Vecna: Eve of Ruin
Brimstone Hold
My name is Mister Marko and I’m from the Wee FolkPower in a Union: “We’re trying to help”
Firestarter: “That is a loss to the mimic community”
Big Red Button: “I am in peril!”
Power in a Union
“She’s a devil,” Eli growled, staring at the eight-foot red-skinned woman with folder leathery wings. The company stood in a steamy jungle staring down at an encampment on the shores of a river of bubbling lava. It was uncomfortably hot. Eli looked over at Uthar, recalling Mordenkainen’s comparison. They both had red skin but that’s where the similarities ended.
“Remember what Mordenkainen said,” Idris whispered. “The lesser evil.”
“He also said Klax wasn’t evil, but she’s a devil!” Eli hissed. “Brother Cooper, is that even possible?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Three conceded. “But maybe she’s just someone that wants to make money.”
“You coming down or staying ‘hidden’ up there,” the woman said, turning and staring directly at the company. “Mordenkainen said you’d be coming.”
Idris stood with a smirk. “Lady Klax, I presume?”
“Just Klax.”
Idris gave a short nod and the company descended into the clearing. A dozen workers of various race were loading goods into a thirty-foot dragon-turtle shaped wooden boat with an iron-plated hull that rested in the lava stream. Inexplicably it wasn’t alight. “Powerful magics,” Eli muttered.
“I am not your friend, nor Mordenkainen’s, but I’ve learnt that it’s best not to cross him so I will do him this favour. What is it you want to know and where is it you want to go?”
Klax
“I’ve got my own boat,” Marko declared, “Why do we need yours?”
Klax scoffed. “Because your boat will burn up in an instant. But you’re welcome to try—then my business is done.”
Idris stared at Klas with a tired look. “We seek the sword of Kas,” he sent into her mind, not wanting this intent declared publicly.
“Don’t do that,” Klax scowled.
“And yet that is what we need to do,” Idris said, this time aloud.
“I mean do not speak to me in my head. It is rude.”
“Ah. Apologies,” Idris nodded.
“And I don’t care what you’re looking for, and I don’t know what this ‘sword’ your speak of is.”
“It’s in Brimstone Hold, so that’s where we need to go.”
“Finally some sense.” Klax thumbed the boat. “That is going to the Hold so, getting to the point, I suppose you want me to get you inside?”
“That would be ideal,” Three confirmed. “Will it get searched when we get there?”
“Of course. It’s prison, they don’t let just anyone walk in.”
“We need a method of ingress and possibly egress,” Idris explained.
Klax nodded. “There are two ways to do it—three if you can fly. You can come with me on the boat, act as my crew.” She looked at the company’s bristling weaponry and armour. “That will all have to go if we do it that way.”
“What’s option two?” Idris said.
“You can waltz up the grand entrance to the Hold. A bridge that crosses the narrowest point of the river. Bluff your way in.” She looked to Uthar. “With that skin you might pass as a guard or some such.”
“Is everything red over there?” Eli asked.
“Pretty much,” Klax confirmed.
Marko muttered something under his breath, and a moment later he was standing taller next to Uthar, his skin just as crimson-hued.
Klax raised an eyebrow. “Well now you have two guards.”
“The third option is you can fly your way in. I wouldn’t advise it; there’s a red dragon that patrols the Hold. Small, but even a small dragon is a problem.” Klax walked over to a small desk and picked up a leather scroll. “This is a map of the Hold, above ground at least.”
Brimstone Hold
Klax pointed out various features on the map. “The harbour to the north is where we come in via boat. The walkway to the south is the prisoner entrance.”
“Let’s go on the boat,” Marko declared. He didn’t like the chances of a false-prisoner trick.
“If we came in with you as your crew, what are our options from there?” Idris asked.
“You’d help me unload at the docks and you’re own your own after that.”
“Are there options to secrete ourselves at that point?”
“Only the stores,” Klax pointed to four small outbuildings. “But I don’t like your chances of getting to them without Kalimrax spotting you.”
“Kalimrax?” Eli asked.
“The dragon.”
“Oh. And the stores don’t have access at the dock level?”
“No. There are ladders leading to the upper platform, and three cranes.”
“Do they check the contents of the crates?” Three asked, thinking hiding inside might be an option.
“Not at the docks, and we’re well trusted at this point. Though not for long if you make a mistake,” Klax scowled.
“And do they stay closed to get transported to the stores?”
Kalx shook her head. “They’ll open them up top.”
“Our gear could be in them at least,” Uthar suggested.
“I can keep all our gear in my storage hole,” Idris said. “We just need time to reequip.”
“If you’re looking for something it will be underneath. There are rooms below but I have no intelligence on them,” Klax said.
“Why does this prison have an ‘Audience Chamber’,” Eli pointed.
“An efreet named Vrakir rules the Hold but he is rarely present. His lieutenant Jarazoun is who you’ll have to worry about. They lord it over the rest of the camp; they live there. Duergar guards make their homes below too.”
“Does Vrakir hiring his prison out to the Realms? Or is it for prisoners of his own choosing?”
“I don’t ask questions,” Klax said shaking her head. “But I think it’s both. People want someone not to return they send them there. The efreet are a nasty pair, and Kalimrax always hungry.”
“Who are the guards? Only duergar?” Uthar asked.
“The prisoners are beaten by duergar, and the duergar by the devils. It’s a heady brew,” Klax said warming to the description.
“Heavily guarded?”
“Surprisingly few. Simply because where are you going to go? The prison yard is completely contained, the walls forty-foot high and twenty thick. There’s a dragon and diving into the lava isn’t the best option.”
The company spent some time debating the best approach.
“I can see two options,” Three started. “We hide in the crates and burst out and kill everything we see. Or maybe Marko can disguise all of us with his illusions, which may buy us enough time to get around the dock before someone realises. I can’t think of an option three.”
“We’re not going to fly in, are we?” Eli said to many shaking heads.
“Where are we heading on the map?” Idris said.
“We need to get below. So via the storerooms or the audience chamber, or through the prison yard to the cells or barracks,” Eli pointed out on the map.
“You can’t go via the audience chamber,” Klax advised, overhearing. “That’s a lava stream flowing from above.”
“How far is it from the docks to the stores?” Idris asked.
“Several hundred feet, depending on which ladder you take,” Klax said.
“And they lead below? To some kind of lair?” Uthar said.
“A ‘dungeon’ if you will,” Eli smirked.
Klax shrugged and nodded. “I’ve only ever seen the stores.”
Idris, concentrating furiously, devised a plan. “You will all get inside the portable hole. You can fit, just—it’s not going to be comfortable but one of you is small.”
“Who?” Marko said quickly.
“Me,” Uthar said just as quickly, saving a long argument.
“And after two or three minutes you’re going to have to start holding your breath,” Idris said, “But it’s not going to take me that long to get where I need to go.”
“I’d rather walk in on the lava lake!” Eli scoffed. “Three minutes?? And what if—”
“I’m not going to be found or detected,” Idris assured. “I will make myself invisible, take the hole, and teleport myself up to the plateau.”
“From the boat?” Uthar probed.
“Yes. Then I have a few moments to get to a store, at which point I let you free.”
There was silence as the company considered this. The hole would just be large enough, and breathing possible until the ruse had to unfold. But there were great risks, suffocating being not the least. But if Idris could avoid detection and get inside a store, it appeared more attractive than storming the docks.
“It sounds like the best way to get us inside, and with all our gear equipped,” Three said after giving it some thought.
“What about the three minutes?”
“You only have to stay enclosed from the entrance to the harbour until I’m in range of the stores,” Idris explained. “Before that I’ll cast an illusion over it to keep it hidden.”
“Or we can just throw a canvas over it,” Three said.
Idris nodded. “There’s enough breathable air in there for ten minutes, so we have that long before you have to start worrying.” He called Klax over and explained the plan.
“So there’ll be a hole in my boat?” she frowned.
Idris smiled. “Not a real hole. It will lie on the floor of your craft.”
“How much room will you need? I can’t turn up with an empty boat, fast-talker though I am.”
“You bring in your normal load, just eighty-percent it,” Three said.
“And the six rowers? That will be you?”
“No, it can’t be us,” Three said. “It will be too suspicious to have an entirely new crew.”
“Well how on earth are we going to row in then?” Klax scowled.
“We only need a six-foot circle to be free on the deck. Is that possible?” Idris said.
“Of course.”
“Good. My companions will be inside that hole, and you’ll have your regular crew rowing.”
“Inside the hole? I don’t envy them that,” Klax smirked. “Going to be a heavy load.”
“My companions here won’t be contributing to the weight,” Idris sighed.
“If you say so. Run me through from start to finish,” Klax frowned.
“I’ll be the only one of us outside on the boat,” Idris explained. “Invisible so the guards can’t see me. Once we get inside where I can see the point on the upper plateau I’m going to cast an illusion to hide the hole and seal it. The timer starts then; ten minutes plus a few. I teleport myself and the bag to the closest storeroom. I get inside, fast, and free my friends.”
Klax raised both eyebrows. “That’s your plan?”
“That’s our plan.”
Klax scratched her head. “Well it might work. I will say the devils who guard the harbour towers are particularly good at…seeing things. I don’t know how they do it or what it extends to. I saw someone trying to smuggle something in once and it didn’t end well for them.”
“As Three said, maybe the hole just needs to be just covered with a tarp,” Uthar said. “Keep it simple.”
“Sure,” Klax shrugged. “So my six crew, the gith is invisible, and the rest of you are in the hole.”
“You have it,” Idris nodded.
“I will say that if they see through your invisibility I will give you up without hesitating,” Klax declared. “I will give you up without thinking twice.”
Idris considered this. “Well what if I go in as one of your crew?”
“No weapons, no armour.”
“That’s fine. I’m not going past the towers invisible. That won’t come until the last moment.”
Klax nodded, satisfied.
“Any objections? Or better ways?” Idris said, looking around.
“I have so many objections but no better way,” Eli sighed.
“I think it gets us with half a chance into the dungeon,” Uthar said, “And that’s it’s own thing.”
The plan was set in motion, Klax taking care to cover the fresh hole in her vessel with a tarp. She positioned crates packed with food, water, rope and raw iron around it and laid long planks of wood overhead to further obscure what lay below.
The journey upriver took some hours, and it was hard yards, particularly for Idris. His weapons and armour were in the hole with his companions, and he could only hope they were more comfortable than he.
Eventually Brimstone Hold appeared in the distance, a looming edifice that towered over the lava lake.
Klax nodded toward the carved basalt fortress. “Guards patrol the walls, you can see the devil in the nearest tower.” Idris watched carefully as the guards passed the observation along the length of the wall.
“We’re approaching the harbour gates,” Klax warned softly. A huge chain was strung between the harbour towers, resting half-submerged in the lava. “Moment of truth,” Klax whispered.
“You’re early, Klax,” a devil guard called from far above. “Care to explain why?”
“Vrakir asks, we deliver,” Klax said simply. “What more do you need to know.”
“Surly as usual. Why the new front-oar, what happened to the ogre?”
Klax thumbed the lava, then drew it over her throat. “She got lazy.”
The devil laughed. “I missed your wit, Klax.” Idris and the company breathed a sigh of relief on hearing the massive harbour chain start to rise, clanking heavily and dripping globs of lava. Klax steered the boat inside the harbour and Idris gasped when he saw the enormous efreet head sculpted into the sheer rock wall at the back of the Hold, lava flowing freely from the mouth into the harbour below
Brimstone Hold
Recovering his wits, Idris looked along the rim of the harbour, pleased to see no guards. That faded quickly when a large red dragon swooped overhead, the shadow racing over the relatively tiny boat as it passed. It wasn’t huge, but it was a dragon.
“That’s Kalimrax,” Klax hissed. “He loves to harass the docks to be careful.”
“Klax, thank you,” Idris whispered. “Just say I fell in.”
“Good luck. I hope I don’t ever see you again.”
Idris chuckled. “You may not.” Idris nodded and calmed himself as he searched for his teleport spot. He pulled his oar as the boat rounded toward the docks. “We’re going,” he whispered to the company, using his mage hand to seal the hole and loft it over.
Inside darkness enveloped the company. The sudden silence was deafening and the sweaty stench even more irrepressible.
Idris watched the dragon as it swooped lazily overhead. It swung down for a low pass then shot up and away. The moment that happened Idris vanished. He fixed his gaze on the plateau to the south, guessing where the lower store stood.
An instant later he found himself standing some forty feet above the harbour. The efreet face loomed behind him, heat pulsing from the lava pouring from the mouth. He smiled to see a twenty-foot square storeroom just to his south-west. He hustled toward it, praying the door would be unlocked. He saw the dragon swooping again, drawing close to Klak’s boat, but had not time to watch.
He yanked on the door to the store and must to his relief it opened. He slammed it shut behind him and tossed the hole onto the floor. The company emerged moments later, sucking in lungful’s of fresh, heated air. Three nodded at Idris then frowned. “Idris are you ok? You look faint.”
Idris rested himself against the wall, panting, the intensity of the last hours catching up to him all at once. For a moment he felt like he was going to pass out, but he forced the wave of exhaustion away. “I’m okay,” he nodded, “It worked.”
“So that went smoothly,” Eli said respectfully to Idris.
Just at that moment the roar of the dragon boomed from outside.
“It did, but maybe not for Klax,” Idris said, climbing back into his armour, assisted by Uthar.
“Klax was born of the spawn of Hell,” Eli spat, “She can go back there.”
“We’re in the lower store at the corner of the harbour,” Idris explained. Outside there was yelling and more dragon-booms.
“Time to go,” Eli said heading to the stairs leading into darkness.
The heat was still oppressive despite the insulation of the basalt. A solid iron door stood at the foot of the stairway. Marko listened. “Nothing. Empty,” he assured.
“It’s a storeroom, right, we’re not expecting anyone,” Eli nodded. “Just a sword.”
“We’ve literally come to the storeroom of the sword of Kas,” Idris smirked.
Instead of a store, stone bunks protruded from the walls, atop which five Duergar slumbered, snoring loudly (how did Marko not hear that, Eli frowned) and a sixth stood by a cold hearth. He spun as the door swung open and he saw the company bristling with weaponry. “WHAT’S THE MEANING OF THIS THEN?!” he cried, waking several of his fellows.
Uthar and Eli started pulling their blades free when Marko jumped in front and put his hands up. “Wait! Wait!”
The duergar looked at each other quickly. “Who the hell are ye??”
“My name is Mister Marko.”
“Who the fook is Mister fookin’ Marko and why should I give a flying fook?! Up up up!” he cried as the rest of the duergar roused. “We’re under—”
The duergar froze mid word. “Go ahead, Marko,” Three hissed, his hands lowering from the spell.
“No-one is hear to hurt anyone. At all,” Marko said calmly. “I’m Mister Marko and I’m from the Wee Folk. You may have heard of us, you may not of, but our intent is not to harm you but maybe to recruit you and help you.”
The nearest duergar leapt over to his frozen companion as the others hefted their heavy maces. “What’ve ye done to Grunthak!”
“He’s fine—”
“E’s not fine, e’s not moving!”
“He’s not moving because he was going to do something silly. We’ve held him,” Marko explained.
“We didn’t want you to scream,” Three added from the shadows.
“Well unhold him you cur!”
“We’re trying to help,” Marko tried again. “Are you part of a union?”
“What’re ye talkin’ about a ‘union’??” the duergar scowled.
“I’m with the Wee Folk as I said.”
“Ain’t heard no ‘Wee Folk’.” The duergar nodded to his companions and they stepped forward, weapons ready. “Release him or you die!”
“Free him,” Marko whispered, and Three obeyed. Then, much to the company’s dismay, Marko sat down on the ground.
“Oh dear god,” Idris groaned.
The suddenly free duergar shook his head to clear it. “What’d ye do to me!?”
“We want to talk to you.”
“Why would we talk to ye? What are ye doing here?”
Marko smiled. “We’d like to recruit you into the equivalent of a union. To get you better rights and opportunities.”
Eli turned to Idris. “What is he saying?”
Idris shook his head, a shit-kicking grin spreading over his face.
“I feel you’re being persecuted here,” Marko guessed, “As are many others of our stature.”
The duergar was taken aback. “Well…we are being persecuted, that be true enough.” He looked around to nods and muttered agreement from his fellows. “But how can ye help us?” he said suspiciously.
“There are more of us than you realise,” Marko promised.
“More who? They be all tall folk behind ye.”
“They’re all short for their species, I assure you,” Marko lied confidently.
“You! Big red one!”
“Urgh,” Uthar grunted.
The duergar looked back to Marko. “That one be stupid? E’ doesn’t talk?”
“Don’t be rude. Sit down and join me.”
“Och I’m not goin’ to sit down with ye little fella.”
“Oh no,” Idris groaned.
Marko paled. Squinted. His ears twitched. His hand drifted toward his dagger.
Suddenly the door on the far side of the room swung open and a duergar in a chef’s hat stepped through. He held a dripping wooden spoon in one hand. “All right here Grunthak?” he said gruffly.
“All right, sir, all right. There be a fella here says he can help us against those deovels.”
“And the devils,” Marko nodded uncertainly.
“That be what I sayed, the deovels,” Grunthak nodded. “That we done be mistreated.”
The wooden spoon holder nodded slowly. “Maybe yes, maybe he be right.” He called back into the room behind. “Frego? Someone here says he’ll help with the deovels.”
Frego walked into the room holding a steaming pot of stew. “What be the meaning of this?”
“Oh! You have stew!” Marko exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
“Aye, that we av. We just be having an argument about it, matter of fact.”
“About what?”
“Well Waylon here says there should be more spice,” Frego grumbled, “But tuber stew don’t need no great spicing, so I’ll be damned if he’s be getting any more in there.”
“Och Frego you be a daft one,” Waylon-the-spoon-holder snorted. “Course it needs more spice!” At this several of the duergar nodded keenly, whilst others started muttering about too much heat killing a good tuber.
Marko felt he was losing control of the conversation. “May I taste it and make a decision for you? Would that help?”
Frego plonked the stew on a sideboard and wiped his hands on his apron. “Who the hell are ye to be tasting me stew?”
“My name is Mister Marko,” Marko said patiently. “And I’m from the Wee Folk. I’m a halfling,” he added proudly.
“I can see that you eejit!” Frego said to a round of laughter.
“He didn’t call you short,” Idris hissed to Marko seeing the rogue bristle, “He just called you an idiot.”
Marko settled. “I wasn’t sure you knew what a halfling was.”
“You think I’m daft like ye? You think I be stupid too?”
“You know who calls you stupid?” Three called over Marko’s shoulder. “Those devils.”
Frego nodded firmly. “You be right there, old man. They treat us bad they do, those deovels. High and mighty up there on their towers, always be telling us what to do.” He spat, drawing a round of spitting from every duergar in the room.
“And they’re very tall too,” Marko added.
“We be down there dealing with the filth and prisoners, and they be up there spinning around whipping people,” Grunthak grumbled.
“Why don’t we help you escape?” Marko proposed.
“Well it’s a job, isn’t it,” Grunthak shrugged to general agreement.
Uthar stifled a laugh and Three coughed.
Eli, seeing the moment slipping again, pushed his way forward. The duerger started muttering about tall folk barging in before Eli lowered himself to one knee. That quietened the crowd.
“That be a good start, laddie,” Frego announced. “You know what I think? I think we give this young fella an audience.” The duergar’s nodded and mumbled, settling back on their stone beds and leaning in.
Eli looked around the gathered duergar and cleared his throat. Taking a guess, he spoke in Halfling. “My name is Eli Hedgeberry, brethren to Master Marko,” he began. “I grew up among his people.”
“You speak the deep speech I see,” Frego said, clearly impressed. Eli reflected on this for a moment, realising that was what they were hearing.
“I speak the language of all who would be our brothers,” Eli agreed.
“All who would be oppressed!” Waylon scowled. “By the devoels!”
“Don’t get me started,” Eli spat, drawing another round of spitting from the duergar. “The halfling I grew up amongst, they were oppressed—”
“Like we are!”
“Like you are! And they needed the assistance of but one single tall folk to defeat the oppressors,” Eli declared firmly.
Grunthak frowned. “I don’t know about that, laddie. We be pretty good at fighting ourselves, ye know.”
“Well of course you are,” Eli nodded furiously. “You’re not like the halfling who’re agricultural folk at heart.”
“Oh no, you’re right there—those small fellas need all the help they can get.”
Eli managed to hold Marko back as he continued. “Regardless of our height, we would offer our services in convincing the devils to change their attitude to you.”
“Och, how about you just kill the lot?” Frego growled. “I dinnae think ye are going to talk them around!” His companions let out a low murmuring growl to match.
“That would be my preference too,” Eli declared.
“They be deovels you know. Evil, far more evil that we be,” Waylon explained.
Eli paused, glancing at Brother Cooper before looking back to Waylon. “You’re evil?” he said weakly.
“Well it be a matter of who you ask. But no, nope, we’re not evil. We kill the prisoners if we have to, but not wantonly.”
“Good. Well. We’ll start by killing your devils,” Eli said shakily. “All it takes is us banding together and we can overthrow those devils in no time.”
“I bet there’d be a bit of gold in it too,” Three interjected.
“Gold you say,” Grunthak said, ears pricked.
“Steady now, Grunthak,” Frego cautioned. “I don’t think Jarazoun would be too happy about us throwin’ over those deovels.”
“Why do you care, if you’re in charge?” Three tempted.
“He’ll kill us all.”
“Who will?”
“Jarazoun.”
“Not with us around,” Three declared.
“Ye going to kill him too are ye? Not just the deovels?” Grunthak said with some scepticism.
“That’s what we’re trying to tell you!” Eli cried. “We’re here to help!”
Frego folded his ruddy arms and contemplated Eli. “I tell you what, laddie, I think the proof is in the pudding,” he said nodding to the stew. “Or the stew as the case may be. Ye say ye can overthrow Jarazoun? Ye do that and we be on your side.” The gathered duergar called their support of this plan with pounded fist and calls of ‘aye!’
Eli smiled and climbed to his feet. “Which way’s the nearest devil?”
“What ye’re going to fight him now? You don’t want some stew?”
“Just the nearest devil, let’s start there.”
“Well…follow me!”
The company exited to a round of encouragement and slaps on the back.
“How many more of you fine folk are there in the workforce here?” Idris asked.
“Oh a score or more,” Waylon said.
“And do you trust all of them?”
“What sort of a question be that?” Waylon scowled. “Course we do!”
“Well folk are folk,” Idris stammered. “You don’t like every—”
They be all good duergar stock, of course we trust them! What are implying sir?!”
Idris crouched ('One knee is the way', Eli hissed). “If you get a chance in the next little while, have a word to your brethren and let them know something might be afoot,” Idris winked.
“Och, I see, ye shoulda said in the first place.” Waylon called over his shoulder.” Luxon! Luxon—get up to the prison yard and pass the word around! Something be happening!”
Ahead Frego opened the door to the next room. “Is this where the devil’s are?” Eli asked.
“No ye wee eejit, this be where we be feeding.” Frego nodded to the door opposite. “First door there? Don’t be going that way less ye be wanting a deovel fight.” He yanked open a second door to reveal a long corridor running east. “First door, store. Second door, back where ye came in. Far door? Not so much deovels as snakes, so don’t ye go there or it’ll be a fight for ye.”
“Where are you trying to lead us if it’s not to a fight?” Eli said, confused.
“Well ye said ye were taking on Jarazoun, didn’t ye?”
“That’s right—we want to go straight to Jarazoun,” Three nodded.
“Do we?” Eli said, confused, and more than ready to slay devils.
“Cut the head off the snake,” Idris nodded.
Frego scratched his prodigious beard. “Young sir if it be deovels you want, then go back to that first door. Elsewise if it be Jarazoun ye want, well then straight down this here path.”
Eli glanced back, then forward, then nodded. “Down the corridor we go.”
“Good luck my son,” Frego said grasping Eli’s forearm. “I likely won’t see ye again, but it’s been a breath of fresh air. Not often we get someone here who understands us so well, and what we’ve been through.”
“We’ll make sure we kill all the devils and all the other evil things,” Eli swore.
“Good man. Come back for some stew when ye’re through!” Frego called over his shoulder.
Three glanced at Frego, but the duergar obviously did not see himself included in Eli’s vow. And, he pondered, perhaps nor did Eli.
Eli charged off down the corridor, ignoring the doors as Frego had ordered. At the far end a door, pulsing with heat, stood at the base of a steep flight of stairs. A wisp of smoke drifted under the doorway. “Let’s not go in that one either,” Eli declared.
“Now we’re out of earshot, pause a moment gentlemen,” Idris said at the foot of the steps. “Fate may have thrown us a good turn here, because the sword of Kas, as far as it was described to us, is no small prize. And planar beings being what they are, particularly if they are full of themselves, I can’t imagine one wouldn’t want to keep it on a wall or plinth. Somewhere visible as opposed to locked away in a store. So from that point of view maybe we’re heading to where the sword may be in any case.”
“Well that’s what we’re hoping,” Eli nodded. He climbed the stairs, slowing only when he saw the door at the top of the ascent, and a similar beating heat emanating from behind. Raising his hand to it he felt it was too hot to comfortably touch.
From behind the door a rich bubbling sounded, the same as was heard in the harbour. Lava.
“I think we really need to be ready before we open this door,” Uthar warned. “Spells, potions, whatever you need to do.” As he spoke he raised his hands in supplication, then turned them palm outward toward Three. A shimmering ward appeared for a moment…
…and shifted a moment later as Three countered with a spell of his own. “I won’t allow another God to protect me. You keep your Torm—I have Kelemvor.”
Uthar met Three’s eyes and nodded with grudging respect. “Ready?” he pushed the door open.
Firestarter
A wave of intense heat hit the party, the source a bubbling field of lava that flowed into a dark tunnel to the west. Rearing hissing out of the lava were two huge orange-scaled snake-like creatures with hawkish faces, their sinuous coils and jagged spines smouldering.
Two huge doors to the east were guarded by a pair of flaming elemental creatures bound in dark plate armour raising curved blades to meet the intruders.
Even Marko didn’t want to parley with this crew. Eli charged into the room, instinctively judging the lot of them as evil. He swung his blade and kicked out at the closest armour-clad flames, only managing a single hit—the heat beating off the creatures foiling his approach.
Sifer stepped forward, unleashed a force of arrows with a minimum of fuss, and stepped back. Marko did the same, his shortbow leaving flames leaking in every direction from Eli’s foe. Three finished it with a toll…which echoed through the corridors ominously. The flaming armour clanged to the ground with a thud as the elemental within dissipated.
The second myrmidon whipped toward Eli, flaming scimitars swinging and missing by millimetres as Eli’s ki gave him time to step aside. It cursed and Eli raised an eyebrow at the affront. “I shall sprinkle your ashes on my mother’s grave,” he hissed in response.
A mote of flame from Idris’s hand shifted into an icy-blue before exploding in the middle of the lava field. Both salamanders hissed in agony as cold, the thing they feared most, enveloped them—and for a moment the lava field itself was covered with a layer of frozen ice.
Uthar leapt into the fray by Eli’s side, ripping into the myrmidon. A salamander left the ice-lava field and jammed a spear toward Three, but he was too quick. But not quick enough to avoid the tail swipe that followed, a surge of heat shooting through his flesh.
The second salamander tossed a spear at Eli, striking hard and true…until Eli somehow spun and snatched the spear mid-flight, using the spears momentum to fling it back along the path it arrived. Or that was his plan: alas his balance was slightly askew and the spear instead pinged into the stone floor. “Ow!” Eli cried as the vibration shuddered up his arm. The spear bent and rebounded back to the myrmidon who picked it up with a mixture of glee and confusion.
A moment later the barely frozen lava burst as a massive, six-headed snake being roared out of the roiling magma.
A wave of rear rolled over the company, but only Three was struck to the bone. He quaked in terror at the very idea of a snake, let alone one like this. In the corridor a field of grasping weeds and vines sprouted from the floor, restraining Three despite his dire need to get away. Idris, Marko, and Sifer managed to easily avoid the chaos, breathing a sigh of relief—until they heard the door at the foot of the stairs swing open and two more salamanders emerged hissing angrily. Both hurled spears at Sifer, leaving him gasping as he yanked the brutal weapons free.
Eli tried again, and failed again, his swings and blows wild and unfocussed. Confusion welled: what was happening?!. He was not afraid of the snake that had appeared behind him, but he suddenly felt it wasn’t his courage that had sustained him, it was some sort of emanation from a god who he was not familiar with. He didn’t trust it, and he didn’t trust his lack of fear. And now…he didn’t trust himself.
Sifer shook his head at Eli’s ineffectiveness. Kids, he thought. He went to work: six lethal shots, every one hitting hard. After three shots the closest salmander was dead, a pool of flame all that remained. He turned his attention to the snake-creature and halved it’s health with the final three arrows. Marko added a tickle from his rapier and a poke from his dagger. The snake’s six heads hissed in fury at the assault.
The fight was going well for the company, or so it seemed until the twin doors the ex-myrmidon’s had guarded were flung open and a massive, red-skinned fiend burst through. He wore a smattering of gold finery and hefted a matching gold scimitar. “You dare disturb Jarazoun’s throne!!” he cried.
He pointed and a fire elemental surged from the floor before Eli and Uthar. It reached a flaming hand and touched Uthar lightly, causing him to be engulfed in a pillar of flame. It looked bad, but Uthar appeared barely concerned. A second hand reached for Eli, but he easily weaved out of the path.
Jarazoun leapt to the edge of the lava pool and espied the company skulking in the corridor. He let out a booming laugh and raised his hands. A wall of scorching flame sprung from nowhere, surrounding Three, Idris, Marko and Sifer and trapping them within. The heat was tremendous, beating in from all sides, draining life in an instant, particularly the frightened and entangled Three.
Three closed his eyes and let out a guttural moan: he was not going to be roasted alive. He called down a field of antimagic that freed himself and protected his companions from the magical flame, creating a sudden sanctuary. “Gods bless you,” Idris grinned. “Kelemvor blesses all,” Three said grimly. “Get forward,” Idris pointed, beckoning Sifer. Three, despite wanting to hunker down, saw the wisdom in Idris’s words and stepped forward into the wall of flame, creating a portal through which both Idris and Sifer stepped—Sifer only hesitating for a moment to uncharacteristically be joining the forward ranks. Three met Jarazoun’s surprised stare. “Kelemvor!” he cried.
Idris used the freedom to drop another ice-ball explosion over Jarazoun, the snake, the myrmidon and the elemental. They all flinched under the explosion, the myrmidon in particularly bad shape as a result. Which didn’t stop it dropping two crushing blows on Eli. Uthar smote the myrmidon in response, creating a holy glow that would assist his fellows. The remaining salamander jammed its spear into Idris but, just like Eli had, Idris shimmered with a casual wave of his hand that caused the blow to skim away—as did the follow-up tail swipe.
The six-headed snake focussed every gaze onto Uthar. He felt himself starting to transform into a snake, scales forming and eyes narrowing, but he focussed his mind and Torm pushed the threat away. He smiled, turned on the beast, and used Torm’s mage-slaying blessing to absolutely crush his blade into the belly of the fiend.
Eli, having spent the past six-seconds considering the existential crisis, decided it was a load of old rubbish. His mojo was back and his attacks were efficient, brutal, and unstoppable. The myrmidon disintegrated into a second pile of useless armour. He let out an orcish bellow full of choice unpleasantries. No longer was he a monk searching for his seated soul, he was an orc raging furiously against the fire in a most unwholesome manner.
Sifer counted out the order of affairs and set his bow. He shaved the remaining life from the salamander, then spun to line up the rear-guard. Before he could fire he heard a cry. “Git the fookin’ snake bastards!” and the ring of steel on scale as, evidently, the duergar went to work. “Ah, there we are,” Sifer grinned. He returned his attention to Jarazoun, shaving precious life with each pinioning shot. Jarazoun retaliated by hurling two balls of flame, but the missed wildly, exploding into the ceiling, drawing a howling curse of frustration.
“Brother Cooper! It is your time!” Eli cried. Three stood tall and opened his mouth. A swarm of insects spewed forth, enveloping Jarazoun and the snake-beast. Idris grinned and narrowed his eyes. Jarazoun staggered and grabbed his head. He spun around wildly, lashing at the sudden sea of swirling water that surrounded him, water-elemental marid’s looming toward him.
To the rest of the company it appeared that Jarazoun had gone insane, grunting, cursing, swinging his blade wildly at…nothing?
Idris smirked. “Attack the big guy now!” he cried, pointing.
Marko had no access to Jarazoun so continued his assault on the snake, slicing down the spined back. Uthar needed to finish the snake-fiend, still annoyed at its attempt to snakify him. With one swift swing he neatly removed all six heads as they reared up to strike. He smiled with satisfaction.
Eli nearly finished the elemental off, happy to understand there was no soul to be saved. “Sifer! Finish them!”
Sifer did so. The elemental fell with one quick shot. Jarazoun almost collapsed under the flurry of follow-ups. The damage was near insurmountable.
A cry rang pit from the stairs below. “All clear laddies, get to it!” Marko glanced over his shoulder to see two dead salamander, and only one dead duergar. “Gotta love a union,” he grinned. He stepped calmly forward and suddenly flew into the air. His rapier neatly skewered Jarazoun’s eye, and the great efreet slowly collapsed backwards, his head submerged in the armour and arms spread wide.
“You might want to pad him down before he burns up,” Idris said to Marko. Marko crouched and quickly searched the body. A nice sword, a golden loincloth, a very nice necklace embedded with fire-opals, and eight gold rings with precious stones in each. “And this,” he announced, holding up a black-iron key found in the codpiece.
Eli moved quickly into the room from which Jarazoun had emerged. A huge golden throne stood atop a massive pile of gold, braziers glowing around the well-appointed chamber. Marko listened at the only door, hearing nothing and popping it open.
Woven carpets lined the corridor beyond, which had doors leading in three directions. Two large statues of efreet warriors stood sentinel, one at either end of the corridor. Ignoring the statues Marko strode confidently to the opposite door. “Locked,” he declared, pulling Jarazoun’s key free. It slotted neatly into the lock, and Marko shoved the door to.
Inside lay a large bed with brass posts and silk curtains that dominated the chamber. In the corner a lyre engraved with elaborate phoenix figures leant on the wall next to a cushioned stool. “A mastercraft piece,” he observed with some reverence. “Could this be what we’re looking for?”
Idris cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a lyre?”
“We’re looking for a sword, Master Marko,” Eli said gently.
Marko shrugged and Idris carefully lifted the instrument and placed it into his magical bag.
The northern door was unlocked, but Marko warned of a burbling from within. “Ready?” he poppped the door. The walls within were draped with silk, and the floor festooned with cushions. A fountain in the room’s centre was the source of the burbles, filled with ruby-red liquid. An ornately wrought brazier stood in one corner, lighting the room with a soft warmth.
Idris wafted his hand over the fountain, sniffing deeply. “Alcohol,” he said with surprise. “Warmed, but not hot.”
“Did not expect that,” Three said, smelling curiously but not gaining any further insight.
“Should we play the lyre in here?” Sifer suggested, looking around the room. “This is a lounge, perhaps the lyre triggers something.”
“Possibly,” Idris frowned. “Maybe the sword is sitting at the bottom of this pool of alcohol and playing the lyre will raise the sword up.
“Or we can just drink it to find out,” Eli said uncharacteristically, his orcish blood evidently still holding sway.
Idris rolled his eyes. “All possible but I think we should eliminate simpler solutions first.”
“I agree with that,” Sifer nodded, “Though we have found things at the bottom of pools before,” he grinned.
Idris led the way back to the remaining unopened door. “Marko?”
“Locked, but it’s quiet behind there.” He rapidly solved the lock and looked around.
“Don’t worry Marko, we’ll protect you. Open it!” Eli urged.
Marko stepped into another luxuriously appointed room, though the furnishings were at stark odds with its southern wall. There, scorch marks and cracked masonry radiated from a grotesque face carved into the stone, its forehead set with a blood-red gem. Two banners hung limply on either side of the face. Sitting on a desk off to one side was a black tome, its cover emblazoned with similar fell iconography.
“Someone restrain Marko,” Sifer warned on seeing the tome, only half-joking.
Marko snorted and walked over to study the screaming face instead. “It looks like something has burst out from the mask, not that someone has fired a spell at it.” The ground around the wall was covered in similar marks, reinforcing Marko’s theory.
“And there’s an obvious link between the book and the mask,” Idris observed. “The face is the same on both. As to what’s in the book, we’re not going to know unless we open it.”
“Let’s not,” Eli said quickly.
Idris turned to peer at the banners. Each was a crown encircling the branches of a tree wreathed in flame, with a motto in a language he did not know. “I remember seeing this same banner hanging from the battlements at the harbour entry. I can’t read the script, but if I hazard a guess it could be Ignan.”
“If someone could read it aloud I would understand,” Eli muttered.
“Ignan is the language the speak on the Elemental plane of Fire,” Idris continued. “And making an arcane guess—it’s possible this mask could be a portal directly to that Plane. Which would explain the scorching because the heat coming off that plane would be immense.” He turned back to the book. “Maybe the book is used to make an incantation to open the portal, but I think we should bag the book but maybe not open it or read it here.”
“Kas is a vampire, not a fire creature, so this seems like something different,” Three frowned.
“He doesn’t have his sword, some fire guy has it,” Eli corrected.
“The sword is here,” Idris nodded.
“Is it? Or is it through the portal on the Plane of Fire?” Eli shrugged.
“Take the book with your magic hand,” Three said, “And we’ll check the rest of the floor—there was another door from the lava room.”
Idris nodded, summoned his hand and reached over for the tome. As he touched it the book suddenly opened a pair of slavering jaws, biting down on the hand and excreting a foul adhesive…which did nothing as the hand was ethereal. Three laughed, Idris chortled, and Sifer sent three swift bolts into the revealed mimic, which died a fraction of a second later.
“Old school,” Three snorted.
“You didn’t want it as a familiar, Idris?” Eli grinned.
“That was a particularly clever mimic,” Idris laughed. “That is a loss to the mimic community, gentlemen!”
The company traipsed back to the lava room and Marko opened the remaining door. The walls of this office beyond were decorated with paintings depicting an array of otherworldly landscapes. At its centre stood a heavy desk engraved with grotesque, fiendish figures. A quick scan of the room found nothing of note, though Eli was very impressed with the artistry on display in the artworks.
The other door from the office opened into a small bedchamber with a well stocked bookshelf and armchair alongside a simple bed fitted with silken sheets. A door led to a long flight of stairs which seemed to lead back toward the duergar barracks.
Seeing nothing interesting, Three glanced at the bed. “Should we rest?”
Big Red Button
The company was at a loss. Where was the sword?
For a moment Idris wondered if Jarazoun’s weapon could be the sword in disguise, but he quickly dismissed that thought (the Wizard’s had described it as a longsword for a human). “We need to do a more thorough search,” he sighed. “I’m going to dip my magic hand in the alcohol vat as a start.”
“Could you do that in the lava?” Eli suggested.
“No. Lava is too dense, I can’t apply enough pressure. If it’s in there we have serious problems.”
The company traipsed back to the lounge with Idris, pausing only to quickly fill and store a barrel with gold in the throne room. In the four-way room beyond, Eli hesitated at the pentagram carpet. “What’s the significance of this?” he crouched, studying.
“It’s not nothing,” Idris agreed. “But I think it’s just a design. There’s no runework, which I would expect if this had some arcane purpose.”
“It’s not glowing, and the symbol is woven into the carpet.” Eli lifted the rug carefully, revealing plain stone below.
“Ceremonial, but no power of itself,” Uthar mused.
Idris moved into the lounge and dipped his floating hand into the liquid bowl, finding it only as deep as it looked. He swirled around but couldn’t find anything dropped in there. “Nothing in here,” he announced as the room filled with the aroma of the heady beverage, a nice respite from the otherwise dominant smell of char.
Uthar tossed the pillows and cushions, Eli circumnavigated the curtained walls, and Marko studied the brazier. “There’s something written on the inner rim,” he noticed, drawing Three’s attention, but neither could decipher it. “It’s the same script as that on the banners in the mimic room,” Three observed.
Eli wandered back to that room and stared at the horrific face on the wall. “That mouth might may be a place you can pop a sword,” he said.
“Let’s try the lyre, given we don’t have the sword,” Idris said. He laid the lyre on the desk, warned everyone to stand back, then used his hand once more to strum the instrument. As the fingers ran over the fine strings, the most hideous, discordant sound rattled through the room. Idris gasped as he felt his mind rebel at the ‘melody’, quickly removing the hand.
“Well that’s not it,” Eli murmured. He glanced over his shoulder to see the pentagram also unchanged.
“Let’s work our way backwards,” Three suggested. “We didn’t go down the steps past the study.”
“And we should search those rooms again,” Idris nodded. He scoured the books in the first room, finding a volume entitled The Blood War, describing the endless battle between the devils of the Nine Hells and the demons of the Abyss. “This one’s a keeper,” he muttered.
“I found a secret door!” Eli exclaimed from the bedroom beyond. He was so excited he shoved it open before Marko could check it. A short, dark corridor led to a second door. He pushed it open and found himself behind a curtain…in the lounge. “This can’t be possible, I searched these walls,” he murmured, quickly turning back. “Brother Cooper! We should go down your stairs!”
At the foot of the stairs a stone door stood closed. “Nothing,” Marko nodded. Inside was another store, packed with crates, barrels, and a number of Duergar-sized crossbows. A stairway on the opposite side led upward toward the surface. “This is not this way,” Uthar declared.
The company followed the corridor back around, finding a very long passage that led back to the original corridor that led to the lava room. Four Duergar stood in the passage, two forward and two aft, amongst an array of fallen companions and dead devils and salamanders.
“Laddies! How goes it? We’ve taken some of the deovels as ye can see!”
“Victory is at hand,” Uthar said calmly.
The Duergar slapped the wall excitedly. “We’re working hard outside too, ye might want to know, and we’re holding this here corridor for ye.”
“Well done. And is there anything below here?” Three said, hopefully.
“Nay laddie, this be as deep as it gets. We’ve taken care of the salamander den for ye too!”
“Well done!” Marko enthused. He held up his fist in the universal salute of the Wee Folk, a clenched fist with palm facing outward.
The Duergar loved this, all four lifting their own fists in reply. “The Wee Folk! THE WEE FOLK!!”
Marko beamed.
“Is it worth asking these fine folk if they know the whereabouts of the sword?” Idris whispered.
“That might be something Mister Marko is best placed to do,” Uthar said observing the bond between the small people.
“Tell them the boss is dead and won’t present a problem,” Idris suggested, “And ask them where he might keep his valuables.”
Marko called the four Duergar over, each squatting to listen closely. “Right. The big boss, the big workman boss? He’s dead. We killed him. Now—”
“Wait! Hold on now laddie! You mean to say Jarazoun’s dead?”
“Yes,” Marko nodded firmly.
The Duergar looked at each other, eyes wide, and a smile spread quickly. “This keep is NEARLY OURS!” one cried. “What about Vrakir? Have ye killed Vrakir too?”
“No?” Marko said, slightly unsure.
“If I may,” Idris interjected, “Who, or what, is Vrakir?”
“He be Jarazoun’s boss. The big cheese. But if you’ve not killed him, we will!”
“Good. And where is Vrakir now?”
“No fookin’ idea laddie. A plane of fire or summit like that? He’s rarely here, let’s Jarazoun do his dirty work. When he be here he just stands atop that giant efreet outside and gives us grief.”
“And how does he get here? Through some magical portal to the plane of flames?” Eli said wryly.
“Good thinkin’ laddie, why not.” the Duergar nodded.
“Right,” Marko agreed. “Now. We need to find a sword that he—”
“He always had it with him, Jarazoun. Always. A big ugly flamin’ scimitar.”
“Does it ever change shape?”
“Never seen such a thing.”
“Ok. And if he had another weapon,” Marko tried, “Where would he keep such a thing?”
The Duergar shrugged. “In his chamber? We’ve never been up there, not allowed.”
Idris had heard enough. “Keep up the good fight—this fortress is almost yours. We’re going to see if we can rustle up Vrakir and take care of him for you.”
“Aye that would be a fine thing, laddie! We’ll keep cleaning up outside.”
“What about the dragon?”
“Leave that with us. Dragon’s are no fools, they’ll see that siding with us is the way.”
“Either that or it’ll kill us all,” another Duergar snorted happily.
“Good luck, we’ll help you when we can,” Marko said.
“Wee folk!”
“Well now we know why there were two bedrooms upstairs,” Idris said as the company headed back toward the Throne Room. “Vrakir must travel through your portal,” he nodded to Eli, “And I would venture he has the sword. We were labouring under a misapprehension that Jarazoun ruled here.”
“We have to kill him,” Marko agreed.
“We may have to set an ambush, and find some way to get him here.”
“If we play the hideous lyre in the pentagram we will summon him,” Eli declared firmly. “For that is surely the way to summon a demon.”
“As good a plan as any,” Idris said. “We’ll call this ‘Eli’s Plan’.”
“Thank you Brother Idris. So this time when it fails I will be the one to blame.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Three said sternly, hoping to beat some responsibility into Eli.
“And because it is your plan,” Idris said clapping Eli’s shoulder, “It only seems right that you be the one to strum the lyre.”
“I will happily die for my plan,” Eli agreed solemnly.
Eli stepped onto the carpet, the huge lyre gripped firmly in his unbreakable hands. He looked around the company, then hit a power chord he remembered his uncle once playing.
No demon appeared, but the cacophony created was like nails scratching over basalt. Everyone recoiled, Eli feeling his knees go weak for a moment before he controlled his ears with his ki. “Oh,” he shrugged.
Idris sighed. “Well. We need to flip through the books in that library to see if there’s anything related to summoning, or that might hint at notes or melodies to be played.”
The company obeyed, flinging books about in increasing desperation. It seemed a fruitless task until Idris thought to search the Blood War tome he had retrieved early. Three quarters through he found a hand-written sequence etched into the margin. “This describes creating a teleportation circle that leads to…Avernus!” he exclaimed.
“That’s the plane of fire?” Eli asked.
“No-one said Vrakir was an elemental,” Idris observed.
“He’s a ‘deovel’,” Three nodded, “Or a demon. The only thing I’ve ever heard of Avernus was that silly children’s book by ‘Bili the Bear’. He talked about Avernus if he had been there.”
“I remember that. A bear that somehow made a baby with a hag by doing special cuddles,” Idris smirked.
“I assumed ‘Avernus’ was as made up as the rest of his ridiculous stories, not a real place,” Three scoffed. “I mean apart from as a metaphysical structure.”
“Brother Cooper! Hell is real!” Eli thundered.
Three rolled his eyes. “I mean travelling there as a mortal, and coming back.”
“Oh there is no return,” Eli said firmly.
“It’s been done—talk to Tasha,” Idris countered.
“I don’t trust Tasha.”
“But she’s travelled there quite frequently, if her reputation is to be believed.”
“I guess I’m not including those three,” Three clarified.
“It’s doable. Hell is real place,” Idris said. “Hell is where the devils that can be reasoned with live.”
“The concept of reasoning with the devils is an anathema,” Eli spat. “Hell is where you go when you shut your eyes.”
Idris’s face cracked and softened ever so slightly at Eli’s declaration. With a deep breath he changed the subject before Eli dove too deep. “Just to be clear, this spell, in it’s own way, has literally nothing to do with the potential gateway in the face,” he explained. “It is an arcane instruction for modifying a teleportation spell such that the destination is Avernus—which is unusual, as teleportation cannot normally be used to travel between planes. In any case, this can be cast without reference to the demon face.”
“But Idris,” Three said, “The important thing is—can you cast this?”
“Yes. But…that would be a one-way trip without the corresponding means to get back. Let’s get back to the face room, perhaps with this new knowledge we will think of something else.”
Upon returning Eli stepped up to the face on the wall. It was big enough to step through, if the mouth was replaced by a portal or doorway. He looked up at the red gem affixed to the forehead, reaching a hand toward it but stopping short. It was a stretch, but reachable. “Idris? Can you use your special hand to touch this gem?”
“I can try. It’s only going to do anything if it’s mechanical.”
When everyone was well away, back in the other room, he sent his hand to press the gem. It didn’t sink into the stone, nor did it seem possible to move it in any way. “It’s not mechanical, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be physically touched by somebody which is a different thing.”
“Well magically it’s not in a position where you would easily touch it to open the gate, right?” Eli said, standing up on his toes to indicate the height required. “So how would you address a gem magically to potentially open the gate?”
Idris shook his head. “No Eli, you’re speaking from the point of view of someone who is at your scale. Jarazoun was much taller than us, and there’s no reason to think Vrakir isn’t larger again.”
Eli flushed, slightly embarrassed. “But still…you’d be better off having the button on the desk wouldn’t you?” he said weakly.
“It depend,” Idris said kindly. “I think your idea does have merit, but I think it needs to be touched by a living hand.”
Eli’s face lit up. “Let’s call this ‘Eli Plan Two’!”
Idris smiled and looked to Uthar. “Don’t you have a ring that shields you from heat, Red? As much as this could be entertaining it might be better if you do this.”
“Yes, I think of the two of us,” Uthar nodded.
“Eli stop!” Idris cried as Eli reached.
Uthar strode past and turned. “Are we ready?” He rested a finger on the gem.
A thin ray of green light shot from the gem and pierced Uthar’s forehead. For a moment he felt his entire being shake as if were about to disintegrate into nothingness, but with a urgent appeal to Torm he managed, just, to hold himself together.
As he flinched, the mouth of the face stretched wide and a shimmering purple portal appeared within.
“It was that easy?” Three groaned.
“Never touch the gem, I was always taught,” Idris laughed.
“How is that a viable way to travel? What happens to the poor old Efreet when he has to hit that button every time?” Eli frowned in annoyance.
“It doesn’t disintegrate people who are supposed to press the button,” Idris guessed.
“Are we ready?” Uthar repeated.
“We could wait to see if anything comes through?” Idris said, walking toward the portal.
“There are Duergar dying to keep this door clear,” Three said. “Let’s go.”
Uthar stepped through.
“This looks like the place we’re going to die,” Eli whispered.
On a plinth inside the otherwise empty room beyond rested a sword in a black leather scabbard. The flagstones around it were charred and cracked, and the room’s walls veined with narrow tentacle-like fissures that disappeared into darkness. A soft purple fog sworled over the stone floor around the plinth.
“It is very important that nobody touches that sword directly,” Idris warned.
“That’s exactly what you would say,” Eli frowned. Mesmerised by the magnificent weapon, he almost felt it called to him. He tasted blood in his mouth, unaware he must have bitten himself.
“He wants the sword,” Three whispered, teasing.
All eyes were on the sword as Idris started a circuit of the podium.
“We should act fast before the portal vanishes,” Eli urged, “There’s nothing to fear here Idris!”
“Marko you should check for traps around the plinth,” Three urged, not sure of Eli’s declaration re safety.
Marko did so, also drawn to the weapon so finely was it wrought. “It’s not trapped. Do you want me do something with it?”
“No,” Three said. “Idris can you use your mage hand to pick it up?”
“Why don’t I just take it?” Eli urged. “I could do the most good with it.”
“No!” Idris scowled. “Don’t touch it.”
“Whoever touches it will probably be instantly taken over,” Three explained more patiently. “This is an artefact. Even I have heard of this sword.”
“We can use the enemy’s weapon against him!” Eli pleaded.
Idris responded by manifesting his hand about the hilt and tossing his storage circle on the ground.
“We should be allowed to use it,” Eli growled. “I don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“It is not for you to use, Eli,” Idris said as he continued preparing by tossing a hessian sack to Uthar.
“It is not for you to choose.”
“And nor is it yours to claim,” Idris snapped.
“I wouldn’t claim it as my own,” Eli protested. “But surely one of us should use it instead of sticking in a sack!”
“This sword is a means to an end,” Idris agreed. “It’s not for someone to use.”
“Eli—that sword is famous for how evil it is,” Three stressed.
“This sword is famous for actually cutting off the hand off the enemy!” Eli cursed. “So someone has to use it!”
“It’s also famously owned by someone who, by all reports, is as irretrievably evil as the person who’s hand he cut off,” Idris said.
Eli shook his head. “And yet those Wizards? Their plan is to give it to that evil person!”
“What do you think it’s going to do to you?” Idris demanded.
“Nothing.”
Idris groaned angrily. “Well then you know not of what you speak.”
“And you know everything,” Eli mocked, “Because you come from the other world, and I’m just a simple farm-boy—”
“No! No. Because when you were spending time honing your physical body, I spent time learning this,” Idris almost shouted. “I don’t tell you how to flip, jump, walk up walls, punch things, do I? I don’t recall ever doing that once. And yet you are questioning my skillset right now because you feel more qualified?”
Eli waved Idris away dismissively. “So you’re saying we should give it to the second most evil person we know?”
“I’m saying we should put this in the hands of the three Archmages who are probably better qualified to judge what should happen to it than us.”
Eli stared at Idris, incredulous.
“This was discussed before we left on this errand, if you recall,” Idris added.
Three stepped forward, hoping to mediate. “Remember we are playing with big forces. The idea is to use this as bait to get the next piece of the Rod.”
Eli wasn’t ready to back down. “The ‘idea’ is to summon an evil guy who we probably can’t defeat, so he’ll take it from us.” He turned to the sword and took a step toward it.
“The one salient fact about the said ‘evil guy’, if all the stories are to be believed,” Idris said as he moved to intercept, “Is that his soul reason for existing is to kill Vecna—”
As the fateful word left Idris’s mouth he realised his mistake. The company reeled under a psychic assault as the piercing eye of the Dark One focussed its attention once more. The wave threatened to overwhelm before suddenly withdrawing with a whiplike mental crack. Idris gasped, recovering, cursing himself for his impatience with Eli.
Eli cleared his head after the shock, finding his hand reaching toward the blade. As he did a soft voice spoke within: “You are right. Together we will slay him.”
Three, seeing what was about to happen, turned and reached for Eli, realising as he did it he was too late.
But Eli suddenly flinched back from the sword as if struck. “THIS THING IS EVIL! A temptress!” He stared with horror at the blade, and at Marko hovering by the plinth.
“I don’t think anyone of us is supposed to wield this,” Marko said quietly. “It is way too powerful for us.”
Again the voice whispered to Eli: “You are mistaken. Take me and I will lead you to salvation.”
Eli backed away, eyes wide. “Step away, little man!” Eli cried hauling Marko and turning to Three. “Brother Cooper! I am in peril!”
Three grabbed Eli’s shoulders and pulled him back. “Back! You are on the edge of the abyss!!”
Idris, recovering, tossed the sack to Uthar, who had never seen Idris look as anguished as he looked now. “I’ll lift it into the sack, then put it in the hole.”
“Wait!” Three warned. “It’s an artefact. If we put it in the hole…I’m worried about the consequences.”
Idris hesitated. “I hadn’t considered that. But then someone will have to bear it, wrapped up. And I suggest that be Uthar.”
“I agree,” Marko said. “I trust Uthar. Don’t draw it, just leave it in the scabbard. I’m terrified it will cut someone and that will be the end.”
“I would assume whoever designed this would design a scabbard that is imbued against the curse it might hold,” Three said.
“You would think so,” Marko nodded, “But still.”
Idris went to work, his hand bundling the sack around the blade, tying it down with rope into a bundle that no-one could touch. “Red? It’s all yours. Hopefully you won’t have to carry it for long.”
Uthar looked tired at the thought, but he took the heavy wrapping and strapped the sword to his back, moving his to his waist. As he settled the Betrayer’s blade, a voice spoke to him: “You have awoken me.”
Idris watched Uthar carefully. “Are you ok?”
“Yes. I’m ok. There was…” Uthar paused almost imperceptibly
“Who do I have the honour of serving?”
…“something when you handed it to me,” Uthar finished.
Idris glanced at Three, who, having seen the hesitation too, gave a micro-nod. Idris nodded back before breaking eye contact.
“If it gets too much, let us know,” Eli said, blissfully unaware.
“I will. But I’m ok.”
“We shall do great things you and I.”
Uthar’s face remained passive as he stepped back through the portal.
“I apologise for being argumentative earlier on,” Eli muttered to Idris, who clapped an encouraging on his shoulder.
The company arrived back to the sound of a rowdy cheering and singing from the Throne Room beyond. “Wee Folk forever, champions of Chult, champions of the Underdark!”
“Let’s talk to them!” Marko grinned, but Idris shook his head. “Are we all ready to leave?”
A chorus of yes’s met the question, with only Marko demurring. “Let me speak to them quickly,” he said.
“Do we need to?” Idris groaned.
“They did die for us,” Three shrugged.
“Just briefly,” Marko said and scooted out of the room.
A dozen Duergar were milling around the Throne in various states of injury and disrepair, but all in high spirits—and holding various parts of Jarouzon’s body aloft as trophies. They were splashing around the great pile of gold, and a cheer went up on sighting Marko.
Waylon, who was sitting atop the throne, stood and cried out. “Ye did it ye great eedjits! Ye did it!!”
“Jarazoun falls and the Wee Folk rise!” Frego hollered, and a chant started anew. “Wee Folk! Wee Folk!!”
Marko held his hands up for calm, and they slowly settled. He ushered them in close, and they hunched down, eager to hear every word. “Tell us Mister Marko, what’s the secret ye wish to impart?” Grunthak urged.
Marko spoke quickly and quietly, imparting the hidden Wee Folk knowledge for only those ears to hear. He explained the codes, signals, and means for contacting the wider Wee Folk network, including the most important hand gestures. “This is what you need to use. Repeat them after me and never forget them.” The Duergar lapped every moment up, panting with enthusiasm.
Finally Marko gathered the three leaders, Waylon, Frego, and Grunthak, and gave them the passwords that would guarantee safe passage and special attention when used.
“We killed the deovals too, they’re are all dead” Grunthak said proudly, “By our wee hands!”
“You own the place now—look after it,” Marko grinned.
“Join us for a meal why don’t ye? Bring your tall friends if ye like!”
“Gotta go,” Marko apologised, “I have other places to be, and other Wee Folk to talk to.”
As he spoke the magic words, fists were raised and the chant started once more: “Wee Folk! Wee Folk!! Wee Folk!!!”
Eli, listening in from the other room, turned to Idris. “You don’t have another fireball left do you?”
Three laughed as Idris smirked and popped a small flame in his palm before grinning and snapping his hand closed.
“Mister Marko! Mister Marko!!” the cries rang out as Marko sheepishly walked back to the company.
“Did you tell them that the big boss might come back?” Three teased, deflating Marko’s glory somewhat.
“They know, they know,” Marko demurred.
Idris collected everyone together and a moment the company found themselves upstairs in the Shining Serpent. “Welcome back,” he grinned.
“Good idea to come here, but we need to get to Sigil and quickly,” Three said, continuing his run of deflation.
“As much as I’d like to tarry here,” Idris nodded, glancing at Uthar, “I don’t think we can at this point. Give me a few moments and we’ll leave. Meet me upstairs.”
“Boss?” Atticus said with surprise as Idris appeared at the bar.
Idris gave him a quick hug, and a bigger one for Elsbah who jumped into his arms. “I have to go.”
“What do you mean? You’ve only just arrived?!”
“I’ll explain later,” Idris said quickly.
“I’ve heard that too many times, Idris,” Elsbah scowled.
“I know, and I’m sorry. We’ll be unloading a barrel of gold in the office,” Idris smiled weakly, “Split it six ways.”
Elsbah rolled her eyes, gave him a quick kiss, and pushed Idris on his way. He slunk upstairs after his friends, and sent a mental message to Alustriel: We have the item, at the Shining Serpent. Send a portal.
Approximately ten seconds later a shimmering gold gateway appeared and the company wearily stepped through.
Session played June 1, 22, July 6 2026