to nuzzling Tristols tail. The others

echoed her sigh, either outwardly or inwardly.

So youre an author. Fyrehowl prompted. What exactly is it that youre writing?

Xideous had been waiting for them to ask, and he happily gave them an answer. Have you

ever heard of the Book of Keeping?

Something in the back of Cluelesss mind felt uneasy with where the conversation was going.

Ive heard of it. Tristol said, nodding. Its supposed to be a book that details how to

summon and bind yugoloths.

Xideous nodded back. You would be correct mortal.

I also know that its hideously rare, Tristol continued. And most of the copies that exist

are just copies of copies; imperfect ones at that. Supposedly the loths have tried to suppress it,
 1120

and when they find one of them, they do their best to destroy it.

Correct again. The leths grin was growing.

Makes sense though. Florian said. Especially if it wasnt a book they put out themselves.

Itd piss them off to be yanked down to the prime by some random mage and forced into service

by their truename or some other trick the book mentioned.

They despise the notion. Xideous said. Their sense of superiority cannot accept servitude

to a mortal, or anything else, and the book was something else anathemic to them: it was truthful

in what it told. It laid bare what its authors knew about the loths, their society, their caste

structure, the structure of their language, massive lists of truenames and rituals specific to each

type of loth; everything needed to shackle them.

The shator gave a deep, rumbling cackle and strummed his fingers across the top of the

tome that had occupied a central position on his desk since theyd entered. The book drew the

spotlight and no one noticed just how much Cluelesss wings were nervously twitching.

Oh... Toras began. Youre sh*tting me.

Xideous grinned. There exists one remaining complete copy of the Book of Keeping, and

yes, I possess it.

Powers above! No wonder he wanted to remain low-key!

The leth was not finished speaking however.

And who better than I to not only possess it, but to undertake a revision and expansion to

the material? When I am done, the Shator Revision of the Book of Keeping will be distributed

like larvae from the hags. I will make the loths suffer and they will learn their proper place in

the multiverse. The true names of their lords will dot the pages like worms in over-ripe meat.

Mistake. The voice of the Jester echoed suddenly inside Cluelesss mind.

Cluelesss eyes went wide, not at the lurking presence of the Jester, not at the admissions of

the shator standing in front of him, but for another reason entirely. Helekanalaith. The Keeper

of the Tower. The veritable master of Gehenna was hunting the author of the revised Book of

Keeping, he just didnt have a name, or hadnt provided one. Xideous was not safe. The loths

might already know. The f*cking Keeper himself might have already taken notice. Sh*t!

I want a copy. Toras said, the moment the leth paused.

That is a very open possibility. The fiend replied. But I am not finished, not yet. And

that is where my idea of mutual aid comes into play.

Im with Toras too. Tristol said. What do you want in exchange for a copy?

I propose an even exchange of information. Xideous offered. You provide what you discover

about the yugoloths to me: names, associations, descriptions, roles, anything you feel pertinent.
1121

In exchange I will give you any information about them that I am aware of myself, anything

within the pages of the book, and anything granted to me by the Triple Aspected himself.

Clueless wanted to scream. It might already be too late.

Whats the catch? Fyrehowl asked. Forgive me for asking, but there has to be a catch.

Xideous smirked and pointed the tip of his pen in her direction. Given what you are, I expect

that sentiment. But my loathing to the spawn of the Demented utterly outweighs anything your

kind could ever represent or do to my race or me. You provide information and I will do so in

return. As for the rest of you, your mortality offends me less than the notion that even a single

loth resides in Carceri.

Fyrehowl nodded. The fiend seemed genuine in his sentiment. She didnt detect any sense of

duplicity regarding his motives at all. His hatred for the loths might even outstrip her own, but

his capacity for hatred was also something alien to her people, even if her loss might be more

poignant and much more recent.

Youve also done my kind a service. Xideous continued. When you removed Shylara the

Manged from being an active presence in Carceri, she was in the beginning stages of an attempt

to flush the Red Prison of the gehreleths, layer by layer. The completion of her tower might have

given her the ability to do so, and she and her lover before her, are a far cry from the ineffectual

rulership of Bubonix. You may have delayed, or destroyed, her dreams of a genocidal crusade

across Othrys, Cathrys, and Minethys, maybe even deeper.

It took a moment for that revelation to settle in.

Ambitious little b*tch... Fyrehowl muttered.

So you see, Xideous said. My appreciation isnt just something out of shared goals and

shared enemies. Youve done something even more tangible than you thought.

Toras tapped his fist on the wall, Well she wont be doing anything for a while, thats for

sure.

Behind the fighter, Nisha happily did her best almost caricatured impression of Shylaras

petrified form.

Xideous chuckled, I wish I could have been there to see it. But that said, I leave it open to

you to consider my offer. It is not extended without risk to myself.

Of course if they refused, the threat posed by the fiend was still there lurking in the back-

ground, as well as the enmity of an entire race. But in truth, there was precious little reason to

not accept the deal as offered. There was only a moment of shared glances and nods and that

was that.

Well accept. Fyrehowl said, speaking for the group.

 1122

Xideous didnt immediately expect any flow of information in either direction, though when

pointedly asked, he regretfully admitted that he was not aware of the Marauders truename,

though he sorely desired it. He did spend some time discussing the dynamics of the loth occu-

pation of Othrys, and how it had differed through the tenures of the various loth overlords of

the Tower of Incarnate Pain.

Eventually though they had said all they had to say, and given the depth of the shators

knowledge, they needed more time to come up with specific questions to ask him, and he promised

to have a compiled list of questions for them, as well as a veiled promise of a copy of the incomplete

tome at some point in the future.

The desire to leave however was not monolithic.

As the others thanked the fiend and moved towards the door, Clueless held back. Guys, Id

like to stay a moment more and discuss something in private with him.

Glancing at him but making no comment, the gehreleth simply folded his hands and waited.

Florian was more questioning though. Hmm? What about?

It should only take a minute or two. He explained, motioning them on. Just wait for me

outside.

After a few abortive attempts to worm out of the bladesinger just what he needed to ask that

couldnt be done with them present, they reluctantly left and walked back out to the hallway.

It hadnt so much stoked their interest though, so much as it had raised the lurking specter of

distrust and resentment over Clueless keeping secrets from them. Be that as it might though,

his secrecy was well meaning, and at the moment more self-preservation.

***

As soon as the door to the cell closed behind his companions, Clueless turned to face Xideous.

Without bluntly, openly admitting to the situation, he had to somehow relate to the fiend the

danger he was in.

You have an astounding amount of guts to be doing what you are.

The fiend still had a patient but curious look upon his face. My race has an astounding

amount of reason for our hatred of them.

Clueless nodded, And I share the perspective. But youre in the middle of a swarm of their

influence. What would you do if the loths found out where you are?

The Shator smirked and cracked the knuckles on his left hand, Id make certain that their

informant was slaughtered and their heart delivered to Agathys in a goblet made of a silver-plated

loths skull.
1123

Clueless inwardly blanched. So much for telling him the truth. Hi there Xideous, one of the

lords of Gehenna is probably looking at you right now... No. That wouldnt work.

Are you certain that youre safe in Sigil?

Xideous snorted. Ive been here since two years before the Faction War, seven years, and in

all that time I havent been disturbed once. The loths would have burned the Gatehouse to the

ground along with everyone inside if they even suspected that I was inside.

Clueless looked away for a moment. He wasnt taking the hint.

Is it still safe here given the recent upheaval among the loths? He asked. The new

Oinoloth is more proactive, and we know for a fact that the Marauder at least has significantly

more power under the current order than before. The atmosphere in Sigil hasnt been healthy

for their enemies. Theyve tried to kill us a few times, and though its been a while now, youll

remember when they killed the former high executioner for the Mercykillers.

And they havent in all that time even sent a single agent into the Gatehouse, despite having

a network of them crawling across the Hive. Xideous explained, not showing much concern. I

wont claim to know each and every stooge on their payroll, or blackmailed into servitude in

some capacity, but I dont feel its a risk.

What Im saying is that weve had far too many dealings with the loths here in the city.

Clueless said, trying to still hint to the shator without overtly saying it. The place is crawling

with them, or people loyal to them. I dont...

Xideous waved off his concern. Trust my judgment in this mortal. Ive been here where I

am for long enough to observe the dynamics of the city. If you must know, I have a large number

of the former Bleakers affected by a permanents mindspider of sorts, and Ill be well aware of

anyone looking for me before they could do anything. If I have to leave, I have contingent plans.

It wasnt going to work. And Clueless wasnt going to tell him the truth, because the truth

was that he was doomed.

***

Outside in the hallway, the group stood and speculated on what had held Clueless behind.

No, I dont like him keeping secrets from me. Tristol said with a frown. Its annoying to

no end.

Hes like that. Fyrehowl said with a shrug.

Annoying? Nisha asked. I wouldnt say...

The lupinal chuckled and shook her head, I meant he can be secretive.
 1124

All the time though. Tristol complained, ears flat against his head. Hes like that all the

time and its getting to be seriously annoying.

Toras sighed and gave a shrug. It is, but it hasnt been malicious on his part. Hes had

good reason and decent intentions behind it.

But it doesnt make me feel like he trusts his friends as much as he could when he doesnt

tell us about things that are incredibly important.

Then ask him when hes finished talking with the leth. Florian said. Tell him that its

important, tell him how you feel. Just dont let it build up. I mean...

Florian paused abruptly and stared over Fyrehowls shoulder at the barred window look-

ing into ex-factol Tollysalmons cell. Thered been nothing but darkness there only a moment

before, but suddenly, without actually seeing any movement, the ex-factol was standing there

immediately behind the bars, staring at them.

The githyankis face was a sallow shade of mottled gray, made sickly and gaunt by her

incarceration. A few strands of knotted hair hung past her face and though her expression was

almost entirely blank, there was the faintest, enigmatic hint of amusement, though her eyes were

a solid, iris-less black.

Sh*t! Florian shouted as she jerked back a few feet, followed almost immediately by a

similar scramble from her companions.

And then, just as quick as shed appeared, the githyanki factol vanished back into the shadows.

You cant stop it... A hissing, trailing whisper echoed from the cell and inside their heads

at once.

The group was twenty feet away in the space of a few seconds, clustered back at the stairs and

as far away from the mad bleakers as they could get and still be within view of where Clueless

would exit after he was finished with Xideous. They hadnt been intending to eavesdrop on the

Shator and the bladesinger, though in retrospect the appearance of such wouldnt have been a

wise thing to present, but the ex-factols were unsettling. Tessali was perfectly justified in his

worry regarding those madmen, and just like him, they simply didnt want to be anywhere near

them.

Fyrehowl hadnt felt anything; she hadnt heard the womans footsteps, or her breathing.

Nothing. Shed just been there. Either she wasnt a threat at all, or the Cadence hadnt felt her,

or maybe a bit of both. The cipher wasnt certain anymore than she understand what the gith

had whispered to them, assuming it was anything more than the ramblings of insanity.

Nisha broke the silence, jerking her tail to point back down the hall. So now that were

away from factol spooky, anyone want to speculate what Clueless is doing in there?
1125

Toras rolled his eyes, The fiend?

Huh? Skalliska asked, clearly confused. In fact it was the first time that shed said anything

the whole time. The kobolds mind was fixated on something else entirely.

You know...

Huh? Skalliska asked again.

Toras slapped his hands together rhythmically. You know...

Toras! Florian exclaimed, blushing.

Well thats what he did with the Manged back in Carceri! Kinda. Sorta. And for all I know

the Marauder probably screwed his brains out too. Hes got a record of this you know.

Nisha was giggling and blushing, the tips of Tristols ears were red, and Fyrehowl shook her

head.

Thats absolutely disgusting. Florian said. Please Toras, dont go into detail. Id like to

keep my mind from remembering those episodes.

Apparently manifest Evil finds him hot! Toras said, continuing his inappropriate line of

joking. Or maybe he finds Evil hot. I dunno. He screwed the freaking Manged. Im immune

to disease and even Im going there. So pardon me for speculating on the next one in line.

Xideouss cell door swung open and Clueless walked back to rejoin the group. The conversa-

tion quickly died away once they heard his footsteps and the heavy slam of the gehreleths cell

door sliding shut, but he heard enough to know what they were talking and joking about. He

didnt say anything, or acknowledge that hed heard them, but the comments hurt.

Nothing of the sort had happened with the leth -the very idea was repulsive to him- and

hed stayed behind to speak out of a desire to save its life and keep him as an ally. Hed had

good intentions and his friends were making jokes about him f*cking it.

Clueless looked away and frowned. When he finally bottled up his feelings and turned back to

his companions he managed to hold his tongue and hold their questions at bay. Tristol likewise

didnt mention his feelings on the topic, though in truth, soon enough theyd be irrelevant.

***

When they left the Gatehouse and wandered back through the Hive and into the Clerks

Ward, back to the Portal Jammer, the sky was thick with smog and haze, already beginning to

darken as the city slipped further and further from Peak and its modicum of daylight. From

across the ring of the city, lights could already be seen like erstwhile stars dotting the dusk, props

for Sigils play of night, each slowly being dragged out from the citys backstage.

Despite Sigils trappings of filth and age, and the Hives unique stench, the burgeoning night
 1126

seemed tinged with a positive note as they walked back home. Theyd managed in the past week

to have the yugoloth overlord of Carceri pulled off of their backs, and by virtue of their actions

against her, theyd attracted the attentions of a powerful ally. Yes it was another fiend, but even

if they had to metaphorically rob Peter to pay Paul, simply on a practical level they could dirty

their hands if it meant empowering themselves alongside another enemy of the loths.

That was the predominant feeling at least. Clueless though felt remarkably different. As

much as he tried to put on a show of attitude similar to the others, he knew what was going to

happen. It was only a question of when. Xideous was a marked man.

But Clueless and his hidden feelings were not for the moment a shared anchorstone dragging

on the hearts of his companions, and once they arrived back at the Portal Jammer, there was an

impromptu round of drinks free on the house to those customers who were there for a late dinner

or an evening drink. No explanation was given, and the regulars happily accepted the free liquor

without pressing the issue, but the owners were clearly excited about something as they passed

out the drinks, took their own and retired to the private room in the back of the inn.

Well, again, most of them were.

Skalliska had vanished back to her room with something clearly on her mind as far as her

companions were aware, but it didnt seem as if anything was terribly amiss. Whatever it was

theyd find out eventually they figured, but it couldnt be anything bad, and they didnt let to

sully their mood.

Clueless was drinking sure enough, but for an entirely different reason. There was no cele-

bration when he raised his glass, and there was no happiness to be found in the bottom as a

mug, just the bitter taste of the dregs on the tip of his tongue to match his mood.

To Xideous. The bladesinger said, raising his glass in a toast.

To Xideous and to us. The response from the others came.

Celebration? It felt like a wake.

Heres to screwing the loths over! Florian called out, raising her glass.

getting Heres to drunk! Nisha shouted, slipping into scramblespeak, having kept up in

volume with the others despite being significantly lighter.

Tristol delicately took away her drink and gave her a kiss.

Heres to still skeptical lupinals. Fyrehowl said. Im excited but well see how this goes.

Fiends are fiends still I suppose.

Florian nudged her, Dont break the mood hun.

I suppose not. The cipher replied. Call it a feeling I suppose. But what the heck, I dont

want to be a downer, so... heres to us and heres to drinking!

1127

wOHoo XoAs! Nisha countered drunkenly.

Another twenty minutes of celebration more and Clueless couldnt handle the difference in

mood through the room compared to how he truly felt.

Guys? The bladesinger asked. Im feeling a bit tired, maybe a little out of it from every-

thing that happened today. So if you dont mind, Im going to be going to bed early tonight.

Ill see you all in the morning.

Florian nodded, Dont worry about it.

You sure? He questioned. You wont mind handling closing time?

Not at all. It wouldnt be a problem at all was the response. The mood was too good to

care. Cluelesss mind was clouding with guilt when he walked up the stairs to his room, and his

heart was heavy when he finally, fitfully fell asleep an hour later, dreading the likely call of some

fiendish psychopomp on its way to the gatehouse.

The others called an end to the evening eventually, retiring to their own rooms to sleep or

study or pray, ignorant of that looming nightingale on the horizon calling out its song to the

tune of loth.

***

Hello Toras...

Sitting on his bed, reciting from a book of prayers, the fighter cringed and slowly turned

around to a voice that was immediately recognizable.

Hovering next to the window, turned to look out into the street was the quasi-illusory pro-

jection of the Cheshire Fiend. As always, the fiends avatar was smiling, shedding a bright white

glow across Torass room to dwarf the normal light from the street and his own reading lamp on

the table.

Its a beautiful night tonight. The fiend said, unreadable in tone, still looking out the

window. Wouldnt you agree?

Toras didnt have a clue what to think, either about the Grins comment or about his very

presence. The last time theyd had any dealings with him, while they hadnt been harmed,

theyd been used like puppets of convenience, and there was still some distrust and animosity

regarding that. Truth be told, the Cheshire Fiends loyalties and motivations were still as entirely

inscrutable as theyd ever been, and while hed nominally advanced the cause of the current

Oinoloth prior to his ascension, all indications were that in true loth form he was ultimately

loyal to the only thing that mattered to him: him.

 1128

Toras looked at the fiends avatar but didnt reply. He crossed his arms and waited for the

illusion to say something worth responding to.

Did I say something to offend? The glowing grin turned a bit to either side and then down,

like he were staring at a body he didnt have, looking for something awkward in what hed worn.

Not yet I suppose. Toras replied.

It grinned wider. That might have been good, it might have been a horrible omen. Toras

wasnt sure.
Chapter 101

I realize perhaps that we last spoke on somewhat awkward terms. The fiend explained, But

Im here with a smile.

You always smile. Toras said.

But this time I actually mean it! He explained. Im actually happy at the moment. And

the cause of my being happy is something that deserves to be shared!

And what would that be?

The fiend hummed and bobbed a bit in the air. Clearly he was excited.

Now Id intended to tell you all at the same time.

Same time as what?

Im getting there mortal. He interjected. Allow me my moment.

Toras sighed and gestured for him to continue his ego-feeding.

Ive come here tonight as a harbinger of news.

Autochon the Bellringer needed another news boy and you got the job? Toras asked without

a pause. Congrats to you, but I dont see why I should care if youre making a few extra jink

on the side.

Your sarcasm is impressive. The fiend replied. Amusing at times as well. But I think

youll be interested in the news that I was carrying.

Go ahead. He sighed. Youre so evil, blah blah blah. We cannot be stopped, blah blah

blah. Thats the usual content anyways.

Theres substance this time. The Cheshire Fiend explained, ignoring the insults. In fact

theres going to be a dead fiend very shortly. I hope you didnt get too attached to Xideous in

the short time that you knew him.

The reaction he got out of Toras wasnt entirely what he expected.

And why should I care? The fighter asked. Another fiend dies. Hes not one of the fiends

on my list of fiends that deserve to die, and yes I have just such a list, but still I can easily live

1129
 1130

with that.

The Grin smirked. Clearly he wasnt going to faze Toras without tweaking him a bit.

I should also point out that theres an orphanage adjacent to the wing of the Gatehouse.

...

A pity really if anything were to accidentally befall them in the process of...

Torass eyes went wide and his hand went immediately to a wooden tablet to his left. The

fiend was starting to chuckle despicably when the fighter held the tablet and its inscribed surface

up in the air.

Symbol of Pain!

Not expecting it, the fiends illusory avatar twisted and distorted as he looked at the symbol

and caught the effect with full force.

Gahhh! The Cheshire Fiend exclaimed with a gargle in his voice a moment before he either

cancelled his projection into Torass room, or lost the concentration necessary to maintain it.

In either event however, Toras was already out the door and running towards the Hive with

the hope that whatever was planned, he would get there in time to prevent mass casualties. But

even at his pace, he wasnt actually the first person to bolt from the inn.

***

Meanwhile, at the same time Toras had been speaking with the Cheshire Fiend, the exact

same conversation was happening in the other rooms of the Jammer where the grinning loth

had manifested in order to gloat, or goad, or simply to banter with the rest of the inns owners.

Given that each conversation was happening at once, it had interesting implications.

Fyrehowl narrowed her eyes and looked at the perpetually smiling avatar. Nothing good

ever happens when you show up.

Odd circumstance really, nothing more. The fiend replied. You know, in my defense Ive

never actually done anything to harm you and yours. Not me, not directly.

Fyrehowl rolled her eyes, Not yet.

The air shimmered above the corners of the fiends illusory mouth, giving the distinct appear-

ance of a disembodied shrug. I suppose I have to shoulder the burden of my races reputation.

A pity really, because I try to be an amiable fellow.

So what do you want now?

The grin turned towards the window where it had first manifested. Take a look towards the

Hive.
1131

Something wasnt right. Fyrehowl felt something wrong. And before her mind had even had

time to speculate on just what the Cheshire Fiend was there to announce, even before the fiend

had opened his mouth to tell her what she was looking for out the window, the window was open

and Fyrehowl was gone.

Because tonight you... The fiend stopped and actually stuttered. Well damn. That was

unexpected.

He looked out of the window and down to the street. The lupinal was already gone, vanished

off into the night, and shed leapt a full two stories in the process without even a pause. Perhaps

it had been a mistake to talk to her before the fact rather than after that nights events had fully

transpired.

Youre fast my dear. He said, adding a short bit of a whistle. But thankfully not quite

fast enough. Well be finished before you get there, but Ill be taking note of just how far you

make it before then. Itll be nice to know for the future just how much lead-time Ill have in case

you have reason to track me down...

***

Tristols ears were flattened against his head as he sat up in bed and blinked against the glow

of a simple dweomer that hed invoked to light the room.

I was asleep you know. The wizard mumbled as he adjusted to the light. And your face

is hardly my first choice to wake up to.

Alas, Im not fluent in scramblespeak. The fiend replied, getting no reaction from Tristol

one way or the other. But I do bring some good news. Of a sort.

Tristols ears perked at the mention, even though he wasnt certain it would actually be

anything good.

Good news?

Well, The fiend explained. News of events that will put you in my good graces certainly.

The aasimar gave only a skeptical expression in return. Thats not high on my list of the

most wonderful things in the world. But okay I suppose.

Oh please Tristol, you wound me. The Cheshire Fiend prattled on whimsically. Im an

influential person. Being in my favor is something that could improve your life, grease wheels,

even Wheels I suppose.

Tristol smirked, Talking like that I half expect you to be the Marauder.

The Cheshire Fiend laughed, then paused, and then stuck out a tongue.
 1132

Tristol returned the expression, but without the same humor. Not that I expect you to

admit it, even if its accurate.

You could always ask her yourself. The fiend suggested with a tone of amusement. But

do yet me know ahead of time, because Id love to see her reaction, and Id feel compelled to pay

for the healer, or the undertaker as it might be.

Tristols ears flattened once again.

Trust me Tristol. The fiend said. The relationship is complex, but she wouldnt appreciate

the comparison. Not at all.

Fully awake by that point, Tristol wanted some answers rather than banter. So what did

you come here tonight to say? Im awake now, so whatever it is Ill be able to appreciate it, or

despise it whichever the case might be.

Before the Grin could reply however, he twitched. And Nisha is awake and having far too

much fun at my expense.

Oh? He asked. I take it youre talking to everyone?

The Cheshire Fiend nodded and for a brief moment his illusory avatar sported a gloss of what

appeared to be a coating of rather garishly applied lipstick and blush.

As I said, too much fun at my expense.

Tristol chuckled, put almost at ease by the thought of Nisha having fun dolling up the fiends

avatar. But unfortunately his mood would quickly sour.

So what was it you were going to tell me in the first place?

The fiend moved towards the window and turned back to face Tristol.

Tonight...

***

Evening to you Clueless.

Clueless had Razor drawn and pointed at the Cheshire Fiend by the time he spun around to

face the unexpected visitor.

The fiends glowing avatar drifted forwards and nibbled on the point of the sword. Youre a

bit more hostile than the others...

Clueless narrowed his eyes, much the same expression that Fyrehowl had made. Just what

the hell do you want?

Belatedly, he cursed and looked away, already knowing just why the fiend was there.

Being threatened apparently. He replied, drifting back away from the swords point. Ac-

tually Im here to congratulate you.

1133

F*ck... Clueless spat.

Smart boy. You already know what Im referring to.

The moment we find something to even possibly... The bladesinger sighed. You take it

away. And this is my fault.

The fiend said nothing and let Clueless simmer in self-hatred and frustration. Gone was the

friendly veneer that the fiend had adopted with the others at least at first. With Clueless the

grinning was as fake as ever.

Is he already dead?

Might as well be. The fiend replied. Might be better for him. But since youve already

stumbled to what I came here to mention to you all, I should direct you to the window, because

I assure you, youll want to see this.

Suddenly the fiends avatar twitched and he actually snarled. And Toras is a very unpleasant

man when you poke at his convictions. Ill have to remember that he keeps an unhealthy number

of inscribed symbols laying around.

Clueless snorted. Serves you right.

The fiend tilted noncommittally. Contrary to what poor Nilesia might have said on the

matter, theres no such thing as Justice. But having said that, youll want to look out the

window because tonight...

***

Tonight... The Cheshire Fiend spoke to each of the Portal Jammers owners with the

conviction of a zealot.

He laughed, unable to contain his giddy feelings.

Tonight the sky of Sigil will bleed red with the fury of my Lord Helekanalaith. The Gatehouse

will burn, the cursed life of the gehreleth known as Xideous will be snuffed, and his work shall

be erased from existence. Tonight bear witness to the fate of those who would defy the Lord of

Gehenna. Let his will be done.

The moment the last syllable left the fiends illusory lips, the explosion rattled the windows

and the sound of fallen and breaking slate tiles echoed up from the street. The sound from the

Hive washed over the Clerks ward like a peal of thunder of such intensity that Lei-Kung or Thor

would have had stopped, paused and wondered, had gods been allowed in the City of Doors.

The haze-covered sky in the direction of the Hive was awash in a dozen flickering shades of

red and yellow from the flames roaring up from the Gatehouse. After the immediate eruption of

flame, a vast plume of smoke rose into the sky and as the colors mixed and deepened, the skies of
 1134

Sigil did indeed appear to be bleeding. But as violent an event as the sky might have suggested,

the true extent of the damage was only visible to someone there at the scene.

And by the time the first flames had sparked into existence, Fyrehowl was already halfway

there, running without consciously thinking where she was even going, moving as fast as her

legs would carry her. When she was almost within view of the Gatehouse it happened, and she

actually saw the immediate aftermath, felt the first heat of the expanding flames wash over her

and was there for the rain of molten metal and stone dripping out of the sky like the Lady herself

were crying for the violation of the City of Doors.

The center wing of the Gatehouse was an inferno, and flames poured the windows near the

back quarter of its length, but it was immediately clear just where it had started.

You b*stards... Fyrehowl whispered as she paused for only a moment.

The rear of the Irretrievably and Criminally Insane Ward of the Gatehouse looked as if some

great hand had descended from the sky and ripped it open. The metal frame of the roof was

peeled back and partially melted from the force of the explosion, and the flames that had been

ignited by that event were, from even a cursory glance, simply an uncaring side effect of an

assassination, heartless overkill by the fiends. There was no way that Xideous, or any of the

scores of prisoners in that section of the structure could have survived.

As fruitless as any attempt to have saved or even warned the gehreleth might have been, the

building was still on fire, and its occupants still in grave danger. Fyrehowl, and Toras once he

arrived shortly thereafter, knew that they could lament Xideouss death as soon as the flames

were extinguished and the people of the area safe.

***

And now Clueless. The fiend said, turning away from the window once the glow in the sky

had shifted to a more sullen shade of red. It can only go without saying that the terms of my

Lord Helekanalaiths agreement with you will be amended in some manner.

Clueless paused. What?!

Dont go killing the messenger now. The fiend replied defensively. Toras already made

the attempt. But do keep in mind that your finding of Xideous was purely incidental, not some

grand master stroke on your part to gain the favor of the leths and thus gain your ticket into

a very brief, very abortive collusion with the late, unlamented author in the gatehouse. You

wont be gaining your freedom by chance, regardless of your view on any presumed facade of

pragmatism, or his word, the Keeper does not operate by such except when it suits him.

Get him. Clueless spat. I want to speak with him. Now.

1135

The Cheshire Fiend shrugged. He operates by his schedule alone, barring perhaps a few

minor exceptions. And unless you happen be the Oinoloth or one of the Gloom Fathers, you my

boy do not qualify as one of those exceptions. He will contact you at a time and place of his

choosing.

Son of a b*tch...

The fiend chuckled, I have to wonder how Larsdana would respond to that...

Clueless paused, uncertain what to make of the statement. It certainly said something about

the fiend hovering a few feet away from him, but the ramifications would be a very long time

coming.

But now Clueless, if youll excuse me, I have other things to do. Perhaps a party to attend,

perhaps a party to crash, perhaps Ill just go watch the Gatehouse burn. Enjoy your evening,

and know that when I raise a glass to tonights events, the first toast will be to you.

***

Following the fiends pronouncements there was little that could be done except meet in the

taproom and begin the process of numbing themselves into oblivion. Only Fyrehowl and Toras

were there at the scene, and they were performing after-the-fact cleanup and preventing further

damage, but the worst was already done. Toras at least had a silver lining to his mad dash

from the Clerks Ward to the Hive: the orphanage was untouched by the flames and despite the

Cheshire Fiends mocking suggestions, the children had never been in danger.

Elsewhere in the city, and soon swirling around the Portal Jammer as well, confusion was

followed swiftly by outrage, and on the coattails of that came rumor and finally the first fragments

of information from Sigils debatably independent press. But of course, nowhere in the press was

there any declaration of just what had caused the destruction in the first place, at least not any

declaration that was accurate. The only people who knew that were one, maybe two loths in

Sigil, and the owners of the Portal Jammer who for the moment lacked any solid proof to back

up their knowledge.

Fire guts central wing of Gatehouse! one headline read, Mayhem and Madmen! read another.

Destruction and Death in the Hive. Arson Not Ruled Out. No mention of fiends. No mention of

the very selective explosion that occurred before the fires began. Some papers blamed Xaositects,

some blamed resurgent Anarchists, some even blamed one or another sect of the Doomguard.

F*ckers... Clueless cursed as he skimmed through a pile of newspapers, still warm or wet

from the press, his hands stained with about as much cheap ink as metaphorical blood.

Not a drop of coverage suggesting that the loths, or even any fiends at all had caused the
 1136

destruction. Nothing. Either certain loths were pulling strings on the printing houses, or more

like the press simply had no clue what had happened. Given how thoroughly many of the upper

tier ex-Bleakers had been in thrall to Xideous, they were probably too out of their senses to

make heads or tales of anything for the moment.

The press was ignorant, and for all of the other suspected reasons, be they arson, anarchists

or others, the press already had a pair of scapegoats that had been handed to them on silver

platters.

Madmen Missing From Gatehouse Asylum, Ex-Factols Vanish, No Bodies Found, Ex-Factol Lhar Found Wan

Clueless frowned as he read the last headlines, Why do I get the feeling that this is going

to come back to haunt us somehow?

Florian looked over at him, This in general or the barmies?

Little of column A, little of column B...

The papers went on to report that Lhar had never gotten far, and theyd found him wandering

in a daze, talking to himself, intermittently screaming at shadows. Esmus however had apparently

bolted from the Gatehouse as soon as the walls of his cell had been ripped apart by the explosion.

A number of people had seen him dashing through the street, and the last reliable witness claimed

to have seen him dive through a portal leading to the Bleaker city known as the Madhouse in

Pandemonium. Of course none of the papers really dwelled too heavily on the fact that hed

apparently been able to survive the explosion in the first place.

As for Tollysalmon, the papers were silent on her fate. A few witnesses reported seeing her

calmly walking away from the Gatehouse, or standing there watching the flames, but then for all

intents and purposes she simply vanished and there were no leads readily apparent. But within

the hour the former Bleakers had put out news of a substantial reward for the return of their

former factols, dead or alive, or for information on their current whereabouts.

How much are they offering for a reward? Skalliska asked as Clueless related the gist of

what he was reading in the various papers. We could always go find them you know.

Just having returned from the Hive, Fyrehowls fur bristled at the thought. I know we dont

have a ton of stuff planned for the immediate future at the moment, but I dont want anything

to do with them. They disturb me. It doesnt feel right around them.

Nisha grinned, That would be Cipherspeak for Now I know what it felt for Rhys right

before the Faction War.

Cipherspeak? Amberblue asked, perched on the bar atop a hoard of spare coins left as

tips. The faerie dragon was largely in the dark about everything, and they were trying to keep

him that way.

1137

Yep. Cipherspeak. Nisha nodded. Would you prefer it in Xaos?

No. Not really. Fyrehowl responded after downing a shot of brandy, her 9th. I felt

disturbed around them, but not something from the Cadence. I didnt feel them in the Cadence.

It was like they simply were there, or they didnt fit. Disturbing.

Florian nodded. So no hunting them down for likely lowballed reward money out of the

good of our hearts then?

I could go for a vacation, but tracking down that pair of nutters isnt something on my list.

The lupinal punctuated that declaration with yet another shot of liquor. It was going to be a

long night, and there was a significantly larger amount of alcohol to be consumed before it was

over.

***

Despite the prevailing mood within the Portal Jammer, the mood was quite different elsewhere

in the multiverse.

Within the Fortunes Wheel there was a celebration of sorts going on, one stocked with

expensive wine, one very particular woman, and more laughter than song. Of course, despite

her jubilation, despite the fact that her celebration had started with giddy anticipation an hour

before the events in the Hive, and had even taken place in the Stargazers Tower with a perfect

and unobstructed view of the Gatehouse on the opposite side of the city, despite all of that, the

Marauder hadnt lifted a painted claw in any of the carnage. Oh, she was happy for the end

result -far be it for her to miss wallowing in someone elses misery or cause the death of one of

Apompss children- but she was purely an admiring spectator.

Meanwhile in Gehenna there was a much more subdued celebration taking place in a chamber

at the summit of the Tower Arcane.

Its amusing whose names have made it into the pages of this book over the eons. Wouldnt

you agree?

Blue light played across the ivory fangs of the Keeper of the Tower as he stared back at his

reflection distorted and reflected back within the depths of the glittering sapphire sphere that

perpetually hung above his desk.

I can only speculate of course by what route many of these names reached the ears and pens

of the various authors. I know a few that I fed to the ears of mortals as a method of punishment

for particularly disobedient underlings, and its amusing that it spread into here. Presumably

the leth had access to other copies of the tome, or more likely given the handwriting progression

through the pages, a succession of revisions by different conjurers and sages have added names
 1138

known through various routes to them as individuals.

Helekanalaith closed the book and then closed his eyes, running his hand across the leather

binding of the Shator Revision to the Book of Keeping. The binding was fresh and the leather

still supple and yet to fully tighten against the cover and spine due to a remaining bit of mucus-

like liquid in the porous layers of the dermis, but that was typical of gehreleth flesh, and thered

been no reason to suspect that Xideouss flayed hide would have proven any different.

But the end result of course is that Xideous is dead and has been made an example of those

who would defy the might of the yugoloth race. The Keeper smiled and pushed the book to one

side, looking back at the gem containing the spirit of Larsdana ap Neut.

It is of course purely an added benefit that Xideouss book has in the end come to rest

upon my desk. Blasphemous as it might be in the hands of non-yugoloths, theres no reason

whatsoever that it cannot find some practical use in mine. You would have done the same.

Helekanalaith lifted a glass of fermented petitioners blood, toasting his imprisoned lover in

a bizarrely sentimental expression. Glory be to us the chosen of Evil. Cheers Larsdana.

But the fiends gloating was not entirely finished.

Chapter 102

Fyrehowl stood up from her chair, slightly buzzed but not drunk. She wasnt a small person,

and as a celestial, even a jaded one if labels had to be applied, it took a lot of alcohol to affect

her. Twelve shots and she was feeling warm and pleasant, but only starting down the road to

inebriation.

Still, the night was young, and not in any sense over.

Guys? The lupinal asked. Does anyone mind if I go out for a while?

Florian looked up from her own drink. Eh? Our company isnt good enough?

Clueless paused in his stacking of mugs up at the bar. My booze isnt strong enough?

Well no, its just... She started. Id like to be a bit more downwind from the Gatehouse,

and to be honest Id like to chat with some other celestials, especially since Im in a mood to

know how others might handle it.

Thats it Amberblue. Nisha said to the faeriedragon. Its official. Were becoming boring.

Tristol chuckled and gave Nisha a hug, which was probably what she wanted in the first place,

and for his part the tiny dragon next to her wasnt all that concerned either. He wasnt because

he was busily munching on a tray of chocolate-coated mints that looked very much like the tray

of mints that had, an hour before, been sitting on Akins front counter in the Friendly Fiend.

Akin seemed rather patient with Xaositects, or at least one particular Xaositect, or maybe just

a softie for ones with faeriedragons.

But regardless, Fyrehowl didnt seem bothered by Nishas comment about her thinking them

boring, and Tristols next words helped put her fully at ease.

Youve got a unique perspective. He said. So if you think thatll help, then by all means

do so. Well still be here when you get back.

Fyrehowl smiled as Toras raised a glass to her in salute. They really didnt mind, and they

honestly didnt feel slighted or rejected that she wanted to spend some time out, drinking with

other people.

1139
 1140

I really appreciate it guys. She said, Now I dont know how long Ill be out, and that may

be past closing time.

Again, not a problem. Clueless said.

You can lock the doors when you close down. Fyrehowl added. Ive got a key, and Ill try

not to make much noise when I get back, drunk or not.

You can always just go through your window, Nisha quipped. You keep it unlocked.

Fyrehowl paused. Wait. How do you know that?

The Xaositect slouched a bit in her chair.

Tristol poked her shoulder, Now Im curious. Spill it.

I had to! She finally admitted with a blush. I was trying to sneak in at some point, I

really dont remember what it was even for, that happens to me a lot you know, and well... Toras

keeps magical explody things in his room and I wasnt messing with that.

Toras grinned over his mug. Yeah... I do. Ask the Cheshire Fiend.

Nisha stuck out her tongue, Fyrehowls room was next in line on the ledge.

Just dont make a habit of it. The lupinal walked over and patted Nisha on the head. But

Ill see you all later. Take care.

Wisely though, uncharacteristically wise in fact, Nisha had just then omitted any mention

of just how momentarily weirded out shed been when shed snuck into the lupinals room and

wandered across a tail nailed to the wall. It had belonged to the fallen lupinal Tarnsilver, the

corrupt cipher whod been almost as responsible for the slide of Belarian as the fiends had been.

It wasnt exactly a stuffed fiendish mooses head, but it served the same purpose, and even

though fiendish moose could talk half the time and so could lupinals, even fallen ones, it was

still rather creepy. And if it was creepy, Nisha wanted little to do with it.

But of course, as Fyrehowl walked out of the bar and into the night on her way to happily

drink herself to numbness, that one step removed memory of Belarian flickering through Nishas

jumbled up mind was ironic considering what was about to happen that evening in only a few

hours.

***

The figure drifted softly on the wind, descending like an ashen snowflake on the herald breeze

of a forest fire, inhaling with a smile as he slowed his descent and the harsh, acrid musk of the

colossal reptile rose to meet his nostrils. Teleportation would have been more expedient perhaps,

but the descent from the towers summit gave such a view, such a perspective of the Waste from

so many different heights, and an opportunity to listen to the wind scream in his ears like an
1141

infant, carrying the scents of a hundred million pointless deaths. Such beauty was not to be

missed.

Clawed feet touched a flank, a ridge of muscled neck so large it was literally a scaled landscape,

then ankles folded, knees bent, silken robes pooled and the Lord of Khin-Oin settled himself

atop the beast below. Staring off into the distance at a pair of Tanarri and Baatezu armies, the

Oinoloth reached down and stroked a palm across the creatures hide, generating a deep, almost

infrasound rumble of contentedness. The Mother of Serpents was purring.

Weve done much, you and I, havent we? The Ebon asked.

The beast gently writhed below him, and the undulations of its belly against the earth at the

base of the Wasting Tower sent minute tremors through the land for several miles. The beast

was happy, and it replied in a wordless, obedient manner.

Khin-Oin is mine. The Oinoloth said matter-of-factly. For the first time in our history, our

race has some semblance of a unified hierarchy, devoid of much of the infighting except that which

I choose to allow, and that which I even choose to promote. Everything is being orchestrated;

everything is planned. Everything is as I choose for it to be.

He closed his eyes and felt the rumble of the serpents blood surging through its veins, the

memories of a hundred thousand guardinal deaths so many long eons ago still pulsing with the

opening and closing of its arterial valves. Convenient how history had repeated itself, but his

opposites were not the Oinoloths primary concern.

But yet there is still the matter of the General. He hissed, unconsciously slipping once more

into the reality-corrupting language of the Baernaloths. And there is still the one altraloth who

escaped capitulation or execution, but as of yet, Taba has been quiet. Still, she will likely make

a pain of herself in the future. But they are both puppets, or puppets of puppets.

Neither of them were his true worry, and like a tiny aneurysm in the back of his brain, the

Demented were collectively a lingering worry of an idea in his mind, festering and occluding his

thoughts because they were something that had to be accounted for, but by their nature they

could not be accounted for. The architects of despair were the only opponents he feared.

He opened his eyes again and sighed. What exactly have you and your diseased ilk been up

to Tellura?

Ever since his brief encounter with the Dire Shepherd there on the Waste, only a half mile

from where he presently sat atop the Mother of Serpents, the Demented had not made any

further appearance, and the Waste was silent about their location. Tellura ibn Shartalan had

been smiling at that earlier time. Shed been waiting for him there in the shadow of Khin-Oin,

and so the metaphorical aneurysm of a worry only grew as time continued to pass without some
 1142

further development.

The Father/Mothers can...

The Ebon paused and his words trailed off, when in the distance there was a brilliant burst

of light, a glow of purity, a martyrs death like a falling star confined to the earth. It was a prick

against his eye and he felt it resonate through the Waste, another discomfort at the back of his

mind that though it was a minor thing in comparison to the other, it forced him to take notice.

He frowned, knowing immediately the source of the irritation. The Fourth Gloom, the ravaged

layer of Elysium whose festering corpse pulsed blood through the vessels, veins, and drainpipes

of the Loadstones while inch by inch an infinity of purity was sucked dry and left rotting and

black under a sky of perfect gray. But more things than the dead of Rubicon and the imprisoned

hydra progenitor had plummeted to the Waste when it was ripped from Elysiums flesh.

The shame of the aasimon. The quasars. The Oinoloth cursed in his native tongue.

Ancient Baernaloth had no word for quasar, no word for aasimon, but it spewed a guttural

filth that was more than demonstrative of the Ebons distaste, words that momentarily discolored

and tarnished the scales of the great serpent, words to reflect the Ebons mood.

Nuisances. He said, reverting to high yugoloth.

The quasar had found themselves a purpose when Belarian fell, and they despoiled an oth-

erwise poetic and absolute dismemberment of a quarter of Elysium. The creatures were more

constructs than living things, and theyd proven immune to disease, even the dozen newly tai-

lored plagues that the Oinoloth had scattered onto their home in an idle attempt to rid himself

of their presence.

But no, those attempts had done nothing, and the quasar had become something of a bother,

something that presented difficulties for those servants of his that had sought to plunder the

layer of the other buried terrors that the guardinals had shackled over the eons in pitiable

mimicry of their own progenitors. In the absence of those ancients, their children suffered, but

the martyrdom of the quasars was a blemish on the Ebons use of the layer.

Why must you sully my triumph with your idealistic purity?

The future was only going to hold a need to divert resources into the 4th Gloom to slaughter

the quasar and fully cement the layer into the fabric of the Waste. But that was never truly

something that hed planned; hed never actually wanted Belarian, just the horrors that Belarian

had kept imprisoned.

Do I really want you any more? He mused.

The layer still held treasures, still held prisoners, but nothing the Ebon needed, nothing that

he required. Hed had his fill, the Waste had dined, and the scraps were left to his children.
1143

Perhaps a change was required.

Do I need you at all? He asked, his eyes drifting across the marshes studded with half-formed

and inanimate quasars, the shriveled husks of fiends starved of sustenance and mummified by

the alien soil of Belarians original plane. They might recover in time, but it would be decades

before they stirred, and anything of immediate use would need to be intentionally hunted down,

released from whatever bonds had shackled them down originally, and theyd need to be broken

and controlled, more effort that might not be worth the expenditure.

His vision snapped back to the immediate and he stroked the Mother of Serpents again with

his fingertips, brushing claw against scale, sneering slightly before giving a shrug.

I suppose it has lived beyond its purpose, its immediate purpose, and it does tarnish our

unholy symmetry so. It hasnt always been three, no, but long enough that I appreciate the

number and the appearance beyond any sort of matter of fact acceptance, and nostalgia for that

earliest era is pointless. Three feels correct. Anything more or less feels like weve lost something,

the Waste and I.

The decision was made.

Weve gained the Seige Malicious yes, but more than that, it has been our second slap

at Elysium, our second time to spit in the face of simpering innocence. But of course, what

innocence remained after the first time? He said, stroking the serpents flesh, stroking the union

of scale and burning, glittering gemstone.

We hurt their pride and we destroyed their sense of inviolate safety once before. We drew

blood, emotional blood the first time, and drew more visceral blood from all of them the second

time. Their lords can stare into the pool and stare at their reflection, avoiding the past and

hiding their shame, but they cannot protect the innocence of their kind after an entire layer of

the plane was ripped away. Ignore me, pretend that I did nothing before, revel in your ignorant

innocence and you do nothing but tempt me to act again. Elysium is not safe. Not from me...

Vorkannis smiled, and below him in perfect time, so did the Mother of Serpents.

Weve had our use of Belarian. Weve raped its corpse and rolled ourselves in its blood.

Lets see if they still wish to have it back...

The Oinoloth blurred and simultaneously he stepped into the mud of the swamp and onto

the summit of Khin-Oin, with the faintest of wet paw-prints evaporating as he took five steps

and sat upon the throne. The Ebons eyes rolled back in his head from the concentration, and

his claws sifted through silt at the same time that they dug into the stone of his throne and into

the backs of the severed and rotting, still partially conscious heads of the last two Oinoloths.

Words were spoken and the air hummed as Belarian was rocked by tremors and a sense of
 1144

separation washed over the land. In the City-at-the-Center, the hastily constructed gate opening

into the 4th Gloom swung open and was ripped from its hinges by a pronounced quake, revealing

not the swamps of Belarian, but a black wall of nothingness slowly bleeding silvery astral light.

And through it all, two infinities distant on Elysiums second layer of Eronia, a bottomless,

crystalline pool in a secluded patch of disturbingly empty forest began to froth and boil.

***

Of course, before that point, Fyrehowl had already been drowning her sorrows in alcohol.

She was in the Ladys Ward sitting in the Golden Bariaur Inn, chatting and drinking with a pair

of avorals, a coure, and a bariaur who was drunkenly singing off-key. Fyrehowl was enjoying

herself, enjoying the community of commiseration as it was, but that ended the moment that a

portal to the Gray Waste was opened -intentionally as it turns out- and a form of sending spell

of obscene power and reach filtered through into the City of Doors.

As broad as it was, the spell -if indeed it was a spell- was also quite specific, affecting only

guardinals and half-celestials of guardinal descent. The sending was not just auditory as most

such spells were, but it also carried with it a visual hallucination of its sender, relaying his

expression as he spoke his bitter, poison message.

Hello again my friends. Surely you remember me...

Guardinals stood transfixed, guardinals whimpered, they snarled, they screamed, they twisted

and they shuddered at even the touch of something so diametrically opposite them.

It so happens that I have something of yours...

The other celestials in the Golden Bariaur could only stare in shock as it washed over their

Elysian compatriots sending them into silence, or drooling paroxysms. There was little they

could do before it was over, but thankfully, mercifully, it was short.

Take it back if you wish, take it back if you can, but of course my offer is extended to any

and all parties...

And then his presence was gone, and so was Belarian from the Waste. When the Oinoloths

message had been sent, the 4th Gloom had been perched on the edge of sliding, and such was

the force of his influence upon and connection to the Waste, that his pronouncement was enough

to tip the metaphysical balance. Gone was Belarian the 4th Gloom, but Belarian the 3rd layer

of Elysium, despoiled as it might have been, was not yet ready to return to its bleeding home.

In the shadow of the Infinite Spire, one hundred miles ringward of Hopeless, the earth trem-

bled, the cloudless sky crackled with thunder, and the curtain of the Hinterlands was thrown

back to make room for something new, something massive.

1145

Of course, while the Oinoloths sending to them had happened over the space of seconds, it

would be years before any of the guardinals thus affected would willingly discuss the full content

of those few moments with any other celestial, let alone any mortals. Subjectively it had been

longer, and theyd been forced to stare into the eyes, and thus the void of the Oinoloths soul,

far longer than any being should have ever been forced to do.

Yet their layer was free of the shackles of the Waste. The loths had withdrawn their claws,

ceased their gnawing at the layers marrow, and given it up to history. The guardinals knew

where Belarian was, and despite the insult and sickening fashion by which theyd been given that

knowledge, they had the chance to reclaim what was still theirs. They knew that Belarian was

in the Outlands.

Unfortunately, within the hour so would the Tanarri and the Baatezu, the Rilmani had felt

the shudder in their plane before it had arrived, and the diseased fragment of Elysium would draw

a hundred other competing parties like flies to a rotten corpse before the claims were settled.

***

Fyrehowl? Clueless asked as the lupinal staggered through the door. Are you alright?

Her eyes focused on the bladesinger only briefly, and they were bloodshot and swollen as if

shed been crying. She had, and Clueless picked up on that fact within seconds, but he didnt

know why. News of Belarians fate had not yet spread through the Cage as common knowledge.

F*ck the Oinoloth. She snarled in celestial as she sat down at the bar, belatedly and sullenly

adding. I dont really want to talk about the specifics.

Clueless didnt press the issue, but he was curious enough to want to find out later what she

was talking about.

Fyrehowl held up a half-empty bottle of Arcadian whisky that shed been holding when she

walked in the door, Do you have anything stronger? Because this really isnt doing much.

I might but are you sure that... He didnt argue when she looked up at him, miserable even

more so than shed been earlier that evening. Yeah, but I dont have much, and I dont really

know what itll do to you.

Fyrehowl mumbled something incoherently as Clueless reached under the bar and retrieved

a hand carved wooden box. Inside was a delicate and twisted bottle of multicolored glass,

something clearly fey in origin.

Be careful now. Clueless said as he took out a shot glass. This is pretty strong stuff. I

normally cant get drunk... except on this.

Pour me a shot. Fyrehowl said before hed finished. Actually, make it two shots.
 1146

The moment the liquid was poured, the glass was in the air and the liquid down the lupinals

throat. A half-dozen shots later and Clueless had removed the bottle and put it back under lock

and key, because Fyrehowl was ready to fall out of her chair, and was blubbering in the worst

drunken stupor that hed ever seen her in. But at least she was a happy drunk, be it her normal

attitude to being wasted, or just the effects of the fey-wine.

Thish is good stuffs... Fyrehowl slurred as a bevy of colors waltzed across her field of vision.

Good shtuffs, good st... but maybe I drunks two, maybe Im drank too mu... now whats the

right way to say that...

Language was failing the lupinal, and the disturbingly potent wine was to blame. And it was

going to be a source of blame for a while yet, but not the only source of blame.

Why hellooooo there Fyrehowl! Came a voice from over her shoulder.

Fyrehowl turned around to look directly into the face of former Factol Rhys. Or at least that

was what Fyrehowls beer goggles were seeing, rather than who was actually there.

Oh my gosh! The actual cipher exclaimed, sputtering on her mouthful of alcohol. Im so

sorry that Im like this. I... I...

Factol Rhys leaned in and gave Fyrehowl a hug. Oh dont worry Fyrehowl, you can be

drunk! I can be drunk too! But not now!

Why? Fyrehowl asked, perplexed and out of her senses. Is there something that...

No no! I cannot say! Factol Rhys exclaimed in a weird little singsong voice. But only

because Im so spoooooky and mysteeeerious!

Nisha was somehow managing to suppress her giggling as she stood there playing off of

Fyrehowls utter intoxication, dressed in a pretty decent facsimile of Rhyss factol-era robes.

The fact that Nisha was a tiefling like Rhys, and just like the current council chairwoman also

had goat-like lower legs, only added to the illusion. To top it off, the long black, potentially

animated wig, and what appeared to actually be a staff of the magi completed the look, though

it wasnt a sobering thought if Nisha somehow had managed to get a hold of one of those minor-

artifacts.

But... but... but... Fyrehowls ears were off-kilter and her senses were starting to fail her

as the fey-wine combined with the nonsensical situation in front of her.

Now if youll excuse me, Rhys said, I have to go speak with a particularly wise Xaositect

named Nisha! And by wise I mean awesome!

And on that note, Rhys tapped Fyrehowl on the nose with the tip of her staff, and with

cipher-esque timing, the lupinal fell off her chair and passed out in front of the bar.

I knew that was going to happen!

1147

Stepped back so as not to slip in the rapidly growing puddle of drool from the drunk lupinal,

Nisha, dressed up as Rhys, with a giggling faerie-dragon sitting on her shoulder, began laughing

so hard that she started crying. Whenever Fyrehowl eventually woke up and tumbled to what

had happened, what she thought had happened, and what had actually happened, it was going

to be interesting.

Thus began the prank war.

The first salvo had just been fired in something that would eventually resonate within certain

quarters of the Cage as legendary. Drinking songs would eventually come out it and they would

be sung centuries later. Nisha had started it, Fyrehowl had already accepted it in her mind, and

the next battle in that war would be swift in coming.

***

Mungoth, 31 years earlier...

Chapter 103

Mungoth, the third furnace of Gehenna was ancient, formed along with the other layers of the

plane in time immemorial by the proto-yugoloths as a reaction to the exile of Apomps and the

creation of Carceri. That was one version of the orthodox history of the plane at least, but the

history of the event was shrouded in mystery, with a number of apocryphal variants existing

within the libraries of Khin-Oin and the archives of the Tower Arcane. The second great loth

tower was eons younger than Gehenna itself of course, though many historians, even among the

fiends, simply assumed that when Larsdana Ap Neut had sunk the first foundation stones of

her tower onto the burning slopes of Chamada, the plane to which she had linked the essence of

her entire caste of yugoloths had only recently been formed from the metaphysical nothingness

between the primordial, unmixed planes of the pure alignments.

Apocrypha spoke differently, and it spoke in a void of tangible historical facts. Larsdana

had conveniently enough failed to include swathes of history into her towers memory pool, and

though assumed dead, her own memories were not within the towers communal memories either.

The records failed to address the earliest moments of Gehennas history, and only a discrete few

beings, those who had personally lives during that period of proto-history still remembered the

truth of the matter. For anyone not among their select number, apocrypha would have to suffice.

Apocrypha spoke legends at odds with the speculations of the rank and file scribes and schol-

ars of the yugoloth race. Even among a race of fiends who collectively knew a version of history

more factual than their younger cousins in the Abyss and Baator respectively, their knowledge

of Gehennas origins was occluded by a lack of material and perhaps deliberate muddying of

history.

Gehenna was formed by the migration of yugoloths from the Waste seeking to react against

the formation of Carceri by Apomps thrice-damned brood. That was one version. The fourfold

furnace was formed when the General of Gehenna ripped up whole sections of the Waste and

hurled them into the unformed void of what would become his namesake plane. Another version

1148
1149

that happily flattered the yugoloth orthodoxy. These were not the only legends though.

Gehenna was formed by the exile of those yugoloths who defied the General of Gehenna and

refused to submit to his authority and the purge of Law and Chaos from their essence at the

order of the Baernaloths whom later generations would call The Demented. Was this version of

history fact, or simply another subjective truth?

The furnaces formed around the footsteps of Hazarik Ap Neut, The Shackler as he carried

the larvae that would become the Baatezu, or perhaps the Ancient Baatorians, as he wandered his

way towards the nascent Plane of Law with a poisoned brood and a smile on his lips, whispering

to serpents all the while.

The furnaces crystallized around the entombed bodies of Yrsinius the Elder, Joleb Ap Corpus,

Phleboerus zef Thiragoth, and Trypanos vath Chagarn. The Diseased Trinity and the Rotting

Prince were killed or dismembered, their bodies hurled into the void between the proto-Waste

and the plane of proto-Law, spreading their spiritual filth like an infection, forming the islands

of pain and flame which their wayward children would come to populate in time as a second

homeland.

Lazarius, Chorazin, Tellura, and Ghoresh Ibn Shartalan had each formed and sculpted one

of the furnaces from the living bodies of four titanic beings that had inhabited the empty void.

The First House had come upon then, whispered them to slumber and then like egg-laden wasps

they had planted their seed in fallow flesh like living incubators for a metaphysical form that

would spawn from them to replace the nothingness and populate the void for the yugoloths who

would come.

But for all the apocryphal tales, the exact version was of little meaning, irrelevant really,

within the confines of a patch of frozen ground obscured upon the flank of the third furnace of

Mungoth. Seven square miles of land, a thin strip of forsaken ground, dusted with ice and ashes,

where history didnt matter and where the laws of reality didnt entirely apply.

The Vale of Frozen Ashes was a place that wasnt supposed to exist.

Sarkithel fek Parthis knew this of course, and that, among a host of other reasons, was why his

primary manifestation had lived in contemplative solitude in the ruined city within the Vale for

eons, keeping vigil over something he and his kindred only vaguely understood. The Chronicler

knew the true origin of Gehennas furnaces, but such things were far from the forefront of his

godlike mind as he sat at the edge of a weathered ritual bath.

The Baernaloth closed his eyes and listened to the wind, listened to the voices carried by

the swirling currents of ash and ice that whispered and warned of what had happened and what

would come. The open book in his lap danced with myriad lines of ink and tears and blood,
 1150

painting an image quite literally with the flow of their pictograms and syllabic words, recording

the proto-fiends observations there in the present while a dozen other avatars of his danced

about the multiverse following the scent of misery wherever it might lead them to a greater

understanding of the concept.

In time he would recall his diffuse presence into a single physical form, the one which sat

there listening to the sifting ashes of the dead, but there was still time before his concentration

would be needed to that degree. For the moment all he had to do was monitor and record the

progress of something which was already known and acknowledged.

But perhaps he and his kindred were wrong.

Half a city away, something else moved, a dozen somethings. Mortals. Sages and priests

and mercenaries, mortal and immortal alike: a motley group of the soon-to-be-damned. They

shuddered against the cold as their gate from the Outlands flickered and finally closed behind

them.

The Chronicler failed to notice their arrival. That should have been impossible.

But even if Sarkithel had noticed them, he wouldnt have harmed them, oddly enough. But

then again he wouldnt have helped them either, and he would have watched as the drifting flocks

of Phiuls came to rend them limb from limb, or when their curiosity about the statues of frozen

ashes led them to join that forsaken groups eternal agony. The dead whispered and warned, but

their touch was deadly, and the Vale was one of the most innately hostile locations in Gehenna,

and one that had existed, precipitated out of nothing mere moments after the third furnace had

solidified.

The Vale should not have existed, and the mortals intrusion was both unexpected and

undesired by the Baernaloth. But still as he stirred his fingers through the dry and perverse

font at his back, feeling the ashes and children and elders against his claws, the mortals were

hidden from his perceptions. In a place where the laws of reality did not entirely apply, the laws

themselves suddenly pitched and twisted on their own accord, by the hand of another.

The mortals went about their explorations on their own, ignorant of the Baernaloth and the

Baernaloth ignorant of them in turn. Chance had drawn the mortals to the Vale, but it wasnt

chance that veiled them from the citys immortal guardian and watcher. No, that was something

else entirely, another something which should not have existed.

Twelve miles away, the group of mortals gazed in horror at the citys occupants, the thousands,

tens of thousands of statues, all of them looking towards a single spot in the city, a look of ecstatic

terror frozen upon their faces. The ashes grew deep, pooling around their ankles as they made

their way through the avenue that led to the open gates of the cathedral with no name and no
1151

deity.

The group, twenty strong, had already seen the phiuls, and they had seen the dozen carbonized

and flash frozen ultroloths standing only feet away from the similarly petrified forms of a sobbing

leonal and weeping solar. The group began to question their own safety, and the wisdom of having

come to the Vale. Their footsteps through the ashes slowed and stopped, and arguments were

made over whether to stay or to go back to the safety of the gatetown of Sylvania where they

had started their journey from hours before.

But as they argued and wondered and worried, the wind whispered in their ears and the

ashes crawled, a twisted current running towards the center of the city, to the center of the great

and nameless cathedral. Preoccupied with worry and debate, their senses dulled by the wind

and bitter, deathly chill, the group failed to notice that their number had fallen to nineteen.

Halfway across the city, Sarkithel fek Parthis likewise failed to notice the lone mortal who

strayed from his fellows and entered the cathedral, following the currents, following the whispers,

following the voice that spoke into his heart. Something called to him. Something promised

greatness. Something promised meaning. Something had chosen him for a purpose.

Who are you? The mortal whispered, kneeling before the broken remains of an altar, hip-

deep in a swirling pool of ashes.

The whispers that had filled the cathedral stopped and the ashes fell silent. He trembled at

the change, but then the mortals eyes went wide as something reached out and answered his

question, touching his mind and filling his consciousness with a truth of its own.

Half a city away, Sarkithel fek Parthis looked up abruptly, nearly dropping his book into the

dust. Something wasnt right. Something was...

The Baernaloth tilted his head to the side and listened to the wind, and for a very brief

moment it seemed as if the fearful whispers of the unlamented dead were holding back sneering

laughter... but no, it was nothing.

Sarkithel inhaled and clenched his eyes shut for a few brief moments. He felt uneasy. He felt

a certain distant... something... Hed felt it before, or rather, hed feel it again, but the time

was not yet right. The precise sequence was still being formulated though the exact moment

was open to change. It was not yet time. The Oblivion Compass, the Architects Oinian Clock

had yet to strike, that was a certainty. It -had- to be a certainty. Anything else... anything else

meant that their original plans for this creation, this multiverse, were flawed.

No. No, theyd planned it, theyd set the variables. Theyd set the conditions and all the

outcomes were predetermined. The Clockmaker and the Architect had witnessed the paths that

history would take, might take, could take, and collectively the Demented had warped the path of
 1152

history to a perverted end of their own design. All was known. All was set. All was predestined.

It had to be.

Surely it had to be...

Meanwhile, hidden from the Gloom Fathers sight, in the nameless cathedral the mortal

shuddered and seized with the influx of corrupting knowledge as he was marked, chosen, and

wholly damned in the ashen baptismal font. The mortal wept and clawed at his own flesh,

knowing in an instant what had happened there in the Vale, viewing it as a flashback from

anothers memories, knowing what would happen again, and understanding his intimate role in

the horror that would come.

Yes my lord, I understand.

His flesh tingled as blood vessels burst beneath the skin and his teeth chattered from muscles

involuntarily firing, his senses overwhelmed by the presence surrounding him, permeating the

cathedral, soaked into the city like blood in the soil of an ancient battlefield. The presence was

also inside of him, and he would carry a fragment of it out of the Vale and into the world.

I understand it now. The mortal whispered. It is not enough to wait for the signs to

manifest themselves.

And in the darkness beyond the darkness, something smiled.

Chapter 104

Two stories above the Guildhall Ward at #210 Greenglass Avenue, Marlene Brittlestone shuffled

the papers on her desk and diligently checked to make sure that everything was in order with

the files that her employer had requested. The professor wasnt nearly as crusty as some other

Guvners could be, but everything still needed to be neatly ordered or else hed mark corrections

in red and give her a polite little chat later - and Sunnis forbid, you never wanted to get one

of them going on trivial minutia, theyd nag you for hours on end, or maybe haunt you from a

cinnamon bun or something.

The earth genasi glanced over the names on the summary page and smiled. A motley lot of

people, all of them talented, some of having past work with the Whitefire Institute of History, but

most of them fresh faces full of potential and question marks at once. Of course, the Institute

was going through a money crunch, and funds were low, so hiring for the security detail was

dragging the bottom of the barrel while still attempting to get qualified bashers for a paupers

price. Dodgy didnt begin to describe one or two of those people.

She knocked on the door into Professor Leobtavs office and waited. From inside there was a

vague, noncommittal grunt -ostensibly the graybeard himself- and a moment later there was a

much more animated chirp of I think theres someone at the door. Can they come in? ... Ok!

You can come in!

Marlene smiled at the pseudodragons voice and opened the door.

The faintly sweet smell of lingering pipe-smoke greeted her nostrils as she walked into the

office, and also the smell of a recent rain. She looked past the professors desk where he sat in

the same clothes shed seen him in the day before, hunched over a stack of papers, and noticed

that the window was open and had apparently been left open since the other day, the nights

pouring rain having apparently gone unnoticed.

You left the window open last night sir.

Another mumble and the professor toyed with his thin beard, adjusted his spectacles and

1153
 1154

turned the page of the volume he was reading.

It was great! Leobtavs familiar Ficklebarb chirped from atop his masters head. I got to

eat the bugs that flew in!

The genasi suppressed a chuckle. They were an odd pair to be certain. The little red

pseudodragon was bubbly and innocently cute, prone to randomness, and his master was a dusty

old ex-Guvner scholar nearing fifty, prone to being absentminded and oftentimes oblivious once

he found something of academic curiosity.

I have the reports on the people that well be sending letters to. Marlene said, at least

catching Ficklbarbs attention if not his masters. I had Doran sign off on everything yesterday.

You seemed busy and neither of us wanted to disturb you.

Besides, the elf was capable of taking his nose out of a book in linguistics for more than ten

minutes to handle the logistics of the whole expedition.

Several minutes passed with his secretary standing there before finally his familiar dangled

its tail in front of his face and waved its stinger around. That got his attention, and with a

blush, Leobtav looked up and accepted the stack of papers from the genasi.

Thank you Marlene. He said, sounding a bit tired and sleep deprived.

Not a problem sir, but youll want to look over their names and see if anyone looks too out

of the ordinary, or if you see any red flags pop up. Weve got the lilland again, thats good, but

a lot of new people on the magical and mundane security side of things.

Leobtav scratched his chin. Im glad that weve got Larill along with us again, but why?

Well be going to Pandemonium, and shes a bard by profession.

His secretary shrugged, Doran added her name to the list. Said he wanted someone familiar

who wasnt a scholar or a porter. You can ask him yourself when hes back in Sigil in five days.

He wanted to meet with you before the expedition left, but after we got back acceptances or

rejections from everyone we were sending out employment offers to.

The professor masked a yawn. Hed been reading for... he didnt actually remember how

long actually. It must have been some time though, and hed just gotten wrapped up in it and

lost track of the hours and all.

You should get some sleep sir. You look dreadfully tired.

Ill get some sleep soon. He replied, trying to dismiss her concern. Just leave those papers

on my desk and Ill get to them afterwards. And let Doran know that Im looking forward to

seeing him at the end of the week.

She nodded, left the stack of papers on his desk and left after reaching out and giving the

tiny pseudodragon a rub under his chin. He gave his best draconic equivalent of a purr, but as
1155

soon as the genasi had left and the door closed shut behind her, he tapped his masters head

gently.

Not just sleep. Ficklebarb said, laying his tail over Leobtavs left ear. You need to go eat.

When youre hungry, Im hungry too, even if Ive eaten.

Can it wait till Ive finished this section of the book? There were still another three hundred

pages of text and diagrams to finish before that point.

Go eat something or Ill eat another moth. Ficklebarb said. I know you grimace when I

do that because you can taste it too. Lets go home and fix you some breakfast, I dont want

anything bad happening to you.

Alright. He finally said, bring a smile to the dragons face. We can go home and get some

food, and then Ill take a nap. But after that I need to read over these files and check into some

of these people. I dont want to have something unplanned for happen down there in the dark.

Ficklebark beamed, but it was the last time for some time that he would find himself genuinely

smiling. Pandemoniums screaming darkness would not bring happiness to either master or

familiar.

***

The noonday sun reached through the windows and pierced the curtains, falling upon a pair

of figures sprawled upon a bed, partially entangled in the sheets and in one anothers arms. One

of them was breathing, but the other had given up the ghost hours before.

Frollis Terpense groaned as the light irritated his eyes. He preferred darkness, but the copious

amount of alcohol that hed drunk the previous night only worsened the harsh glare of that

hatefully burning orb in the sky whose fingers reached through the crystalline panes like the

ethereal fingers of a vengeful revenant. Such a metaphor was ironic all things considered.

The man groaned a second time and winced as he tried to sit up. Blood pounded in his ears

and his senses swam with nausea, the lingering aftereffects of drink, and everything else that

hed pumped into his system during the course of the evening.

Good morning my dear. He said, leaning over to plant a kiss on the whores right breast.

She was still warm, but a chill had already spread to her fingertips and toes.

An empty bottle of wine lay broken on the floor, drugged through and through, but as he

looked into the dead womans glazed eyes with blurry ones of his own, he wasnt honestly able

to say if it had been an overdose on the drugs that had killed her, or -judging by the bruises- his

hands around her neck. Then again, judging by the scratches down his back, shed been entirely

willing at first, and shed embraced the last evening of her life -and him- with considerable gusto.
 1156

Your life ended well I should say. Frollis said as his mind recalled bits and pieces of their

activities the previous night as the fog of sleep and drugs slowly lifted. But you were marked.

You had done something to make yourself thusly chosen. And if it makes your soul rise, or

plummet, any easier, I never knew what your crime was. I only knew that you would be dead

before the morning. I do not question the why of my actions, I merely obey what the wind on

the horizon calls for me to do.

The corpse gave no reply, and by that point the blush upon her cheeks was the only color

left on her face. The blood had already begun to pool with gravity, the moments of their ecstasy

were over, and his task was complete.

It is better that I do not know.

He sighed, remembering her smile, remembering her laughter, remembering how shed clung

to him as they coupled time and time again before shed slipped into a poisoned torpor and

hed ended it before passing out as well. Whatever she had done, it was avenged and with the

morning came his time to move on.

Frollis climbed out of the bed and stretched, naked in the sunlight, lean and taught from the

dual abuses of pushing his body to its limit, and from whatever he could find to numb himself

into oblivion when possible. It was better that he did not know, did not remember the things

that he himself did.

Silently he dressed, strapping on pants, shirt, cloak, boots and blades before finally turning

and looking at her face one last time. She was still beautiful, and he longed to kiss her one last

time, but the moment had passed and it would not be right to do so, it would only haunt him

later.

Praise be unto you. He whispered, touching the holy symbol around his neck and rubbing

his index finger across the raised symbol of his deific patron. And unto you as well.

Hidden from the light, his thumb likewise caressed the second sigil on the back of his holy

symbol, that second one hidden behind the first like the dual faces of Selune, one visible and

bright, the other perpetually dark. Both of them whispered, both of them called, and to both

of them he pledged his soul.

He never looked back at the woman that hed killed from that point on. Quietly, silently,

and efficiently he collected the coins, jewels, and other valuables that shed carried and stripped

the bedchamber of anything associated with himself. Before the noon sun began its descent he

was gone, slipped away into the Shadow border, one more soul to his tally and a few thousand

jink in pilfered riches lining his pockets. Hopefully the latter would make the task less likely to

haunt him in the coming weeks before the wind whispered to him yet another name.
1157

***

Settys al Khylian gazed down at the water lapping at the shoreline of the River Maat. En-

tranced and hallucinated by the rivers vapor he stumbled on his feet as he walked along the

waters edge before finally falling to his knees. Illusions and memories and fleeting visions tum-

bled through his mind and he found himself unable to sort truth from lie from illuminated

inspiration.

Footsteps in the wet sand surrounded him in bizarre spirals and madcap designs, half of

them extending off into dry land beyond the riverbank and into the marshes beyond, but they

all eventually returned to the River of Mysteries once again. He was hungry and his stomach

ached. Truth be told, he couldnt say when hed first arrived there and where hed wandered in

the interim before coming back, following the visions and seeking to find himself finally.

A face that had seen thirty some seasons gazed back up at him from the waters. The face

was healthy, unmarked by injury or disease, radiating a supernatural aura of health though it

was only his own strength reflected in the water, not any granted power of Thoths empowering

his health. His head was shaved bald except for a single lock of long, black hair that hung to his

shoulders. The hair was damp with the Maats water and beads of sweat and river vapor caused

his skin to shimmer a rich, tanned brown in the light of the Outlands. Lines of kohl decorated

his eyes, and golden pigment painted a wadjet upon one of them, marking his profession and

also marking him as someone women had always coveted.

He sighed. Of course hed allowed his youth to pass by without giving them much attention.

On the times that hed given himself to a womans touch, hed never allowed himself to fall in

love. To give his heart to another would be a sign of weakness, a sign of impropriety, and a

failure to devote himself wholly to his deific patron. It wasnt too late of course, but so much

time had been devoted... devoted to what and why?

He touched the silver Ibis symbol at his neck and frowned. His faith, any true faith that hes

once possessed, had died years ago, but he still made the motions of a faithful scribe of souls

and paladin of the book. Thoth had abandoned him and he had done likewise, but what had he

become in that absence? What were his motivations? What did he believe? What was real and

what was only the whisper of the Maat?

He didnt know, and that was why he was there drinking the vapors of the river, staring

at his reflection, gazing into the depths and hoping to find something beyond his own face

staring back. Would he die before finding an answer? Would he end his days as one of those

madmen who chained themselves to the shore and exposed themselves to the waters while seeking
 1158

enlightenment?

Time passed and he wandered and returned a dozen times. He babbled and he prayed,

he beseeched the multiverse for some reason beyond devotion to Thoth purely because it was

expected of him, and because he had already wasted his youth and a dozen years of his adult

life in the Scriveners service, and to abandon that now would be to admit something he could

admit to, not just that hed wasted the years but that he himself was worthless.

Perhaps eventually the Athar would find him. Perhaps eventually Set would come slithering

into his heart. Perhaps the latter already had and perhaps the Father of Jackals was responsible

for his loss of faith in Thoth. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. Only possibilities and no firm answers.

Settys paused. There was something in his hand. A parchment envelope, still sealed with

blue wax, addressed to him: Settys al Khylian, Paladin of Thoth. He had no idea when it had

appeared there, or where he had gotten it. His grip on time was tenuous, but his surprise and

curiosity was rapidly shaking him free of the rivers enchanted grasp.

What mockery is this? He wondered aloud as he opened the letter and read over its offer.

Was this your doing? Are you drawing me back, or letting me go? Settys wasnt sure, but

his eyes glanced north, towards the fringes of Thoths deific domain. He didnt know, but when

he turned from the Maat and took his first steps towards Automata, and from there to Sigil, he

knew that where he was going, he had either been directed or he had been called.

He never heard the call of an ibis echo out across the marshy sea of river reeds when he passed

out of sight of the river.

***

The raven cawed impatiently and ruffled the leading edges of its wings.

Doran Highsilver looked up and paused with an overlarge pine-nut pinched between two

fingers only an inch away from his mouth.

You know Melisyyn. He said. You could always just ask and Id be more than happy to

share.

He tossed the raven one of the nuts and watched it snatch it out of the air and gobble it up

without preamble.

By all means, I wont turn down more. His familiar said with another ruffle of its wings.

Highsilver rolled his eyes and lay the dish down on the tabletop for the raven to share with

him. She was something alright, and at the moment he wasnt going to tell her no to anything.

Where they were going, he wasnt going to be giving her much freedom, if any at all, and in all

likelihood she might spend the entire trip inside an extradimensional pocket.
1159

You wouldnt dare. Melisyyn replied. I know that youre worried but...

Thats an understatement. The elf said, inhaling and slowly exhaling as he looked out over

the edge of the balcony onto the surrounding forest and dotted buildings there at the outskirts

of Arboreas gatetown of Sylvania. The institute didnt afford him a salary enough to afford the

villa, but inheritance had seen to that.

Well be going to Pandemonium. Doran explained, though his familiar was privy to his

thoughts and already knew the scope of what they were doing and were they were going.

Im well aware of that.

Well be going to X, with no firsthand guides, fifty unprepared sages and scholars, half of

whom have never ventured to any of the lower planes. Thats my first concern.

The raven swallowed another nut.

Howlers, tanarri, madmen, insane petitioners, and the environment itself. You cant cherish

flying blind in total darkness in gale-force winds can you?

Melisynn wasnt going to admit to anything. She was far too strong willed for that, even if

the abjurer she was bound to was right and justified in his concern.

And then weve got a relatively unknown group of hired muscle and magic to keep them all

corralled, keep them all from wandering off into the dark to fall and kill themselves, or be eaten

by some fiend or fiends. Youve seen the people on the list, the lilland is the only one I know

and trust completely. The others?

He shrugged and wished he had a bottle of wine to drink from for dramatic effect.

Lets see. A tiefling Xaositect... that always goes well. An evoker from the prime, he has

some promise, but I suspect we cant pay him enough to come. An amnesiac bladesinger, all

better now Im led to understand. A half-celestial fighter whose past I know nothing about. A

cleric of a war god. A paladin of Thoth. A rather jaded guardinal. A kobold who split her

time between portal finding and running a high-end magic shop. And saving the best for last, a

shadowdancer apparently wanted for questioning by the Harmonium.

Melissyn looked away and cawed. You get to meet these people first, yes? Youre not going

to go hiring ex-Blood War mercenaries because they came cheap or came recommended by the

neighborhood yugoloths or anything right?

Id like to meet them all. Doran said. Hopefully I can arrange something with the wizard

and the clerics. Im tempted to pay them out of my own pocket if theyre talented enough. I want

multiple people beside myself to move people around in a hurry. I cant teleport or planeshift

nearly threescore people by myself, but with help itll be possible. And Im not a combat mage

by any means. Im an abjurer, and thats what Ill be using my spells for, protecting people from
 1160

the environment so we dont all go mad, or deaf, or mad and deaf.

The raven twitched her tail feathers. That extradimensional pocket is sounding more at-

tractive now that you put it that way.

Tired of just wishing for that alcohol, Doran cast a spell, conjured some into his hand, and

took a deep drink. It was going to be hell getting to where they were going, but hopefully it

would all proceed with as little incident as possible. It would be better than his last trip to the

lower planes. He knew it would be. Secrets were not worth that much blood. And the secrets of

Howlers Crag were no exception.

***

The soft, diffuse light of the Infinite Staircase fell upon scales and skin and feathers. Wings

beat the air and the long, serpentine coil of Larill Moonshadows lower body set down upon the

last landing of the Stair that she would see for some time. Spiralling around her within the void,

the insane weavings and twistings of the Stair made for a schizophrenics exercise in perspective,

or as far as she was concerned, a rapture of creativity unbound by rules and restrictions; the Stair

touched where it was called, and each landing reflected a portion of that summoning aesthetic.

The local cluster of landings glittered like winking stars as bits of metal, glass, crystal, or

stone reflected errant bits of light from further off in the void, or from time to time one or

another doorway would open and flood the Stair with the light of some far off place. Larills

scales glittered emerald and gold regardless of the source of the light, and the whimsical currents

of illumination reflected off of her to spread what seemed a carpet of jeweled dust across the

deceptively mundane landing that shed paused upon.

The stone was white but otherwise unremarkable, the railing was polished oak, and the

doorframe was carved from bone. Nothing seemed special, but if one looked closely enough, the

rock was curiously identical to that of the Spire -in form but not in function- and the frame

was dotted with a mixture of rilmani and guardinal iconography. Those along might have been

explanation enough of where the doorway led, but it was the more immaterial quality that they

possessed which currently had the lillend smiling.

To be sure, it wasnt simply nostalgia for the Stair, or wanting to take it in fully before

departing that held her still and momentarily silent in the song that shed been singing for the

past dozen hours as shed passed from landing to landing. No, it was the flood of well-being that

emanated from the doorway itself that had her smiling.

A turn of the doorknob and a few feet forward and a weary traveler would find themselves in

the gatetown of Ecstasy, only a short walk from the Court of the Philosopher King, and a mile
1161

or so from the citys gate to Sigil which was Larills ultimate destination. She was going there

to accompany an old friend of hers, the elven mage Doran Highsilver, though at the moment she

wasnt absolutely certain of the particulars of his groups currently planned expedition. Shed

find out, and the revelation would be just as much a pleasure as the trip itself would likely be.

The words of a song came to her lips and the Lilland closed her eyes and imagined what

Ecstasy would look like in the current season since shed last passed through the gatetown. The

song rose in pitch as her mind continued looking forward, imagining Sigil and its wonders that

still managed to thrill her mind though so many of its residents themselves seemed ever so jaded

to her perception. All of it moments away, just beyond the door and...

She paused at the threshold with her hand wrapped around the handle.

Cold. Fear. Watched.

The notes of her song fell flat and she turned to look behind herself.

The pale, ambient light of the Stair washed over her face the same as it ever had, and there

was nothing obviously out of the ordinary. None of the doorways in the local cluster had opened,

nor were there any other climbers traversing the landings that might have given rise to the

peculiar feeling that had just then washed over her.

For a moment there shed felt bitterly cold, something unnatural and malign had been staring

down at her, piercing into her soul. Thats what it had felt like. But then it was gone, and with

a shrug the song returned to her lips once more as she opened the doorway and stepped through.

She was gone and safe within Ecstasy, yet high above, burning emerald eyes continue to bore

down upon where she had been. Fate twisted and wove her tapestry around many disparate

threads, but if you knew where to begin you could follow those threads and see the picture that

they would make. Of course, having already seen the future made the process of pulling and

following those threads all the much easier. The Stair to Ecstasy to Sigil to Pandemonium and

then... Darkness.

High above on a landing of the Stair from where hed followed her progress, Severeth NaHalastrian

hissed. She was linked, but she was not Touched. It would be one of the others whom she would

follow into the screaming depths. It would be one of them. But which one?

This is not what we had planned. This was not supposed to happen.

The Wanderer snarled and opened the adjacent doorway. The Eladrins sires could wait.

What he now hunted was more important, and much more of a danger. The light through

the door washed over his flesh as he stepped through, and once it closed the clock of Larill

Moonshadows life began its first steps towards its midnight oblivion toll.
 1162

***

We need a vacation. Nisha said.

The tieflings feet were propped up on a table and her tail was gently twitching from side to

side in time with the same motion from Tristols tail. He was reading a book, the same one that

hed gotten from Lothar, or Lolthar, or Lolth or... no definitely not Lolth. Not enough legs or

webs for that.

Nisha blinked as her train of thought plunged over the side of the ring. What was I thinking

about?

About needing a vacation. Tristol said, smiling behind his book as he batted at her tail

with his own. Clueless was saying the same thing the other day actually.

She leaned her head on the aasimars shoulder. So what sort of vacation might you have in

mind if we took one?

Of course, unbeknownst to them both, as they were discussing vacation ideas, Toras was

thumbing through the mail when he found a set of seven letters, each of them addressed by

individual name to the owners of the Portal Jammer.

Chapter 105

Sylvania Institute of Archaeological Research? Toras shrugged and picked out the letter with

his name on it.

He neatly removed the wax seal and teased open the envelope. This better not be some

fundraising drive.

His eyes skimmed over the text and it was readily apparent that it wasnt a fundraising drive,

but honestly something quite the reverse of it: an employment offer. The fighters mind rattled

back several months and he recalled a previous employment offer -maybe more than one- that

theyd received from the same people. At the time theyd been uninterested or disgustingly busy

dodging assassination attempts and the like, so employment by some random group of scholars

hadnt really registered as a valid issue.

Pandemonium? Torass eyebrows went up and his head bobbed side to side as he pondered

the text. Theyll pay me to shadow some scholars in Pandemonium and keep them safe. No.

Wait. Theyll -pay- me to kill any fiends that threaten them while theyre there.

Andros preserve him. That was like a paid vacation.

The grin breaking out of Torass face told his opinion on the matter even before he called the

others down to take a look at the offer themselves.

***

Apotheosis. Nisha blurted out.

Huh? Florian asked, looking at the tiefling with a slightly confused look as she glanced up

from her employment letter.

I was just talking upstairs to Tristol about how I needed a vacation. Nisha explained,

twirling her hands and wiggling her fingers. And lo and behold, the multiverse offers up a

vacation.

And what does that have to do with ten jink words that Tristol seems to have rubbed off

on your vocabulary?

1163
 1164

Tristol grinned.

Theres only one answer: Ive become a deity.

Tristol whispered a spell and moved his shadow to cross over the tieflings.

Nishas tail drooped slightly and she looked over at him. On second thought, I renounce my

godhood!

Xaos aside. Clueless said. This is interesting here, this offer from this Sylvania Institute

etc.

I get paid to have fun doing fun things. Toras said. Im all for it.

Fyrehowl got his meaning, and admittedly the notion of getting paid to kill a few tanarri

wasnt that bad of an idea. A strange vacation, a little dangerous, and certain out of the way of

most rational tourist destinations, but it had its charms.

Now pardon my relative ignorance, but whats in Pandemonium? Florian asked. Im not

as familiar with that plane.

Wind, barmies, howlers, and more howlers. Skalliska replied. Oh, and more wind. Bring

earplugs.

Nishas rubbing off on you now. Tristol said. I know we all need some time to relax, clear

our heads of all the junk weve been through recently, and take a vacation completely unrelated

to anything in the last year... but are you seriously considering going to Pandemonium for that?

Hon? Nisha asked, leaning in close and putting her head on Tristols shoulder. Im con-

tagious.

Yes, youre all crazy now. Tristol replied before whispering something into the tieflings

ear.

Nisha smiled, blushed, and nuzzled his neck. Me too.

Skalliska shook her head. Mammals... So did they quote a figure for anyone else in terms of

payment?

Well at least one person was acting perfectly normal for themselves.

Looks like a sliding scale thats up for negotiation. Clueless said. Its not that much really

compared to what we might make going out on our own.

Money however wasnt really a concern for any of them. The Portal Jammer was profitable

enough that each of them could live comfortably -not in the lap of luxury perhaps- but comfort-

ably for the foreseeable future even if they packed up their books, holy symbols or blades and

retired. Still though, a meager profit and an exotic location, despite the danger, was an attrac-

tive combination for a group of people wanting to flush their minds of yugoloths, githyanki, and

certain yugoloth archfiends.

1165

So... Nisha said to Tristol. We need a wizard to keep me from going barmy in Pandemo-

nium. Willing to tag along?

Well if you put it that way... Tristol replied. Somebody needs to keep you from going

crazy. So yes.

Besides, your tail makes for a great pillow.

Florian chuckled, The two of you are going to make the plane slide on account of the cute-

ness.

I write to you on behalf of the Sylvania Institute of Archaeological Research with an offer of

employment. Our group employs a substantial number of scholars, sages, and historians, and

our work frequently takes us into planes and places therein with hostile environments and hostile

inhabitants. Most of our scholars have little expertise in manners of swordplay or magic, and

we contract out matters of security to persons as skilled in those fields as we might be in more

scholarly pursuits.

Suffice to say, your name has come to our attention as being particularly suited to such for

an upcoming research expedition to the plane of Pandemonium, specifically the planes second

layer of Cocytus. The expedition will depart within the next month, for a period of no more than

three weeks. Your time and expenses will be duly compensated for, as well as an upfront initial

fee for signing on to join us. Clerics, wizards, and persons of races possessing innate spellcasting

abilities will receive a premium on top of the standard range of pay dependant upon skill and

experience.

We look forward to hearing back from you, and if interested, or if you have any specific

questions about the offer you may contact us at either our Sigilian office, or our office in Arboreas

gatetown of Sylvania.

Sincerely,

Professor Cilret Leobtav

The matter was settled then, more or less. They were open to the letters offer. But two issues

were running through various minds, Clueless with one of them, and Skalliska with another. A

bit quicker, Clueless spoke first.

So what do we do about you know... Clueless asked, briefly unfolding his wings in a pan-

tomime of Amberblue. We cant take a kid to Pandemonium.

Nisha crossed her eyes, Yeah, just imagine if he went crazy.

Florians head suddenly hurt from the very thought of an insane faerie dragon. By comparison,
 1166

a tanarri wild-mage might have been positively tame.

Lets not even ponder the thought. The cleric replied. Thats frightening.

We cant leave him here either. Clueless said.

Florian shuddered, Tempus forbid. Wed come back and find the inn singing and dancing

and trying to waltz away down the street... and dont even get that look on your face Nisha.

The Xaositect stuck out her tongue and blew an emphatic raspberry, No sense of fun.

But one of self-preservation.

Tristol patted Nishas head and also grabbed her tail, keeping her firmly planted in place

as she threatened to derail everyone elses train of thought with her own ubiquitously Xaotic

quarter on the tracks.

Eeek!

Anyway, back to the issue at hand... Clueless said. What do we do?

Well where is he from in the first place? Fyrehowl asked. We found him locked up in a

cage in Carceri, but before that he had to have come from somewhere else.

Toras shrugged. Good question. I dont know where Shy...that loth took him from. He

hasnt exactly opened up about a lot of his time there in Cathrys, not that I blame him at all

for not wanting to revisit that.

Nisha started to say something, then said something muffled as Tristol dropped a localized

silence spell on her. A moment later and she was drawing in chalk on the tabletop and talking

to herself soundlessly, Hah! Silence this! But no, seriously, Amberblue doesnt know either. He

hatched there in Carceri, alone.

Toras nodded, That answers that then.

And it brings up another question. Florian said. Where are faerie dragons native to in

the first place?

Mostly Ysgard and Arborea. Tristol answered. Though you might find them wandering

around when theyre older, and sometimes theyll pop up on the prime alongside actual fey.

Fyrehowl nodded, I suppose we could find some other faerie dragons and see if they wont

mind him tagging along. Either of those planes are usually pretty safe, and something tells me

that faerie dragons in groups have very little to worry about.

Flocks of marauding faerie dragons... Florian muttered. Thats going to give me night-

mares now.

Clueless chuckled, Barring going to either of those planes, I suppose that its possible that

we could have him adopted, for lack of a better term, by another dragon of some other type.

Copper, brass, and bronze might fit well in terms of personality. Skalliska said.
1167

True. Toras conceded. But I think that hed be better off with his own kind.

It was certainly true, but -Nisha excepted- none of the others were particularly keen on going

to one of the chaotic upper planes to meet up with one of those flocks of marauding faerie

dragons as Florian had put it. Still though, Torass heart was in the right place, and after a

few minutes of pushing the point, he managed to convince the others that it was for the best.

So when do you want to do all of this? Fyrehowl asked.

...Problem solved if youd let me have him as a familiar... Nisha mock pouted.

Tristol patted her on the head again. Sometime before we go off on this vacation, but I

figure maybe after we meet with our prospective employers and see if were actually still up for

it.

Fly by night archaeologists. Nisha quipped, no longer pouting. The bane of Sigil, I know...

Clueless chuckled. Well, not that Id think theyre shifty or anything, but more that theyre

prepared for a trip to Pandemonium, and its well put together and all that.

Skalliska shrugged, Well be fine. Im not too worried about it really.

The kobold paused for a moment and toyed with the feather sprouting off of her hat. She

was feeling a little bit slower on her feet lately, and putting on some weight, but they wouldnt

be long in Pandemonium so it wouldnt be an issue. Still though, it probably might be a good

thing to mention to the others the whole deal with her being pregnant and all.

Another appropriately awkward moment was soon to arrive for her to spring that little tidbit

of information.

Well their address here in Sigil isnt that long of a walk. Florian said. We dont have

anything else major to do this afternoon, so I figure we could just drop in on them now and see

what they have to say.

There were no objections, and frankly everyone was curious about what was down in Pande-

monium to interest historians, and why they were on some stodgy institutes list for prospective

hires for such a trip. It would only take them an hour or so to walk the distance, assuming they

didnt find any portals to shorten the trip, but they didnt get much past the door and out into

the street when something stopped them dead in their tracks.

By the way. Im pregnant.

Stunned silence.

Raised hackles.

Cringes.

Widened eyes.

More silence.
 1168

WHAT?! They all said in unison.

Skalliska shrugged. Id been meaning to tell you guys for a while now.

Oh and nows the perfect time! Florian said with astonishment. When were about to

waltz off to Pandemonium!

Who knocked you up? Nisha asked, going for the blunt angle.

Oh... Toras said, holding up his hands. Theres no way youre going to Pandemonium if

youre pregnant.

How far along are you? Florian asked, still in a bit of shock.

A few months. Skalliska said, shrinking down a little under the response shed gotten to

the ill-timed revelation. And you dont know the father. Hes a proxy of my deity. Im sure

that youll meet him eventually, but hes usually pretty busy, and pretty secretive by default.

Fyrehowl put a hand on Skalliskas head and stopped her in her tracks, Youre nuts if you

think youre going to a lower plane while youre pregnant.

Even Im not that crazy. Nisha said. Not that Im pregnant.

Tristol blushed.

Ill be fine! Skalliska said. Besides. Ive been to Pandemonium before. I know more about

the place than anyone else here. 9 Hells, my original world was filled with tunnels and Im frankly

more at home in the sort of environment youll find in Pandemonium than on any random street

in Sigil. Ill be fine.

You maybe. Toras said before pointing to the kobolds stomach. But what about any kids

you might have?

No. Absolutely Not! Clueless protested, realizing in horror that shed probably been preg-

nant when theyd encountered Shylara. Back on the Astral. You realize if she had killed you -

theres no guarantee a raise dead would have brought them back too? No way are you waltzing

to any other lower plane.

Twenty minutes of arguing later, theyd finally convinced Skalliska to stay home, at the very

least until shed laid her eggs. Still however, Skalliska wasnt happy about that, and she wanted

to feel somehow useful to them all, despite their adamant decision that she remain behind in

Sigil.

Skalliska put her hands up in defeat. If I cant go with you, at least let me do something of

use before you go off to get yourselves eaten by Howlers.

***

24 hours later:
1169

True to what shed said, as a bit of a gift in lieu of her helping out in Pandemonium, or really

doing much else for a minimum of 9 months or so, Skalliska had talked to people in the know

about such things, shed garnished a few palms and greased a few sages and clerks memories,

and a day after her little social faux-pas about pregnancy, shed come back with some details on

their potential employer and his organization.

Well, first thing first. Skalliska said as she thumbed through a stack of papers with a claw.

Theyre pretty solid and legit.

Nisha paused and sniffed the air, wrinkling her face into a strange expression. I detect the

unwelcome aura of a Guvner. Please tell me Im wrong.

Ex-Guvner actually. Skalliska explained. The current director of the institute, one Profes-

sor Leobtav, seems to have spent a stretch of years as a factotum within the Fraternity of Order,

including three years in Mechanus within the archives of the Citadel of Enlightened Discipline.

Did he leave or did they boot him? Nisha asked. Make him awesome for some massive

drama involved in that.

The kobold shrugged. Nothing big. He was involved with the Mathematicians sect, but it

looks like he just felt that he could do more for his field of study on his own, rather than working

within the framework of the larger faction. No drama involved.

Nisha made some noncommittal mutter and shrug.

Skalliska continued. The Institute itself existed before he joined; its maybe around two

hundred years old, started by an elven loremaster by the name of Marius Glenshadow. And as

far as I can tell, they dont have any history of not paying people, and theyve been generous in

cases where people ended up getting killed on hostile planes.

All in all, they sounded legitimate. No fly-by-night archaeologists as Nisha might have phrased

it. Nothing to really be worried about, but still a number of questions to get answered that only

a conversation with someone in charge at the institute might settle.

***

Later that afternoon, the group tidied themselves up and walked from the Portal Jammer in

the Clerks Ward across the Cage, eventually stopping in the Guildhall Ward at #210 Greenglass

Avenue. It wasnt a particularly impressive building, and it was obvious from the multiple doors

and signs above them at ground level that more than one tenant occupied the place. One of those

small signs pointed towards a stairwell at the side of the structure, labeled Sylvania Institute

of Archaeology in common, celestial, and elven.

Walking up the stairs and passing through a door led into a small reception room, where
 1170

the group was met by a smiling earth genasi secretary dressed in a stereotypical assemblage of

earthy, almost drab colored clothing.

Good afternoon to you cutters. Marlene Brittlestone said in a pleasant, but slightly rum-

bling voice.

Well met. Tristol said as he stepped inside. Were here about a letter we received. We

were hoping to speak to someone about more information if possible.

Outside of the genasi and her desk, the room was decorated with an eclectic assortment of

objects, everything from a marble leomarsh, a stuffed Elysian thrush, and a collection of coins

from a dozen prime material worlds. Several doors branched off from the reception room, several

of them unmarked, but two of them with small nameplates: Prof. Leobtav, and Prof. Highsilver.

Ah! The genasi said. Professor Highsilver is still in Sylvania, but Professor Leobtav is

here if youd like to speak with him.

Tristols tail swished happily from side to side. That would be great.

If youll wait just a moment Ill see if hes available. Marlene said. Hes a bit bookish, and

Im not sure if he went home last night. Hopefully hes prepared for guests.

Nisha stuck out her tongue. Guvners...

The genasi walked over to the office door and knocked, opened the door and exchanged a

few muffled words with someone inside. A moment later she turned back to the group, chuckled

slightly and closed the door.

The dragon says hell be awake in a minute, and to give him a moment to clean his desk off,

then hell be happy to see you and handle any questions you had.

The dragon? Clueless asked.

The genasi nodded as the doors latched clicked. Ficklebarb, his familiar.

Hes got a dragon as a familiar? Florian asked.

The genasi chuckled again. Pseudodragon.

A few minutes later the professor, or at least his familiar, seemed ready to receive them.

Ok! Come on in! Called out a mildly high-pitched and distinctly draconic voice from inside

the office. It was similar to Amberblue in terms of tone and enunciation, but while the faerie

dragon sounded like the hatchling he was, the voice from the office was obviously older and more

mature, reflecting its role as a familiar to a late middle-aged man.

The group took the invitation and stepped into Leobtavs office, noting its disheveled ap-

pearance and very lived-in character. Books were overflowing from sagging bookshelves on each

wall, rising a foot or two above the rooms single window that overlooked the street, partially

obscuring the view. A few plates and a trio of half-filled coffee cups still sat on the edge of a
1171

large, antique mahogany desk and a pile of clothing was stuffed into the drawer of a filing cabinet.

Papers, documents and maps sprawled over the surface of the desk, looking utterly disorganized

but given the professors background, more like than not they were simply arranged in a manner

too complex for anyone but himself to make heads or tales of.

Sorry for the mess. A small, red-scaled pseudodragon chirped from atop his perch on a

marble bust of Lariset the Inescapable. His corner of the room was distinctly less cluttered than

the rest of the professors office.

I hope I didnt keep you bloods waiting too long. Professor Leobtav said as he hastily

cleared his desk of the dishes and all but one of the mugs. As Ficklebarb said, my apologies

for the clutter. Its more a working environment than anything else. Doran usually handles

interviews.

Leobtav was human, somewhere in his fifth decade of life, and looked every bit the stereo-

typical absentminded professor. His clothes were a bit wrinkled, his balding hair a bit unkempt,

and his goatee a bit out of style, but behind the clutter and his unstylish appearance, behind

his circular, wire-framed glasses, his eyes glittered with an intelligence that rivaled that of any

archmage.

Tristol noted that while they were fewer in number than the more mundane history books and

tomes on obscure languages and cultures, there was a respectable collection of actual spellbooks

on the mans bookshelves. They hadnt been moved and read recently, given the thin layer of

dust theyd collected, but at some point the professor had studied the arcane.

Leobtav paused and adjusted his glasses, glancing at his guests and running a mental tally.

Fey-blooded, lupinal, cleric, tiefling, fighter, aasimar... I take it this is about the letters we sent

out?

Thatd be correct. Clueless said as they all took a seat wherever they could find a chair,

or a stack of books, or anything else that might serve the purpose. And I cant say we were

completely surprised to get your letter.

A few months ago. Toras said. I remember you sending us a previous offer.

Ficklebarb looked up from where hed been munching on an apple and having a staring

content with Nisha. Yeah, you never replied to it either.

What followed was a momentarily awkward silence before Leobtav cleared his throat.

I take it that your schedules are considerably more open at the moment then? He asked.

Forgive me for saying so, but youre here in my office a day after we sent the letters out to

yourselves and a few other people.

Couldnt have come at a better time actually. Tristol said.

 1172

Ficklebarb swallowed a chunk of apple. Maybe theyre broke.

Nisha broke out into a grin. I like you!

I take it that youre interested? The professor smiled and reached for a stack of papers and

a vial of ink. Though I dont see the kobold. Did she not get her letter?

She wont be able to go. Clueless said.

Fyrehowl shook her head. Not for a lack of wanting to however.

Leobtav nodded, looking reassured. I was worried that our offer wouldnt be enough for

her. Understandably, our resources arent massive, so we arent able to offer as much as say the

Mercykillers, or the fiends, or the Planar Trade Consortium.

Money isnt really an issue actually. Tristol said. Frankly were looking for a vacation.

Vacation? Leobtav asked, slightly confused. He looked to his familiar and the dragon gave

a shrug in reply. Well for money, that was a bit of a worry for me. Given that you were all

staying at a rather nice inn, it seemed like you had more than a bit of jink to your names as it

was.

Actually, we own the place. Clueless said.

Oh... I didnt realize that. The professor looked disappointed and more than a little em-

barrassed. I understand that inn, your inn, is doing rather well. The money were able to offer

really cant compare. I apologize for wasting your time, I really do.

The pseudo-dragon tapped the stinger at the end of his tail against the marble bust of the

old Guvner factol. They already said they were interested.

What he said. Toras replied. Money isnt that big of a deal.

Well in that case, what questions might you have?

Nisha was back to making faces at Ficklebarb, and the pseudodragon was happily returning

them. Meanwhile Tristol was making a mental catalog of just what sort of things the dragons

master was a professor of.

So, Tristol asked. Maybe tell us a little about yourself and what exactly this expedition

will be looking for in Pandemonium?

Well, Im primarily a linguist, with a bit of expertise on lost and dead languages. Leobtav

explained. And the expedition that were planning relates to something from one of our previous

trips, a series of trips over the last three years actually. I think one of my previous employment

offers might have actually been for the last of those that we took.

And where were those going to? The aasimar asked.

Minethys. He replied. Carceris third layer.

1173

Fyrehowl frowned. Shed had far too much of Carceri in the past six months, regardless of

what layer a group of historians might be interested in.

Tristols head tilted to the side. So how does something on Minethys relate to this upcoming

trip to Pandemonium? Theyre a plane separated from one another.

Asking Tristol about magic or Nisha about Xaos was on the same order as asking a career

historian to explain the connection between two obscure points of his chosen field. Leobtav and

his pseudo-dragon both perked up at the invitation.

Im glad you asked! He said, spreading out a hand-drawn map of Carceri, the Abyss, and

Pandemonium, with a series of bizarre glyphs or pictograms penned into the margins.

A few locations in Carceris third layer were circled, labeled Expedition 1: Mesrikoth Tor,

Expedition 2: Voornoth of the 9 Pillars, Expedition 3: Subsumed periphery of Kholesh? along

with several question marks drawn atop one specific location in Pandemonium: Howlers Crag.

During our previous work in Carceri, weve been searching for samples of Gautish, the dead

written language of the Gautiere. They were originally known as the Tiere, natives to another

plane, possibly a world on the prime material, but theyre long extinct. Some number of their

race ended up imprisoned on Carceris third layer of Minethys, and wed hoped that the cities

buried beneath its sands might have been constructed by them. Had they been, we might have

found enough samples to construct a working lexicon of the tongue, its structure, and perhaps

gather some detail about their history and original nature.

I take it that your work in Carceri didnt provide you with what you were looking for?

Clueless asked.

Leobtav shook his head. No, it didnt. Its unfortunate. We did find quite a number of

samples of the language, but without some dual text theres nothing to use to decipher what the

language actually says. Its not even clear if its a syllabic alphabet or pictograms.

What about magic? Tristol asked, pointing to the Gautish text on the map. Id think

that youd be able to decipher it fairly quickly with some relatively simple spells.

Youd think so, and so did we. Leobtav replied with a sigh. The spells uniformly fail.

Ive tried it, my colleague Doran has tried it, and weve even had some clerics attempt a divine

version of the same spells. Still, it hasnt gotten us any closer to knowing what any patches of

the text say, or much about the underlying language itself.

Fyrehowls whiskers twitched, Why wouldnt they work?

Normally it would be a simple task to gain some rudimentary understanding of a written

language via magic. It might not tell you what each letter or glyph said, but it would let

you understand what a given body of text said in your own language. That sort of magical
 1174

translation, while imperfect in many ways, was often the first step to unlocking a languages

secrets in its native form. Only innately magical tongues -and those were few and far between-

might reasonably resist such attempts.

Good question. Leobtav replied. The Gautiere on Mithethys, whove woefully lost effec-

tively every trace of their former culture, were imprisoned there either by a deity, or a divine

curse issued upon the death of a god. The precise nature of those events is muddied, and the

Gautiere themselves are incredibly xenophobic, but even so, the evidence suggests some divine

anathema placed upon their language. Perhaps it was keep them severed from what theyd been,

like some sort of mandated fall from grace.

Clueless bit his lip and pondered the situation, while Tristol scanned over the alien text on

the maps. A moment later theyd arrived at the same question, and they were both pointing at

the single circled location in Pandemonium.

So whats Howlers Crag? They both asked.

Again with the asking of scholarly questions to a scholar: the floodgates poured open.

Would you like some tea? Ficklebarb chirped. This may take a while.
Chapter 106

Howlers Crag. Leobtav stated as he pointed to the maps circled region. Its a location on

Pandemoniums layer of Cocytus. Its also a more than a small mystery in terms of its origin.

Ficklebarb spit an apple seed into the open mouth of a stuffed and mounted Arcadian skink,

But thats not why were going there.

You see... Leobtav retrieved the seed from his familiars improvised spittoon. Howlers

Crag is a spire of rock and surrounding rubble, looking nothing-so-much like the broken rafters

and foundation stones of a titans cottage. Its a mountain built from gigantic, megalithic stones,

old enough that erosion has fused much of it together, littering it with tunnels and blind shafts

like a pockmarked cairn.

So what connection does this place have with writing in Carceri? Clueless asked.

Oh, youll see. The professor said, holding up his hand and getting a twinkle in his eyes.

Ficklebarb set down his apple and paid closer attention to the story, sharing his masters

enthusiasm for the topic, probably because of their empathic link more than anything else.

There are lots of legends surrounding the Crag, Leobtav explained. And one of them is

that if you climb to the top of the crag, exposing yourself to the full force of the winds, and call

out to a specific person, that regardless of where in the planes they are, whatever you cry out

next, theyll hear you. Now that might or might not be true, but the whole theme of languages

and communication swirls around the place, and for reasons that arent just spooky mythology.

All of those caves that riddle the Crag, virtually all of them contain some form of writing carved

into the rock walls, chiseled into the ceilings, or even burned or melted into place. Thousands,

tens of thousands of languages of all ages and origins fill those caves, even dead ones or magical

ones. No one knows why. Some scholars think that the site is the location of a tomb or temple

to a long dead god of language, or that a culture of giants constructed the Crag as a temple

to lost words, thematically burying them in gentle repose within the screaming winds of the

Howling Plane itself. Whos to say.

1175
 1176

Tristol leapt to the connection. You think youll be able to find a sample of Gautish there.

Precisely. Leobtav nodded vigorously. And not just that, but oftentimes a single cave will

contain the same passage of writing replicated in more than one ancient tongue. Im hoping to

find the language and some key of deciphering it.

But how do you know that youll actually find it? Toras asked with some skepticism. Its

a sprawling site. Its an entire mountain in the depths of a pitch black, screaming maelstrom,

with who knows what lurking in the darkness. Even if its there, whos to say that youll ever

find it?

Because I already know that its there.

Blind conviction, a zealots hope, or did the old man actually have something up his sleeve?

Let me show you something. He said, reaching for a collection of loose papers next to the

map.

Spreading out a few of them, they appeared to be reconstructed copies of an older book or

journal. Written in a very different hand than his own notes on the map that theyd seen, it was

obvious that he hadnt penned it.

About five months ago an old colleague of mine in the Fraternity of Order told me that hed

seen these same letters before. Leobtav gestured to the samples of Gautish. But he hadnt

seen it in regards to the Gautiere of Carceri. No, hed seen it within the fragmented notes of

Ulricon, one of the often overlooked members of the factions earliest attempts to catalog the

layers of the Lower Planes.

I cant say Ive heard of him before. Tristol said, rubbing his chin.

Dont feel bad. Its not a surprise that you havent, even as an accomplished wizard.

Leobtav said. The Guvners dont like to talk about him. His early accomplishments were really

amazing, but eventually, well...

He went crazy in Pandemonium. Ficklebarb interjected. Then ran off and started a cult

in the Abyss.

Leobtav winced with embarrassment as his familiar acted like an unfiltered tap into his

thoughts. We -really- dont like to talk about his later... work... so to speak.

The professor glanced at the pseudodragon and the familiar responded by hiding his head

behind the remaining core of his apple. Leobtav sighed and shook his head.

As you were saying about Ulricons journal? Clueless prompted.

Ulricons journal. Leobtav nodded. Some portion of his work was cataloged, and then

apparently misfiled and so spared a purge of his work three Factols later. Apparently some of

the remaining material detailed his exploration of Cocytus, including Howlers Crag.
1177

And youve got a copy of it... Clueless said as the others saw just where the old Guvners

logic was leading.

I managed to get a copy before it vanished into the sealed archives. Leobtav explained.

Im no longer a formal member of the Order, but I have enough friends that I managed to gain

access to the library to copy it.

I knocked over a bronze statue of Raiden and he snuck into the library. Ficklebarb explained.

Well the Thunderer was true to his name. Leobtav said as he looked at Ficklebarb again.

Thats all Ill say.

Nisha giggled at the familiars continual admissions. For a stodgy Guvner, the little red-scaled

fellow was a perfect compliment, or an amazingly well done curse.

But before the dragon gets me in any more trouble.

Ficklebarb smiled and flitted his wings, Quite the other way around book-worm.

But before the red terror gets me into any more trouble, yes, Ulricon found a sample of

Gautish, and it was accompanied by a passage in Rilmani, a passage in an unnamed fiendish

tongue, and an obscure branch of Sylvan.

Not bad. Tristol said. Not bad at all.

It was beginning to sound like it was going to be anything but a snipe hunt in the depths.

They had a treasure and they had a treasure map.

So how many people are you bringing along on this trip? Florian asked. Sounds like you

dont need a whole expedition for this.

If only. Leobtav admitted. Its not as easy as X marks the spot. Sadly, Ulricons notes

dont tell where at Howlers Crag he found this particular cave. Time hasnt been kind to his

journals from that period, and he vanished hundreds of years ago, so we cant ask him either.

So were back to hunting randomly? Fyrehowl asked.

Leobtav shook his head, Not quite. The remaining notes indicate several points of interest,

spots that Ulricon found worthy of putting on a map, we just lack a key of what he found at

each specific spot.

There were a dozen or so spots listed on a much cruder map, or not given a location, but

instead described in a brief travelogue. None of the descriptions gave a clear indication of which

might have contained the Gautiere text, but it was a firm starting point, and well within the

means of a group of scholars whod already cut their teeth in the sandstorms of Minethys.

Well, youve got my interest. Clueless said. So what role would you want us to fill beyond

keeping watch for the natives, so to speak?

Keeping everyone on the expedition safe, and some of you have some unique talents that
 1178

might help us scout the Crag more effectively and provide additional magical aid.

They nodded and listened along as the ex-Guvner gave them an overly detailed rundown

on the local fauna, additional and often superfluous details about environmental hazards, and

some of the finer points of what their duties would be. The man still seemed shocked that they

were viewing it as more a vacation than a job, but he wasnt apparently going to look that gift

horse in the mouth, and within the hour theyd signed and countersigned the contracts that hed

prepared for them.

I appreciate this. He said, shaking each of their hands in turn. I really do.

Because otherwise wed only have the introverted cleric slash paladin, a bard - in Pandemo-

nium - the most useful thing in the world to have in such a place - and Mr Dodgy I hide in my

own shadows McDodgy.

Ficklebarbs enthusiasm for the other non-scholars on the trip wasnt exactly glowing, but

if one had been there during the interviews, it might reasonably have been said that none of

them were particularly glowing either, in any sense of the word. Limited funds didnt allow for

selectivity, and skill tended to overshadow a persons past, or any shortcomings they might have

had otherwise, and in the bards case, she wasnt asking for any money, so who was going to

argue.

Such a glowing endorsement... Fyrehowl deadpanned.

Well, its possible that youll have a chance to meet with them before we leave. Leobtav

said with a blush. Theyre talented people, theyve just had a checkered past in some cases. But

I suppose a spotted, or awkward record for various reasons isnt much of a concern when youre

fighting a pack of Howlers, or you need an extra set of eyes to watch for tanarri, or anything

worse.

It was Pandemonium after all. Any of those possibilities might be legitimate worries. But

there were seven of them, and the others that had been hired for the same job of protecting the

decidedly non-martially trained scholars, so at the least they had a solid line of defense against

what the Howling Depths might throw at them. Yet unbeknownst to them at the time, that

assumption was incredibly, fatally wrong, and what theyd find revealed in the depths of Cocytus

was something that belonged neither there, nor anywhere else.

But the future was yet to be written, and so all things said, they left their meeting with

Professor Leobtav in good spirits, with high expectations for the strangest vacation that any

mortal with any sense of self-preservation might have conceived of. It was an intellectually

rewarding endeavor, and despite Nishas hesitancy about the mans past with the Fraternity of

Order, hed left a good impression on them. His familiar, Ficklebarb had obviously helped things
1179

along, especially so for the Xaositect who was rather taken in by the red terror to the point

of ignoring her feelings about his other half, so to speak.

But perhaps it was also a lingering desire to retain some measure of cute draconic influence in

their lives. Amberblue hadnt left the Portal Jammer yet, but they were already having nostalgic

thoughts intrude upon their minds.

Ok. Tristol admitted as they passed the Gymnasium. The pseudodragon is pretty cute.

But hes not a faerie dragon. Nisha softy protested.

Florian shook her head and laughed, For our future well being, praise Tempus.

Oh, Im certain that well see him again. Clueless said, talking about Amberblue. But we

cant be a permanent family for him.

Oh, we all understand that. Florian said. Were just waiting for the eight hundred pound

gorillon to make an appearance.

Who gets the lucky pleasure of going to Ysgard to face a flock of faerie dragons? Fyrehowl

said.

Florian snapped her fingers. Thatd be the one.

All the time, Nisha was hopping up and down with a distinct clip-clop of hooves on the

cobblestones, waving her hands and grinning. Well, there was one person who was going.

Toras volunteers. Florian said, pushing the fighter a bit forward with a bump of her hip.

Yep. Tristol agreed, much to Torass bewilderment. Your god lives on Ysgard. Hell save

you if things go horribly wrong with a chorus of wishes. Hopefully.

Toras had to admit hed opened himself up to that when hed told them that Andros lived

on that plane. Alright...

Ten minutes and some rolled dice later, Florian and Fyrehowl were added to the list of those

going to Ysgard while Clueless and Tristol were volunteered for cleaning up the Portal Jammer

of any lingering remains of wish-induced chaos, and probably self-volunteered to avail themselves

of the good liquor to toast their good fortune as well.

***

Brilliant sunlight flickered down through a canopy of evergreens and oaks on Ysgards first

layer. The entire area seemed infused with a vibrant spark of life, spontaneity, and more than

its fair share of Xaos if you knew where to look.

You know, Toras said as they wandered through the forest. This is like the opposite of

Elysium.

Fyrehowl looked at him oddly. How do you mean?

 1180

Were wandering around Ysgard actively looking for faerie dragons. He explained, tossing

a rock into some bushes. Its like the opposite of Elysiums effect on such things. Were looking

for trouble incarnate and by the gods were going to find some!
.
Why are we looking for trouble? Amberblue asked out of pure naivetA c

Hes just making a joke. Fyrehowl said.

Is there any trouble here though? Amberblue asked again, curling around one of Nishas

horns.

Not really. Toras said. Not for us at least.

Maybe a stray drunken bariaur, or the occasional flock of... Florian cut herself off.

The occasional flock of what? The dragon asked again, much like a small child repeatedly

questioning an adult on random topics.

Butterflies! Florian answered, fumbling for an answer. After all, the faerie dragon had

never seen a vicious flock of butterflies, so he wouldnt know the difference.

Suddenly, as if on cue, several dozen butterflies burst from the bushes and darted out amidst

the trees.

Eeek! Nisha and Amberblue both shouted out.

Of course, the butterflies did nothing, though one of them landed on an apple blossom high in

a nearby tree, and from the flowers perspective, it might have been posturing with considerable

menace.

Hey... Nisha said, as she looked first at the butterfly and then to Florian. You said they

were vicious.

Yes and youre not seven years old any more. The cleric replied.

Still, something had conjured butterflies on demand...

A tiny, iridescent dragons head extended upside down from behind a pinecone directly above

and in front of Toras. Are you hiding too?

Toras went pale for a moment. Trouble had found them.

Hiding from what? The fighter asked, returning the faerie-dragons puckish smile. The

butterflies?

No, no, something much worse. Prismscales replied. The giant squirrels.

Above them from somewhere in the canopy there was a soft chorus of Giant squirrels. Oh

absolutely. Thats right. Horrible monsters they are. Spoooky.

Giant squirrels? Fyrehowl asked.

Yeah, you gotta watch for them. Prismscales assured them as he descended on a pair of

oversized butterfly wings. Veeeeery dangerous.

1181

Definitely. Bloodthirsty creatures. Gigantic! Ten feet tall! The faerie dragon peanut gallery

chattered in the canopy above.

Toras put his hands on his hips and looked heroic, a stance he normally had no trouble

assuming, especially on a plane like Ysgard. Oh, I can handle any giant squirrel.

As if on cue, a dozen large acorns connected with Torass head from a dozen different spots

in the forest.

Clearly. Florian snickered.

Bonk! Thunk! Thunk! A few acorns connected with the clerics head from another disparate

spots in the canopy.

The squirrels are very territorial you know. Prismscales warned with a giggle.

Toras and Florian sighed as Nisha and Amberblue softly giggled. Fyrehowl chuckled and

then moved aside a moment before an acorn would have connected with her forehead.

You missed. Came one of the unseen giant squirrels voices.

Shes sneaky like that. Nisha whispered back up. Keep trying!

The lupinals ears drooped slightly.

So who might you be, oh fearless hunter of giant squirrels? Toras asked.

My names Prismscales, grand conqueror of trolls, giants, and other big ugly things. And

sometimes candy corn.

Candy corn! Vicious creatures they are! Very dangerous! Echoed the peanut gallery once

again with a chorus of giggles and fluttering butterfly wings.

A few pieces of candy corn rained down on Florian, though one piece landed in Amberblues

deliberately open mouth.

And who are you? Prismscales asked Amberblue.

Pleased to make your acquaintance King Prismscales. Amberblue said with adopted regal

flare as Nisha bowed with him still perched on one of her horns.

I would be Amberblue, a foreign faerie dragon from far away lands, noted conqueror of

pirates, pumpkins, and portal jammers!

Oooooh portal jammers! Very dangerous beasties! Scourges of wildspace!

Do you have stories to tell? Prismscales asked.

Amberblue nodded.

Do you like apples?

Amberblue nodded rapidly with a gleam in his eyes.

Do you like stories involving apples?

Another nod.
 1182

Would you like to help us redecorate Asgard tomorrow?

Amberblue nodded a fourth time.

I think hes in! Came one of the voices from the trees.

Yay! Yippee! Apples for everyone! Candycorn for the wolfy thing!

Candycorn rained down on Fyrehowls head.

You guys wont mind if Amberblue sticks around? Toras asked.

Thunk! An acorn hit the fighters head.

Of course we dont mind. Prismscales said. We like him. I think your question upset the

giant squirrels too.

Chitter chitter! Angry chitter! Gnashing of buckteeth!

Amberblue grinned with absolute joy. I wish I had some apple tarts like the cook from the

Portal Jammer made that one time!

Yay! Apple tarts! Whee! One of us! One of us!

-That- finally drew the peanut gallery out into the open, and Florians heart almost stopped

and skipped a beat as fully two dozen butterfly winged dragons descended down to gorge them-

selves upon Amberblues conjured-into-existence pile of warm, cinnamon and powdered sugar

dusted apple tarts.

Amberblue seemed genuinely happy, though in-between mouthfuls of warm apple, he did

extract a promise from the group to come back and visit him and his newfound friends. And they

had to bring stories to tell, and maybe some other tangible, ie edible, tribute or else the giant,

bloodthirsty Ysgardian giant squirrels might become angered. The promise was made rather

quickly amidst the expecting silence and attention of twenty-five wish-bearing faerie dragons.

It was also about that point that they collectively realized that without Tristol or Clueless in

their company, they didnt have a planeshift or gate available to quickly get back to the Outlands.

They had a long walk and the whims of a planar compass ahead of them to find a gate, and to

be certain the flock of butterfly-winged trouble followed them almost the entire way back.

Three hours, a rather persistent -and periodically giggling- giant squirrel, and several dif-

ferent shades of plaid later, they finally made it back to a gate to the Outlands, and from there

back to Sigil. Truth be told, as whimsical as it might have been, going straight to Pandemonium

might have been less stressful.

I never want to visit that plane again.

The phrase I wish should be an excuse for murder.

Im excused for going psycho on the first bloody ratatosk I see. Ill throw them right off of

Yggdrasil if they so much as look at me the wrong way.

1183

I still want a faerie dragon familiar...

***

Three days later and the time was near to leave with the expedition to Howlers Crag. Ar-

rangements had been made with the Portal Jammers staff to handle their absence, and legal

arrangements had been made in the pessimistic but practical notion that something horrible

might happen down in the Howling Depths. All that was left to do was to grab any remain-

ing things they might need -faerie dragon familiar not included in such necessities despite one

particular tieflings protests- and then to meet up with the expeditions members.

Finally, an hour before their departure there was a knock on the door as a dark haired,

pale-skinned moon elf wearing wizards robes stepped into the Jammer. A thick leather satchel

for carrying spellbooks hung across one shoulder, and a large raven sat perched upon the other,

taking in every face in the room from its perch. The familiar kept its eyes on the people in the

taproom, but its master had his eyes entirely occupied on a list of names held in his hands.

Im looking for a group of mercenaries.

Chapter 107

Well, calling them mercenaries was something of a misnomer. The owners of the Portal Jam-

mer didnt really need the jink, and they would have likely gone along with little or no pay

if the request had been polite enough and their skills needed for what they considered an in-

triguing expedition. The whole affair was a vacation for all involved, as after staring into the

eyes of an irate, unstable, and bloodthirsty archfiend on the Astral plane while atop the deific

corpse of Aoskar, a dangerous trek through a plane of manifest madness seemed almost tame by

comparison. Everything being relative, it was indeed shaping up to be a bit of relaxing escapism.

Still though, Doran Highsilvers statement in the Portal Jammers common room did have

a partial ring of applicable truth to it as well. In Torass own words, they were getting paid to

waltz through one of the lower planes and kill whatever fiends they came across.

Wrong bar... Florian called out from where she sat with Tristol and Toras, reading an

oversized book on Pandemonium. I think youre looking for the Bottle and Jug.

Shed said that without looking up to see who had done the asking, or to see the amused

smile on the elfs face at her reply. But no matter, because Fyrehowl had already propped her

legs up on another chair, effectively blocking the wizards path of easy exit from the bar.

Over from where he was pouring drinks, Clueless nodded to the lupinal and chuckled. I

dont know if that was irony or not, but were probably the ones that youre looking for.

It got your attention I suppose. The elf said as he bowed slightly, causing Florian to blush

as she looked up at him.

One of our soon-to-be employers people? Fyrehowl asked.

Doran thought about that for a moment. I suppose you could say that. Im one of Leobtavs

colleagues in the Institute.

Nisha leaned in and whispered into Tristols ear, I think hes our boss.

I think the professor mentioned you actually. Tristol said as he stood up to shake the other

wizards hand. Doran?

1184
1185

Ah good. The elf said, happily shaking Tristols hand. I was hoping that Cilret would at

least mention some of the other people going along on the expedition, not the least those that

youd be working with, or directly assisting.

That would be a big no. Nisha said before briefly sticking out her tongue.

Doran shrugged. But you probably got an hours lecture on Pandemonium, a lecture on

Gautish that amounted to we dont know very much, and some other bits of history.

Oh did we ever. Nisha deadpanned again. Mr. Lawfulpants likes to talk.

Tristol turned about and gave Nisha a look.

But his familiar is adorable. She said contritely. I rather like Ficklebarb.

Hes something alright. Doran replied. His familiar cawed out in agreement, and something

said that the bird had been chased more than once by Leobtavs little red terror.

So in any event, Clueless asked. I take it youre here to take us to meet up with the rest

of the group? We didnt expect you for another hour or two.

He nodded. I rather suspected that while you probably had a picture perfect rundown on

the place and its history, you wouldnt get much in terms of the human element.

Clueless grinned and walked out from behind the bar with a glass of wine for their employer.

Then take a seat and feel free to give us the rundown before we actually meet up with everyone.

Highsilver nodded and thanked him for the wine. He swirled it once, sniffed at it, and

apparently having decided its worth, took an approving sip.

On the expedition well have thirty five scholars of various disciplines, but theyll be working

with Leobtav and me for the most part, so you neednt really worry about them in that capacity.

Outside of them well have a few shy of a dozen porters and a pair of cooks tagging along. Most

all of them are pretty green however; in fact only fifteen of them have ever been beyond the

Outlands. In theory they know exactly what theyll be up against, but they dont have any

practical experience. Watching out for them, and anything that might try to eat them is what

youll be here for.

So who else is helping us out in that regard? Toras asked.

Outside of yourselves, weve hired two others, and I have a third person tagging along

because she wanted to and I wasnt going to tell her otherwise. Doran paused and sipped at his

wine again. The first is Settys al Khylian, a cleric and paladin of Thoth.

Militant scribes. Spooky. Nisha whispered. Overdue fines for Thoths Library must be

stiff...

Tristol leaned in and put his mouth on her shoulder, poking his teeth in but not actually

biting. He said something muffled into her arm and she promptly pantomimed zipping her lips
 1186

shut.

Remind me never to keep a book late from a library. Toras said, thinking the same thing

Nisha had.

Doran chuckled. We needed clerical magic, and hes a bit more martially adept than your

typical priest. All said, thats probably a wise idea in Pandemonium, and as far as I know, hes

not pushy about religion or theology, so you dont have anything to worry about there.

Thats good to know. Florian said. I take it Ill be working with him in some capacity?

Thats what wed planned. Doran answered. When were moving as a group, were plan-

ning on having the fighters at front, the scholars, sages and wizards in the middle, and likely the

clerics and another fighter or two at the rear.

It made tactical sense at least, assuming everyone got along, especially in the claustrophobic

atmosphere of Pandemoniums tunnels and caverns, in the darkness, nearly deafened by the

wind.

So what about the other two? Clueless asked.

The next person is Frollis Terpense. Hes something of a fighter, something of a rogue, and

Ill probably have him running point or scouting ahead whenever were moving. Doran explained

and then pointed to Clueless and Fyrehowl. Ill probably have him pair up with one of you.

Because weve got similar styles and capabilities? Fyrehowl asked.

Clueless narrowed his eyes. Or because you dont trust him?

Yes. Doran answered, unusually blunt.

That brought some raised eyebrows and perked ears. The elf paused and sipped his wine

again, then downed the remainder of the glass.

The wine is quite good. He said, breaking from his previous train of thought. Thank you.

Florian looked at him pointedly. Should we be worried, or keep a watch on this guy or

something?

Were going to be in Pandemonium. Fyrehowl stated. So why did you hire someone you

arent sure you can trust or not?

Doran held up his hands. Our budget doesnt allow us to be selective like we were hiring

for a kings guard. We have to compromise between talent and personality sometimes.

My personality stinks? Nisha asked as her tail drooped.

No no. Doran backpedaled. I didnt say that at all.

Then Im incompetent? The tiefling slunk down in her chair and the elf closed his eyes and

took a deep breath.

Xaositects were... well... they were either too much fun, or a nightmare to associate with.
1187

At least one person in his employ wasnt going to have to worry about going mad in the winds,

probably because the winds might offer an improvement.

Youre skilled and everyone likes you, especially me. Tristol said. Now let him finish or I

will bite you.

So you were saying now? Clueless prompted, handing the elf the remainder of the bottle.

His past is a blank spot for the most part, though he has some rather extensive yet seemingly

unofficial links with the church of Assuran.

A follower of Hoar? Florian asked. Hoar was the Torillian name of Assuran of the Babylo-

nian pantheon, a god of justice and retribution.

Apparently. Doran said. But he was also a member in good standing with one of Torchs

thieves guilds, and that information came to me by way of a priestess of Sung-Chiang who

from her tone was respectful of him, but in the way of a very skilled craftsman talking about a

competitor.

Fyrehowl tilted her head in something of curiosity and confusion.

Make of that what you will. Doran said. But youll meet him soon enough and you can

make your judgment then. Im not asking you to be biased against him -that might be truly

counterproductive if hes on the straight and narrow- but do keep your eyes on him.

A few contemplative moments passed before the wizard finally took up the third member

of his collection of employees, and his description of her brought even more of a reaction than

Frollis had.

A bloody freaking bard?!

Doran nodded and held up his hands again. I know. I know. Music doesnt matter if youre

deaf, have your ears plugged to avoid going deaf, or if the wind is howling in your ears to the

point where you couldnt hear her if she was singing an aria right next to you. Still, she was

insistent upon coming with us, and the local area around the Crag makes her more useful than

youd think. Plus, being from Ysgard, shes a bit more attuned to the level of ambient chaos

that Pandemonium will have, for what its worth. Shell be comfortable with that at least, if not

the evil tainting the plane.

Fyrehowl nodded. Weve been through worse.

So why would a bard be useful? Toras asked.

Because much of the Crag is relatively sheltered from the wind around its base. Doran

explained. Its in a bit of a natural depression, and only about halfway up towards the summit

are you exposed to the normal torrents of wind. Its not placid by any means below that point,

but her magic wont be automatically drowned out and useless.

 1188

That made some sense, and even made the trip sound marginally less dangerous, barring

hungry howler packs and ever-hungrier tanarri.

But enough about the others. Doran said, pushing his glass forward to decline any further

fills. Lets go over what youve got and what youll need.

Having said that, the wizard ran through a mental checklist of things to badger them about.

It might be tacky, it might be intrusive and controlling -which was the last thing he wanted to be,

and pretty alien to his personality- but it was a necessary evil given where he was taking them.

The worst thing in the world would be to have them arrive in the Howling Plane and only during

a scrape with a pack of tanarri realize that theyd left spell components, or a spellbook, or a

divine focus, or their favorite dagger back in Sigil. Better to be repetitive now than handicapped

later.

Have your spellbooks that you want to bring along?

Tristol nodded and Nisha held up a satchel full of traveling tomes.

Doran glanced at a mechanical timepiece on the wall. Well, we have about an hour before

were meeting the rest of the group. That should give us plenty of time to get to the portal.

Wheres the portal that were meeting them at? Tristol asked.

Good question. Doran said. But Id rather show you than tell you. Its a one-way portal

inside Sigil thatll place us roughly 25 miles from the Crag.

Humor me, Im curious. Tristol asked. I hadnt heard of that one before, especially being

so close to a noted landmark on its connecting plane.

Doran hesitated. Again, Id rather show you than tell you.

Fyrehowl looked at him skeptically. Why the evasiveness?

The elf waved his hands. Because it took more than a wee bit of jink to tease that portal

and its key out of Lissandra and her ilk. They have access to a commodity in the knowledge they

hoard, and they know how much its worth. Plus, beyond the raw cost, they made a condition

of our bargain being that Id restrict knowledge and access to the location to Leobtav, one or

two others on our board of directors, and myself. Expensive and they want to retain their future

business with others so its a hassle on us, but it sure as hell beats juggling planeshifts and

teleports for a group of close to forty people, or going in through Bedlam.

Tristol, Nisha and Clueless were still curious though, and eventually Skalliska -looking a bit

more visibly plump by the day- walked into the room and tried to pry it out of the elf as well.

He didnt break down however, and finally they gave up trying to find it out, figuring that theyd

just break down the location from the landmarks they passed on the way there. But once they

packed all of their gear and did all of their last minute checks, they came to realize just how
1189

difficult a prospect that was.

***

Transit to the portal was a rather roundabout affair, and by Nishas reckoning they probably

crossed two Wards on foot, hopped at least six portals to other places inside of Sigil, and might

have even left the City of Doors once. But be that as it might, when they eventually arrived at

the portals location, they didnt have a clue for how to easily find it again.

Overcast skies loomed overhead, a mixture of Sigils ubiquitous haze, some low hanging rain

clouds, and a mixture of thick black smoke, either from stoves or some industrial use. They

couldnt make out any features above them on the opposite side of the ring, so they couldnt

be absolutely certain which Ward they were in, but the rather rundown yet not quite squalid

appearance of the warehouses that surrounded them suggested somewhere in the Hive, Lower

Ward, or the lower districts of the Marketplace Ward.

They also werent the first people to arrive, much to Highsilvers consternation.

Beaten to the punch again. The wizard said, shaking his head wistfully before looking back

at his new employees. Stay tight, see if you can find Settys or Frollis, and Ill be with Leobtav

for a few minutes going over anything last minute. Well call out to everyone when were ready

to leave.

Doran took his leave and wandered through a milling crowd of people, probably forty of them

in all, and quickly vanished into the mix.

Weve got our work cut out for us. Florian lamented, looking out at the assembled scholars.

Bingo... Toras agreed. Well be earning our pay with these folks.

Half of the assembled sages looked like theyd just barely gotten out of a scholarly conference.

Their dress wasnt entirely appropriate, and for most of them any traveling clothes and associated

gear fit for a stint in the wilderness of Cocytus looked brand new and unused, and one sage in

particular who was acting cocky and talking about his recent trip to Torch of all places, still had

the price tags attached to his coat and rucksack.

Very lawful howler chow. Nisha deadpanned. Sorry you guys have to handle them.

What do you mean sorry you guys? Tristol asked as he poked her in the belly.

Because I have to worry about you. She replied, grinning as she returned the poke.

Fyrehowl rolled her eyes and smiled. Howlers are allergic to cute. You two will chase them

all away from miles distant. Weve got nothing to worry about.

As long as we can keep these guys from wandering, it wont be a problem I dont think.

Clueless said. Im more worried about things coming after us down there that are a bit more
 1190

intelligent than howlers.

Toras grinned and patted his hand on his swords grip. Im looking forward to it.

In turn, Fyrehowl patted the fighter on the head.

Looking over the lot of them, not all of the scholars were as woefully fresh faced and naAve

about where they were going though. A small but distinct group of them, probably ten in all,

were dressed in well worn and very appropriate clothing, and their stance and expressions all

spoke to their having been to the more inhospitable planes numerous times; some of them were

likely veterans on the institutes expeditions to Carceri.

Wonder if our fellow sellswords have arrived yet. Clueless asked, and true to form, indeed

they had, either with Leobtavs group or on their own.

Off to the other side of the scholars, hands folded gently across his lap, cradling a sword, sat

their cleric of Thoth. Given the dress typical to his priesthood, and the cultures that typically

held reverence for its associated pantheon, he definitely stood out. Standing rather tall -only

Toras and Fyrehowl were taller- his silver ibis holy symbol hung around his neck catching the

dim light a bit more brilliantly than the chain armor beneath his simple white linen vestments,

complimented by a few pieces of polished and engraved plate. That combined with his khol and

gold wadjet painted over his left eye and his shaved head would have been distinctive enough,

but the flaming kopesh he held in his hands made him impossible to miss.

At least a few of the more awkwardly dressed scholars seemed to linger in his proximity,

feeling safer either because of his capacity as a cleric of a respected and well-known deity, or

purely because he seemed friendly, was on their side, and carried a flaming sword. He didnt seem

to mind, and between prayers he didnt seem at all averse to talking with them and reassuring

them about the looming descent into the lower planes. Someone of his profession and appearance

was hard to miss, and he didnt try to downplay his role at all.

Meanwhile, less a bastion of calm security, strength, and wisdom, Larill Moonshadow, the

lillend bard, wandered about the crowd of scholars speaking to each and every one of them,

gathering their name and trying to make each little clique of academic specialists mix with one

another. Drifting a foot off of the ground, with the lower body of a gold and emerald scaled

serpent, and a pair of white-feathered wings sprouting from her back, she was impossible to

overlook. She dressed in little more than a length of white and gold cloth wrapped about her

torso and held in place with a silver cloak-pin, and outside of a pair of flutes and a small bag

hanging from a cinched cord around her neck, she carried nothing else of note. To say the least,

she wasnt going to be on the front lines, and her role was probably more than anything else

going to be focused on keeping everyone happy and secure against both the effects of the winds
1191

and any mundane arguments or petty conflicts of feelings or words that might spark between

various researchers.

In contrast to the cleric and the bard however, Frollis Terpense blended in to a disturbing

degree. In fact it took a moment for anyone to truly notice him there, slouched as he was in the

shadow of a rain barrel at the corner of one of the warehouses, and another moment to realize

that he wasnt a tout in an out of the way area, a local resident, or simply some vagrant. The

man was average height, average build, and once he glanced up at his newly arrived compatriots,

it was easy to see that he had generically average looks as well, with no peculiar bloodline or

ethnic heritage to set him out of a random crowd of Sigilians, or even a random crowd on any

dozen prime material worlds or in any trade city on most of the planes.

He was dressed in a cloak, worn boots, and what Tristol could tell in a moment was a suit

of heavily glimmered and silenced leather armor. His weapons werent visible, but upon a closer

look and a bit of concentration with a spell, two distinct auras stood out from their scabbards

obscured by his back and his cloak, but either by some property of their own, or that of their

sheathes, it wasnt clear just how they were enchanted.

Either feeling watched, or having earlier noticed them and finally wanting to acknowledge

them all, Frollis looked up and gave them an upwards jerk of his head in greeting, though without

anything verbal before he yawned and settled back into his slouch. Say what you would about

him, but the man blended in to the point that most people wouldnt give him a second glance,

and nor would they be prepared if he decided to put a knife at their back.

I think everyone is here. Ficklebarb said from atop a pile of crates, looking down and

grinning as he saw his distorted reflection in his masters bald spot.

Professor Leobtav nodded and went through his list while Doran did the same, checking that

each person who was there was in fact supposed to be there, and that everyone on the list was

present and accounted for. It would do them no good to leave a linguist, or a porter carrying

some vital portion of their supplies, standing alone in a Sigilian back alley while they were already

off in Pandemonium.

Everyone! The professor called out, mustering perhaps the most authoritative voice -in

a social context as opposed to an academic one- that most anyone there had ever heard him

produce.

We need everyones attention! Doran Highsilver called out, just as loudly as his compatriot

had, echoed by a loud whistle and flutter of wings from his familiar Mellisan.

Just as theyd hoped, everyone looked up and the low dim of conversation trailed away into

nothing. Even Frollis had his attention focused on both of their mutual employers, Leobtav
 1192

and Highsilver, but only Clueless and Fyrehowl noticed that he was suddenly standing up; they

hadnt seen him move from his slouched position. Either hed been that quick that they hadnt

noticed, hed never been sitting there at the corner, or he was a more complicated person than

they might have suspected.

Not to be left out, Ficklebarb sat up on his haunches and called out as best he could, Almost

time to leave!

Leobtav took the momentary attention placed on his familiar to quickly remove and wipe off

the lenses of his thin, rounded spectacles. Once back on the bridge of his nose again, he looked

out at the suddenly less blurry crowd and smiled.

Youve all studied up on where well be going. He began, addressing the scholars more so

than the others. Remember to keep track of where you are in relation to the rest of each of your

groups, and dont wander off. Keep your ears plugged in case the wind increases to the point

where it becomes a danger, and hopefully we wont encounter any problems on the way from

the other end of the portal till we reach the Crag. Once we get there well be setting up camp,

and some of our other people will be scouting the area to make sure that we wont run across

anything dangerous before we start exploring the various caves and other potential locations that

Ive marked on the maps that each of your team leaders have been given.

Lawfulpants is right. Nisha muttered as she lost track of his words and let her mind wander

off to trying to see pictures formed by the cracks in the cobblestones beneath her hooves.

Hes not always boring. Ficklebarb said to her, having flown over and landed on a horizontal

beam of an empty lamppost next to her. I like him. You just need to get to know him and hes

not all that bad of a guy.

Nisha looked up at the pseudodragon along with Clueless and Tristol.

A little dry, but hes only like that when hes on something academic. When he doesnt

have his nose buried in a book he can be pretty fun. I know youre a Xaositect and all, but give

him a chance.

The pseudodragon smiled, and having so recently handed over Amberblue to his native plane,

how could she or the others really resist taking the familiars advice to heart? Well, at least for

a day maybe. After that, cute familiar or not, all bets were off.

Meanwhile the professor had finished and Doran had made his own speech, at which point

they both took out what might have been portal keys, or dummy portal keys if the actual key

wasnt physical, and pushed them through the bound space formed by a faded Harry Hatchis

mural advertisement on the warehouse wall behind them.

Swirling, gleaming silver, and filled with a faint whispering, the way into Pandemonium was
1193

open.

***

Darkness and screaming winds: those were Pandemoniums gifts to any who walked its unhal-

lowed tunnels. Intermittent and fickle, befitting the Chaos that pervaded its every ancient bone,

the wind, be it a gentle breeze whispering deluded promises, or hurricane force gales screaming

with the rage of mad, blind god entombed and left to die in the depths, it carried the Howling

Planes second gift: madness.

Carrying with it an oppressive, punishing weight that the rock of the Elemental Plane of

Earth lacked, while simultaneously eschewing the solidity and firmness espoused by that inner

plane, Pandemoniums tunnels were less caverns suspended in the stone than they were pockets of

infection worming their way through diseased flesh. Unlike elemental earth, the snarling passages

ran madcap through their environment, presenting a labyrinthine warren filled with dangers that

seemed intentionally placed, and the caves within the stone of the elemental plane didnt appear

to have been carved out by the feverish, desperate motions of clawed hands, like a god -buried

alive- holding its breath and rending at its prison, hoping to reach the light before it suffocated

in the lightless depths.

The rocks were slippery, and in between the ebb and pulse of the winds, the momentary

silence was punctuated by a ubiquitous trickle and drip of water precipitating upon the stone

or leaking through tiny fissures and cracks like the weeping emphysema of a gasping titan. It

went without saying of course, that no small portion of that water ultimately came from the

subtle, insipid percolation of the Styx, though each drop might have taken a thousand years to

penetrate from layer to layer, ultimately pooling at the feet of the explorers who now crowded

together for safety, huddled by the dozens around what feeble, flickering light they managed to

hold steady against both gloom and gale.

I want a head count of everyone here. Came Dorans telepathic instruction, piercing the

darkness to reassure and focus his and Leobtavs pack of scholars. Everyone is going to call back

their names to me, and well be repeating this every fifteen minutes. If at any point before we

reach the Crag we end up missing anyones name, well be stopping and not going any further

till they catch up with us or else we find where they went.

The wizard paused and both he and the Professor each conjured another globe of artificial

sunlight. The illumination was altogether too little, and the warped, unsteady lay of the passage

made any movement throw dozens of shadows to dance across what might have otherwise been a

solid field of light pushing back the darkness. Still though, the glow was a beacon for each of the
 1194

groups members to stay focused upon as they prepared for the miles of hiking that lay between

them and Howlers Crag.

Are we clear on that?

Perfectly... Frollis said, squinting against the mages illumination as he slipped back into

the shadows at the edge of the party, partially blending in and almost merging with them in

the process if anyone had been paying him any attention, but of course, it might have just been

a trick of the light. And in the meantime, you go right ahead and make yourself a target for

every howler pack for miles around with that light.

Oddly enough though, while there were four separate packs of howlers lairing in the tunnels

leading towards the Crag, none of them harried the group in the slightest beyond trailing them

for a few miles before ultimately breaking off their half-hearted pursuit twenty miles from the

base of Howlers Crag. They might have thought themselves lucky, but the howlers were keeping

their distance intentionally. Like hyenas kept at bay by the presence of a pack of lions at the edge

of a heard of antelope on some prime material savanna, the howlers kept their distance because

they themselves were disturbed by the presence of something else entirely, something unnatural

even in the hellish labyrinth of Cocytus. Something lurked in the darkness, and that something

terrified the native hunters and baying scavengers alike.

***

It sat in the darkness, hunched atop the barren summit of the Crag, hands pressed against

the rock, head lifted into the full force of the wind, eyes closed, teeth bared.

Wherever you are, wherever you have fled, know that this is only a temporary respite.

Of course, those words would never reach their intended recipients. The legend that had built

itself around the Crag was simply that, a legend with no grounding in fact, though it certainly

fit the tone of the locale, being the gravesite of a nameless power known only in ages afterwards

as the Phoenix.

But that past held nothing of especial concern to the being that perched atop that cairn built

of weathered godbones. The Wanderer had crouched atop the corpses of other gods before, and

hed sit atop more of them in the ages to come if all went according to his kindreds vision of

what was to be. Not the past, but the path of the future was his concern there at the present

moment as he opened his eyes and lit the darkness with a burning emerald radiance streaming

from those unholy orbs. A mile away, a pack of howlers whined and winced at the light, and

at the presence of the Gloom Father as it perverted the darkness to something altogether more

malign than the shadows of Pandemonium were wont to be.

1195

This is where youre coming. But why? He questioned. What does this place hold for

you?

Unless of course the place was entirely meaningless. Perhaps it wasnt the place, but rather

the people who would gather there. Perhaps none of it held meaning at all, but was only a single

event in a chain of events that would themselves give rise to a greater, emergent and meaningful

whole in the future that was to be.

The Wanderer snarled. It was enough that his great pursuit had been sidetracked momentar-

ily, but the dangerous enigma that had led him away was yielding no answers, and Pandemonium

itself was little comfort to the baernaloth, situated as it was on the very periphery of the hege-

mony of universal Evil, the shallows of his native lightless sea lapping at foreign shores. The

planes essence was yet too polluted by Chaos, and his power was diluted accordingly. Admit-

tedly, he was likely still the single most powerful being present upon the plane, but he was

removed from his element, far from the depths of his place of power, metaphysically speaking.

You already know our tongue. You already know the tongue of the first celestials. Chaos

and Law are meaningless, though youd find them here as well. The mortal tongues are nothing,

so why here? The legend of the Crag is hollow. What draws your presence here?

The wind screamed, carrying with it his frustration, and a taunting harbinger of what would

come next in moments, and the screams that would follow in the days to come.

Somewhere, a few dozen miles away at most, a portal opened and Severeth NaHalastrian

was immediately aware of it. Oh, to be certain, normally his senses would have noticed not just

the portal as it opened, but he would have known instantly where it was coming from, what the

portal key had been, and who and what was passing through it. Saturated by Chaos as it was,

Pandemonium yet nominally fell into some synchronicity with the true Lower Planes.

But that was not what the Wanderer felt. He felt pain. He felt worry. He felt detachment.

His godlike senses dulled and what amounted to a blizzard of metaphysical static blanketed the

place like windblown snow.

The sensation, as jarring as it was, it was not a new sensation upon his mind. Hed felt it

before, staring at him from the depths of the Clockwork Gap while the winds of the Demiplane

of Time howled just as mockingly as those screaming now in Pandemonium.

The Architect and the Clockmaker had miscalculated.

Chapter 108

The next person who asks Are we there yet? gets to walk up front with me. Toras called

back to the group of tired, haggard scholars in tow behind him. They grumbled, but it was

quickly silenced by another gust of bitterly cold wind, and the fact that the fighter was serious.

Clueless chuckled as he listened in on Toras and his group, able to hear them over the wind

only by virtue of his fey-heritage, standing as he was a hundred feet or so ahead of them in the

tunnel.

Whats so funny? Frollis Terpense asked as he glanced at Clueless.

Hmm? It took the half-fey a moment to register that hed had said something, because

till that point the man had been virtually silent, and at times Clueless had worried that hed

wandered off, but almost as soon as he did the rogue was back more or less alongside him, skirting

the edges of the groups lights.

You were laughing at something. The rogue said. There something going on I should

know about? Or should I just send you back to the clerics because youve been listening to the

wind a bit too much?

Clueless tapped his ears. Something that the folks back behind us said. Theyre not used

to walking around anywhere like this, and they were complaining.

Theyre going to be doing that quite a bit over the next few days. Frollis shook his head

and looked away, leaving Clueless with the distinct suspicion that he was rolling his eyes.

Why do you say that?

Because with slim exception theyre a bunch of clueless, greener than gnomes walking into

Urdlens domain because they think all caves hide gemstones and happy cave dwelling animals.

The whole lot of them are just varying shades of liability.

The wind picked up and forced them both to brace against the walls, briefly howling with

deafening force and spattering their faces with stinging grit and foul-smelling water before ebbing

and retreating back to little more than a breeze. The tunnels were winding and tangled, and the

1196
1197

wind was just as erratic as the path.

Several shouts and curses resounded in the passage behind them as people struggled to gather

up things sent flying free by the recent gust. Beyond some scattered equipment and a few bruises,

everyone seemed to have survived without much harm. Still, it was going to become a regular

occurrence, and over the miles to come it was going to wear them down even if they didnt

encounter anything beyond a few blind cave crickets.

Sodding bookworms... Frollis said with a frown as he unconsciously checked and rechecked

the bindings on his own equipment.

Clueless brushed his hair back from his face and looked at the man, sharing a portion of his

opinion but not the extent of his jaded outlook in the competence of their wards. Dont think

you can handle them?

I didnt say that. Frollis replied. Its just going to be a pain making sure they dont

wander off, get blown away by the wind, or go insane. Im less worried about the things that

might eat them than I am about how theyll make it more difficult on me to prevent that.

Theyll be in the dark, in unfamiliar territory. Clueless interjected. I really dont think

that theyll be as dumb as to wander very far. The less experienced they are, the less likely they

are to be a worry for you, and me.

I hope youre right. Frollis said, clambering over a ridge of dark, worn rock. Because Im

betting we dont go two days without some sort of incident.

***

Tired and battered, the group finally emerged from the tunnels twelve hours later and stag-

gered into the vast cavern of Howlers Crag. The wind still screamed in their ears, and a third

of the group was nearly deaf despite protections, but out of the snaking passages they no longer

had to worry about falling rock and dripping Styx water. Still, the differences in surroundings

were almost academic at that point given the condition of most of the groups academic fraction.

We should set up camp as soon as possible. Leobtav suggested as he squinted into the

gloom and conjured a globe of sunlight.

Its still too dark. Ficklebarb complained from his masters shoulder.

Though better than a simple cantrip, the spell seemed little more than a candle flame in the

face of the overwhelming gloom.

Im in agreement with you there. Highsilver nodded from the professors side. Soon as

were able, we need to find somewhere sheltered and defensible.

The two scholars glanced back at their coterie of sages, most of them used to libraries or
 1198

secluded locations in less hostile planes, and nodded to one another. They were dirty, tired,

bruised, scuffed, and hideously tired from the forced twenty-mile trek through Cocytus; they

needed a rest and they needed one soon.

Gather everyone up, centered on the light I just conjured. Were probably just a bit too far

out to tell yet, but were here. Id like to speak with everyone before we head in.

Leobtavs voice reached out as a telepathic echo into the minds of his hires, and they reacted

with a prompt efficiency that made him and Highsilver smile. Whatever reservations they might

have had, so far everything was working out smoothly.

Fyrehowl? Nisha asked as she tagged along with the lupinal behind a group of stubborn

and tired scholars.

Yes Nisha? Fyrehowl said. And if this is about how I look like a dog herding sheep...

No, not that. The tiefling replied with a blush. ...And sorry about bleating before.

Then what is it? She was trying to be patient, but between doing her job, the physical

level of irritation from the plane itself, and something else that she couldnt really define, Nisha

was being a distraction.

I dont exactly see anything, and were supposed to be at the Crag. Can you tell anything?

Were there. Fyrehowl said with a tone of certainty mixed with a shade of disquiet. I

cant see it yet either. But believe me, I know its there.

Something felt off as they neared the outskirts of the Crag. The rock felt stained by past

events, though the lupinal hadnt a clue what they might have been. There was also something

else, something that subtly wrenched at her stomach, and while it began with the approach

to the Crag, its source was distinctly not part of the Crag. Despite being a Cipher, Fyrehowl

wasnt able to feel that second sensation as distinct from the first. There was only disquiet, but

its source was murky, hidden by the gloom as much as the Crag itself.

Were here. Leobtav announced as he stood before the assembled group.

A level of tension evaporated from the throng, replaced just as quickly by an equal level of

anticipation. Yet despite their excitement at the approaching end of their journey, there was

nothing to see beyond the two expedition leaders, only the same darkness that yawned out in

welcome like some frozen wave of a black ocean. Although the darkness stretched out before

them like a thick and confining wall, it carried a monstrous sense of size, depth, and vulnerable

openness. The tunnels of Cocytus were deadly and confining, but the cavern that housed Howlers

Crag offered a decidedly different flavor of the same danger.

Our campsite is about a quarter mile from here, and once were there were going to set up

shelter as quickly as possible.

1199

Well go as a group and -no one- strays. Highsilver cautioned, backing up the professor.

Were limited by the range of our lights, and we dont have a clue what might be lairing in or

around the Crag at present.

Murmurs of worry and discontent simmered through the crowd. Regardless of what the

darkness might hold, their imaginations were filling it with all manner of beasts.

The main group will move slowly, and well be surrounded at all times.

Clueless smiled and raised his hand to draw the crowds attention. That would be us.

The crowd looked over to the bladesinger, flanked as he was by Toras and Fyrehowl. The trio

cut an imposing figure, literally shedding light from themselves, their eyes, their wings, or items

that they carried, and the beleaguered crowd seemed heartened even though theyd been with

them the entire way already. Eventually the crowds eyes moved from them to take in Nisha,

Florian, Tristol, Settys, and Frollis who seemed on some level to resent the attention.

Save the slinking around for later. Larill Moonshadow said, pushing him forward with the

emerald scaled tip of her tail as she hovered a few inches above the ground behind him.

The rogue shot her an unappreciative look, but for the moment remained where he stood,

presenting a unified and brave face for Leobtavs scholars.

Slow and steady everyone. Leobtav called out as the group was quickly organized and

started to move. Once were there safe and sound we can set up and start getting to the work

that were here to do.

Ten minutes later, theyd arrived without any confrontation or hints of danger, though a few

lone howlers bayed discordantly in the distance, miles away in the darkness that blanketed the

Crag and the vast cavern beyond. But in the immediate area, there was nothing, oddly enough.

True to expectations, their intended camp was situated in something of a natural bowl in the

landscape. On one side the ragged flank of the Crag itself loomed high above them, the ruined

debris of a fallen monolith shrouded another adjacent side, and the other two sides were graced

by a generally descending, boulder strewn landscape. By no means did they have perfect cover,

but they were safe from the worst of the environmental hazards that Cocytus had to offer.

Beyond that shelter however, it afforded them little concealment from anything lurking in

the dark. Their tents would be out in the open, nestled against and around some of the larger

boulders, and the lights of their campfires and in their tents would be visible to anything on the

Crag, or lurking for a mile or so around their periphery. It was a liability, but that was why they

had hired security for the scholars who otherwise might end up torn to shreds by a wandering

pack of howlers or worse.

Youll want to secure that a bit more. Leobtav said, passing by a tent being shared by a
 1200

pair of rather inexperienced sages. One good wind and its gone along with your books and

other equipment.

The professor wandered the campsite, seemingly eager to be sure that everyone was readied

for the days ahead, and eager to begin once theyd had a chance to rest from the journey through

the layers cold and cramped tunnels and passages. Perched on his shoulder, and occasionally

his head, Ficklebarb was considerably less enthusiastic.

Its too dark around here. The drake said, hunched over with his wings spread around

himself like a cloak.

As if on cue, a small globe of light appeared over Ficklebarbs head. He squinted and looked

up at.

Does that help any? Toras asked with a grin.

Ficklebarb didnt reply, at least not verbally, as he was preoccupied with making faces at his

distorted reflection in the glossy, semi-transparent surface of the conjured globe of light.

What he means to say is that he appreciates it. Leobtav said, looking over at Toras.

The fighter stood amid a pile of large boxes that had, hitherto now, been kept inside bags

of holding. However, now that theyd arrived at the Crag, they needed to be taken out and

unpacked. Given their size, and the apparent lack of anything evil and/or carnivorous in the

immediate vicinity, Toras had been the man of the hour.

Not a problem at all. Toras said. He looked like he needed it.

Helping with the unpacking as well, Fyrehowl looked out from behind a pile of rations. He

looked rather spooked by the dark if you ask me.

Sorta kinda. The pseudodragon replied. I cant see past the edge of the light around here,

and Im worried about stuff happening out there.

Youll be safe little guy. Toras reassured him. Dont you worry.

Ficklebarb blinked and tapped the light with his tails stinger. Not me. Im not going out

there! Its everyone else Im worried for. Spooky stuff out there with... you know... really bad

intentions.

Youll be fine. Fyrehowl said. Clueless and Frollis are both scouting the edge of camp

right now, and so far there doesnt seem to be anything out there. Its just us and the wind for

the moment.

If you say so. Ficklebarb said, only half-believing her.

Leobtav shook his head as he pitched in to open a few boxes and organize their contents.

You worry too much. Or I worry too much subconsciously. Im not sure which is worse for me.

Toras and Fyrehowl could only chuckle as they went back to unpacking.
1201

***

Some time later, once their camp was largely set up and the immediate perimeter scouted

and secured, Highsilver and Leobtav turned to planning for the next days activities.

Leobtav exhaled with relief and sat down on an impromptu chair of unpacked crates piled in

the corner of his tent. Well, were finally here.

Highsilver nodded and finally seemed to relax as his colleagues statement sank in and relieved

his tension. The wind still whipped against the fabric of the tent, and the moving folds of cloth

caused shadows to dance as the flickering light of the campfire outside and the magical light

inside clashed and dueled on the canvas covering.

That could have gone considerably worse. The elf said. All things considered. I was

expecting packs of howlers, or worse. The place is relatively deserted.

Leobtav uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, handing one to Highsilver.

Cheers. He said, toasting to their success. Ill admit that Im feeling much the same level

of surprise as you. No major problems so far, only a few falls; nothing that our clerics couldnt

fix.

Highsilver quaffed his wine in a single, quick shot. He coughed slightly as the alcohol went

down, his cheeks flushed, and he squinted slightly, but he was all smiles a few seconds later.

Cheers indeed.

Its still too dark and its still too cold, Came a complaining, draconic voice. Too damp

too.

Atop a glowing, two-foot high column of glass that burned with something like natural sun-

light, Ficklebarb perched and curled his tail about himself, occasionally twitching the tiny barb

at its base. The magical bauble, something like a fancy lantern, was fitted with a mechanical

base and a glowing clocks dial, showing the time versus the Sigilian standard even in the absence

of a true night and day in such places as Pandemonium.

You know, you can always stay inside the tent. Leobtav said, looking up at his familiar.

Its perfectly fine with me. Nobody says you have to come with when we start searching the

Crag.

Ficklebarb paused and seemed to consider the option for a moment, looking at his master

and then looking over to the elf whose own familiar was safely ensconced inside a tiny extra-

dimensional pocket.

Nope. He concluded, flexing and curling his barbed tail. I think Ill go with and make

sure you dont get into trouble out there. I get to do that like a responsible dragon, and I get to
 1202

show up that feathered thingy that Doran has under his hat or something.

Shes not under my hat. The elf said with mock offense. And I dont think shed appreciate

being called a feathered thing either. But being a responsible familiar has its benefits I suppose.

Plus you get to complain about everything in the meantime.

Absolutely! Ficklebarb bobbed his head authoritatively.

Unfortunately. His master said, giving a look of resignation.

Highsilver stretched and looked up at Leobtav. So shall we discuss the plan of action?

Leobtav nodded and hunted around for the secured, warded tube that held their maps.

Weve had such luck already, Im eager to begin.

Like many of his subordinate scholars, the professor was almost giddy to begin scouring the

caves that wormed through Howlers Crag, throwing caution to the wind in the process if that

or common sense proved to be in the way of discovery. Ficklebarb seemed to be soaking up and

expressing most of his concerns and potential worries about their location and what might yet

be discovered.

Doran held up his glass and caught Leobtavs attention, Actually, if you dont mind, Id like

to bring in Starweather on this.

Chapter 109

A hand pushed back the edge of the heavy burlap tent flap and Tristol peered inside. He squinted

momentarily at the brighter light inside, but he was smiling as he stepped out of the wind and

into something that half resembled a patch of stability and civilization amidst the planes chaos.

You wanted to see me?

Please, do come in. Highsilver said, motioning the other wizard to take a seat on a box as

Leobtav produced another glass and poured a third drink.

Your blindfold got sidetracked by about six inches... Ficklebarb chirped as the aasimar

stepped inside and sat down.

Tristol looked confused for a moment and then blushed. Yeah, that would be Nishas doing,

but its actually practical.

His foxs ears were muffled a bit by a strip of cloth wrapped around his head to dampen

the ambient noise of the wind. No magic involved at all, but it worked, and he was a bit more

susceptible to it than the others with noticeably smaller ears.

I can only imagine how the lupinal is handling it. Leobtav said. The wind, and the nature

of the plane itself. That cant feel pleasant to her.

Ficklebarb didnt add any choice bits of wisdom, but for the moment hed hopped down from

his perch and was playfully amusing himself by snapping at the air as Tristols tail twitched side

to side.

Youd be surprised. Tristol replied. Shes been around worse, and she wasnt having any

of wearing something around her ears. Nisha tried it on her first.

Tristol sat down and took a sip of the wine. This is good. Thank you.

Im glad you like. Leobtav said, raising his own glass in toast. Doran and I were just

taking a moment to celebrate our amazingly good luck so far.

Tristol nodded. Ill admit that Im surprised. I expected us to arrive here and find the place

crawling with howlers, tanarri, and all sorts of other things.

1203
 1204

Both of Tristols employers glanced warily at one another.

Well, to tell the truth... were worried about that. Highsilver replied. Because it either

means that the site itself is warded against creatures, or theyre staying away for a specific

reason.

Tristol frowned. I havent seen any indication of active wards anywhere.

Indeed. Leobtav said. Which suggests that were either incredibly lucky, or theres some-

thing keeping them away that theyre afraid of.

Were not -that- lucky. The elf agreed.

So perhaps we should start out small, and stay close to the camp till were sure which of

those it might be. Tristol suggested.

That was our thought as well. Leobtav said. It should also give us the time to determine

how much the Crag has changed since our maps were made. And if theres something powerful

lairing at the Crag proper, well see the signs before we run afoul of it by accident if we search

too hastily.

Tristol nodded. The rest of the folks you hired and I should be fine with splitting up and

leading each of those smaller groups, if we go with that idea, but if youre expecting anything

larger than a howler, it might constrain how many groups can go out at once.

Not if you included the two of us among in there. Highsilver said, motioning to himself and

the professor.

Tristol nodded, but gave Leobtav some more skepticism than the elf. I know you were a

member of the Guvners, and with a familiar you know at least a bit of spellcraft, but how much

magic do you know?

Ficklebarb sat up on his haunches, held a hand out and pinched two fingers together with a

grin. Leobtav waved away his vote of confidence with a guffaw and a quick, Bah!

Your dragons opinion aside, how long has it been since you regularly studied a spellbook?

Leobtav pulled out a set of well worn but old books and patted a hand on top of them.

Their spines still had the symbol of the Fraternity of Order proudly emblazoned on their spines,

and he hadnt been a formal member of that faction for years, which in and of itself dated his

achievements.

I know a fair bit of magic, and at one point a bit of fighting, but I havent picked up a

sword in years. Ive kept up with magic, but lets just say I havent managed to find the time to

progress any beyond where I was back before I met Doran here.

Highsilver inclined his head to the human, Hes not shabby by any means.

Nothing beyond sixth sphere. Leobtav admitted, which put him a notch or two below the
1205

two more dedicated wizards in his company. Admitting my shortcomings here, I might be no

match for you in a spell duel, but Id like to think that Im versed enough in magic to keep myself

safe from most things we might find here near the crag.

Unless we stumble upon a Balor or a dragon. Doran said, slapping the professor on the

shoulder with a grin.

Leobtav grinned and looked past Tristol. Well I think youre safe from the only dragon

youre likely to find around here.

Mrrrpgghhhh! Ficklebarb said unintelligibly through a mouthful of fluff on the tip of Tris-

tols tail, having finally caught that ever so elusive prey.

Tristol laughed and twitched his tail free. Hes not exactly Garyx.

I think he aspires more for Hlal than anything else if you ask me. Highsilver laughed.

Ficklebarb shrugged and hopped up onto an impromptu stack of books.

Oh, a few other questions. Tristol added, rubbing his chin. Now I know what my group

can handle, and youve told me about yourselves, but I dont want to say that I know our other

three non-scholars to the same degree. Clueless seems like hes chatted up Frollis a bit, or tried

to at least, and Florian looked like she was holding a little impromptu prayer with Settys before

I came in here, but I havent really had the opportunity or the inclination to feel them out.

Leobtav nodded. Settys isnt your average priest.

Certainly not. Doran agreed. Hes deceptively skilled with that khopesh of his.

Ficklebarb tapped his claws noisily atop one of the elfs spellbooks. Library fines for Thoths

Library: veeeery steep...

Well thats good to hear. Tristol said. What about spellcasting ability? I dont think Ive

seen him use any clerical magic, at least anything obvious, though a few things on his person

have a fairly strong glow of the divine about them.

Doran gave a wrinkled grin and shrugged. Im not the person to ask. I know hes a priest,

but I couldnt begin to tell you anything about divine magic. Cilret?

The professor gave a shrug. Im no better on the topic. Laws not gods I say.

Ppppthhbbbttttt! Ficklebarb blew a raspberry at his master, which was to be honest, a

rather unique expression coming from a forked tongue.

Tristol chuckled and his tail twitched with amusement. Ill ask Florian when Im done here.

A sudden gust of wind rustled angrily at the tent and rattled its frame. The gale outside

whistled with only somewhat muted fury, causing some of the real candle flames that dotted

the room to flicker, sending the pseudodragon dashing for safety. Moments later he peeked out

from over the lip of a large pot, seemingly meant for the camp cook, but conveniently for him
 1206

misplaced for the moment.

Doran smiled and shook his head, glad for the moment that his own familiar had been skittish

but also smart enough to hide in an extra-dimensional pocket for the time being.

But in any event, that brings us to Frollis. Doran continued. And it raises the question of

what all hes capable of. For starters, hes damn good with his swords, but hes also not going to

use them in a straight up fight, rushing head on into melee. Hes a bit like your half-fey friend

in that regard, plus hes got some magical ability to boot.

Tristols ears perked. What sort?

The answer came quickly and was both informative and not at the same time, Both clerical

and divine.

Eh? Tristol raised an eyebrow. The man was all full of surprises.

I dont know if hes a cleric or a wizard of any sort, but hes used quite a few tricks that I

cant honestly say if theyre all from scrolls, wands, or any sort of triggered trinkets. He carries

all sorts of odd little things, most of them enchanted to some degree or another.

And all dolled up with some Nystuls auras so you cant truthfully tell what is magical and

what isnt. Hes the sort of skilled man that you hire knowing that hes good for the job, but

you dont ask too much. Leobtav explained, looked away, paused, and then looked back with a

frown. That came off as way too creepy. My apologies. Frollis has a bit of a questionable past,

but while he plays his cards close to his chest, hes not a bad person.

Tristol nodded and made a mental note to watch the man, despite the professors assurances.

Clueless might be the best to shadow him, and as it was theyd already put them together once,

and so theyd probably have those two working together again.

So what about the bard? Tristol asked. A bard in Pandemonium?

Doran smiled and nodded. I think Cilret might have explained back in Sigil, she wanted to

come along.

Quite insistent actually. The professor explained. She had her heart set on going with

us.

Not asking to be paid was a big help too. Ficklebarb chirped.

Hush you. Leobtav retorted. Im not that cheap.

The dragon giggled and ducked back inside his pot-as-fort.

Doran shook his head at the incongruity of the pair. In any event, shes a pleasant person

to be around, and shes good with people and smoothing over edges and tempers if they happen

to flare. In Pandemonium, even if her magic is probably next to useless, shes welcome on that

alone.
1207

Tristol nodded. He hadnt met a lilland before, and so he figured that over the next day or

so he might chat her up.

So does that cover your questions? Leobtav asked.

About the people? Yes. He replied. But now that weve got camp more or less set up,

Im curious about where we go from here, and how well be handling that.

Leobtav smiled and pulled out his map. Get comfortable and well fill you in now. You can

help us organize it all once were done.

Tristol inwardly sighed. There was nothing like volunteering yourself for extra work, inten-

tionally or not.

So were thinking of about three places close to camp on day one, and from there...

***

Tristol lifted up the tent flap and made his exit, spilling brighter light out into the dimmer

confines of the campsite. Their tents were arranged in a nested ring, two thick, surrounding a

central campfire, with several smaller fires guttering and batting back the darkness at various

points within the ring. Somewhere out amid the tents, he needed to find his companions and fill

them in on their assignments while Highsilver and Leobtav found the others and did likewise.

Three locations, all near to the camp, and apparently they didnt expect to find much, at

least on the first full day of searching. Of course, not everyone wanted to wait a night before

beginning their search of the Crag, or at least its periphery. In the morning there would be

three full groups heading out to the three specific locations that Tristol had talked over with

Leobtav and Highsilver, but before that there were going to be two smaller groups hunting the

boulder-strewn fields of rubble leading up to those locations.

Tristol wasnt in favor of that last idea, but some of the scholars seemed hellbent on going

out and looking under rocks as soon as possible. It wasnt going to find what theyd come for

in the first place, but those same scholars wanted to use those two early searches to get a better

clue of the lay of the area, and changes to it compared to their old maps, before the full searches

in the morning.

Hey Tristol. A certain tiefling whispered into his ear a moment before she lightly hugged

him around the waist. Looking for me?

Everyone actually. Tristol replied, returning the hug and giving her a kiss. But you first.

Anything interesting going on? She asked, looking back towards Leobtavs tent curiously.

Quite a bit actually. He explained. But nothing for us till the morning.

We get to sleep in? Nisha teased, poking the small of Tristols back with the tip of her tail.
 1208

Tristol didnt reply to the tease, but he smiled nonetheless. Well be splitting up into groups

then, but...

Am I with you?

Absolutely.

But as I was saying, some of the more impatient scholars want to go out tonight as soon as

the camp is fully set up.

Nisha nodded, Theyll be going soon then, because we finished a few minutes ago.

That would explain what she was wandering around looking for mischief.

I think theyve got Frollis set up to watch one small group, and then if Clueless doesnt

mind, they want him to watch over the other.

Nisha shot a look at two random sages as they wandered past carrying assorted digging tools.

She seemed skeptical. You think theyll be ok?

Tristol nodded. We didnt find anything lurking out there earlier, and being so close to

camp, I think theyll be fine. Besides, if they have problems, well be close by to help.

Nisha was still giving that same look of skepticism. They can find ancient runes, but I

dont think half of them could tie their own bootlaces without a book to give them step by step

instructions.

Trust me. Tristol said. Theyll be fine.

Several hours later once those first two groups went out into the gloom beyond the fringes of

the camps feeble firelight, Tristols reassurances would be proven grossly premature.
Chapter 110

Doesnt it make you nervous out here? Corwin Briggs asked as he looked up from his map and

out at the field of shadow-frocked boulders. The wind tousled his hair and threatened to knock

the parchment from his hands.

It gives me the creeps out here. His companion put down his lamp and looked over his

shoulder. I think I preferred Carceri. At least there you could see the things that wanted to

eat you before they tried to do so. Out here? Pitch black and you cant hear a thing over the

wind.

Whats up with you? Corwin asked.

The other man, a fellow archaeologist out of Silvania by the name of Logan the Persistent,

looked up and frowned. What do you mean?

Youre scared of the dark. Corwin said. Arent you?

Logan scoffed a bit too much. Of course not!

Theres nothing out there man.

The sudden voice startled them both and they looked up at its source. Despite laughing at

his friend, Corwin nearly leapt out of his skin.

Where the hell did you sneak out from? Logan asked, catching his breath as he picked the

lantern back up.

Frollis chuckled and took a seat atop a flat-topped boulder, calmly and effortlessly jumping

the distance from the bottom. Well, that wasnt quite right. He didnt so much leap the distance

as leap and then seem to just appear at the top of the rock, skipping the transitory distance like

hed walked into one patch of darkness and stepped out of another a yard or two higher.

Thats why they pay me to watch you and not the other way around. He smirked as he

drew a dagger and lazily balanced the blade in the palm of one hand.

Well thats ever so helpful. Logan complained. You didnt answer my question at all.

Quite true. The response still didnt answer the question.

1209
 1210

Corwin frowned. So just how long have you been lurking about listening in on us?

For some time now. He grinned. Im paid to follow you around and watch. Theres nothing

in anything I signed that said I have to let you know Im here while Im doing that. Dont mind

me at all.

The first scholar shrugged and went back to his work, not wanting to waste his breath with

a sell-sword. The man was probably illiterate anyways, so even if hed been listening in on their

conversation, fat chance of him being able to contribute to it.

In any event, the answer to your friends question is no. Frollis said out of the blue.

Eh? Corwin asked, confused.

No. The rogue reiterated. There isnt anything out there. Weve scouted the immediate

area around here for anything lurking beneath a rock or in your shadow. Theres nothing out

there moving, just rocks and inscriptions which is for you to deal with. And they dont bite, not

unless theyre symbols or explosive runes, and Id have found those if there were any to be found

because Im good like that.

Were a bit busy here. Corwin said, politely dismissing the rogue. I appreciate you doing

your job, but were fine here. If youre so inclined, you might even go tell the others in the group

that weve found a few inscriptions on some of the larger rocks that fell from somewhere up on

the south slope. With any luck we can match them to a spot and investigate it once we move

on to that area.

The rogue looked at him like a man who didnt have any sense of what he was talking about,

or a man who really didnt care and wanted to deflate the scholars ego.

Most of them have moved on to the next section of the grid, itll take me a few minutes to

reach them. Besides, they wont have found anything by the time I get there. They might have

started, but they wont have found much of importance if theres anything to be found. Besides,

I felt it best to check up on you two. Dont mind me.

Somewhat humbled, Corwin shrugged and turned back to his work, though he felt the rogues

eyes on his back a bit too much. A few uncomfortable minutes later and a rock distracted him,

taking his mind off of the rogue and whatever social unpleasantness hed brought in tow. Frollis

sat quietly and watched without comment.

Several minutes stretched onwards to thirty, and the scholars continued to catalog rocks amid

the wind-whipped gloom. They were mapping and making comparisons to older maps and old

accounts of the sites terrain, but to a layman they were cataloging rocks, and it seemed rather

droll and boring. Faced with such enrapturing activities by a pair of not so socially brilliant

men, eventually their watch grew bored atop his perch, not that hed interrupted them, and not
1211

that theyd paid him much attention in return.

Have fun scraping around the dirt like a pair of hungry hens. Frollis said as he stood up

and stretched, seemingly bored with the men. Ive got another dozen bits of mutton to follow

around. See you later.

Whatever... Corwin didnt bother looking up to see if hed left or not, and his companion

was too absorbed looking at a curious rock formation to care one way or the other.

Without bracing himself, Frollis fell backwards off of the boulder. They might have expected

a heavy thump and some cursing had they been paying him any attention, but no sound of a

landing was apparent. It was as if the gloom had swallowed him up whole, or hed landed in

the waiting gullet of some hungry beast that hed woefully failed to notice. His dancing with

shadows went without view or notice though, not that hed particularly done it out of a wish to

impress them; it was simply his style.

Ten more minutes passed and the two scholars fell into their element, insulated from their

cold and the dark surroundings by professional curiosity. A herd of Arborean bison set on fire

and driven on by cackling fire mephitis could have snuck past them at full gallop had they been

there to make the attempt. Minutes passed on to an hour and the men lost all track of time as

they wandered deeper from where theyd begun.

Did you hear that? Logan asked, peering out into the gloom. It had sounded like footsteps,

or something scraping against one of the stone piles that littered the area.

Its probably just Frollis again. Corwin said.

Logan looked at his companion. Do you think hes still around somewhere?

That cagey bastard? Corwin asked. Probably.

Hey! Frollis! Logan called out. You out there?

The wind whistled and the gloom ate impotently at the edge of their magical illumination,

but the shouted questioned garnered no reply.

Guess not. Logan shrugged. I dont think hes out there.

He wouldnt show himself if he was. Corwin scoffed. Hes just going to let you yell your

lungs sore, or make you jump at nothing by kicking a rock around when youre already jumpy.

Hey! Frollis! Logan waited and heard only the wind in reply. He frowned and picked up

the lantern. Ill be right back.

Corwin rolled his eyes as his companion walked off still calling the mercenarys name. His

footsteps receded till they were swallowed up by the wind, and his light vanished down into a

dim glow, tossing shadows from behind a dozen spires and crags of rock. Twenty seconds and

he was out of contact and Corwin was left alone with his work and a lantern for a bubble of
 1212

protection from the gloom.

A minute passed before the light came bobbing back out of the gloom, pushing Corwins

shadow long and thin.

Did you find him? He called out above the wind, not turning around.

Footsteps echoed behind him, crunching lightly on the loose gravel.

I take it thats a no? He asked, still concentrating on the edges of a broken rock that might

have held a weathered, worn down symbol. Logan had been rather quick about coming back

after all. What? Got scared of the dark?

Hello. The voice was cold and devoid of inflection, with the odd, off-putting tremble of a

person mentally coaching himself before an uncertain action.

The wind roared again and the lamplight caused his shadow to writhe and dance.

Oh! He said as he turned around, startled slightly. I didnt expect you to be standing

there. Did you see Corwin? I think he went looking for...

Cast against the illumination, fleeing for the edges of the light that its owner could not,

Corwins shadow writhed for another reason entirely.

The scholars eyes went wide as the blade punctured his ribcage and punched a hole in his

diaphragm with a single, smooth, quick motion. He screamed soundlessly, giving only a hoarse,

caustic rattle from his voice box, unable to force a breath past his lips. His eyes bulged as his

killer grabbed and supported his slumping body, whispering something to himself over and over

again like a prayer or ritualized chant.

Abruptly another light bobbed out of the darkness and boots crunched on the gravel. His

hand trembling with sudden nervousness, the killer shut his eyes tight and silently cursed to

himself. This wasnt how it was supposed to be.

I couldnt find... Logans voice died with an inarticulate croak as he saw Corwin covered

in blood, gasping for breath and heard the low whistle of a punctured lung as the other mans

sword slipped free of the dying mans chest with a wet hiss.

I only wanted one of you. The killers voice was cold, devoid of inflection, and awkward

with an odd, off-putting tremble like a schoolboy caught kissing with a young woman by their

teacher.

Logan recognized that voice immediately, even if hed yet to see its owners face, and stood

shocked and dumbfounded. What use would running be now?

The killer turned around with eyes clenched tight and mouth pursed, almost as if he were

trying to find something to say that would explain it all, make it all better. He never had the

chance though, as the scholar turned and ran. Of course, just like Corwin, Logan never had a
1213

chance either.

Everything happened in an instant, purely by reflex as he raised his right arm and held his

sword parallel to the ground, but it could have been that something was guiding his actions more

overtly rather than just giving him purpose and inspiration. The words to the invocation came

quick to his lips, soundless as the spell had been prepared to operate within Cocytus, and the

telekinetic grasp on the fleeing mans body was instantaneous. Had the winds not drowned the

sounds in a sea of white noise, he would have heard the peculiar wet slice and the sudden release

of air, rather than just feeling the sudden, jarring impact on his sword-arm when the mans neck

slammed into his waiting blade and was neatly, deftly decapitated.

The body collapsed with gravitys pull and awkwardly slid a few inches across the gravel,

finally stopping, slumped on its knees with arms slack and limps in a perverse semblance of

prayer. Blood spurted from the carotid in several quick, rapidly failing pulses, mixing with clear

spinal fluid on the artists pallet of the severed stump as the head rolled end over end to finally

smack into a boulder and come to a halt, ending up facing his killer, eyes glazed over but still

showing a sense of utter surprise and shock.

Im sorry. He said, almost with a hint of contrition.

They were only men, and they had done him no wrong, but that didnt matter in the grand

scheme of things. Blood taken in justified rage or in cold, insensate dispassion was blood spilt in

His name nonetheless. It wasnt always this difficult, but it had been some time since the Voice

had beckoned and called him to action.

I obey my Lord. His voice was a whisper, slightly trembling as he looked at the blood on

the blade and on his hands.

He shouldnt have felt remorse, but the nagging voice of conscience was still present like a

deep and unhealed wound. The first killing a moment before had been awkward and stilted,

without any grace or artistry. Without surprise the man might have even cried out and alerted

one of his fellows further out within the gloom. That would have been a mistake, and that was

also the reason for the second killing.

He hadnt intended to take two lives. Before the first he wasnt even sure if he would have

been capable of it on the first attempt. Between nerves and the worrying irritation of the other

voice -the one from within rather than without-, between those two things hed almost sat in

silence from the shadows and just watched the man who now lay dead before him, running over

in his mind the ways that he might have killed him, practicing mentally for when he felt his

unholy confidence rise to the occasion.

By comparison the second death had been much easier. His conscience had squealed with the
 1214

blades first bite and taste of blood, but at the second that tugging at his mind turned frantic.

Humanity was losing to the touch of the Other that called. Altriusm was dying one deathrattle

at a time. Death by death, he was reaching towards the goal that the Waste had whispered to

him paradoxically years earlier in that tiny, frozen vale on Mungoths slopes.

He smiled, hands trembling less now as he cleaned the blade and prepared to dispose of the

bodies. Glory be to the Ashsinger. This is how it begins.

This is how it begins.

This is how it happens once again.

This is how it happens just like it did before.

This is the first of the signs.

Chapter 111

Roughly a half mile from their camp, Florian walked away from a group of the expeditions

scholars, trying hard to not roll her eyes. Shed spent the better part of the past hour trying to

keep them calm when they were convinced that the area was crawling with hungry monsters.

What had spooked them so thoroughly? A few old footprints in the dirt at the edge of a cave

mouth, and a few desiccated, gnawed bones that shed found maybe ten feet further back where

the cave abruptly ended. The footprints were old, and the bones even older, but the sages were

loathe to accept her judgment on the matter and they insisted that she spend the time to search

for anything that might be stalking in the shadows.

If you dont want to do your job and scout the area, then just perform a divination. One

of the men had demanded.

Of course wise sir. Florian had told him, and he hadnt noticed the sarcasm. Im certain

that I have a detect howler prayer to whisper to Tempus. Or perhaps a detect lurking unknown

monster that drools in the night.

The scholar had frowned and muttered under his breath, then finally replied, Just perform

a divination to detect evil in the area. Youll screen out all of us, and only notice anything that

might be a threat. Honestly, you should have thought of that before.

You are so naAve that it hurts my brain to think about it. Florian had said to him.

Excuse me? Hed asked, growing annoyed.

What plane are we on? She prompted him.

Pandemonium, Hed replied. The layer of Cocytus to be exact. Why?

What is the alignment that Pandemonium represents?

A metaphysical mixture of Chaos and Evil, biased towards the chaotic end of the spectrum.

Again, why does that matter?

So as the metaphysical personification of malign chaos, with the very rocks around us being

a manifestation of evil and chaos, a divination to detect evil will...

1215
 1216

Oh...

Yeah, Florian said as the mans expression and ego deflated like a stabbed beholder.

So, Another sage then asked. Does that mean youll scout the area since you cant cast a

divination?

An hour later, she had them finally calmed down, and shed found nothing of note except

for a few more scattered bones and an old bent piece of gold lost by some nameless traveler who

might have also been the source of that howlers last meal. Shed reported back to the scholars,

and then taken her leave of them, walking away to ostensibly continue her search of the area

just to keep their nerves alleviated, but in reality she just wanted to time away from them to

grumble.

You seem like you need a drink.

Florian paused and looked over to see Settys the cleric and paladin of Thoth approach.

Florian shook her head with a look of overwhelmed resignation. Tell me about it.

Would you care for one? Settys asked, uncorking a clay bottle and offering it.

What is it? She asked, sniffing at it hesitantly.

I doubt youre familiar with it, but its similar enough to ale. He replied. Its based on

honey and wheat.

Florian paused a moment to consider, but eventually the other clerics smile and the smell of

the mild, sweet alcohol won her over and she took a swig.

This is pretty good. She said. Thank you.

Youre most welcome. He replied, accepting back the flask and taking a swig of his own.

Settys had been fairly quiet for most of their time in Pandemonium thus far, and outside

of his devotionals and morning prayers led for some of their wards, hed kept to himself. He

was a good public speaker, and his entreaties to Thoth had helped the workers spirits, but hed

otherwise been fairly insular. Perhaps now was a chance to get a better feeling for the man, and

besides, even for a servant of a radically different deity from her own, he was good looking.

I saw you leading a devotional this morning for some of the scholars. Florian said, making

eye contact and hoping to coax him out of his shell. Now admittedly, Im not very familiar with

your faith and its trappings, but were they fellow followers of Thoth, and was there particular

significance for the ritual?

None of them were followers of Thoth. Settys smiled and gave a half chuckle of uncertain

significance. But to feel that they had a similarly focused power smiling down upon their work,

it improved their mood and pushed them towards success. Even if they did not worship the

scribe of the gods, it was worth the effort to perform the ritual.
1217

Florian nodded. It made sense certainly, and Settys seemed to have his heart in the right

place.

But if you were curious, the ritual was called Finding the Whispers of the Ibiss Wisdom in

the Rustle of the Thousand Reeds at the Rivers Edge. The name is much shorter in my native

tongue of course, but thats a decent translation.

Thank you. Florian said. Im glad you could help them. My own faith doesnt exactly

mesh well with their professions or their interests in life. They honestly seem to view me as a

fighter more than a priest.

I suspect that its the armor more than anything else. Settys replied, motioning to the fact

that her armor was more elaborate and more obvious than his.

Perhaps, She admitted. But I still think theyd ignore my preaching if I was only wearing

a robe and carrying a walking stick.

Settys chuckled. Though admittedly, you havent had to be much of a fighter so far.

True, its been fairly slow here so far. Florian said with a shrug.

Settys nodded. I suspect that has to run counter to what you expected, especially as a cleric

of a god of war.

Certainly, Florian replied. I expected packs of howlers, some tanarri, maybe some other

things lurking in the dark that Id never even heard of.

Theyd only just begun what was looking to be a long and fruitful conversation and exchange

of ideas, but perhaps being Pandemonium, nothing normal could happen according to plans

before chaos grinned and threw metaphorical stones.

Hello lovebirds.

Settys looked up startled, and Florian rolled her eyes as Frollis slipped out from the first

clerics shadow.

You have the worst timing in the world. Florian said as the rogue extracted himself from

the in-between shadow realm he used to jump from place to place.

Bad timing? Frollis asked, feigned innocence. Was I correct then in my greeting? Need

some more alone time?

Settys stared daggers into the shadowdancer.

Was there a point to you dropping in on us? Florian asked.

Frollis hesitated in his reply, dragging the moment out, apparently to just irritate the Egyptian

priest, but Settys didnt bite, and eventually the rogue gave an honest reply.

We found another cave. He said. Five of them in fact.

Not unexpected, but to find five of them within a relatively short time was mildly disquieting,
 1218

since it suggested that their stay in Pandemonium might be much longer than expected if the

list of potential locations that might hold a sample text in gautish were multiplied many times

over.

Did something inside clue you off to them, or did you happen across them while searching

around the area? Florian asked.

Very much the latter. Frollis said. Theres nothing around here except us.

Florian grew curious. So whats inside? Did you notice anything of interest?

Well, theres no way to tell for certain unless we actually explore them. Frollis grinned.

Anyone up for it?

It wouldnt be wise. Settys replied, throwing cold water on the shadowdancers hopes.

Frollis sat down on a rock and frowned. Listen, if youre unhappy with my joking earlier,

just say so and dont be an *ss about it.

Florian sighed. Hopefully she could ask Leobtav or Highsilver to move Frollis to another

group the next day. Settys and he simply werent capable of getting along, and the rogue didnt

seem the kind of person to just agree to disagree. Frankly he was the type of person that caused

friction and eventually fratricide among mercenary groups, and from his record hed seemingly

always worked along, but Florian wasnt certain if that might have been a symptom or a cause.

Not biting at a verbal barb for a second time, Settys took a deep breath, looked away for a

moment, and then replied. Our wards are already on edge, and probably more so if they rightly

suspect that the ground is riddled with a larger cave system than they expected for this area.

None of them would be properly capable of defending themselves from attack, and if the three

of us -or even one of us for that matter- broke away to explore the caves, wed leave them in

considerable danger.

Frollis frowned, but the cleric had a point. You have absolutely no sense of fun.

It remained tense over the next ten minutes, but Frollis knew that hed been taken down a

peg, and so he remained quiet rather than return to the same arguments.

Still, despite not exploring the caves fully, they did take notes and give them a cursory glance

to determine their contents or just their size and extent. Par for the day, they didnt find anything

lurking within, but all of them descended into the rock beyond the range of their lights. What

they did pin down however, was that all five cave entrances were likely connected as part of a

single system. Whatever they contained, they were probably vast enough that exploring them

would likely become the task for a day or more down the line.

Eventually, growing tired and hungry, when they finally pacified their curiosity for the day

and left the cave system behind, they did so without having noticed the tangle of gossamer
1219

thin, translucent material clinging to a rock outside the largest of the cave mouths. Had they

discovered it, they would have immediately recognized it as webbing, and distinctly webbing

composed of freshly extruded bebelith silk.

***

Meanwhile, a quarter mile away, the second group was exploring an altogether different

location.

The area that Tristol, Clueless, and Nisha found themselves in, watching over two dozen

scholars, was nestled against the flank of the Crag itself, just far enough from the camp to be

obscured from a direct line of sight. It wasnt exceptionally far away, but the ragged side of the

Crag, and dozens of larger pieces of stone did their collective part to keep them relatively isolated.

It was a worry, but as far as they could tell, the area was largely unoccupied by anything that

might pose a danger.

The sages had found a few impromptu graves of indeterminate age, quite a few random

bones and the remains of a dead howler, but nothing of particular importance, nor anything to

positively attach the area to any of the specific regions of the Crag as mapped by its original

chroniclers in the Fraternity of Order.

Of course, they had yet to actually explore the Crag proper, just the debris field extending

away from it.

Tristols ears twitched in irritation.

Whats up with him? Clueless asked.

Nisha shrugged. I dunno. But its kinda cute though.

The tiefling opened her mouth as if to say something more, but a split second later she

abandoned the idea in favor of squinting and wriggling her face, trying to make her own ears

twitch. While amusing, it wasnt quite the same, and it was clear that she was just as clueless

as Clueless regarding Tristols perceived problem.

The aasimar didnt seem too troubled, but his ears were flat against his head, laid back as if

to muffle his hearing. The wind wasnt particularly loud though, and none of the others seemed

bothered by whatever it was that was setting his ears to their sporadic little dance.

You dont hear that? Tristol asked.

Hear what? Clueless asked. The bladesinger heard the omnipresent howl of the wind all

around them, but nothing in particular to differentiate it from any other time over the past forty

right hours.

Theres a whine. Tristol said. And its really high pitched.

 1220

Nisha and Clueless strained to listen, hoping to catch what it was that Tristol clearly heard

and was even more clearly unhappy with.

Well theres whats irritating you. Clueless said, pointing towards two massive pillars of

stone in the distance, just at the edge of their lights radius.

Tristols tail drooped as he saw just what Clueless was looking at.

We find the source and theres absolutely nothing that I can do about it. Tristol sighed.

Well, short of a weeks worth of disintegrate spells that is.

Easily twenty or thirty feet across, the gigantic stone pillars had fallen from the main bulk

of the Crag millennia earlier in whatever cataclysm had ruined the original structure. Heavily

eroded by windblown grit and water, the pillars nonetheless still stood solidly braced against one

another, forming a crude triangular archway, and much to Tristols lament a perfect aperture for

the winds to whistle through like the reed of a titans lost flute.

Thats going to be annoying me the entire time that were here isnt it? Tristol complained.

You and Fyrehowl both I think. Clueless said.

Earmuffs, Nisha pointed out. I brought them for you, you know. Theyre back in your

tent.

That made the aasimar smile.

We can always switch you out for somewhere on the other side of the Crag. Clueless said.

Tristol shrugged. I can put up with it. Besides, well only be here at this spot today and

tomorrow.

Each periodic burst of wind caused a low base vibration and then moments later a full whistle

as the harmonics aligned and produced a high, steady note. It was loud and grating up close,

even for those without overly large ears. The sound however wasnt the pillars most intriguing

feature.

Huh. Tristol said as he approached the base of the archway. Thats strange.

Nisha tilted her head and trotted up behind him, following with her eyes as he looked at

something that wound its way across their surface. Something was carved into the rock.

Thats really strange. Tristol continued, whispering a minor divination before tracing his

finger across the stone.

Someone or something had carved runes in the draconic alphabet deep into the pillars. Easily

two or three feet across, the letters curled around the pillars in a single, repetitive phrase, repeated

over and over again from the base of one pillar up and over to the base of its neighbor on the

opposite side of the archway.

Thats pretty damn deep. Clueless said as he peered into one of the letters. Wow.
1221

Either theyd been carved by a stupendous use of magic, a team of stonecarvers working for

unknown reasons for weeks or months in the depths of Pandemonium, or they had been carved

by something exceedingly -large-. Neither of those prospects was very comforting.

So what does it say? Nisha asked. I know draconic, kinda sorta, but its not making a

gigantic amount of sense to me.

Well its not normal draconic. Tristol explained as he looked over the letters. Its actually

a dialect of Old High Wyrm, but...

Tristols expression grew puzzled and he stepped back and crossed his arms.

But what? Clueless asked. Is it warded?

No. Tristol said, still looking perplexed. Not as far as I can tell. Its just that whoever

carved it changed the order of the words in a few places, or wrote some of it backwards, or

swapped some of the words for anagrams. Whoever wrote it either had an amazing sense of

artistic whimsy or they didnt have their head screwed on tight.

Hey, theres no reason those two have to be mutually exclusive. Nisha protested.

Tristol gave her a kiss on the cheek.

...not that I was referring to myself... Nisha added with a sidelong glance at Tristol. People

that I know... that youve never met... yeah...

Clueless shook his head. So what does it say?

Tristol smiled and proceeded to translate:

Howl into the winds of lament, scream in the face of the storm and be not surprised to find

the Howling answer back in turn.

Well that doesnt exactly seem pleasant. Clueless said, crossing his arms like Tristol.

Whats it mean? Nisha asked.

Tristol shrugged. That reads like a summoning if you ask me.

Clueless took a step back from the archway. Lets not accidentally summon something then.

Intentionally then? Nisha asked. Perhaps maybe yes please?

Tristol shook his head. I dont know enough about the history of this place to risk it.

Besides, if its related to whatever carved the text in the first place, Im not sure I want to meet

them.

Nisha stuck out her tongue. Awww...

Still, its the most interesting thing that weve seen so far around here today. Clueless said.

At the very least we can let Highsilver and Leobtav know about it. They might know something

more, or if Nishas lucky they might send us back tomorrow to intentionally check it out.

The tiefling beamed a grin.

 1222

Tristol glanced back over his shoulder to the diffuse collection of bobbing, individual lights

back in the direction that theyd originally come from. Though they were virtually certain that

the local area was devoid of anything larger than a blind cave cricket -or maybe a fiendish rat

or two- it wasnt wise to leave their group largely unattended, even if theyd managed to find

something of far more interest than the group of sages had.

I think we should be heading back now. Tristol said. They might start running from their

own shadows or something.

Nisha made an impromptu shadow puppet of a howler and giggled.

Clueless nodded back towards the pillars. Ill handle the paperwork on writing this up

tonight if you want.

Sure thing. Tristol said.

Finally, moving back towards the group of sages theyd been tasked to watch, the three of

them left the archway and its enigmatic inscription behind, leaving only footprints in the dirt,

with the whistling wind through the pillars chasing their shadows as they departed.

***

Relatively close to the campsite, the third of the days designated areas for examination

Toras glanced over at the lupinal, Werent you supposed to be working with Tristol and

Clueless today?

Fyrehowl nodded. I was, but I swapped out with Nisha this morning. She didnt mind at

all, nor did Tristol.

Toras chuckled. Thats adorable.

Oh, its worse than that. Fyrehowl said. Its a level of cute that could burn a loth by

simple proximity.

Dare I ask?

Fyrehowl shook her head and laughed. Nisha woke him up this morning by growling and

batting at his tent.

Shes lucky he didnt throw a fireball by accident.

Oh, the shadow puppet made it obvious.

Shadow puppet?

Yeah. Fyrehowl explained. She was making a shadow puppet like a dog with spiky hair.

And the growling was punctuated by, Grrr. Im a howler. Im crazy for you.

Burning a loth nothing. Toras said with a grin. I think thatll burn me by proximity.
1223

Well youre safe here. Fyrehowl said. Safe from loths, sugary sweet cuteness, and well,

frankly, anything that might be even vaguely malign.

Tell me about it. Toras lamented, seeming honestly let down over a lack of danger that

would have let him play hero for the day.

Bored?

A little. Toras said. But I suspect that things will pick up once we leave the area around

the Crag and actually start climbing the Crag itself. Theres no way in Andross name that all

the caves that riddle its interior are going to be empty.

Probably not. Fyrehowl said. Still, just call it a feeling...

Toras glanced around warily. And we know about your feelings.

The cipher nodded. Just call it a feeling, but even with it being grossly boring at the

moment, I dont think that well be waiting till we get into those caves to have something more

happen.

True to the lupinals perceptions, they wouldnt be waiting long at all.

***

6 hours later, back at the camp:

Leobtav shuffled through several pages of his notes from the day and accepted a thick stack

of reports from several of his more senior subordinate scholars, nodding and murmuring as he

glanced over them in turn.

Rocks, rocks, wind, dusty rocks, howler poo, more rocks. Ficklebarb said from his perch

on the professors shoulder. Not a very successful day.

Quite the contrary. Leobtav said, looking rather cheerful. We found quite a few caves on

the edges of the Crag today. That was a bit of a surprise, since originally wed only thought the

caves to be inside the rubble that makes up the crag itself -hollows within the fallen, piled up

rocks- but some of these new ones look to have been bored out of the underlying rock as well.

Creepy. Ficklebarb said. Dragons? Big worms? Acid breathing fiends? Angry fiendish

woodchucks that like stone inside of trees?

Leobtav rolled his eyes. Whats more, they seem to line up with the location of some of the

caves on Ulricons old maps.

Seem to line up? The pseudo-dragon looked skeptical.

Well two of them -really- line up with the old map, but three of them werent there in the

old notes. Either they werent noticed, or were on the parts of the notes that were missing, or

theyre new.
 1224

New? Ficklebarb asked warily. Like Nom nom nom I like rock sort of new?

Well, yes. Leobtav said, not seeming troubled in the least. Thats possible as well I

suppose. But those two tunnels on the map might very well have what were looking for, and

Im hoping to send out people there tomorrow if at all possible.

The professor had the gleam of impending discovery in his eyes, but his familiar seemed more

worried than anything else as Doran Highsilver stepped into the tent.

Is everyone back yet? Doran asked as he dropped a few bits of birdseed into his magical

familiar pocket.

I believe so. Leobtav said, fishing out the master list of their expedition members. Clue-

lesss group just got back, and they were the furthest from camp, so we should be good for the

evening, such as it is.

A happy chirp echoed up from Dorans familiar and he sprinkled a few more seeds into the

extradimensional hollow.

Well if youve got the list and want to make the counts, I can get started on the maps for

tomorrow.

When Im done Ill meet you back at the tent. Leobtav nodded and handed the elf the

days notes.

Doran grinned. Those caves look extremely promising! And Tristol found something that

Im keen to take a look at as well.

Oh? Leobtav asked. I havent spoken to him yet today. What did he find?

Tell you when you get back. The elf promised. Make sure were all accounted for and Ill

give you a formal write-up when youre done.

Leobtav nodded and quickly left the tent. The sooner he was done with making the invento-

ries, the sooner he could find out just what it was that Doran was talking about. As oppressive

as the darkness and wind might have seemed, he could all but taste how closely he was to finding

that sample of gautish, and the looming discovery gave him jitters as he walked from tent to

tent, peering in and getting signatures next to each name on his list.

Knowledge beckoned somewhere beneath the weight of years and tens of tons of fallen rock.

Wait a minute. Leobtav said fifteen minutes later. He paused and looked up to glance over

the crowd assembled around the camps cook-fire, looking for a pair of faces that should have

been there to match the names on the list his index finger was perched upon.

Has anyone seen Corwin or Logan? He asked.

I havent seen them all day. A tiefling linguist by the name of Jander Breckinridge said as

he stepped out of his tent. Why?

1225

Werent they supposed to be part of your group? Leobtav asked.

The tiefling shook his head. Not as far as I knew. I havent seen them since yesterday, so I

assumed that theyd been moved over to another group at the last minute.

Hmm. Leobtav mused. Thats disturbing. Hopefully theyre in one of the groups that

just got back.

The next group came and went, but the two blanks on the list remained as empty as before.

Ficklebarbs tail drooped like an ill-omen even before he and his master got to the cluster of

tents that held the last group on the list.

Nothing; the men simply werent in the camp.

Is there a problem? Tristol asked, looking up at the sullen-looking pseudodragon first, and

then to the professor.

Leobtav frowned. Were missing two people.

Up on his shoulder, Ficklebarb looked worried and curled his wings around his body, suddenly

even more self-conscious of the darkness. Werp.

Chapter 112

The air stank with the reek of Styx water, a smell so very similar to that which permeated the

robes of the skeletal marraenoloths who had escorted them from the heart of Gaping Maw to the

Steeping Isle to the Plain of Infinite Portals, and from there to Pandemonium. Freedom from

obligation smelled like the waters of the Styx as they dribbled through the rocks of Cocytus,

which was ironic of course. The Styx offered a poisoned egress from one hell to another, giving

freedom from one torment while delivering one to another, and all the while its poisoned touch

offered freedom from the pleasures and pains of memory and self, shackling each doomed soul to

amnesia or oblivion.

Be that as it might, the air was free -blissfully free- from the brine-soaked bitch and ophidian

reek that swirled about in the wake of Larisith, the molydeus proxy of Demogorgon. The two

headed fiend had trailed them from the 88th layer of the Abyss, but she had either been called

away on some other infernal task, or had lost their trail and given them up for lost. Either

instance was absolute serendipity, given her role and her power within the Abyss.

Shes no longer following us. Came the stilted speech of Bormoth the Infested, one of two

maurezhi that had survived their exodus.

The bitch is gone. Agreed the hulking, nameless hezrou that loomed behind the corpse-like

fiend.

Are you certain? Asked another voice from the dark recess of the cave.

I am absolutely certain. Melishgoth clicked the pinchers of his larger forearms reflexively

and smiled, sniffing at the air one final time not in worry or trepidation, but in anticipation.

The nine of them snarled, barked, hissed and chattered in various dialects of abyssal, or just

bestial, non-intelligent animal sounds, but the collective mood was one of relief and hunger.

So how many of them are there? Belikesh the hezrou asked. The question was preceded

and followed by a runny spatter of drool on the rocky floor of the cave.

Several dozen. The glabrezu replied. But theyre clustered together, so its difficult to

1226
1227

tell.

In other words: plenty to gorge ourselves upon. The hezrou added to a chorus of hungry

snarls and yet more free-flowing drool.

And the bebeliths? One of the vrocks asked. What about them?

I hurled one of the last dretchs into their cave twelve hours ago. Melishgoth replied. They

should be busy feeding on it for some time, and well out of our way.

Good.

If there are any aasimar, I claim them now. Hissed the second maurezhi with unrestrained

greed.

Vrelesiir hissed, leaned forward and snapped its chipped, battle-scarred beak at the lesser

fiend. You will scavenge for what is left, less Orosokth revert you into a dretch and we feed you

to the spiders next!

Theyd invoked the nalfeshnees name, and there was an immediate hush that spread over

their number. Though he hadnt spoken yet, the bloated, boar-headed fiend was the most

powerful of their kind, and to casually invoke its name -even if the meaning had been accurate-

was to anger it, and that anger was a terrible thing to behold.

The mortals arent going anywhere. Orosokths voice rumbled out of the back of the cave.

The true tanarri sat upon the bones of a trio of howlers and periodically broke open the bones

of a fourth to suck out the greasy marrow within.

The other fiends shivered and listened, relieved that the nalfeshnee didnt seem upset.

But Melishgoth, what of anything else? Orosokth asked, leaning forward with the clatter

of bones displaced by flexing muscle and sweaty folds of almost porcine blubber. Do you smell

anything else?

The nalfeshnee didnt name it, but the glabrezu and the others knew exactly what it was

talking about, even if the Styx odor serving to hide their own presence had obscured any remain-

ing traces of it. There had been something terrible at the Crag when theyd arrived through

the portal from the layer below, but whatever it was had recently departed or gone into torpor.

Whatever it had been -and the fiend felt it disturbingly close to what hed felt in the physical

presence of an abyssal lord twelve centuries before- it was gone.

The mortals had arrived shortly thereafter, unaware and naive of the tanarri, the bebeliths

lairing in the caves, and whatever power had briefly turned its attention to the Crag. But when

theyd come, something had arrived with them, similar in many ways, but somehow disturbingly

off. Unsettling. Like the difference between standing in the presence of Vucarik versus that of

Pale Night. The nalfeshnee was concerned, but hardly frightened. Still, it was something to
 1228

consider before they struck at the mortals.

Its still there. The glabrezu said, its nostrils flaring and repeatedly sniffing heavily at the

air. It smells of...

It smells of what? Orosokth prodded.

The glabrezu whined in apparent confusion and the pinchers on its larger forearms clacked

together reflexively. I dont know. Its mortal one moment, and then its something else.

Unwilling to say anything further and betray weakness, Melishgoth left unspoken that the

other quality that he sensed was something that terrified him. Some part of his being was

instinctively retreating from its touch like a skittish mortals inborn fear of insects or serpents.

The nalfeshnee was growing impatient, That tells us nothing...

Wait... The glabrezu said, a sudden smile creasing its maw. Its moving away. The mortals

are breaking into two groups. Theyre wandering back towards the Crag.

The wind blowing through the cave mouth was momentarily still, and through the darkness

the air was alive with the sounds of spattering drool and tongues lapping at the air. The fiends

were hungry, and their chance at sating their bloodlust had arrived.

***

What do you mean? Clueless asked.

Were ah... Leobtav bit his lip and hesitated. Weve come up two people short versus

yesterday.

Well Im not so sure that we should be jumping to the worst conclusion. Tristol said, seeing

the nervous look on the professors face, and the much more worried expression playing across

Ficklebarbs snout.

Before the aasimar had finished however, Fyrehowl shook her head.

Oh. Tristol said. Thats not good.

When the Cipher was concerned, it was never a good sign at all, and given their environment,

every potential explanation for the missing men began as ominous and only got worse from there.

Doran and I already covered the camp itself, and theyre nowhere to be found. Leobtav

said. And worse still, no one has seen them since yesterday.

And speaking of which, thats kinda odd... Tristol thought as he looked around, peering

from face to face in the crowd, searching for Doran and failing to find the elf. As co-leader of the

expedition, and having just been mentioned by his comrade, it was weird that he wasnt present

to be taking a lead in organizing some sort of search party for the missing men.

Who you looking for? Nisha whispered, tapping Tristol with her tail.
1229

Doran. He replied in a hushed tone, trying not to raise any concern from those around

them. Im just wondering where he is. Its weird that hes not here.

Im sure hes fine. Nisha said. Familiar emergency or something.

Tristol wasnt sure if the tiefling was being serious, or just joking to lighten the mood. But

either way it worked. Whatever the other wizard was doing, it probably wasnt anything to

worry about, and so Tristol looked back to Leobtav as the scholar continued with the matter at

hand.

Obviously more concerned than anyone else, the professors pseudodragon whimpered softly.

Fyrehowl looked up at the familiar and tried to give him a reassuring smile, and in doing so she

noticed something that seemed to have eluded the others: Frollis rolled his eyes and gave a brief

scowl. Something was clearly on the rogues mind regarding the two missing sages, but he wasnt

saying anything yet.

So where were they last seen? Toras asked.

They were scheduled to be part of the team that was searching a promising portion of the

rubble field to the southwest of the crag. Leobtav explained.

As if on cue, Doran pushed his way through the back of the crowd and took a spot next to

Leobtav.

Well theres your elf. Nisha said. Looks like hes out of breath though.

Indeed he did, though he didnt look like hed been running. His face was white, and the

color was only gradually coming back to his features. Something was on the mans mind, and

even when Leobtav mentioned some salient point about the missing men, Doran clearly seemed

preoccupied with something else.

They -and the rest of that entire group-, Leobtav said. They were absolutely insistent on

getting a jump on things and starting early. They were ambitious and proactive, and neither

myself nor Doran wanted to tell them no.

Doran nodded in agreement, putting on a more composed demeanor We thought that the

area had already been well scouted, and since it wasnt that far away from the campsite, we

agreed.

Apparently it wasnt that well scouted. Fyrehowl remarked, hoping to get a response from

the still frowning shadowdancer.

Excuse me? Frollis interjected. It was damn well scouted before anyone went out there to

poke at rocks and spend hours navel gazing. There wasnt anything larger than a rat out there

to threaten those berks.

Well there was obviously -something- out there. Fyrehowl replied. Now dont think that
 1230

anyone is blaming you...

Oh please. Thats exactly whats going on! The shadow-dancer shot back. His eyes were

narrowed and that deep, condescending scowl reappeared on his face.

Fyrehowl sighed and looked away from the rogue, breaking his stare not out of any notion

of backing down, but not wanting to feed his apparent persecution complex. He didnt seem

particularly upset about the disappearance, just the idea of being blamed for it. True to the

story of his past being somewhat sketchy, she had the impression that he was something of a

head case, and head cases in Pandemonium were people who needed to have a close eye kept on

them.

Leobtav coughed, followed a second or two later by Ficklebarb.

Whatever happened, we need to start looking for them. Clueless said.

You think its likely that theyre still alive? Tristol asked. I mean, the options arent

exactly good out there.

Twenty odd heads turned at the aasimars words and glanced in the direction of the Crag, a

lighter shade of black looming against the darkness. For the previous day they had all blissfully

labored under the naAve assumption that somehow the environs of the Crag were safe, insulated

from the chaotic terrors that populated the twisting, winding passages of Pandemonium like

insane worms chewing their way through a corpse.

That assumption was now dead, and their collective sense of wonder was now turned to worry.

Speaking for the first time at their impromptu gathering, Settys touched his holy symbol and

tried to reassure the crowd. Its possible I suppose.

Well at least one of us can be full to the brim with optimism. Frollis said sarcastically.

Settys shot the rogue a harsh look, but denied him any sort of verbal reply as he continued

to the others. They may have gotten lost in the dark and confused by the winds. If so, they

may still be out there, lost and wandering, but otherwise unharmed.

The cleric had a point. While the region around the Crag was largely sheltered to the worst

of the planes maddening winds, a sudden mind-wrenching gale wasnt unheard of, and the two

men could have been thusly afflicting. If so, there might still be some genuine hope, and as slim

a chance as it might be, the other members of the expedition needed that hope to latch onto.

Its also possible that they were attacked by something native to the area, but not outright

killed.

Like what? One of the sages asked. Howlers arent exactly intelligent.

But demons are. The cleric replied. And as much as it wouldnt be good to think too

much about that possibility, they might still be alive if they were taken by a wandering fiend, or
1231

a group of them.

They might have even just gotten hurt. Florian added. For whatever reason they might be

unable to get back to us. We found some caves near the Crag earlier, and its not inconceivable

that they might have gone into a branch of the same system and gotten lost or stuck.

A succession of positive assessments was turning the tide, and some looks of hopeful determi-

nation were quickly spreading over the faces of the assembled men and women, though it wasnt

shared by everyone. Ficklebarb looked like a small child whose puppy had run away from home,

Clueless was looking away from the group with a much more somber and pragmatic assessment,

Frollis seemed angry and on the verge of stalking off, and Doran of all people seemed spooked.

Doran? Tristol asked the elf. Are you alright?

Just worried about the men. The wizard replied, a bit too quickly. I knew them, and Im

hoping that nothing happened.

I think everyone is getting a positive outlook on this. Toras said, stepping forward and

taking advantage of his clear height advantage over everyone else present, though Fyrehowl was

only an inch or two behind.

Do you want to take a group out and comb over their last known location? Leobtav asked.

Take maybe five or six people with martial training and leave the rest here so the camp isnt

undefended?

We could probably take an equal number of non-combatants too, just to have some extra

eyes and ears out there. Clueless said. Im still hoping for a more mundane explanation to our

missing men.

Alright then. Leobtav nodded. If you and Toras would like to take point on that, Im all

for it. You know how to handle this sort of thing better than I do. Good luck.

***

As they broke up to gather their equipment before heading out to look for the missing pair,

Tristol caught up to Doran and put a hand on his shoulder.

What was that about just now? Tristol asked him.

Doran quickly glanced around, and only replied after being sure that they were relatively

alone and shielded from snooping by the background of the wind.

No, Im not alright. Doran answered with a tone that actually made Tristol take a step

back. The elf looked disturbed, and almost frightened.

What the hell happened? Tristol asked, unsure what hed meant. Do you know something

more about the two guys whore missing?

 1232

No, I dont. Doran said. And thats precisely why Im so worried.

Tristol gave him a look of confusion and the elf went on into detail.

I didnt say anything about it, because I didnt want to get anyones hopes up prematurely,

only to let them down if the result wasnt a positive one, but a few minutes ago I tried to

cast a divination to find our missing men. Doran bit his lip and hesitated. The spell failed.

Grotesquely so.

Do you think that theyre somewhere shielded against the spell? Maybe something could

be blocking it.

Maybe so. Doran said. But thats not the whole story, because I tried casting a few other

divinations on other subjects entirely, just as a control, and they failed too. All of them were

just snuffed out, and that wasnt at all the case two days ago. My spells were working fine then,

but ever since those men vanished, the whole area is just as useful as a dead magic zone as far

as that entire school of magic is concerned.

Doran wasnt an archmage, but he was a talented mage nonetheless. If something was silenc-

ing the spells of a diviner of his skill, it was deeply troubling, not in the least because Tristol

didnt have a clue how something could even do that in the first place.

Just what the hell is out there? Tristol asked, dreading any answer he might receive.

***

Ever fickle, the winds blowing and whistling off of the Crags ramparts suddenly changed

direction, blowing down from its heights and cascading down over the group, bringing with it a

chorus like the screams of ten-thousand murderers being sent to the gallows, and something else.

Fyrehowl? Toras asked the lupinal. You alright?

She had a strange expression on her face, and twice already since theyd left, shed turned

and glanced back towards the camp. A puzzled cipher was not something you saw every day.

Theres something out here. Fyrehowl said. I can feel it towards the Crag, but theres

something else that I cant focus on. For the life of me, I want to go back to the camp and yet I

dont.

Seeing her expression, Mellisan the lilland bard drifted closer. Youre just worried about

leaving everyone behind without as many guards.

The lupinal shrugged. Florian, Settys, Frollis, and Tristol had stayed behind along with the

expedition leaders, while she, Clueless, Toras, and Nisha had ventured out with the lilland and a

half dozen sages to scour the edge of the Crag for the missing men. They had plenty of martial

and magical defenses back at the camp, and likewise for the group she was part of. So why did
1233

she feel so uncomfortable leaving camp?

Less than five minutes later, just as the lights of the camp began to grow more distant, muted,

and diffuse against the backdrop of shadow, the wind intensified and carried with it the stench

of brimstone, rot, and unwashed flesh.

Stop. Fyrehowl said as her fur prickled. Tanarri.

Everyone get together! Clueless shouted as his wings opened and the first sounds of motion

picked up all around them, and most strongly -above- them.

Huh? One of the sages asked, turning around to face the celestial, leaving his back to the

approaching fiends and their wind-borne herald.

The ear-piercing shriek of the Vrock came only a split second before the mans scream. Talons

pierced his back and the fiend wrenched him away from the earth, carrying him up into the windy,

black vault above, leaving behind only a splattered gush of blood and a drifting, deadly cloud of

spores in its wake.

More vrocks screamed high above, circling and preparing for another dive as bits of torn flesh

rained down as the first of their number satisfied his gluttony. The untrained men and women

on the ground screamed in terror and quickly began to break ranks, running back towards the

camp, but too late their guardians realized that the rest of the tanarri would be waiting for

them, having circled around them in the dark.

Stay here! Clueless shouted. Damn it! They want to separate us!

There was a flash of light and the barking roar of a glabrezu halfway back towards the camp,

and the bladesinger knew with a sickening wrench in his gut that hed been proven right.

***

Tanarri... The man thought, snorting derisively as he heard the vrocks shriek overheard

as they hurtled down towards the camp. On one hand they were a complication, potentially a

gross complication if they impinged upon his purpose there at the Crag, but on the other hand

they conceivably provided a cover for his earlier, overly hesitant and clumsy actions.

Several vrocks, assorted least fiends, a pair of undead-like maurezhi, and somewhere lurking

behind the hulking glabrezu and hezrou -he could feel it- there was a nalfeshnee.

A sudden hiss and wet snarl took his attention back to the present and away from his thoughts

like a frantic tapping upon his shoulder. A dozen feet away, crawling over a pile of rubble was

the bloated silhouette of a dretch, backlit by one of the camps torches, drooling and sniffing at

the air as it bared its fangs and prepared to charge, hoping for easy meat with which to sate its

hunger and hopefully avoid the whimsical punishments of its superiors.

 1234

Pathetic. He muttered, turning towards the fiend and doing what seemed most appropriate

at the time. Thats what the voice told him. Raise your arm and invoke that which you now

feel. The voice was less distant now that he had killed, and its promises of power came with

little effort, though its use still came with awkwardness, and perhaps some faint regret.

The dretch clambered to the top of the rocks and tensed its legs to leap, but instead of flying

though the air it paused and uttered a faint, almost plaintive mewl. Something bulged within

its chest and then vanished back into the greasy folds of muscle and fat once more, and then

without so much as a sound, the dretch collapsed and fell forward with a dull, wet smack of its

head cracking against the ground.

A thousand years before, Velgrak the Bloody had been a competent but otherwise unspec-

tacular soldier on an otherwise unremarkable prime material world. Hed raided and killed over

a trio of decades before he died not on the field of battle, not during some session of rape and

conquest, but of a heart attack late one evening: a tremble and collapse of his hearts mitral

valve; an unremarkable death if there ever was one. And now, a thousand years later, the least

fiend that his soul had become in death now died of the same ironic infliction.

One dretch dead, but a dozen or more, more powerful fiends remained. Best to put forth a

show of sincere effort in killing them, but not too little to endanger what still needed to be done.

The fiends remained a diversion, almost as much as his fading conscience.

Chapter 113

Get it off me! Get it off me! Arrrrggghhh! One of the expeditions sages screamed and batted

at his left arm where a dozen vrock spores had lodged into his flesh and were quickly planting

their roots.

Be ready to deal with those spores! Florian shouted over her shoulder to Settys. Even if

we kill them quickly, the wind is going to be throwing them all over the place!

She didnt get a response, only a rapid series of curses in the clerics native tongue and the

metallic ring of his sword rapidly blocking the claws of a fiend. Glancing rapidly towards him,

she watched as he neatly severed the arm of an advancing dretch and then was forced backwards

by the massive upper arms of a glabrezu emerging from the darkness. His eyes were wide, but

he seemed more than capable of defending himself, but the combat was going to take away his

ability to help with those spores.

Stop moving, theyll only dig deeper. Florian said as she grabbed the injured sage by the

arm.

The man gritted his teeth as the twisted, vine-like protrusions from his skin coiled underneath

his flesh by the second, but he gave a sigh of relief as Florians prayers began to manifest to

reverse the infestation.

Once this is done, I want you to find cover and stay there. She instructed as she examined

his skin for any remaining traces of the spores. If nothing else, it should keep you clear of any

of this same infection in the wind. After that...

Suddenly a vrocks piercing shriek cut the air and drowned out Florians voice as a shadow

fell over both her and the sage. Throwing the sage to the ground and off to one side, she rolled

onto her back, brandishing her axe to meet the fiends descent, grimacing all the while as she

knew the impact of its dive was going to be painful.

That impact never happened...

The vrocks descent ended abruptly as it slammed into some intangible solid object in its path

1235
 1236

and the air resounded with the distant peal of bells, or perhaps more appropriately the hollow

ring of two colliding cubes in Acheron. The fiend howled in pain as the suddenly crystalline air

rammed into it like the invisible fist of a furious angel, and as the spell faded it was obvious how

serious the damage had been.

Slightly out of breath, Professor Leobtav stood a dozen feet away with his hand held up in

the air, the source of the spell. Apparently the Fraternity of Order had taught him a few tricks

when it came to chaotic creatures.

Yay! Came a happy, draconic chirp from Leobtavs shoulder.

Not bad! Tristol shouted over towards the ex-Guvner and his familiar as he simultaneously

hurled a frigid cone of ice to finish off the injured tanarri.

No no. Ficklebarb correct. Not yay for getting the demon. Yay for him actually remem-

bering that spell!

The drake grinned down at his master. But getting the vrock was good too!

We cant stay here. Florian said. Theyll be coming at the camp from all angles. Well

need to split up and take them as they come in.

Tristol nodded, and on cue so did Nisha, ducking out of a nearby tent with blade in hand.

Well try to meet up with one of the fighter-types, either Toras or Fyrehowl.

Doran? Leobtav? Florian asked, looking at the two wizards, one of them competent but

probably rusty. Tag along with me?

The elf looked at the professor. I think well be fine actually. Between the two of us, we can

handle things rather, well, handily.

Up on Leobtavs shoulder, Ficklebarb sighed and shook his head. Wizard yes. Poet no.

Socially awkward at times? Most certainly.

Doran rolled his eyes with a smile. Well be fine Florian.

She nodded and ran out towards the nearest sound of screaming, hoping to catch the fiends

before they took too many lives in the process, and hoping that everyone who thought they were

capable was actually as good as they were supposed to be. She didnt need anyone playing hero

when they werent up to the task.

***

Distantly, Fyrehowl ran between several rows of tents towards the sounds of a woman scream-

ing and pleading for something to put her down. The screams increased amid the sounds of

guttural, almost barking laughter, and then abruptly the screaming stopped as she burst into

the clear.
1237

Towering above her at least twice her height, a powerfully muscled, dog-headed glabrezu held

one of the camps linguists at chest height -9 feet up- gripped chest and legs in the crab-like

pinchers of its upper pair of arms. The womans clothing was red with blood, and the point of

a sword was visible under the skin of her back, punched through by one of the fiends smaller

arms.

Fyrehowl involuntarily cursed as she realized that shed arrived a moment too late to save its

victim. In acknowledgement of her arrival, the fiend turned to look in her direction, still holding

the corpse like a perverse rag-doll or a bloody chew-toy.

Have you ever wondered what your own innards tasted like celestial? The glabrezu snarled

with a chuckle as it calmly wrenched the body in its upper arms apart, spattering blood and

rent viscera across the ground.

A pity you wont have the chance to tell me. Fyrehowl replied, calmly pointing her sword

at its chest and adopting a defensive stance. As it is, Im not sure Id trust you to know. You

dont look like youve been eating well lately. Not cut out for your rank in the Abyss?

The fiends eyes narrowed and a low growl rose deep within its throat; glabrezu werent

particularly known for being subtle in their emotions. After the danger it had been through

to escape the Abyss, and more so the molydeus that had been hunting it, how dare a celestial

question its fitness.

A split second later it charged, and Fyrehowl was ready and waiting for it.

As large as it was, the fiend was deceptively quick despite its bulk. It was only on account of

her supernatural reflexes that she managed to avoid being caught by either its pinchers, or the

blades it held in the hands of its smaller set of arms. Still, that advantage worked well for her,

and as she managed to score one or two cuts with her sword before retreating, its rage only grew

to the point of recklessness.

It was clumsy, but it was still dangerous, and in the next minute it struck solidly several

times with its pinchers and claws, wounding her but never managing to catch hold of her. But

for each time it managed to hit, she struck once, twice, or three times in return.

Furious, it swung its arm out wide and overreached, and in that moment Fyrehowl darted

beneath its reach and clipped its right ankle with her sword. She heard its tendons tear and snap,

and with a roar of pain and anger the fiend collapsed onto the knee of its other leg. Bellowing,

it grabbed for her with its other pinchered arm, only to see her instinctively back flip over its

head and score a flurry of deep slashes along its back and shoulders before landing on her feet

and wholly out of its reach.

Crippled and losing blood, the fight was effectively over. Scrambling for ideas, the fiend
 1238

invoked a storm of chaotic energy down on Fyrehowl, but to little effect as she dodged most of

the spells force. The fiend attempted the same ability again, to equally moot success, and finally

in absolute desperation it called out for its fellows -a poor fiends summoning- only to receive

the planes own howling wind in reply.

A freezing cone of ice from her extended hand and one final and deadly blow from her sword

ended it all.

Fyrehowl stood atop the glabrezus corpse, resting heavily on the point of her blade, breathing

hard from exertion. She was bruised across much of her left side where shed taken a heavy blow

from one of the tanarris clawed upper arms, and a dozen minor wounds and burns dotted her

body elsewhere. Still, she was in decidedly better shape than it. The fiend was now slack and

limp, staring up at the black vault above them with glassy eyes, its head separated from its body

by a good ten yards.

Distantly she heard another series of explosions, probably Clueless or Tristol having fun at

the fiends expense, but then she felt a distinctly odd premonition. For whatever reason she had

the urge to move out of the way, and while it came with the typically gut instinct of the Cadence,

it had a decidedly odd flavor.

I f*cking hate Vrocks. Frollis Terpense said with resigned annoyance, appearing out of thin

air as far as Fyrehowl could tell. Maybe a teleport or dimension door, but the rogue clearly had

some tricks up his sleeve. He was covered in blood and feathers, most of the former not his, and

of course none of the latter.

Vrocks? Fyrehowl asked. I think they hate you more based on how you look.

That odd feeling returned.

No, Frollis said. They hate you when you jump through the bare fringe of the Shadow

plane that touches here, and you land on their back while theyre four hundred feet up in the

air. A dagger in its kidney a moment later didnt endear me in its heart either I suppose. Not

that I was intending to do that exactly, getting on top of it and all, but I suppose it worked.

The rogue pulled a few feathers out of his armor and dashed some sort of liquid on a vrock

spore lingering on his cloak. Having cleaned himself up slightly, he looked up at the celestial.

Whats with the weird look on your face? He asked with a puzzled expression of his own.

All of a sudden a few pebbles landed at the rogues feet with a pronounced clatter. Frollis

looked up towards the top of the adjacent rocky crag, but Fyrehowl had already followed her

earlier urge to move.

Sh*t! The rogue shouted out with some alarm as the massive tanarri careened over the

edge of the crag and toppled towards him with a garbled shout of its own.
1239

Sorry! Nisha shouted, peering over the edge a moment later. It wasnt cooperating with

the stabbity stabbity, so I got frustrated...

Frollis rolled his eyes and dove into his own shadow, vanishing a split second before the fiend

hit the ground with a bone-snapping crunch and a pained bellow.

You can thank me for the grease spell! Nisha shouted out again with a grin. And Tristol

for the telekinesis, and Toras for the boot to its head. The combination works wonders at the

edge of a cliff!

Fyrehowl grinned back up at the tiefling, but she didnt relax her stance, because even as

Tristol, Toras, and Nisha were looking down from the top of the cliff, the Nalfeshnee was getting

back up to its feet with an absolutely murderous look in its eyes.

Things werent over yet. Not by a long shot.

***

Having just managed to avoid a bolt of lightning thrown from the ground, and a subsequent

column of reversed gravity, Clueless slowed his speed of flight and turned a long, slow circuit

above the camp, looking for his next obvious target among the remaining fiends.

He watched as Fyrehowl dove to avoid a spell thrown by a decidedly angry Nalfeshnee, and he

briefly considered helping, but the sight of Toras diving off of a cliff towards the fiends exposed

back made him decide otherwise. They didnt need him at the moment.

There was Florian charging something hedged in by a pair of blade barriers, and the other

cleric was there with her. They seemed fine, and fifty feet away it looked like Leobtav had

another glabrezu fully encapsulated inside a sphere of force while Doran was busily working on

a banishment of some sort to take care of their snarling but otherwise harmless bottled fiend.

That was when he noticed the vrock circling on the other side of the camp opposite him,

doing its own slow circuit and looking for easy targets just as he was. The vrock flapped its

tattered, rotten-looking wings and gave an amused, bloodthirsty cry as it pinpointed its next

prey, and then cued off, Clueless saw it a moment later.

In the middle of the camp, hidden from view at ground level, but fully visible from the air,

one of the expeditions sages huddled, unaware of his vulnerability, and ignorant of the vrock

high above him. When the vrock dove down from the darkness, he never saw it coming, and he

would have been dead upon impact had Clueless not intercepted the fiend less than twenty feet

above him.

Feathers, blood, and a diffuse cloud of spores rained down on the sage as Clueless slammed

into the fiends back and sent it awkwardly cartwheeling into a nearby boulder. The sage screamed
 1240

and looked for a place to scramble too, but as he stood up to run, the vrock had already recovered

and was making its way to its feet. Faced with the odds of outrunning an angry tanarri, the

sage ducked down and hid a second time.

Poor move mortal... The vrock said, spitting blood and shoveling dirt from its beak with

a mottled purple tongue.

Clueless didnt respond except to gesture with the tip of his sword. The subsequent shower

of flaming missiles struck the unsuspecting fiend full in the chest and hurled it back against the

rock with a dull crack from one of its wings.

No, it was a poor move to pause and talk. Clueless replied, but only after hed whispered

a quick incantation to hasten his speed.

Angered and now partially crippled, the tanarri met the bladesingers charge with a flurry

of claws and bites. The watching sage could scarcely tell what was happening, so quickly was

the fight occurring. It wasnt till hed heard a strangled gurgle and the sound of a sword being

pulled through several layers of wet flesh, after which the cloud of dust and spores settled, that

he was really sure who had come out the victor.

The fiend lay on the ground, burned and bleeding from several deep wounds -including one

that appeared to have pierced its chest and gone out its back. Clueless on the other hand was

injured as well, mostly cuts from the fiends claws, and one spot where hed contacted one of its

spores, but otherwise he was in much better shape than the sage would have expected.

I cant thank you enough. The man said, visibly shaking at having come so close to death.

Dont worry about it. Clueless said as he wiped Razor clean on the tattered feathers of the

dead vrocks wings. Just find a spot and stay hidden. Theyre beaten, but a few of them are

still out there.

Oh. He said, suddenly looking around for the nearest cover. Oh dear.

This should be over soon. Clueless said as he flicked his wings and moved away, back

towards the continuing sounds of battle.

I hope so. The sage said as he squeezed between a toppled tent and a cluster of boulders

that largely obscured him from sight.

Jalo Temeric III wasnt normally such a skittish person, but his close encounter with a disease

ridden, flesh devouring demon had changed that. Hed felt its carrion-laced breath on his neck

and its claws had probably been seconds away from snatching him up into the sky before one

of the camps mercenary hirelings had dispatched it. Whatever they were paying those people,

it clearly wasnt enough, and as soon as everything was over and back on track, hed be telling

Highsilver and Leobtav just that.

1241

Distantly, another fireball erupted and a fiend shrieked in pain, but the sounds of combat

were growing both more distant and less frequent by the minute, slowly being replaced by the

regular ubiquity of the wind and Jalos own slowly relaxed breath. He was safe and it was over.

Maybe things wont turn out so bad. He sighed, trying to smile.

A moment later he felt a hand clamp over his mouth and everything went dark.
Chapter 114

He felt as if he were falling, and he felt cold -bitterly cold- if only for a split second. A sudden

impact forced the air from his lungs and he gasped for breath as he roughly collapsed on a hard,

dirty stone surface.

Where the hell am I?! was the only coherent thought in his mind as his lungs refilled with

air, but he never had the chance to vocalize them either as a rag was roughly forced into his

mouth. Still in shock, he barely struggled as he felt a pair of hands grab his arms and begin to

tie them together with rope; he also dimly felt a dozen other things pulling at his clothing and

legs -cold and inhuman like cold tentacles- constraining his movements as those same hands did

their work.

For a moment after he was fully bound, there was only silence as his captor must have paused

and looked down with content satisfaction. But that was soon over and he heard the crunch

of leather boots on loose gravel and then the muttered words of a cantrip as a globe of light

flickered into being just overheard.

A small cave. The rock was the same color and consistency of the crag. He hadnt been

moved far at all. No smell on the air, no sign of habitation, and no obvious evidence of the

tanarri that had just attacked the camp. Who the hell then had...

Then, without preamble, as simple as that, his captor crouched down in front of him and

leaned forwards into the light. It wasnt a face hed been expecting.

Hello.

Jalos eyes went wide as his captor whispered a phrase and smiled as magic touched both of

their minds, linking them telepathically. Gagged and bound as he was, the sages thoughts were

of shock and terror.

Theyll see you missing! Theyll see me missing! Theyll come find me and theyll stop you!

What the f*ck is wrong with you?!

No, no they wont. His captor said with an incongruously pleasant smile. Theyll just

1242
1243

assume that one of the tanarri killed you and dragged your body away to devour. They wont

give it a passing thought, and by the time anyone would even consider raising you from the

dead... things will have changed.

Theyll suspect you immediately. Walking away during the middle of an attack like that?!

Theyll stop you.

No they wont. He said, chiding softly and clicking his tongue. You see, Im not missing

at all.

What? Confusion crossed the captives face even as he continued to struggle.

A soft hiss of metal on leather cut the silence as the sage inched back against the wall and

squealed as his tormentor knelt before him. He expected death to come quickly as the man held

up a slender blade, but that would have been merciful. Instead of gutting him then and there,

the man smirked... and calmly severed one of his own fingers.

Not a flinch. No hesitation. No blood.

Falling to the ground, the severed finger immediately began to melt, dissolving into a slurry

of ice, rapidly bleeding away its form and color.

Simulacrum... His thoughts raced and his heart sank. They wouldnt miss him at all, because

he was probably there in the thick of things, obviously present.

And that is why they wont suspect a thing.

He let his words sink in for a long, silent minute, and simply stared at his captive, calmly

reading the surface thoughts as they bubbled forth. Desperation and fear were the primary

flavors, but as the man looked into his eyes and the yawning void behind those windows into the

soul, the little self-contained bubbles of thoughts and emotions shifted like an outgoing tide into

sadness, resignation, and memories of home and family.

Why are you doing this?

You arent the first, and you wont be the last. He answered as he leaned forward and

began to inscribe a deft series of symbols into the ground in preparation for the coming ritual.

More of the others will die in the coming days, snuffed in the name of my master as I prepare

myself to enact his will in this world. I am not yet worthy of his presence, nor his full gifts.

Confusion again mixed with sorrow, and that latter emotion angered him. That sense of

sorrow and self-pity was too close a reminder of his own situation, but that would soon end.

Perhaps as soon as this next death he would be free of his anchorstone of mortal frailty and

morality. There was only one way to determine if it would be so soon, or if others would die for

that purpose -as opposed to having entirely meaningless deaths-

Jalo glanced down at the symbols his captor was so carefully inscribing in the dirt. He
 1244

recognized some of them: odd versions of abyssal and infernal, or perhaps a root tongue of

them both. But there were also letters he couldnt read. Now that wasnt to say that he didnt

understand what they meant -Jalo could read a dozen languages- rather it was that his eyes

couldnt focus on the letters themselves. At the core of the fiendish script was a block of text

that his mind simply refused to recognize. It was difficult to explain because he saw it, he just

couldnt describe it as anything distinct. It was like trying to describe what your eyes observed

when looking over the edge of Sigils ring. There were letters and words, but beyond that,

nothing more could be said.

There is nothing to distract me now. Not for the moment at least. He finally said, having

finished the last of his scribbling in the dirt. My hesitation, my humanity, my conscience... it

will not save you. I am progressing beyond its power you see, becoming what the whisperer says

that I must become. It is not enough to wait for the signs.

The Whisperer? What was he talking about? Surely the poor fool had gone mad from the

planes howling winds.

He chuckled softly and shook his head. Oh no. No no no. That which calls to me I made my

pact with long ago, years before now. It spoke to me in Gehenna, or more specifically, a piece

of Hades ripped from its proper place -in every meaning of the word- and deposited there in an

exiled solitude of ice and ashes. Pandemonium has nothing to do with this. Pandemonium in

only the incidental backdrop to my worship of It.

Jalos features didnt change. He still clearly thought that madness had gone to the mans

head, rather than any sort of secret pact with some god or fiend. If it was madness, he could

feel pity and he could forgive, even though he was going to die regardless.

Keep your pity to yourself. The man said with knowing contempt. Believe me or not Jalo,

you will see my Lord revealed to you before you die.

He smiled down at his captive and whispered an indistinct phrase. To Jalo it still sounded

like the ramblings of a madman, and indeed nothing happened at first. A full minute passed and

still nothing, but then Jalo realized -as his breath turned to glittered fog- that the temperature

had dropped precipitously in a manner of seconds.

And now my friend, His captor said with a coldly welcoming smile. Listen as it speaks

through me.

Then, like demons called by a summoners hand, the air seethed with movement and the

lantern flame guttered and dimmed, touched by an immaterial wind, throwing off dozens of

erratic, shifting shadows on the caves walls. Fingers and hands of darkness, tendrils of shadow,

fangs and teeth as black as the void of Agathys reached for their sacrifice...
1245

***

The camp was a shambles in the aftermath of the tanarri attack. Tents and their contents

were scattered -two of them burned to cinders by the campfires when they collapsed- , the bodies

of four mortals lay in repose, covered by tarps, and many more tanarri lay piled together in

a bubbling, dissolving mess near the edge of camp. Three more men were still missing, either

hiding or carried away by one of the fleeing demons when the tide of combat had turned against

them.

This is hideous. One of the sages remarked as he removed a partially eaten body from

underneath a fiends corpse.

And damn this smells. Frollis said, wincing as he hurled a spade-full of dirt over the slowly

dissolving corpse of the vrock, now free of any entangled human remains.

Have some respect. Settys said to the rogue with a pronounced frown.

I do you moralizing twit. Frollis shot back. Ive been helping shovel tanarri guts for the

past hour so it wouldnt disturb anyone else as it spontaneously caught on fire or belched out

insects. If Id been disrespectful Id be acting like there wasnt anything wrong. Im being surly

and practical like I usually am.

Settys said nothing and looked away.

It could have been a whole hell of a lot worse. Tristol said as he whispered another cantrip

to try to dull the smell and clean up as much of the spattered blood as possible.

Im not entirely sure how. Another man said with a sigh. Hed lost a friend in the first few

moments of the attack. Even though resurrection was a possibility, even the most jaded of men

couldnt stomach the knowledge of the sort of pain a deceased companion went through before

they expired.

Dont look despondent yet. Florian said, with Fyrehowl and Nisha nodding in agreement.

Ive lost men before. Doran lamented. But its still hard. And this. The elf gestured to

the ruined camp. This was senseless. Weve made little progress to show for the people who...

damnit...

As used to picking on the elf as he was, up on his masters shoulder, Ficklebarb gave him a

sympathetic look. Dont be so sad Doran. It was really rough in Carceri too, and still, things

turned out well in the end. We can clean stuff up, and maybe bring folks back when were done?

Can we do that?

Usually. The man whod lost a comrade remarked. But not always. Even with magic and

even with priests, death isnt something to trivialize.

 1246

The comment was as accurate as it was sobering, and wise or not, it cast a momentary pall

over them all.

As long as we dont wait too long, and as long as we have something even so small as a

fingernail from their pinky finger, we should be able to bring them back. Nisha chirped.

All eyes turned to the Xaositect, never previously known as any sort of expert on raising the

dead, or clerical magic at all.

You know, speaking as a person who never cast a single prayer in her life, even by accident...

She said as the tips of her ears went a shade red. But I know clerics! Like Florian, and Settys,

and maybe Skalliska, and that one frumpy cleric of Tyr who called me a rotten dirty heretic a

few years ago. Didnt get along with her all that well, and she didnt particularly care for the

mural we decided to draw in her chapel, but thats neither here nor now.

She paused. What was I talking about again?

Tristol patted her on the head.

It hasnt been too long right? Ficklebarb said, like a small child trying to rationalize the

death of a pet theyd been told had joined the circus. We can pay a priest to bring them

back to life. They didnt get turned to stone, or turned into zombies, or anything like that. Its

not too late is it?

Leobtav rubbed the pseudodragons head. Well do everything we can. And with Florian

and Settys here, we can do it even before we have camp put back together.

Really? Ficklebarb lifted his head up and turned a smile in the two clerics direction.

All said, the tiny drake seemed pretty torn up by having watched the worst of the attack as

it happened, and he looked physically drained by it all: his wingtips drooped ever so slightly, his

eyes were a bit rheumy, and his tail a little less active than it had been before the attack.

Well do our best. Florian said. I promise.

****

Twenty minutes later, they had the least damaged body laid on a table in one of the repaired

tents. A sheet covered most of the corpse to prevent any of the obvious wounds from showing,

but the face was visible and with the mouth opened and eyes pressed shut, they almost looked

as if they were sleeping.

Settys dabbed a stylus in a small vial of ink and delicately painted the elaborate pictograms

of his religion across the corpses forehead, writing their name within a cartouche and invoking

the names of Anubis, Osiris, Nephthys, and Thoth in calling their soul back from the light of

Heliopolis.
1247

The cleric/paladin lit incense and whispered a prayer as he proceeded through each stage of

the ritual, calling the dead mans name and asking each of his pantheons gods to shepherd the

soul back to a restored physical body, watching over the mans spirit as it made its journey back

to the flesh. The ritual was elaborate, precise, and respectful, but as he spoke the last words of

the prayer and closed the corpses mouth as the spirit should have made its way back into the

body, absolutely nothing happened.

Settys sighed and looked away as Florian gave him a confused look.

What happened? She asked, perplexed that he hadnt been able to bring the man back to

life. The damage to the corpse was heavy -theyd been almost completely disemboweled- but it

was entirely mundane rather than magical.

Their manner of death seems to preclude my ability. Settys lamented. That, or they

refused to return.

Ficklebarb frowned and a tear whelmed up in one of his eyes.

Would you please attempt Florian? Settys asked as he stepped to one side, giving the tiny

pseudodragon a look of sympathy. Youre capable of channeling your deity on a stronger level

than I am. You might succeed where I failed.

Please try? Ficklebarb asked. Please?

She couldnt say no to that, and on another level entirely she had good reason to try on her

own as well. But those questions were rapidly pushed to the back of her mind as she nodded

and prepared to enact her own ritual of casting.

Ill do my best Ficklebarb. She said, smiling at him.

At the conclusion of her own ritual, Florian felt the spark of divine magic flow through her

body, invoked by her prayers to Tempus. She felt it flow into the corpse and as it always was,

she waited for the body to become whole and the man to open his eyes. She felt it enter the

corpse, but it was like pouring water down a drain. The deific blessing simply vanished, wasted

and gone without having taken effect. Sometimes the lower planes or a corpses manner of death

precluded a simple spell to raise the dead, but she had enough experience to know when that

was the case, or when a dead mans soul simply refused to return. Neither of those was the case

at present though, and what she felt -or didnt feel- sent a chill down her spine.

Settys looked at the corpse and then to her.

We might not be able to bring them back till were no longer in Pandemonium. Florian

said, lying about what had actually happened. Its going to take a more powerful priest. But

for the moment, we can keep the bodies in repose and safe from decomposition.

Ficklebarb sniffled, but seemed to understand that all would be better once they left the
 1248

plane. He didnt catch her lie, nor her extreme worry at what had actually happened.

Inepwt preserve. Settys whispered reverently, passing a hand over the dead mans eyes and

closing their lids.

Florian looked at the other cleric and looked at him hard. His prayers had been genuine,

the words inflected properly, and his gestures appropriate for what she knew of the Egyptian

priesthood, but his spell had never manifested. Like a farmer performing an archmages gestures

and words, expecting to invoke a meteor shower, hed faithfully aped the magic, but there hadnt

been any power invoked by his actions. What the hell? She wasnt sure what to make of it, and

as she thought about it, she hadnt actually seen Settys cast a single spell that wasnt invoked

from an item since theyd been in Pandemonium. Combined with the grotesque failure of her

own magic, it wasnt the time to ask, or say anything in public, but shed be damn sure to keep

her eyes on him.

Chapter 115

Twenty four hours passed rapidly, with most of the time spent with the groups resources divided

between repairing the damage from the tanarri attack, and exploring sites further towards the

Crag. It was an odd mixture of emotions too that crossed the minds of each and every one of them

as well: distress and lament over their loss -as the bodies lay covered and magically preserved

at the edge of camp- and excitement at finally having approval to explore the most promising

of the crags many possible locations. A sample of Gautish was there on the forbidding, shadow

swathed flanks of Howlers Crag, and soon they hoped to find it.

But as Pandemonium had already shown them, the darkness held physical horrors as well as

the terrors of pareidolia, borne of shadows and howling wind, and it would not be long before

they discovered both.

***

Brennan Olerik stumbled forwards and fell roughly to his hands and knees as the ground

shifted and fell away from beneath his feet with a soft metallic chorus. The darkness was

overwhelming and claustrophobic, yet at the same time he had the distinct impression that the

room around him was massive, even if he couldnt see his own hands.

He hadnt meant to do it. It was a mistake and hed thought himself clever for figuring out

the riddle, but now he was lost and along, stranded somewhere without light or any conceivable

way of getting back.

Beshaba f*ck me... Brennan cursed. Where the hell am I?

He moved his hands forwards, trying to gain some bearing on his surroundings. Another soft

chorus of clinking, sliding metal and some other scattered, hard to identify sounds. What the

hell was covering the ground? It was cold, whatever it was.

Gingerly, Brennan picked up one of the small objects and felt its dimensions between his

fingers. Even bringing it up to his face he wasnt able to make out any detail, but even so, it

was clear that it was a coin of some sort.

1249
 1250

He shuffled his knees and spread his hands out again, and everywhere he touched the carpet

of coins shifted and moved. Far from covering the floor, he was sprawled on top of a massive

hoard of treasure as far as he could feel, and given his odd sense of the rooms monstrous size,

it probably held more wealth than he could conceivably count in a lifetime.

Forget your damned sister. Brennan whispered incredulously. Tymora, I love you. What-

ever Ive ever done to gain your fortune, it certainly paid off this time.

He laughed and hurled handfuls of gold up into the air -presumably at least some of it was

gold- and cackled as it fell to the ground all around him. He was rich beyond his wildest dreams.

More coins sifted between his fingers along with what felt like cut gemstones, a necklace of some

sort, and what felt like some manner of statuary.

Im f*cking rich. Brennan exclaimed several times in succession before coming to another

realization. ...but where the hell am I and what use is that if I cant f*cking get back to use it.

That sullied his mood for a moment, but only temporarily. Greed rapidly overwhelmed

common sense, but he was no fool and his brain was already spinning his options. He wasnt a

mage, but it was very likely that the portal wasnt one way, and it probably had the same or a

similar method of activation. Had the riddle on the portal been just some archmages cruel joke

from millennia past, he likely would have stumbled into a pile of skeletons rather than the sea

of wealth he currently found himself marooned within.

Brennan rose unsteadily to his feet as the coins shifted in response to his weight. He still

couldnt see a thing, even though his eyes should have adjusted to the lack of light. That likely

meant that there simply was no light to be found; the chamber of cavern hed discovered was

likely sealed off from anything else that might have provided any measure of illumination, natural

or not.

Probably in Agathion. He reasoned. Some sort of hoard forgotten for a damn long time.

If anyone valued it, Id already be dead because they would have left traps or wards. Plus, the

riddle was probably a test of sorts. Only someone who could speak the language would have

found this, so its probably mine for the taking.

He grinned in the darkness, realizing that even if he couldnt find a way out on his own, his

group would be frantic about finding him. They might demand a share of his newfound wealth,

but 9 Hells and a bottomless Abyss, there was plenty to go around.

Let them take what they want. Brennan shouted. Im f*cking rich.

His voice echoed around the cavern, but the delay was so long that the chamber must have

measured a mile or more across. That was when he noticed it though: the smell.

Concentrating so much on sound and his useless sense of sight, plus flooded with adrenaline
1251

as he was, he hadnt really taken the caverns smell into consideration. There was the dull, heavy

scent of stone and the sharp tang of copper and silver as they both slowly oxidized within a sea

of untouched gold. But that was not all that Brennan noticed.

Oh gods...

White flashed before the mortals eyes, painfully stinging his retinas as the darkness was

thrown back like a sash before his pupils contracted furiously. Grimacing, Brennan shaded his

eyes and looked up as burning yellow light washed over him and the surrounding sea of treasure.

Amid the wash of heavy serpentine odor that passed over him like a cresting wave, he gazed up

at a single, gargantuan eye whose slit pupil was easily twice the size of a horse.

HeLLo LiTtLE tHiEf...

***

Tristols ears perked and then immediately fell back against his head. He sighed and hung

his head.

When did you notice? He asked.

Well... a few minutes ago. One of the sages hesitantly said, noticing the mages expression

of disappointment. But umm... none of us really remember seeing him for at least an hour or

two.

Tristol turned away and muttered several uncouth words in Aquan, and at least one of the

sages understood him based on how their expression twitched. It wasnt a kind phrase, but

after all that had happened in the past day, theyd wandered up to him sullenly with the news

that one of their group had gone missing. It had happened before, but after they had killed the

tanarri, it had seemed patently obvious that most of their problems lurking in the dark wilds

around the crag were over.

Apparently not.

Clueless? Tristol called out over a conjured telepathic link. We have a problem... again...

Tristols portion of their current group of a dozen sages had already covered and recovered

the ground that theyd been searching for writing samples that day by the time that Clueless

arrived with his contingent. Tristol seemed annoyed and the sages were on edge with nervous

guilt.

One more time we go over everything. Tristol said, his tail slightly bottlebrushed and

twitching rapidly in short, back and forth motions. With luck he just took a nap behind a rock

and we left him behind hours ago as we moved up the edge of the Crag.
 1252

Thirty minutes later though, they found not a trace of him, but they did run across something

that theyd found days before.

Clueless glanced at Tristol and both of them looked up at the pair of partially fallen columns

of stone and its keyed portal that lay in the space between them. It seemed like a stretch, and

then was no way to know where precisely it led, not given the nature of the Crag.

Its the only place that we havent looked. Clueless said.

Assuming something didnt eat him and wander off back into the dark. Tristol replied.

But were not being paid to chalk it up to that without looking everywhere we can.

Nisha? Tristol called out through the link. Have you or Toras found anything over on your

side of the crag?

I found a bug under a rock. But I dont think that counts. Unless a mad wizard is on the

loose, transmuting his victims into entomology samples to pin to his collection board in a horrible

display of depraved...

I really, really dont thats the case Nisha. Tristol replied, cutting her off. But you keep

looking, and let me know if you find an insane wizard.

OK!

Tristol shook his head and smiled. Nothing over there either.

Clueless grinned, Does Nisha count as an insane wizard? Technically she might.

She can only cast like three spells, but dont give her that idea regardless. Tristol said, one

ear twitching at the thought. Shell run around asking people to call her the grand butterfly

mage or something like that.

Youd find it adorable.

Yes. Yes I would. Tristol blushed.

The wind whistled strongly, gusting through the pillars with an ear-splitting whistle, breaking

their train of thought and bringing them back to the matter at hand. Despite the risk and

question surrounding the portal, it was the only likely choice at the moment.

So how do you want to do this? Tristol asked. If our missing sage is just trapped on the

other side of a one-way portal, or hurt and unable to move, or just doesnt know the portal key

on the other side its an easy enough trip. But if theres something on the other side thats a

danger, its not going to be a wise idea to have one of us go in alone.

Ill go with you, but I cant leave the rest of the group out here in the dark unsupervised.

Clueless glanced out towards where the other sages sat and waited for some decision for what to

do next.

Everyone! Listen closely! Tristol announced to their assembled charges. Were pretty sure
1253

that our missing man stumbled through a portal here by accident. The key is a simple one,

and he could have triggered it without intending to. We dont think something came out and

snatched him up, and most likely hes just stuck on the other side, scared, cold, and thirsty.

With luck it wont take long to get him and then be back here.

Is the portal two way? One voice asked.

We believe so, yes. Clueless answered. But we cant be absolutely certain, so were going

to have Tristol go with me.

Some mutters of discontent and worry drifted up from the group.

Were not going to leave you all here unprotected while we vanish into a portal. Tristol

explained, trying to pacify the crowd. Youll all be going with us. We could call one of the

other groups over here and have you stay with them, but thats going to take far too long, and

in that time our man on the other side of the portal might hurt himself if he hasnt already. Its

the safest way and the quickest way to get everyone back safe to the campsite.

They seemed skeptical, but with all that had happened in the past few days, not a one of

them cared to be left alone in the tumult. Theyd be more at risk of an accidental fall or a

demons claws if they stayed behind or walked back to camp on their own versus the unknown

risks beyond the portal when they had a pair of more than competent guards, one of them a

wizard and the other with his own pronounced magical talents as well.

Is there anyone who wants to object to this? Clueless called out. If you do, raise a hand

and let us know what your concern is.

More murmurs and discussion went on with a low rumble, dampened by the wind, but after

a few minutes of back and forth discussion between the sages, not a one of them raised a hand.

For better or for worse, they were all going together.

That settles it then! Clueless said. Well open the portal, and then well let you know how

well handle it from there. Hold still for a few.

The bladesinger turned back to Tristol and smiled. That went well. I expected more dissent.

Theyre more afraid of tanarri in the dark than they are of us apparently. Tristol mused.

Which is either a good thing or were losing a bit of something as they get to know us more.

Clueless chuckled. Let me tell a few others where were going, and to send help if were not

back in an hour or two. Take a look at that portal again while Im at it.

Tristol nodded as Clueless stepped off to one side and used their link to touch base with

Toras, Florian, and Fyrehowl. Meanwhile he glanced up at the script on the pair of pillars

leaning against one another.

Howl into the winds of lament. Scream into the face of the storm and be not surprised to find
 1254

the Howling answer back in turn. Tristol intoned in the same language the runes were carved

in. Simply repeating the words didnt trigger the portal, but yelling into the gap would. Though

one thing did stand out: the odd way that the words said Howling. At first he assumed that it

just meant that the wind would scream back full-force when the portal opened, but the phrasing

was imprecise and odd, used in a way he wasnt entirely familiar with, and as such it didnt cross

his mind to consider that it might have been a proper name.

You want the honors? Clueless asked as he walked back over to the wizard. Or shall I?

Be my guest. Tristol said, turning his ears down slightly and back in case one scream

triggered another.

Clueless nodded and stepped forward, directly in front of the pair of toppled pillars and their

bound space. Inhaling deeply he let out a scream as loud as he could manage, and as the scream

rebounded across the stones and echoed back, it seemed magnified, louder than it should have

been. For a brief moment the surrounding wind simply stopped, snuffed out and left Clueless and

the others pensive about what would happen next. The air was still, the darkness secondary to

the unnatural quiet, and in unison the runes on both columns began to glow a sickly pale-yellow

light.

And there you go! Tristol said, smiling as a swirling yellow portal formed with a crackle

of energy and a sudden resumption of the wind. His ears twitched with some small measure of

satisfaction. Just get the group together and we can go in. Though I cant say how long itll

stay open, the key is simple enough we can just do it again.

Clueless nodded and turned around to face the assembled sages. Alright everyone, we dont

have a clue whats on the other side, just that we wont be heading to the Abyss or anywhere

else blatantly hostile. But I need everyone to follow closely and above all, dont bloody touch

anything unless it tries to bite you.

There were some murmurs of discontent, worry, and one or two questions about how precisely

they knew that it didnt lead straight into Demogorgons larder or Malcanthets bedroom. But

in the end they packed together into a close group, following behind Clueless, with Tristol to

bring up the rear, intending to force open the portal in the event that something horrific actually

did wait on the other side.

At first there was oppressive silence, an utter absence of wind, and darkness. As their eyes

adjusted to the gloom and the light provided by the slowly closing portal and their own quickly

lit torches, they found just where theyd been taken. The cavern, a bubble inside the stone of

Agathion, stretched out of sight while the cavern wall behind them was alternately smooth, or

carved into massive and beautiful high-relief sculptures, juxtaposed with wide swathes of random
1255

draconic script rambling and meandering across the walls in all directions, reversing itself, written

upside down or backwards at times like the end result of a windstorm and a draconic lectionary:

or the results of rampant insanity.

Theres gold everywhere! Came the amazed voice of one sage as he realized that his shifting

position and stance came from the clinking movement of piles of coin underfoot.

The chorus grew in excitement as lights were lifted high and they took in the truly awesome

scope of the hoard. Piles of treasure heaped as high as a dozen men in places washed out over

the floor of the cavern as far as the limit of the light, flickering and returning the illumination in

the glitter of gold and silver and the sparkling, twinkling reflection and refraction in gemstones.

In fact, they quickly realized that at no point could they even actually see the presumed stone

floor of the chamber at all; for all they knew the treasure of a dozen kingdoms extended down

even deeper underfoot.

Tristol... Clueless quickly and silently intoned over the link. Shit we have a problem. Get

to working on that portal NOW.

Missed by the vast majority of the sages in their sudden tidal wave of overwhelmed greed

were two things: the oppressive and building reptilian odor of the chamber that perfused the

treasure with the electric, static charge of an impending thunderstorm, and the soft, desperate

whimpering of a single figure a few dozen feet ahead of them - their lost and now found sage.

Oh thank the Gods... His voice trembled and broke with emotion. To a more sensitive nose

he would have reeked with urine and abject fear. Please, please help me. I dont know where

it is. It can move without a sound! It thinks that...

His desperate, whimpered plea was silenced as without warning the chamber flooded with

brilliant illumination as something titanic opened its eyes, washing them with a sickly yellow

glow like flames from the yawning mouths of twin portals to Hell. One eye a pool of light

centered around a tiny pinprick of a pupil, the other pupil blown, massive and limned with only

the smallest coronal fringe of brilliant light, cross-dilated with the trappings of madness.

ThE HOWL AnsWeRs BAcK MoRTaLs...

***

Meanwhile, back in camp, Doran offered Ficklebarb a bit of candy. Ever since the tanarri

attack the pseudodragon had been increasingly more and more skittish. Every errant noise was a

monster beyond the firelight, each aberrant shadow a looming demon, and he seemed preoccupied

and overwhelmed at all that had happened.

Not hungry? The elf asked.

 1256

Not really. Ficklebarb said, shaking his head as he slumped across a pile of books on his

masters desk. Leobtav was out discussing the plan for the next day with the first group that

had returned to camp, and would speak to the others once they returned. There was apparently

some sort of problem with Clueless and Tristols group. Something about a giant bug and a

boulder, but Nisha hadnt been very clear about it, just that she had the situation under control.

Im worried. Ficklebarb lamented. Im scared that the bad person is going to come back

and kill someone again.

Oh you poor thing. Doran said with a smile, Theres no bad man out there. Weve had

some problems with the wind and some monsters out there in the dark, but we have some very

brave and very talented people working for us. They know whats out there now and they know

how to handle it. You neednt worry. And besides, youre a dragon. What does a dragon have

to worry about?

But the bad man... Ficklebarb began before Doran shushed him with a wave of his hand.

Dont worry. The elf explained. Ill see if we cant all do something this evening around

the campfire that puts everyone into a better mood, and something that will put a more positive

edge on your spirits. And Ill see if your master cant let you have some fun while he and I go

over the script samples we found today. How does that sound?

That sounds pretty good actually. Ficklebarb chirped, trying to smile. Id like that a lot.

See? Doran said. Youve always been good like that since Ive known you. No matter what

happens you always seem to be able to pick right back up and be the same happy, mischievous,

red-scaled terror Ive come to know.

Ficklebarb smiled as the elf rubbed him under the chin.

Ill be back in a little bit. Doran explained, turning towards the door. Ive got to talk to

Toras and his group, but Ill have someone come back and chatter with you. Maybe Nisha; she

seems to like you quite a lot.

The expeditions co-leader gave the tiny dragon one last smile and made his exit, but the

moment that he did, the familiars happy expression faded considerably.

The bad man isnt out there in the darkness. Hes not a monster or a demon. He wasnt

something we found here. He came here with us. And Ive seen him...
Chapter 116

Ficklebarb? Doran said, looking down at the seemingly depressed pseudodragon. What do

you mean the bad man is here? That he came here with us?

Ficklebarb glanced up at the elf. I know who he is, but I cant stop him from doing what

he does.

Who is he?

I... I cant tell you. The tiny familiar looked both worried and stricken by a desire to tell

everything that he knew, but was holding back against all reason. He wont let me. If I say

than hell be all bad and worse things will happen.

Tell me Ficklebarb. Please, you need to tell me who it is whos been doing these things.

The pseudodragon gave a soft moan and his tail twitched unhappily. They arent all bad.

They arent all gone to bad. Theyre still good, just a little, on the inside. Nobody is all bad.

But they will be if I tell anyone what I know.

We can stop them if you tell me. We can get them help if they need it.

The last statement put a brief flicker of hope into the dragons features, and for a moment

he seemed his normal, happy self.

You could help them be good again?

Yes we can. I promise you that we can. We have clerics, we have wizards. We can keep

them safe from themselves and from anything that might be influencing them. At worse we take

them back to Sigil and let them spend some time with the Bleakers if theyve gone mad.

But then that moment of normalcy was gone and replaced with a distant, glazed over look

on his face as if his mind were elsewhere and wholly preoccupied.

No. I cant say anything. Ficklebarb said with a shake of his snout side to side. Ive seen

them doing things, and if I say anything theyll be worse.

Theyve murdered people, theyve tortured them. What worse could they do? Doran asked,

only to be shaken by the dragons reply.

1257
 1258

Worse. Much worse. You have no idea, but I do.

The elf shivered at the certainty and terror that he heard.

Ok, Doran said, I wont ask you anything more if you cant tell me. But if you decide

that you can, Im here to listen. And elves have large ears, and I can listen a lot when youre

ready for me to help, and to help this person.

Ficklebarb gave a sullen nod. Ok.

Why dont you have a nap then, and maybe youll feel a little bit better. He reached over

and turned up the flame on one of the oil lamps that gave a warmer, more natural glow than the

everburning, illusory flames most often used since theyd been in Pandemonium. Hopefully the

light would make the familiar a bit more comfortable while he stewed on what it had said, and

the implications thereof.

I wont tell what youve told me to anyone else if thats ok. Doran added as he stepped

towards the exit out of Leobtavs tent. Ill be back in my tent later if you want to visit, but for

now I need to go find Nisha and see whats wrong with Clueless and Tristols group.

Thats good. Please dont tell anyone else. He might hurt more people if you do.

Doran nodded and stepped out into the gloom, his mind a flurry of thoughts and uncertainty.

Ever since the murders had started, he and everyone else had assumed that it was some native

denizen of Pandemonium, or a demon or other fiend wandered about in the darkness. But Leob-

tavs familiar had obviously seen someone and recognized them as a member of the expedition

while in the middle of one of their killings. The poor creature was scared half to death and

irrationally afraid that hed been noticed.

Walking towards his own tent, he continued with a mental list of who might be suspect.

Obviously it was someone who knew magic and a good deal of it given the circumstances of

when and how theyd found the bodies, and if it wasnt entirely done by magic, that person was

very adept at sneaking and hiding. Of the mercenaries there were several possibilities: Frollis

obviously given his association with the Church of Mask, Clueless given his ability with both

swordplay and sorcery -and a subtle but present vibe that Doran had gotten from him that just

struck him as cold-, and perhaps Nisha as well. The Xaositect wasnt an obvious choice, but their

kind was barking mad and despite her never serious nature and relatively slender knowledge of

magic, it was entirely possible that she had an alternate personality of some sort.

On to less obvious choices: Tristol was probably the most skilled mage on the expedition, and

one of the more naturally adept that hed ever met, but then he was an evoker and apparently

unable to cast spells from the illusion school. Possibly he and Nisha combined as a pair of killers

to cover their own deficiencies... no that was retarded and overly complex. There wasnt any
1259

suggestion that more than one person was responsible, and Ficklebarb had been specific that it

was one person, and not multiple people.

That was all there was among the mercenaries, because they were the only ones who really

had the training to be capable of the crimes. After all, the Institute needed to go for outside

help since their own staff uniformly lacked any real capacity or experience to do the same job

of protecting their academic members. But at the same time it was always possible that one of

the academic staff or hired scholars simply hadnt reported any such abilities or training, and

compared to the more... colorful backgrounds and past associations of the mercenaries, the

academic hires hadnt been subjected to the same level of background and reference checks. It

would just as easily be one of the archaeologists, planar sages, philologists or cartographers, and

there were a lot more of them to consider as suspects if that was the case.

Doran sighed. Hopefully he could tease more information out of Ficklebarb about who hed

seen before there were any more deaths.

***

Clueless gazed up into the eyes of the single largest dragon that hed ever seen as the behe-

moths glowing irises -each larger across than he was from head to toe- cast a sickly yellow glow

across its already golden and glittering hoard.

THiEvEs! LooTErS! ComE tO TAKE, buT NO... DEaTh Is All YoU FiND in MY LaIR.

The dragon alternated between a thundering roar and a hissing, whispering susurrus like

the breeze between the gusts of a thundering hurricane. But hurricanes were forces of nature,

unthinking and in their randomness they were predictable in a way, and the creature before

Clueless was

I think we may have found our killer. Tristol spoke to Clueless over the telepathic link.

KiLLeR? The great wyrm howling dragon questioned with a sense of puzzled offense. I

hAVe YeT to KiLL, bUt ThIEvEs I wILL, YoU WhO WhiSPer, whisper whisper speaking secrets

hiding things scheming to deceive and plunder...

Tristols eyes went wide as the dragon obviously was privy to their magical mental link. One

false word and the creature could swallow them alive or blast them into pulp with its breath

weapon, whatever it might be since it wasnt one of the standard chromatics or metallics.

Clueless matched Tristols look and silently motioned behind his back to stay quiet.

We didnt come to steal from you, great... he trailed off to allow the wyrm to give them a

name if it so desired.

PaRaVaSHTaCroNoX thE HOwLInG... The dragon whispered through bared and clenched
 1260

teeth, each the size of one of the tiny humanoids that whimpered beneath its gaze, each smelling

of fear as its tongue erratically flickered between the gaps of its fangs a dozen feet out and in

again.

Great Paravashtacronox allow me to apologize for the intrusion. I and those who came with

me, we came looking for the one that came to you before us, he was lost and wandered off and

arrived here by accident through the same portal that we used.

The dragons eyes narrowed to slits, though still displaying the cross-dilated pupils like a

stroke victim. The light from the one eye with a constricted pupil shown down on the whimpering

academic whod first stumbled into his lair, highlighting him with an inverse spotlight of shadow.

BuT ThIS thief... THIEF... fell UpoN mY HoArD WiTH GrEeD...

Great one, we have only come to retrieve our lost companion. Nothing more and nothing

less. I apologize if your rest has been disturbed and if...

The dragon hissed with displeasure, nearly knocking Clueless over with the sudden expulsion

of rancid, stale and ozone-tinged breath.

WhY sHoULD I nOT KiLL yoU ALL tO Be certain mY LaiR -reMaINs- sAfE fRom pLun-

Der? TeLL Me tHat?

Deliberately and slowly, Clueless opened his belt pouch and tossed its contents out into the

ocean of gold that he stood upon, adding a few dozen coins to the dragons hoard.

Tribute to you as an apology for having intruded into your domain, but we only wish to

leave, having found our lost companion. He did not come here seeking to plunder your treasure,

he was seeking an inscription upon Howlers Crag and errantly opened the portal here with

another, unrelated inscription on the bound space.

Paravashtacronox hissed at the bladesinger and then turned back to the academic. My gOLd

Is StILL UpON HiS PerSoN! He DeSerVeS DeAtH FoR this OffeNSe!

Nodding slowly and hearing the rising but still soft tide of panic behind him from the others,

Clueless stepped forwards towards the dragon till he stood behind the whimpering scholar pinned

as a thief. The man was hurriedly dumping his pockets out of anything and everything, including

a number of gemstones and non-standard coins very evidently taken from the dragons hoard in

his first moments of discovering the sealed off bubble of stone. He had indeed stolen from the

wyrm.

Yes great one, Clueless said, looking at the sage and then up at the dragon. He does

deserve to die as punishment for theft. You are correct.

And with that sudden statement, Cluelesss sword emerged from the stunned scholars chest,

buried to the hilt in his back just above the heart, instantly killing him.
1261

The thief is dead. The bladesinger pronounced, looking directly up at the dragon. Again

my apologies. With your leave may we depart?

Paravashtacronox tilted his head to the side, curiously gazing out at the half-fey and then

beyond to where Tristol stood with the clustered scholars. He sniffed the air and finally gave a

crooked, draconic smile.

I aM SatiSFiED LiTtLe OnE. Do NoT ReTuRn...

Behind them the portal flickered open once more and Tristol hurried the scholars through

and back to the relative safety of the Crag, away from the insane wyrm. Clueless waited for

them all to pass through the portal before nodding to the dragon and stepping through as well.

When the portal sealed shut a moment later, Paravashtacronox the Howling smiled. His lair

was safe, the portals were all closed and he and his treasure remained sealed away from the

world.

ThEY aRe GonE. NeVeR to ReTurN. LeT PanDemOniUM SwALLoW ThEm FoR All I

CaRe.

They will return. Something whispered to the dragon, inside of its mind. I foresee this.

They will return one day. They will return and they will come hunting for you. You are not

immortal, not truly immortal my warden.

The Howling hissed and snarled. SiLeNCE!!

You are deceived little one. They will be the death of you one day. Not soon, but eventually.

And then, then I will be free.

Once again the Howling snarled and curled upon his treasure, closing his eyes and returning to

fitful dreamless slumber. But as he slumbered, trapped within his body powerless and impotent

in the face of its hosts yawning, overwhelming madness, Nyovox the Third Avatar of Garyx the

Devourer smiled.

***

Just what the hell did you do in there?! Tristol mentally shouted out to Clueless as he

emerged from the closing gateway.

The cluster of sages looked at the bladesinger with wide eyes and slack jaws for a dozen

pregnant and silent moments before finally one of them spoke their collective thought.

You murdered that man in cold blood!

Why did you do that?!

You killed him!

He wasnt a thief and you stabbed him in the back!

 1262

Maybe youre the one who killed those other two men!

Clueless sheathed his sword and held up something tightly gripped and previously concealed

in his other hand: a finger, neatly severed at the third knuckle.

There was no way out of that cavern unless the dragon opened that portal up for us. The

thing was far too large for even a madman to even momentarily consider fighting, and it was on

the verge of deeming us thieves and looters as well. That would have been a death sentence. If

I hadnt killed him, every single one of us would be dead and the rest of the expedition would

have come looking for us and likely wound up dead as well.

Whats that? One of the sages asked, pointing to the severed pinkie finger in Cluelesss

hand.

Damn but youre good. Tristol told Clueless as he realized the meaning behind the bladesingers

full set of actions. Hed killed the man, but only in the temporary sense. Hed smuggled out a

bit of the corpse, and it was enough for a resurrection once they got back to Sigil.

Its one of his fingers. Clueless explained. And its enough for a resurrection, which Ill

pay for myself if the Institute wont cover the costs. I didnt have a choice in killing him to save

the rest of us, but hell be back amongst us eventually. Im not a murderer. Im just brutally

pragmatic when I have to be.

The formerly angry, accusatory faces softened and turned to admiration and thanks.

Im sorry for calling you a murder...

I didnt understand what I was saying; please dont hold it against me.

I really didnt mean what I said...

That was really smart and very brave of you.

Clueless smiled as they came to understand his actions, and truly appreciate his gambit inside

of the wyrms lair. How about we get back to camp?

***

The remainder of the night passed without incident, though Clueless and Tristol spent nearly

an hour in debate with Leobtav and Doran regarding the importance or lack thereof of the portal

that theyd found, and any link between it and the murders around the camp. In the end they

agreed to put the immediate area around the portal off limits, and that while a thing of incredible

curiosity and a convenient explanation for the two bizarre killings, the insane great wyrm was

utterly unconnected to the Crag and to the murders.

Clueless took a sip of thin ale and glanced around. For whatever reason the shadows seemed

darker that evening, and the expedition members clustered together a bit tighter against the
1263

cold and the dangers that theyd come to discover first hand over the past several days. Next to

one tent, Florien shared tales with a group of those whod been in the thickest bit of the tanarri

attack, regaling them with other tales of danger and the proud glory that came to those who

stood brave in its face. Turning his head more he saw Nisha and Tristol sitting together, the

tiefling making shadow puppets against a hanging flap of tent fabric that seemed to dance around

and nip at the aasimars tail while professor Leobtav and Ficklebarb watched. The pseudodragon

seemed to enjoy the show, looking happier than he had and Doran smiled as the familiars master

conjured a few of his own to buy him a moments respite and time to study more of the days

results.

Fyrehowl? Clueless asked to his left once he finished panning around the entire group. Do

you notice something? Someone missing?

The lupinal nodded. Frollis isnt here. I havent seen him since we got back from the portal.

Hes been doing that for a while. Clueless said. Vanishing off to... wherever... for a few

hours or half a day at a time since weve gotten here. I thought he was just off with another

group, but Ive asked around and hes been ducking away from camp more often than not.

Fyrehowl looked hard at him. Do you want to say something to Doran or Leobtav yet?

Not yet. Clueless replied. We cant prove anything.

Well, The lupinal sighed. Lets hope that nobody else dies before we can. But at the rate

were going, the plane itself is going to knock off half of the group before then, with or without

any help from some freelance psycho.

They didnt have to wait for very long.

***

When did you find him? Professor Leobtav asked, glancing up at the corpse with a pro-

foundly disturbed look upon his face. He was on the cooking detail last night. He wasnt on

one of the teams that left camp.

Doran nodded. Either he wandered outside of camp...

Or something came in and took him. Leobtav answered his seconds line of thinking. Well

have to post a tighter watch tonight and from now on, and seriously restrict movement unless

its in groups.

I would have to agree. Doran replied, glancing over at Leobtavs familiar who likewise

nodded in agreement. Whatever the little familiar might have known, he was keeping true to his

word and not telling anyone else if he could avoid it, including it would seem, his master, or else

Leobtav was holding to the same promise that the pseudodragon had exacted from him. As for
 1264

the body, we found him this morning when one of the first groups went out towards the next

section of the Crag. They got here, just outside of the light from camp when they found him. I

sent them on up to the Crag, and theyre still looking over this portion of the area and several

of the caves leading into the rock.

This happened so close to camp... Leobtav fretted. Nobody heard a thing? Have you

asked around?

I did, and its not surprising. Even so close to camp you could be screaming and the wind

would have still muted it out in all of the white noise and echoes off of the rocks.

The body they both stood below had been found suspended from an overhand of rock above

a cave mouth less than ten yards from the camp, arms bound together by the excised tendons of

their own sartorius muscles from the left and right legs. Their diaphragm had been punctured

to prevent screaming, and a depression in the earth before the body made it readily apparent

that the killer had sat and watched as their victim slowly suffocated to death in front of them.

Ten yards from camp. Ten yards.

Doran took in the news and stewed on the fact that it was now more obvious that it was

only one person, rather than multiple ones. This time they watched their victim die and they

prolonged it. They were escalating the violence as all mass murderers did eventually, but on a

much quicker timetable than any normal madman would have. Perhaps the planes winds had

sparked some ember of insanity into a roaring flame in an otherwise normally sane man.

***

Up on the crag three groups scoured through more than a dozen caves that burrowed into

Howlers Crag like meandering worm trails into a rotten apple. Both clerics accompanied one

group, Tristol, Nisha, Fyrehowl and Clueless headed up a second group, while Frollis, Toras, and

the lilland comprised the third.

Most of the caves were short and only extended into the Crag a few dozen feet to small

chambers. They all appeared carved by hand, and many contained one or two rough stone

benches cut into the walls, and occasionally what seemed like an empty devotional niche or

blank altar. The walls however were all uniformly covered in a bizarre patchwork of symbols,

strings of numbers and mathematical formulas, and psalms and liturgies in languages long since

considered dead or lost.

The symbols in the caves ran the gamut from obscure, to bizarre, to untranslatable by magical

means. In only a short period of time Tristol identified examples of Netherese, ancient versions of

Celestials, Abyssal, and the Infernal alphabet, along with symbols that transmitted feelings when
1265

read and shifted color as the mood of the phrase changed like a form of Qualith not exclusive to

illithids.

This stuff is strange. Tristol remarked as he walked down the cave, slowly translating bits

of script and jotting down notations on their meaning, location, and any words that he was

unable to identify since those might comprise the elusive Gautish script that the Institute was

searching for.

Define strange? Nisha asked.

Fyrehowl grinned at the tiefling. You.

Circular logic gets you everywhere? Nisha quipped back as she whispered a phrase in

draconic and started walking along the ceiling more to amuse herself than to examine the few

lines of script that reached that high up.

Theres a few portals around here too, but nothing thats currently active. The Abyss,

Limbo, Shadow, and the Ethereal. Tristol added. And as far as weird, this goes far beyond

Nishas amusing randomness. This stuff is downright bizarre.

Humor me. Said the lupinal.

The aasimar rattled off the contents of the last few lines and stanzas from the walls that

hed translated or gathered a rough meaning for: the honeycombed depths; the vaults of the

powers and their hidden keys; the grave of creation; For there is a hole in the sky; the tomb of

the smoldering Phoenix god; the ashes of betrayed powers; hello...; the last refuge of the Wind

Dukes from the onslaught of the undead Lords of Brass; The Palace of Radiant Suffering; Saelt,

Alluvius, Exhalus, Cavitius... true entropy lies within the Crumbling Citadel alone; a reference to

Unknowable Skeletal Lords of the Misty Prison; and one line that felt oddly familiar, HUBRIS

lies not dead but waiting... though the hidden hands of fate dictates action and not greed or

envy.
Chapter 117

Elsewhere, the third group stood before the largest of the caves, and in fact theyd been standing

there for some time. Standing there with them, Toras couldnt entirely blame them since the

rock was almost completely obscured with a dense blanket of white, gauzy webbing.

Glancing into the darkness of the yawning cave mouth, with his hands on both of his sword

pommels, Frollis Terpence smiled at Toras, You go first.

Toras raised an eyebrow, Really? Seriously? I havent heard a word out of you in a day and

a half -I dont think I even saw you yesterday- and the first thing out of your mouth is you go

first ?

Gallantry is over-rated my friend. The rogue quipped. And thats not normal white lichen

covering on the rocks. Youre a much bigger and much better armored target for whatever caused

it.

Gee, thanks for the endorsement of my function here.

Frollis bowed and motioned the half-celestial forward. Consider it a Pandemonium version

of having a friend be the first to walk a new trail in the woods, breaking all of the spider webs

across the way in doing so. Im not just being safe, Im giving you the endorsement of my view

of your capacity for courage.

Yeah... Toras trailed off. Just stay close by.

Ill be in your shadow, dont worry.

-fades away slightly as the larger, half-celestials shadow passed over him.

You know, I havent really gotten much of a chance to actually talk to you that much.

Toras said, looking the rogue over and wondering just what sort of person he was.

Dressed almost completely in black and wearing not one, but two holy symbols around his

neck, one of which was Mask, the Faerunian god of thieves, he didnt exactly seem the most

wholesome of a person. Having talked with Fyrehowl and Florian earlier that day, theyd been

of rather the same opinion, and Clueless had had his eyes on him for a while longer. Still though,

1266
1267

it seemed too obvious to blame random and horrific murders on someone just because they wore

black, were a rogueish sort, and wait... just because the other holy symbol around their neck

was the Faerunian god of retribution. Hmm.

Thats an odd collection of jewelry around your neck. Toras remarked, glancing at the

rogues holy symbols.

Frollis chuckled but didnt make any attempt to hide either of them. Were both tools of

a god arent we? Its just that you only have to deal with one; lucky you. Theres more than

one holy worm in my ears. It can be annoying at times, but their intentions and methods arent

always all that different.

Oh?

Justice and shadows, thats what Im all about. Frollis explained. Mask for instance is

the patron of stealth and intrigue.

And thieves. Toras added.

Frollis raised an eyebrow and shrugged. So he is, but your tiefling friend is both a nutter

and a thief, and you seem to get along quite well with her. Hmm?

Nutter? Absolutely. Thief? Well that was a matter of perspective. Nisha was Nisha.

Hoar the Doombringer is the god of poetic justice and retribution. I prefer to carry out the

latter gods will via the formers. Frollis flashed a self-satisfied grin.

How so?

Justice doesnt have to be about kicking in the door at noon, dressing in silver armor and

loudly bashing heads and arresting someone for a crime. Punishment doesnt have to be by the

rule of law or the rule of men. Sometimes the best kind of justice is that which takes place

without a single soul knowing about it except for the one that deserves it.

Toras nodded, partially out of understanding and partially out of uncertainty. The person

carrying it out would know as well.

So I would. Frollis said with a grin. The shadows dont have to be the rule of thieves and

those hiding out of selfishness. Evil needs to fear the darkness just as it does the light. You cant

hide from justice.

And now you sound like a Mercykiller.

Frollis wrinkled his face as if hed tasted bad wine turned to vinegar. So I do. Thats...

He paused abruptly and moved to the cave wall, motioning Toras to do the same.

Further down the passage, something was moving. It was abrupt, and then it stopped; paused,

waiting. It was a series of brief, whispered taps of something hard on stone in rapid succession.

Whatever caused it, the sound was something very unlike humanoid feet, booted or otherwise.
 1268

I heard it too. Toras whispered. What the hell is that?

Frollis gave Toras an annoyed stare and motioned to his lips, then shrugged as a reply to the

question. Still though, he drew both of his blades and eased back into the half-celestials shadow.

A dozen feet away, the shadow-dancer stepped out of one pool of darkness and then hopped

to the next, trying to scout out the location of whatever had made the noise. Watching him, and

barely managing to keep track of his location each time he stepped between shadows, Toras gave

a nod to himself. Thats what he was capable of, and thats why he seemed to simply vanish with

barely a seconds notice. Half the time he bolted, he might have simply been a few feet away but

largely out of sight. Still, it just raised more questions since clearly he was more capable than

anyone had initially suspected.

A tap on his shoulder took Toras from his thoughts and sent a hand to his sword grip before

he heard a sigh and the same hand slap at his. Frollis now stood behind him, having jumped

back into his shadow.

Well? Toras asked as quietly as possible.

Frollis shrugged uselessly, throwing his hands up.

And that of course was when they were both illuminated in a wash of sickly yellow light.

From directly above them came a bellowing roar and the chattering rustle of mandibles and

pedipalps as the head and forelegs of a massive bebelith erupted from out of a previously hidden

side tunnel. Toras and his shadow-dwelling companion dove to the side as the creature dropped

down, filling the entirety of the passage with its steel-grey and pale violet carapace. Down the

tunnel came nearly a dozen eruptions of insectile whines and shrieks, followed shortly thereafter

by the shouts of men and the movement of torchlight and franticly dancing shadows.

Toras glanced up, gripping his sword tightly, looking at his face reflected back in miniature

from across the multitude of the spider-like fiends compound eyes. The creature grinned, cher-

ishing the chance to rend something beyond its normal prey, belying the intelligence of something

far beyond and far more malevolent than simply a giant, monstrous spider.

***

Meanwhile back with the second group, there was more to come with the bizarre material

written upon the walls, and momentarily they dismissed the one oddly and disturbingly familiar

line of text that harkened back to a name -HUBRIS- written at the base of an ancient statue or

golem, miles below the streets of Sigil.

Tristol moved to examine some of the strange writing, glancing at the same portion of the

wall that currently occupied Fyrehowls attention.

1269

Whats that one say? The lupinal tapped the mage on the shoulder and inclined her nose

towards one of the meandering stanzas.

Tristol looked at her oddly, I thought guardinals could understand pretty much every lan-

guage.

Fyrehowl shook her head. We can, sort of. Its spoken languages only. And its not exactly

the same as knowing the language itself. We can understand anything spoken, but unless I go

out and learn the language I dont get all of the quirks and subtleties, and it doesnt work at all

when its written down.

Tristol nodded, Nice ability though nonetheless. I took me years to learn all of the ones that

Ive picked up.

How many do you know? Youve seemed to do pretty well so far with most of what weve

seen.

Tristol had to think for a moment, and he silently tapped a few fingers on one hand and then

another. Twelve at the moment.

Twelve? Fyrehowls looked impressed, ears canted forward. Thats quite a number. I can

pull half of that, and Ive had a lot longer to learn them.

The aasimar smiled. You havent needed to learn them though, you get to cheat.

She shrugged, Its more fun to actually learn the real language though. Its easier to just

cheat as you say it, but it doesnt feel as authentic, or as close to truly understanding someone.

But it works for most things, although it doesnt come close to knowing what Xaositects are

babbling about half of the time. She glanced over at Nisha as the tiefling stood upside down on

the cave ceiling, crouching like a bat, wordlessly opening her mouth in batty pantomime.

Heres a secret. Tristol whispered. I dont think Xaositects know what Xaositects are

saying half the time either.

Up on the ceiling, the Nisha-Bat nodded vigorously with a grin on her face. A moment later

she paused and looked confused, babbled to herself in xaos-speak, and then promptly understood

herself perfectly well.

Im inclined to agree with you. Fyrehowl said, chuckling at Tristol as they both glanced at

Nisha.

Ignoring the tiefling-come-bat, the two of them studied the brief bits of writing that dotted

the tunnel, reading them or using magic to translate when they didnt fully understand the

source languages. Most of them were mundane things, but one of them scrawled its way across

the ceiling and initially refused translation. In the end they could only gather that it spoke of

something related to the howling madness and the wisdom of the Demented.
 1270

But that was quickly forgotten once they reached another stretch of text. This one was

easy to read, except that when they let their eyes play over the text -written in archaic planar

common- they swore that for a moment they heard claws scratching at the stone and a distant

shrill whistle of wind, almost like a far-off howling.

Do you hear the code? Can you listen to the keen and wail of the winds and hear their secret

whisperings even the gods deign to ignore out of ignorance... and fear?

They stared at the text again, slowly rereading it, and once again they heard the same things.

Ears erect and glancing about with more than a small bit of paranoia, no one else in the tunnel

seemed to have heard anything. Clueless was looking at a patch of wall a ways down from

them, seemingly unconcerned and unaware of what theyd heard, several of their academics were

likewise paying rapt attention to bits of text, and equally unaware. Nisha for her part was busy

chomping at imaginary bugs, still embroiled in her bat pantomime.

Bebeliths are yummy! She quipped down at Tristol and Fyrehowl, flapping her arms like

wings. She took their worried reactions to pertain to her own brand of crazy. Teeny tiny

bebeliths...

Less concerned with Nisha than on the apparently supernatural element of the walls text,

Tristol and Fyrehowl looked back at the text, reading it over and over.

While both the aasimar and lupinal were both staring blankly at the wall for far too long

than was probably healthy, Clueless had found something of his own to be concerned about.

Below a line of text on the wall which he hadnt pondered long enough to translate, a single

mage rune was neatly and intricately melted into the stone. Below that very familiar symbol

-a mages personal rune melted into the stone- the text from above picked back up in the same

language as the earlier text.

***

-Insert fight with multiple bebeliths and several immature ones.-

***

Clueless stared at the mage rune melted into the rock. Like the eye of some slumbering,

dreaming serpent long buried over by the earth, it gazed back, insensate but like a slumbering

dragons eye, it served a warning to not disturb its resting place. Clueless had no intention of

simply ignoring it however as he looked more intensely at it, and its surroundings.

What disturbed him the most was that from the wear patterns on the rock, the top inscription

was obviously oldest, nearly worn away in places. By contrast the mage rune was ancient as well,
1271

but orders of magnitude younger, and the next line of text was roughly the same age as it. But

both top and bottom texts were in the same script and seemingly by the same hand, almost as

if the words in the stone had reacted to the defacing of the wall with the mage rune where some

ancient wizard had marked his self-important coming.

Shit... Clueless muttered to himself. He recognized the symbol from when hed looked into

information on heavy magic and stumbled upon the story of Shekelor. The details of the last

factol of the Incanterium came back to the forefront of his mind with eerie recall. Shekelor had

vanished into the depths of Pandemonium, searching for something and claiming that when he

returned to Sigil, he would do so to topple The Lady. That hadnt happened, and instead hed

come back screaming, babbling nonsense, and publically incinerating. The full details of his time

in Pandemonium werent fully known, but apparently at some point hed come here to Howlers

Crag.

The translation was simple enough with magic: We gather where the rock grows jagged,

where the wind whistles its tune, where the hole in the sky rests beneath the bedrock of all chaos

and madness

Glancing back at his companions, still staring intently at another distant wall, or in Nishas

case simply being Nisha, Clueless inhaled and whispered the words of a legend lore spell as he

dipped his finger into the tiny fraction of heavy magic he kept on his person. Shekelor had found

the orb and its contents, and while it wasnt what had compelled him to abruptly abandon

his factol, depart Sigil, and trek through the bowels of the multiverse, what hed considered a

fascinating if trivial anomaly might help unravel what hed been looking for at Howlers Crag,

and why hed marked the place with his personal symbol.

***

Conjured light illuminated the cave, throwing heavy shadows from some of the smaller, jagged

outcroppings of rock, pooling within the many niches and recessed shrines. Footsteps approached

from the mouth of the tunnel, sending a scatter of rocks and pebbles before their master, his

footsteps unsteady and awkward - not out of any notion of wariness or fear, but rather they

were the steps of someone unused to physically walking when teleportation and flight were but a

thought away. But certain things required exertion and deigning unhallowed ground with their

presence, and this cave within Howlers Crag was one such thing.

Clueless watched the conjured vision continue as a familiar person stepped into view and

approached the same set of carvings upon the cave wall. Shekelor, the Archmage, the once-

factol of the Incanterium. Hed left everything behind on his quest to bring the Lady low, or
 1272

so hed claimed. Clueless had met his apprentice factors, and in their maze theyd achieved an

immortality of a sorts, and they hadnt fallen far from their masters example.

Shekelors eyes glowed with a dull platinum light, swirling with muted reflections, the hallmark

of his decision to physically embrace his factions ideology. Magic is everything.

He smiled, tracing his fingers over the lines, obviously gaining some knowledge from them

that eluded the half-fey watching his actions millennia later.

How interesting... His smile turned introspective, his thoughts wandering for a long moment

before he whispered a phrase and traced his mage-rune into the wall where Clueless had found

it.

But then the light shifted as another set of shadows interrupted his, followed in turn by a

synchronized series of footfalls. A trio of figured melted out of the darkness, gaunt men with

blank expressions, dressed in oily black from head to foot, black goggles hiding their eyes.

Give us the Orb. The first of their number demanded without inflection or emotion.

Shekelor turned and scowled at the Keepers.

I am growing tired of you and your kind. Ive already killed a dozen of you. How many

more must I waste my time with?

Give us what we want and we will let you be.

And why are you so interested in it? Shekelors eyes narrowed. Its a powerful curiosity,

but it has nothing to do with you. You just show up, repeatedly, and demand that I give it to

you. Youve hassled me on five different planes, and I repeat, I am growing tired of you and your

kind.

The Keepers glanced at one another and as one turned back to coldly stare at the archmage.

Their gaze was unnerving, and Shekelor knew full well that no eyes stared back from below

their goggles, and no heart beat within their pale, rubbery chests. But for that matter his own

eyes were anything but human, nor any more, and his life existed independent of the normal

substances that sustained virtually every other being. Why should they disturb him, whatever

they were, wherever they were from, and regardless of what they demanded?

Youve seen what Im capable of. The Incantifer bluntly stated. I neither sleep nor tire,

and outside of proving yourselves an annoyance, you have no capacity to threaten me. Leave

now and never bother me again. This is my last warning.

The silence was oppressive as neither the mage nor the Keepers moved, not even to breath,

since none of them required it. Shekelor sneered with an elitism borne of tremendous power and

tremendous ego, and for their part the construct-like beings that hounded him now and before

gave no emotion or other indication of worry at his threat.

1273

Give us the Orb.

With sudden abruptness, and speed belying his outwardly late-middle age appearance, Shekelor

clapped his hands together. The fabric of space distorted, rippling as the clap echoed through

across the cave. Simultaneously, all three Keepers imploded, falling to the ground as dissolving

amalgamations of clothing and flesh, crushed to pulp in the space of a moment.

No. The archmage dryly pronounced as he stepped around their bubbling, evaporating

essence, laughing at their deaths as he left.

Shekelor was gone and his conjured light began to fade when it happened. The factol never

saw it, but it might have served a warning if he had. The letters on the wall that hed searched

for, the writing that hed travelled so far to find, the answer to whatever question he had, it

began adding to itself. A second line formed of its own accord, seeping out of the rock like

wriggling insects. ...and long shall you gaze.

The spell ended abruptly, wrenching Cluelesss mind out of that conjured moment of the

past and back to the present. The bladesinger shivered as looked up at the complete line of

text, knowing that it had reacted to Shekelors passing, and the archmage had never noticed. He

shivered again, almost like a thousand tiny spiders crawling on his skin. Spiders...

Oh hell with that. Clueless softly cursed, knowing all too well what the factols last words

had been. He shook the memory out of his head as much as he could. Evidently the factol had

found what hed been searching for, or perhaps it had found him.

***

The Ward of Masks was alife with the skipper skapper of tongues heralding the looming

festival of lamps run by the merchants of the copper district. Soon their dancing lights would

themselves pay prophet to the groundbreaking of the Festhall one ward over. Crowds had already

gathered for the ceremonial lighting.

The firre and his coterie of coure lampers stood upon their podium and the assembled crowd

watched as the silver and burgundy clad eladrin raised his hands in welcome. A warm glow began

at his fingertips, and then, unexpectedly, the courtyard flashed with colors entirely outside of his

planning. The crowd gasped and turned as a portal flickered into being, outlined by the arms of

a pair of statues and a tiny spiders web that branched between their outstretched fingers.

Crimson turned to inky black as the portal opened, blowing a hollow, metallic scent upon

the air as a single figure stumbled out of the darkness. He stumbled as he exited from wherever

hed come, losing his grip and sending a handful of sparkling gemstones scattered out onto the

ground and amidst the shocked crowds feet. He was dirty, once fine robes smudged with dirt
 1274

and ashes. His hair was wild and unwashed, but a palpable sense of -power- exuded from his

very being.

The portal closed with a resounding crackle of energy and its former boundaries, the twin

statues, shuddered. Lightning sparked between the marble fingers, incinerating the spider and its

web into a fine dust of ashes, and a moment later the statues themselves cracked and crumbled

to dust. The portal was closed, the air was still, but light still cascaded across the plaza.

The man stumbled forward another step. He looked confused, and above and beyond that, he

seemed terrified. Light was shining from his body, illuminating an outline of his body beneath his

robes, and every second that passed the intensity grew. Too shocked at his sudden appearance,

the crowd was yet silent.

The light grew brighter, shining from his flesh brighter even than the firre who stood a score

of yards distant. The eladrin felt something terribly wrong. Something had touched this man.

Something terrible. Something -wrong-. But he couldnt tell if it was evil or not.

Something horrible was about to happen.

Shekelors senses screamed. This wasnt supposed to happen. Why was he here? Could they

have followed? Oh gods above, what hed seen in The Harmonica. His flesh burned from within,

and he grew aware of the building light that even now seared his fingers.

Distantly, beyond the crowd, the archmage saw a single figure drifting into view; tall, re-

gal, serene. Hovering, She turned and looked at him, making eye contact as the pain became

unbearable.

He had to warn them. He had to warn them all, before it was too late.

THE SPIDERS!!!!

The crowds hush broke into a screaming, scrambling frenzy as the man burst into flame,

erupting into a searing glow, screaming madly for a second more before he completely incinerated

into nothing. Nothing remained but for the scattering of stones, each of them glowing with inner

light, lost to the scramble of the crowd, kicked and dispersed in the passing of feet, claws, hooves.

Shekelor was gone, his vision to topple The Lady uncompleted. His mad, grand claims snuffed

out like a candle flame in Pandemoniums winds.

The figure turned and drifted away, as silent and serene as before.

***

Toras made a face as he tried in vain to get the sticky, disgusting mess of bebelith silk and

blood off of his sword, off of his armor, and out of his hair. It reeked, and unlike tanarri it didnt

seem to evaporate once they died, or flashed away in a cloud of fire, or turned into luminescent
1275

corpse flies. That would be fine on the grand scale of things; anything but the mess that was

left after hed taken on a bebelith hive. And where the hell had Frollis up and vanished off to?

Back down the warren of tunnels, away from where Toras was venting his frustration and

kicking a dead bebelith, Settys Al Khylian walked through the caves, gingerly avoiding each

bunch of burning webbing, letting them smolder and light his way. Brandishing his glowing

khopesh, he went about neatly and methodically severing the heads of each bebelith corpse he

encountered, ensuring that the creatures were and stayed dead.

Walking alongside the cleric, both Doran and Leobtav followed along, staying close in the

event that something was still alive in the cave, both of them carrying conjured globes of light.

Behind them, a small number of academics followed along dutifully, taking notes on the symbols

on the cave walls, mapping the tunnel itself, or simply curious to watch as his went about his

business.

Id also advise that we incinerate the remains along with any eggs. The priest of Thoth

warned. If one of them hatches, they rapidly mature and we have too many things out in the

dark already.

How much do you know about them? Bebeliths I mean. Leobtav asked.

Ive run across them before near Curst, south of one of the tributaries of Maat. Difficult,

violent creatures, but I havent studied them extensively beyond knowing how to handle them

in a practical manner.

Then you arent aware of their feeding and hunting habits no? Leobtav was going somewhere

with his commentary, and beside him, Doran winced as he came to the same realization.

They subsist almost entirely on tanarri flesh. The elf explained in his colleagues stead.

They hunt and eat demons.

The irony is that they probably preyed more on the fiends out there than anything else.

Leobtav remarked. With the bebeliths gone, it might actually be more dangerous for us here

in the long run.

As they talked, Leobtav felt a tiny tug on his collar. Looking down, Ficklebarb caught his

attention and motioned with his tail directly above them. Previously covered by a large swathe

of bebelith webbing, a spidery collection of runes danced across the ceiling. When the last of the

arachnid demons fell, its dying spasms had dislodged the covering and revealed the writing.

I have to wonder if the bebelith hive might not be the source of our latest problems. Doran

asked, glancing at the massive body of one of the fiends. Theyre intelligent, so its not entirely

out of the question I suppose. And Ive never personally seen a hive this large.

Perhaps, Settys mused. But I seriously doubt it. They wouldnt toy with us, and some-
 1276

thing clearly is doing just that. And were still missing two people. If we dont find them

dismembered and half-eaten somewhere in the caves here, covered in webbing and bebelith spit-

tle, I think that notion can be dropped.

The cleric clearly didnt think much of the idea, but the elf was honestly more interested in

his reaction. Based on the past few days, they needed to be open to the idea that one of their

own had gone mad, and it wasnt some fiend out in the shrieking darkness preying on them.

Whats your opinion? Doran asked, glancing over at Leobtav.

Leobtav wasnt paying attention though. His eyes were fixed on a portion of the ceiling and

a tracing of symbols that ran back and forth across the hand-carved stone back and forth for

several dozen lines. His eyes were wide as he glanced between the symbols and his field journal.

Perched on his shoulder, Ficklebarbs head craned back and forth in alternating pattern to his

masters from book to script and back.

Do you think...? The pseudodragon asked with some hesitation.

Leobtav was preoccupied however, flipping back and forth, comparing samples in his journal

with those on the stone. Each time he went from stone to book his expression lifted, growing

more and more excited, grinning ear to ear.

Sir? Highsilver asked again. His voice trailed off though upon noticing his colleagues

expression.

It would evade magical translation as every other sample of the language had before - some-

thing to do with the tieres self-made damnation. But mundane translation was something else

entirely. Our glorious father, creator and protector. Our lives we gave, our tears we wept,

children we raised in adoration of you. The labor of centuries we gave, poured forth from our

midst to build unto you an eternal Cathedral in honor and obeisance of You our patron and

maker.

It continued for paragraphs more, and while the fine details would need to be painstakingly

deciphered, word by word, this was it: Gautish.

The professors voice was ecstatic. I think weve found it.

Chapter 118

Painstakingly copied from cave-wall to paper, the gautish script was easily the largest such

sample that had been found written within the passages that honeycombed Howlers Crag. It

was also one of the most well preserved, almost as if the hatred of the people once known as the

tiere continued down through the ages, reaching across the planes from their long-since become

native Carceri to preserve and protect it like some sort of stranglehold upon the memory of their

origin, and their great crime of virtual deicide.

None of the researchers, not even Highsilver or Leobtav had yet managed to fully decipher

the text, and so for the moment it sat, illuminated by lamplight on Leobtavs desk. His familiar

though glanced at it warily, a look of worry on his face as if the poisoned thoughts of the gautiere

might reach out like a sort of worm-word empowered by Pandemoniums winds. It might indeed

have, but it wasnt the cause of the groups current problem that stalked them in the darkness,

killing them one by one.

And be that as it might, the text still held its secrets. The text contained both the lamen-

tation of the tiere, the tale of their self-initiated damnation, and buried within its words the

encoded location of their fall. It was there, waiting to be unlocked, and out in the darkness,

someone was willing to kill for it.

Our glorious father, creator and protector. Our lives we gave, our tears we wept, children we

raised in adoration of you. The labor of centuries we gave, poured forth from our midst to build

unto you an eternal Cathedral in honor and obeisance of You our patron and maker.

Why then did you hide? Why did you seek shelter inside our greatest creation, made in your

name? Why did you forsake us then to our enemies and their powers when in anger and jealousy

they came to steal away from you and we our eternal offering? Why did you hide as if a child

within the depths of your palace we built for you with our pain and glory? Why did you seal

fast the doors, bar your children entry, and leave us to the mercy of your feared rivals? Why oh

1277
 1278

mighty one?

Were you afraid? Did you fear more for your own life than those of your followers who feared

not for their own in the face of death, but served you faithfully? Who then is the righteous and

who is the damned? Who shows the spark of the divine, and who is but a pale reflection of it?

Oh mighty one indeed. You seal the doors at the approaching hoof beats and drums of the armies

and listen not to the wailings of your chosen, now forgotten and forsaken people.

RAGE to sunder the heavens we felt! All of our centuries of faith to you, forgotten in an

instant! We will die not at the hands of your enemies who come to slay you and we in envy of

how we glorified you. Raising our hands, voices, and spirits we scream to the multiverse and the

planes themselves to take our hatred, our bitterness, our anger and our betrayal of you. To take

these and shackled you for eternity in a prison of our making. No longer the Eternal Cathedral

of our most beloved god, but your tomb. Our lives consumed, our souls twisted, the anger flowing

out to gird your hands, and bind your feet, to cut out your tongue and blind your eyes. You will

never die, but lie in undying impotence and suffering in the misty shadow of the Spire of Magic

Death, betrayed by those you sought to betray yourself.

We are no longer your chosen, no longer your servants, no longer your slaves, no longer the

Tiere, but the Gautiere.

***

This is amazing! Leobtav was babbling as he looked over a copy of the script from the cave.

Its going to take days to translate but...

Sir? One of the associate researchers interrupted him. Why is that? Cant we just translate

it with magic? That seems the simplest way.

Because we cant, The professor explained. That was one of the first things that I tried,

but it doesnt do anything but provide a vague transliteration. Youre more than welcome to try

if you can cast the spell, but I dont think that its a protective ward that just tries to resist the

effect. As far as I can tell theres something intrinsic to the language itself that defies magical

decipherment. If we want to read it, well have to do this the old-fashioned way. Thankfully we

have some small samples, mostly bits and pieces from Carceri. Ive included those samples on

the copies of the raw script that I passed out.

Tristols ears twitched. Something intrinsic to the script itself? That wasnt so out of the

question, especially given what hed experienced with another, unrelated text elsewhere on the

Crag earlier that day. That one at least could be deciphered, but it didnt really make sense.
1279

Hopefully Leobtav and the others could make quick work of theirs. The earlier experience was

beginning to really bother him.

Leobtav whispered a few phrases to an amanuensis spell and smiled, satisfied as the conjured

force dutifully began transcribing another stack of paper copies of the text, a transliteration, and

a further page of notes that he and Doran had both added.

No more going out into the dark? Leobtavs pseudodragon chirped from where he currently

sat, curled up atop a pile of books between his master and Tristol.

Leobtav shuffled the stack of freshly penned pages, No more going out into the dark. Weve

got what we came here for, and while the Crag has its mysteries and a treasure trove of philological

information, I dont want to risk anyones safety.

Yay! The pseudodragon beamed. For the first time in two days he seemed genuinely happy.

The little familiars smile was infectious, and soon the others in the room were smiling as well.

When they left in the next hour their mood spread along with the professors pronouncement

that they would soon be leaving the howling hell of Pandemonium. Ale was drunk, food was

shared, stories were told and laughs exchanged. Like embers scattered in the wind spreading a

warm, roaring flame their happiness carried for an evening of respite from the present troubles.

Trouble cared not for their attempts, and it would jar them back to reality with brutal force

in short order.

***

Had he stood in his current position overlooking the camp on some terrestrial world it would

have been at the back edge of twilight, with the sun slipping beyond a distant range of hills,

with the first stars faintly appearing and the lanterns and cook fires down below only now being

stoked. He looked down, watching the little ants scurry about, readying their tents for sleep,

putting away their implements of a days work, collecting together to talk, discuss, socialize like

insects, with as much mindless absence of importance. He also noted that the hired mercenaries

were now walking the perimeter, watching the edges of the darkness; they were starting to worry

for their safety as much as the others.

The man smiled and returned to his work, eager to finish in full view of his victims, embracing

the darkness within as much as the darkness surrounding. Quickly and efficiently, with grace that

belied his lack of recent practice, he arranged each of his newest victims bones as he desired one

after another to produce the desired tableau. His shoulder was heavy, like a piece of his master

perched there, watching him with approval as he moved onwards to the next corpse.

Closer now, ever closer. He whispered, admiring his handiwork. Thy will be done.
 1280

In the artificial morning of their arbitrary sleep-cycle, they would find his work.

***

Dorans eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt, and he stifled a grossly inappropriate yawn

as he looked down at the bodies. Theyd been found only an hour earlier, but he hadnt yet

slept a wink, neither he nor Leobtav; theyd both been bottled up inside of their respective tents,

obsessively pouring over the gautiere text. The text -as far as theyd translated thus far- told the

tieres history, almost as a rationalization of their great crime, but in a way it was less disturbing

than what he looked down upon.

Atop a small ridge of rock that overlooked the camp, two bodies lay on the ground, though it

was more complicated than saying precisely that. One body lay on the ground by itself, limp and

wrinkled, partially collapsed in on itself. It was flesh only, with every bone removed, bloodlessly

and without a single obvious incision. Its skeleton lay a dozen feet off to the side, partially buried

in the rocky soil, with the second corpse posed and positioned, kneeling over it with a brush and

trowel, as if excavating a find. The second man seemed to have been killed by a single, clean

slash to the jugular, but once again it was more complicated. Something had petrified his bones

after death, holding him in his rigid, staged position, and the blood that emerged from his neck

was transmuted to a trickle of crimson sand.

What kind of fiend would do this? One of the other academics asked.

A sick man, a sick woman... I dont know. Doran sighed. He should have known. He was

a diviner for all that was holy! But divinations were worthless. Hed tried to ascertain who

had performed the earlier murders. Hed even tried to witness them through various forms of

psychomancy, but theyd failed. Either the Crags proximity limited their use, or the killer was

able to thwart such methods of discovery. You cannot stop what you cannot find.

Drawn in a trail of crimson sand upon the ground, the killer had left them a taunting message,

You cannot find us. We will kill you all, one by one, and smile. Are you afraid?

It was written in planar common, with no peculiarities of spelling or word use that might

indicate a native plane or race. They were out there in the dark, likely watching the discovery,

possibly even amongst those currently milling about. It was maddening.

Do we know who they are? The dead I mean. Doran asked, looking away from the bodies.

I recognize the one on the left. The complete one. He was one of the cooks.

Hes a cartographer. Mellisan the lilland explained. I actually talked to him two nights

ago quite a bit. The dark and the wind were starting to get to him, he looked lonely, and I felt

it an imperative to cheer him up. He actually had a decent singing voice. I havent seen him
1281

since then, but I didnt think anything of it.

We have a lot of people, Doran lamented. If theyre not in your group that you work with

each day, theres no reason or ability to keep up.

This is getting obscene Doran... Mellisan whispered in a distinctly harsher tone than her

normally melodic, sing-song voice.

The elf scowled down at the corpses and didnt look up to meet the lillands gaze as they

burned holes into his head.

We need to consider leaving. Her voice was tinged softer now, and very much a whisper so

as not to be overheard. If we cant find the person responsible for this, we have a responsibility

to our colleagues and hires to keep them safe.

I know that! Doran snipped back, clenching his left fist in the hem of his robe. Im not

ready to make that call yet. Weve faced worse things before. You remember Porphatys, and

thats what lead us here remember? Were close to deciphering one of the largest remaining

mysteries in planar languages!

The lilland paused, clearly about to say something, but she turned away having evidently felt

it better to hold her tongue. Below her waist, her serpentine body curled and twisted, reflecting

ambient light in a mixture of green and golden scatters.

You want to say something Mellisan.

You already know what I wanted to say.

Am I making a mistake here? He asked, glancing from the bodies to the bard.

She flicked a wing and drifting closer to put a hand on his shoulder. Thats neither my call

nor my decision. But think about it closely because youll have to live with it.

The lilland gave him a soft embrace and drifted off, back in the direction of the camps lights,

there to break the news of more killings and to do her best to sooth nerves and fears in its wake.

Doran sighed and watched her leave, Assuming that I live through it...

***

Much like the others before them, the bodies were preserved from decay through magical

means, and when they returned to a safer plane, theyd be returned to life. That was the hope

at least. Earlier attempts had failed in the same haunting way that divinations had failed.

I dont like this at all. Toras grumbled. Were sitting here letting some twisted little prick

pick people off at their leisure.

Then why dont we go out and find them? Florian asked, clenching a mail-covered fist.

Tempus sure as hell wouldnt want me to sit here and act scared. We should be out looking or
 1282

setting a trap.

We? Nisha looked up at the cleric as she held Tristols tail like an overly fluffy scarf and

tickled her nose with its tip. Im not so sure about this whole we thing. Im getting spooked.

Tristol stroked the back of her head. Going out into the dark wont help us find anything

when it seems likely that its someone inside of our own camp.

Clueless glanced out at the lights flickering inside of a dozen or more tents. Hunting them

down, Im not so sure about. Setting a trap though...

You have anyone in mind? Toras asked, with Florian and Fyrehowl looking up with interest.

Possibly. The bladesinger frowned. He suspected the shadowdancer, but he couldnt prove

anything yet.

We might not have to do anything. Tristol interjected. I doubt that well be here more

than another day or two. Doran and Leobtav have made some really nice leaps in the translation

of the gautish text.

Conversation trailed off and they went their separate ways. Clueless wandered through the

camp, looking for various persons and quietly asking about what theyd been up to in the past

day. Toras and Florian both did the same on their own, while Tristol and Nisha wandered back

to Leobtavs tent -mostly so Nisha could play with his familiar- and Fyrehowl simply tried to

relax.

Every time the lupinal closed her eyes though, she felt she was being watched and her ears

would twitch as if alerted from some odd, unnatural sound in the distance. It was unnerving,

and Tristol would have noticed the same thing except he hadnt yet tried to sleep. The line of

text from the Crag that theyd read, concentrated upon, and indeed been touched by, they would

discover its impact in due time alongside other events swiftly building to a climax.

***

Later that day they all tried to take their minds off of the murders and several of them took

the time to study more on the gautish text that the expedition had searched for and found

at great cost. Both Leobtav and Highsilver had been pouring over it, comparing their ideas,

and glancing over a multitude of references in books that sprawled across both of their tents.

Tentatively they were making some progress, but it was proving to be much more difficult than

they originally thought.

Im just not sure that the original text that we copied from the tunnel is accurate. Leobtav

grimaced and tapped his fingers on the table.

Doran looked at him over a pile of books as the professors familiar stared out into the
1283

darkness, preoccupied and afraid. The tiny dragon still couldnt talk more about what he might

have known or seen. But he didnt seem to want to stay in their present location.

Milling about the tent, looking out into the dark as well, or simply listening to the expedition

leaders talk, most of the other hires had assembled, with Tristol and Clueless paying especial

attention.

How so? Doran asked. The text was absolutely crisp for its age. It barely seems to have

suffered any erosion, and no intentional damage despite its age.

The letters are old, and Im starting to think that the original tiere alphabet lacked diacritical

marks.

Im not sure I get where youre going with that. Highsilver scratched his head, while behind

him, having overheard the conversation, Tristol winced at the implication.

The text is written in gautish, but I think that its expressing a text that was originally

composed in the tiere language. It isnt pure, and what were seeing was composed at a time

when the gautiere had evolved and diverged from its original form. What we have are diacritical

marks on our transcript...

And the original didnt. Tristol finished his thought for him. And what we have may have

applied them in such a way to partially garble the text it was attempting to express.

Sh*t... Doran slowly smacked his head into the stack of books.

Its going to take more time to figure this out. The professor sighed. Our transcript

doesnt take some of the spacing and positioning into full account, and thats going to be needed

in the next day or two.

I want to leave...

Darkness is boring... Nisha added in.

Honestly I think well make some better headway on this once were back at the institute.

Its a lot more comfortable than a tent in the middle of Pandemonium.

Ficklebarb looked up and smiled, though he was still looking under the weather.

Looking over from where he slouched against the far wall, Frollis nodded in agreement, Best

idea that Ive heard in a damn long while.

We dont want her bored. Tristol interjected, pointing at Nisha.

Quietly, Leobtav donned a pair of pristine white gloves for no apparent reason.

I agree. Highsilver concurred. About leaving, not the tiefling being bored. Weve already

accomplished everything we came here to do, and staying here just puts us unnecessarily at

further risk. And we have more than one person to resurrect once were back. Hopefully in the

next few days we can have everything wrapped up and be ready to head back.
 1284

Without prior explanation once again Leobtav stood up and walked over to the tiefling.

Hi! Nisha looked up and smiled.

The professor frowned disapprovingly and held out his gloved hands.

What? Nisha gave a quizzical look before suddenly remembering something. Oh, yeah,

that...

Calmly, gingerly Leobtav removed a rare volume of the 1st edition of Asterguards Languages

and Dialects of the Arcadian/Mithardiir Wastes from the xaositects hands as she produced the

book from the depths of a portable hole residing on the top of her head.

Sorry about that...

The professor said not a word but shook his head and sighed. Ficklebarb giggled for his own

part.

Frollis took a sip of whiskey and broke the silence, What was that about, and what happens

if she gets bored?

Nothing good happens apparently! Leobtav answered, glaring back at the tiefling. That

was in a locked case...

Nisha grinned. Her tanarri ancestors couldnt have done a much better job.

***

High above the crag, peering down through the darkness like a subterranean bird of prey, a

gaunt and emaciated figure flapped its membranous wings and rose on a sharp updraft. One

of the varrangoin, its kind were ancient when the first tanarri emerged to seize control of the

Abyss, but in the eons since that time they now lived as exiles within their own home plane, and

it, Zoragothmrrus, dwelled in exile within Pandemonium. The savage wonders of the Abyss -the

original Abyss- were but a distant memory to even the legends told by the eldest of its tribe.

Hissing at the thought, it gazed down at the Titans grave, the Pheonixs Tomb, the Mountain

of Dead Words -it had a thousand different names- and paused.

It should have turned back, the bebeliths hungered and despite his height above the towering

edifice, it knew that it wasnt safe. But something told it otherwise. Hitting a second up thrust

of air it inhaled deeply, sifting through the scents of ancient dust, freshly spilt bebelith blood,

wood smoke, tobacco, wine, gruel, and other, non-native smells that wafted up from the sheltered

basin at the Crags base.

The demon-hunters were dead. All of them. New flesh claimed the Crag. Zoragothmrrus

smiled and shrieked at the top of its lungs, piercing the air with a wild, ecstatic cry that went

unheard except for his multitude of kin that prowled the tunnels a league distant. Their prey
1285

upon the ground heard nothing above the howling winds, and even if the winds had been silenced,

their ears would never have detected it as anything but a buzzing such was its pitch. They would

be oblivious till death came for them.

***

-insert varangoin attack

***

Zoragothmrrus bled heavily upon the stone, washing the rock with sticky, black ichor that

stank of rot and copper. The celestial had deeply wounded his side, and had he not managed to

take to the air and escape beyond the range of their lights, the lupinal would surely have ended

his life between her teeth or her blade.

Claws dug into the stone and the arcanist varangoin screamed with rage and bruised pride

as much as from the considerable pain of his wounds.

Stupid guardinal b*itch! I will...

Abruptly the fiend paused.

He was not alone.

There was another creature present. No, more than one, multiple creatures. He could smell

them over the reek of his own blood. The most prominent was dragging another, presumably

a victim of one of Zoragothmrruss brethren and he was breathing heavily from the burden.

Providence had delivered more victims. His tribe would be avenged for their losses this day.

The varangoin twisted in place, turning towards the other and gasping with a deep wince of

pain. He snarled and hissed a death curse at the outline of a single humanoid figure and the

body that lay limply at his feet.

Die mortal wrech! Die for the...

Calmly, coldly the mortal cut him off.

You are not one of mine, The mortal spoke in fluent varangoin, But you will suffice all

the same.

Zoragothmrrus paused, taken utterly aback by his would-be victims attitude and the very

fact that he spoke his tongue, something that would never be taught to a mortal. Something

was wrong. Another voice was whispering something, and then the man snarled a response back

into the darkness.

Who are you? Zoragothmrrus clawed the ground with uncertainty, hoping to show a position

of strength and hide his wounded status. How do you know the tongue of the people of the

Abyssal skies?
 1286

The mortal looked down at the body at his feet and then back at the fiend. He smiled and

the distant light sparkled in perfect circles. Again he spoke in the fiends tongue with perfect

fluency, My master cares neither for them, nor for you.

Zoragothmrrus never had the chance to react as the man opened his mouth and a gout of

liquid shadows erupted like a hundred knife blades, lancing into his dying form and a hundred

hands cupped to receive his blood. His killer would be painting tonight with the blood of more

than one victim.

Contents

1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63

8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73

9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82

10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91

11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102

12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107

13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121

14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128

15 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141

16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157

17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167

18 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185

1287
 1288

19 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200

20 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215

21 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232

22 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243

23 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257

24 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271

25 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284

26 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 301

27 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316

28 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327

29 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338

30 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349

31 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 357

32 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 372

33 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 386

34 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 390

35 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400

36 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 412

37 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 425

38 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 436

39 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 447

40 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 462

41 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
1289

42 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 483

43 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 494

44 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 505

45 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 512

46 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 522

47 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 533

48 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 537

49 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 544

50 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 551

51 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 560

52 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 568

53 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 578

54 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 592

55 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 605

56 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 617

57 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 631

58 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 646

59 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656

60 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 665

61 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 678

62 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 685

63 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 693

64 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 704
 1290

65 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 715

66 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 727

67 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 737

68 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 748

69 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 762

70 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 775

71 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 795

72 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 805

73 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 815

74 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 825

75 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 840

76 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 850

77 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 858

78 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 869

79 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 877

80 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 887

81 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 897

82 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 909

83 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 921

84 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 930

85 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 940

86 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 950

87 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 961
1291

88 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 983

89 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 994

90 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1007

91 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1015

92 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1026

93 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1038

94 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1051

95 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1062

96 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1075

97 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1087

98 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1095

99 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1105

100 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1118

101 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1129

102 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1139

103 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1148

104 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1153

105 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1163

106 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1175

107 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1184

108 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1196

109 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1203

110 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1209
 1292

111 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1215

112 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1226

113 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1235

114 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1242

115 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1249

116 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1257

117 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1266

118 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1277

119 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1287

120 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1288

121 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1289

122 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1290

123 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1291