Prison of the Firebringer
Hard to choose a good one without spoiling things too much. I think this installment is a good indication of my Story Hour as a whole. A good mix of intrigue, roleplaying, and combat. Enjoy!
Chapter 12
The High Conflagration sat behind his desk, Degradzel seated opposite him. A hulking troll in chainmail stood behind the High Conflagration, his arms crossed across his massive chest. Their eyes were on Durzhul, bruised and bloodied, as he paced about the room. The durzagon's eyes glowed red as he gave his report.
"That thrice-damned mage! By the Abyss, that man is crafty! Xorfilstaarg is dead. The blues and reds are all dead. Though I managed to take out two of their number, I barely escaped intact, and now we are all that are left! Save for a few whelps seeking out the last mage, we are all that remains of the cult!"
Degradzel turned to the bald man, fear and anger in her eyes. "This is all Thornridge's fault! He sent them here on purpose! I bet he's a double agent, working for Acessiwal or some other--"
"That is enough!" roared the High Conflagration, nearly leaping out of his chair. Both Durzhul and Degradzel shrank before their master's awesome wrath. "I don't want to hear another word of complaint from either of you! The cult is not doomed. We remain alive. The scepter of the ar-magus is in our possession. There is still a chance the Firebringer may be freed. I have just received a sending spell from Yarrick Zan."
Durzhul gasped at the mention of the name. "Yarrick Zan?" he asked. His voice was little more than a frightful whisper, as if even saying the name might have brought doom upon him. "He actually exists? I had heard stories, but I never thought they were true."
"He does exist, or she does, for all I know. The forms Zan takes are always just a disguise: nobody knows his true nature. But we were able to make contact with him and hire his services. Even as we speak, he closes in on a mage who will be a suitable candidate for the ritual. We merely need to hold out for a few more days until Zan delivers him to us. Then, he, Durzhul, and that wretch Philosten will conduct the Rite of Unbinding, and everything we have worked for these past months will finally come to fruition. The Firebringer will walk Faerun once more, with us as his allies, and woe to anybody who dares stand before us!"
"As for Thornridge, he will be getting a visit from Zan once this business is complete. A very brief visit."
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With a flash of light, the battered forms of Allanon, Gillian, Grundar, and Terenon appeared outside of Baldur's Gate. Their clothing was torn and burnt from the battle with Durzhul and the slaad, and vicious scars and bruises adorned their bodies. At least they had managed to survive; the bodies of Berek and Rhys laid within Grundar's portable hole. Solemnly, they made their way through the crowded streets of the city, ignoring the stares they got from the townsfolk they passed.
Terenon's breath came in ragged gasps, his skin pale and stretched across his face, his eyes sunken and hollow. Durzhul's enervation ray had taken its toll on the mage, and it would be a few hours before the effects wore off. He leaned heavily on Grundar as they walked, his knees threatening to buckle with each step. They were almost at the Temple of Torm, and the mage knew that relief was only a short distance away. To distract himself from the pain in his body, he concentrated on an image that had been on his mind for the past few days: an image of the aasimar sorceress, Serrila Destare. Despite having only spoken to her for a short period of time, Serrila had left an indelible mark on the mage’s mind, and he found himself thinking of her quite frequently during the slow periods of the journey. Her face hovered before his mind’s eye, and he could have sworn he heard her voice in his head.
Safe in Silverymoon, she seemed to say.
Terenon blinked in astonishment. He was not imagining things: that was Serrila’s voice! As he listened, the words continued to form in his mind.
Thornridge is not what he seems. I’ll tell you more on our next meeting. How goes the battle? Good luck! Serrila. It took Terenon a few moments to realize that the sorceress had contacted him via a magical sending spell, and it was now his turn to reply. Forming the words in his mind, he sent a response back to Serrila:
In Baldur’s Gate. We’ve suffered losses. We’ll meet you tomorrow morning outside Silverymoon’s south gate. Be careful: Acolyte spies may be about town. Stay safe.
Grundar paused and cast Terenon a worried glance. The mage had suddenly stopped in his tread and had a faraway look in his eyes. “Are you alright?” the duelist asked. “What is it?”
Terenon smiled at his friend. “A plan,” he replied. “I’ll tell you more later. For now, let’s get to the temple.”
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Rhys Thurn stood among a throng of petitioners, souls of the recently dead yet to be claimed by their patron deities. A flat, featureless plane of endless white stretched off in all directions to the limit of his vision, almost completely filled by the horde of the milling souls. Though he knew he was dead, Rhys was not frightened; he had spent his life in devotion to Torm, and he was confident that his god from come soon to take him to a better place. Meanwhile, the priest drank in the details of his surroundings, awed by the life that followed death.
The aasimar was distracted from the contemplation of his surroundings by a faint buzzing at the back of head. At first he tried to ignore it, but the buzzing grew in volume and intensity. Soon, he could make out words against the background noise: somebody was calling his name! Rhys strained to listen, and he heard the resonant voice of a High Priest of Torm calling his soul to return to Toril. Rhys was strangely saddened to leave this place before he reached his lord’s realm, but he knew that he would lose all memory of the experience when he returned to his mortal body anyway. “My duty is not yet complete,” he told himself as his soul began to ascend back to his body.
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Rhys awoke with a start, cold sweat plastering his features. It took him a few moments to realize that he was in the chapel of a temple dedicated to Torm. He lay naked on a cold slab with a blanket draped across his body. A smiling priest hovered over him.
“Welcome back, my son,” the priest said. “You certainly took your time to return; we were uncertain whether or not you actually wanted to come back.”
“Where am I?” asked Rhys.
“Baldur’s Gate. Your friends brought you and the dwarf here to be raised. You must have been in quite a battle judging by the nasty wounds that adorned your body.”
“Berek!” said Rhys, suddenly remembering seeing the valiant dwarf fall shortly before he did. Twisting on the pallet, he saw the body of the berserker lying a few feet away from him, completely covered by a sheet. The body was completely still.
"I am sorry, but the dwarf's soul refused to be brought back. All his life he dreamed of death in glorious battle, and he felt he had achieved that. There is nothing we can do if the soul is unwilling to return."
Rhys stared at Berek’s corpse, his face grim. Though the dwarf had been a wild card and might have accidentally killed them all when gripped by a battle frenzy, he had always been a staunch ally and a valuable asset to the group. His loss would be a hard one to take.
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The happiness that surrounded Rhys’ return to the group was tempered by a sense of regret at the loss of Berek. Allanon seemed particularly saddened by Berek’s death, and remained sullen and morose throughout the day. Laden with mixed emotions, the group headed about the city, attending to various errands that needed to be taken care of. It was early evening when they finished their tasks and, upon Grundar’s suggestion, decided to retire to the Elfsong tavern for the night, hoping to hear the tavern's ghostly resident's legendary haunting melody. They sat themselves at a table in the corner.
“So Terenon,” asked Grundar, “what’s this plan of yours?”
"Earlier today,” began the mage, “I received a message from Serrila Destare. I decided to keep it to myself until I was fairly certain that we weren’t being followed or scryed upon. If you remember, I asked her to keep an eye on Thornridge. She has dug up some information on him. Tomorrow in the morning we will make a detour to see and get the report from her. Depending on what she says, we may or may not confront him."
“Ah, I had forgotten about that duplicitous merchant,” said Allanon. The wild mage’s gaze suddenly turned distant and she added softly, “Deirdriel…now that I think about it, I have some business to take care of in Silverymoon as well.”
"Fine, we can take care of it when we get there,” said Terenon. “Now, from the conversation I had with the green slaad before he broke my charm, I have deduced a few things. The red-eyed dwarf is named Flame Lord Durzhul. His boss is the High Conflagration. I'm not sure who that is, but we do have a card up our sleeve. I would bet money that Flame Lord Durzhul has protected himself from scrying, but Moskogg’s secretary is another story. I believe she is the key for a surprise attack. Scrying on her will give us a location to teleport into and kill everything we see.”
The discussion was interrupted by a beautiful voice singing in Elven. The song was hauntingly beautiful, and the tavern fell silent as all the patrons were overcome by its power. The party listened, transfixed, as music filled their souls with powerful feelings of sadness and longing. As suddenly as it started up, though, the song ended a few minutes later. There was a brief moment of silence, then activity in the tavern resumed.
Grundar inclined his head, tears flowing freely down his face. “It was…more beautiful than I had thought possible.”
Allanon was about to comment when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning to look, she saw a scrawny man standing over her, shaking unsteadily on his feet. His clothes and hair were unkempt and his breath reeked of alcohol.
"Beautiful song, isn't it?" he asked, tongue thick with inebriation. "Almost as beautiful as ye are, purty lady. The name's Vortimer; may I have the pleasure of yer company this evening?" He leered drunkenly at the sorceress.
Allanon gaped at the man, her mouth open. Up until a few days ago, she had been a man, and as such had no experience in dealing with lechers like this Vortimer. She wondered how to let him down easily without hurting his feelings. Her thoughts were interrupted by Terenon’s voice saying, “She’s my woman. If you don’t leave now, I will disintegrate you where you stand.”
The drunk reeled backward on his feet, nearly losing his balance as he scurried away from the table. Rhys chuckled heartily as Allanon whirled on Terenon, fire burning in her eyes.
“[i[Your[/i] woman?” she asked incredulously. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
Terenon merely shrugged, smiling thinly. “I believed that it would be the most expedient way to deal with the situation. No harm, no foul, my lady.”
Crossing her arms across her chest, Allanon settled back in a huff. “As soon as we get back to Silverymoon, I’m getting my manhood back,” she muttered.
Gillian had been quiet for a while, but now she decided to speak up. "I'm afraid that once we get back to Silverymoon, I'm going to have to leave the group. There is no telling how far the Acolytes' influence has spread. I must return to my people to prepare them for the worst if you should fail in your quest, and to enlist aid for our cause if it is needed. I am sorry I cannot venture with you further, but our paths are not the same from here on out. I hope you can understand."
The others were shocked by the halfling’s announcement. "If you are sure you must leave, we cannot stop you,” said Terenon. “I am saddened by your decision. Your prowess in battle will be hard to replace."
“Yes, it has been quite an adventure we have shared,” added Grundar. “However, our strength is now even less than before. Perhaps we should look into finding new members to accompany us back to the Dungeon.”
“You are right, of course,” said Terenon. “I don’t believe we can just advertise a job opening though. Trusting an unknown with what we are facing is ill-advised. Who knows if a stranger that accepts the offer is not an agent of the Acolytes of the Hidden Flame?" Turning to Rhys, the mage said, "Perhaps the temple of Torm has a few reputable fighters it could suggest. Maybe Serrila knows of someone who can join with us, too."
Rhys simply shrugged. “It won’t hurt to try, I suppose. We should check into it in the morning.”
“I’ll keep watch tonight after my Reverie,” said Grundar. “It would be best to be cautious.”
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Sitting in a chair in the tavern’s hallway, Grundar watched through a window as the sun slowly creeped its way up from beyond the eastern horizon. The others still slumbered in their beds, recuperating from the vicious fight of the previous day. The elf’s ears perked up as heavy footsteps began to sound on the stairs. He silently got to his feet and put his hand to his rapier in case it was trouble. Several uncouth voices floated up the staircase to the hall.
"I'm telling ya, this is the floor where that purty lady is staying. That uppity mage is probably with her, too."
"Now, you sure this guy won't make good on his threat? I hear tell of powerful mages and what they can do! I don't want to be turned into no newt or nothing."
"Relax, we just sneak in there and brain the guy so he don't wake up, then we take the girl. What could go wrong?"
Four men reached the top of the staircase, taken aback by Grundar's presence. They all were the thuggish type: greasy, unkempt, and probably still a bit drunk from the previous night. They sized up the elf a bit before turning to one man nervously. This man was apparently their leader, the same drunk guy who had accosted Allanon the previous night.
“Good morning gentlemen!” called Grundar, his hand still on the hilt of his rapier. “Looking for somebody?”
The man, Vortimer, grinned broadly, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "We don't mean no harm, elf, we just came for a little bit o' fun with yer wench. I suggest ye stand aside: we've got ye outnumbered, by my count."
Grundar smiled mirthlessly. "Well, my ‘wench’ happens to be a powerful sorceress in her own right. I doubt you'd have any fun with ‘her’ unless you'd like to have parts of your anatomy burnt off. Now, it seems to me you still have a little drink left in you, so I would suggest that you guys head on back to where you came from and sleep it off."
Vortimer frowned in consternation. He seemed to be deep in thought (a rare experience judging by the look on his face); finally he looked back at Grundar. "Alright, elf, no need to be rude. We don't want to start nothing with ye. We'll be on our way; no hard feelings, right?" With that, the men stumbled off down the stairs and out of sight.
As they left, Grundar heard a door creaking open behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw Allanon peeking out from her room, clad only in a thin nightgown that hugged her lithe form and brandishing her quarterstaff. “What was that about?” she asked.
“Well, Allanon, you seem to have made quite an impression on the local folk. Given that outfit you’re wearing, I can’t rightly blame them,” the elf said, chuckling.
Allanon frowned angrily. “Just shut up,” she said, slamming the door.
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The group made their preparations for the day ahead and, after a hearty breakfast of sausages and gravy, they left the Elfsong tavern and began to make their way to the Temple of Torm to see if they could recruit another adventurer to their cause. The crowds began to thicken as they made their way through the streets of Baldur’s Gate. As they navigated the busy street, Terenon was nearly bowled over by a teenage girl covered in dirt and wearing the clothes of a beggar. The nondescript girl looked nervously to and fro as she scrambled to her feet. Exhausted and frightened, she blurted out, "Help...please. He's chasing me...wants to kill me..."
Terenon felt his initial irritation give way to sympathy as he sensed the girl’s fright. “Calm yourself child. No harm will come to you in our presence. What is the matter?"
The girl saw the sympathy in Terenon's eyes and forced herself to calm down. "My name's Lisa. There's a man chasing me. A man with a big club. He broke into the room where I was staying and has been following me around the streets for hours. I don't know what he wants! I don't know why he's chasing me! You've got to help me!" She looked at the mage with pleading eyes.
Nodding, Terenon began to scan the crowded streets for anybody suspicious-looking. “What does this man look like child?” he asked.
“There he is!” said Lisa, pointing to a middle-aged man in merchant’s clothing who had just appeared from around a storefront. He was portly, handsome, and appeared to have no gear other than a fancy mace strapped to his side. Seeing Lisa, he pointed his finger at the young beggar girl.
"You there! Young lady!" said the man. "Come here. Step away from those people. I must speak to you!" The man cast a stern look toward the girl and grimaced. "Come now, I tire of this game!" he said impatiently, gesturing for Lisa to approach him. "I won't hurt you!"
Before the group could react, a burly voice shouted from behind. "You there! Halt!" A captain of the Flaming Fist, the mercenary company that guarded and patroled Baldur's Gate, stood behind them, brandishing a large polearm. Four other guards stood behind him. "Stay away from that man, Lisa," the captain said. "He's dangerous." The captain of the watch then pointed at the adventurers. "You people! Help me apprehend that scoundrel now, and the city has a 10,000 gold piece reward for you!"
“It would be my pleasure,” said Terenon, casting a spell intended to freeze the merchant in his tracks. The spell did not work, though, and man began to move toward them, snarling, “You foolish, plane-bound idiots!”
The guard captain shouted out, "Men, aid these people and attack that fat merchant." The guards hustle up through the adventurers’ midst and readied their halberds. The merchant drew his mace and moved quite quickly at one of the guards, who slashed at him with his halberd as he approached. The merchant dodged the attack easily and bashed the guard with the hilt of his mace in a powerful blow that dropped the man to the ground, unconscious. The remaining guards regarded the merchant nervously.
The guard captain moved over to Lisa. "Come along, Lisa," he said. The girl shied away from him though, a look of confusion on her face.
“I don’t know who to attack,” whispered Gillian. “I can detect no evil auras.”
Allanon cast a spell at the merchant, trying to dispel any enchantments he had up, but there were no obvious results. Grundar stepped in the merchant’s path, drawing his rapier. “What do you want with the girl?” he asked.
"There is no time for these childish shenanigans,” the merchant replied. “You have no idea what's at stake here. Bring the girl and come with me before someone gets hurt!"
Rhys began to send a blast of searing light at the merchant, but Grundar grabbed his hand to stop the spell before he could finish. “Wait! I don't think he intends to hurt Lisa! Didn't you see him use the hilt of his mace on that guard? Something doesn't look right here."
The guard captain made a grab for Lisa, but she hopped back. "How do you know my name?" she asked. "I've never met you before in my life!"
The guard captain growled with anger. "Give me what is mine!" The captain's form then began to shift, blossoming outward into a massive creature. Its form stabilized into a tall, bipedal mantis-like creature with clawed hands and feet, powerful mandibles, and a long, thick tail covered in razor-sharp spikes. Terenon and Lisa felt a wave of fear flood their minds: Terenon resisted it, but Lisa screamed and cowered before the monstrosity. The creature jabbed at her with its massive spear, but she fell over in fright just in time and the spear passed harmlessly over her head.
The crowd around the group screamed in horror at the bug-like creature. They began fleeing in terror, along with the three guards who remained standing. The merchant yelled, "Don't just stand there, fools! He's going to kill her!"
“Grab on to me!” Terenon cried to Lisa, but she remained on the ground, quivering with fright. Acting quickly, he wrapped his arm around the girl and cast a spell, instantly transporting them both to a far away rooftop. The merchant moved to Grundar and Rhys' side, his form changing as he went. By the time he was next to them, he had changed into a beautiful, extremely tall man with long, feathery wings and a very supple and lithe body that glowed with an inner power that made it hard to look directly at him. He readied his mace against the foul creature.
“An angel,” breathed Rhys. In all his years of service to Torm, he had never seen such a beautiful creature as the one that now stood beside him. He breathed a prayer as he turned to face the insectoid creature, bolstered by the presence of this celestial ally. Unfortunately, the thing had teleported away and currently stood a scant few feet from Terenon. “Give me the girl!” it shrieked as Lisa whimpered and cowered behind the mage.
“Terenon’s up there alone! Do something!” shouted Grundar.
Allanon frowned, knowing that the mage would not last long by himself. She looked over to the others and nodded. “Everyone grab hold of me. I’ll take us over there.” Gillian, Grundar, and Rhys quickly grabbed hold, but the angel hesitated. “You can trust us,” said Allanon, and finally the celestial being consented. With a flash, they appeared behind the creature, which Allanon recognized as an ice devil.
The devil raised its spear to strike at Terenon, but the mage hastily cast a spell and erected a hemispherical wall of force around him and Lisa. The weapon was shunted off the invisible force field, and Terenon flipped the creature a rude gesture as it shrieked in rage.
“Give it up, Felespar. I will not allow you to take the gem," the deva intoned, brandishing its mace.
"I will not be so easily deterred!" the devil roared. It held out its hands and a cone of intense cold blasted out at the group. Grundar and Gillian evaded the blast of cold and the angel seemed unaffected. Rhys took the edge of the blast, though, and Allanon took it full on, the cold numbing their lifeblood and shards of ice tearing at their flesh.
Grundar tumbled up to the devil and stabbed out with his rapier, but the creature’s hide was too thick and it merely shunted the blade aside. Gillian rolled around the things legs and came up, calling upon Yondalla’s holy power to smite the devil with her chain. The weapon left a glowing scar across its chest, and the devil howled in pain. The deva charged in, taking the devil’s spear in its side, and bashed it across the face with his mace.
Allanon almost passed out from the pain caused by the barrage of ice cold air and shrapnel. With what little feeling was left in her arms, she cast a quick spell and began floating into the air, away from the devil.
“By Torm’s might, send this creature back to the hell from which it was spawned!” cried Rhys, holding his holy symbol aloft. The devil felt a tugging sensation as the magic took effect, but he resisted the banishment with a great effort of will. Snarling, it lashed out at its assailants with teeth, spear, and tail. Gillian took several blows, and a nasty wound in her shoulder and side opened, staining her shirt red.
Terenon cradled the terrified Lisa close to him, watching through the wall of force as his companions battled the ice devil. It seems that his friends were having a tough time with it; Grundar and Gillian were having trouble getting past its thick natural armor, and Allanon and Rhys’ spells simply sputtered against the thing’s magic resistance. Even the angel was having a tough time landing a solid hit with its mace. The devil lashed out again, striking Gillian in the chest with his spear, and now the halfling’s entire shirt was stained with blood as she struggled to keep on fighting.
Then the tide turned. Grundar focused his full efforts into his attack, finally managing to pierce the devil's thick hide. The rapier slid in deep, and while some of the damage was negated by its fiendish nature, the elf managed to hit a vital organ that drew a great cry of pain from the devil. Seizing the advantage, Gill delivered two quick slashes to its back that scored its hide with holy energy. The deva scored a good hit with his mace, too, crushing the devil's arm with the holy weapon.
Allanon blasted the beast with a powerful gout of chain lightning. Not expecting the attack to bypass its resistance, the devil made only a half-hearted attempt to dodge it. The lightning bolt caught the devil square in the chest, and the beast convulsed as the electricity coursed through its body. The devil shrieked in rage in pain, leaning heavily on its spear. "You win this round, celestial! The baatezu will not be spurned so easily though!" With a flash of light, the creature disappeared.
The angel reattached his mace to his belt, rubbing the spear wound in his shoulder. His hand began to glow, and in a few seconds the wound disappeared. "Trust it to mortals to believe the devil, just because he takes on the form of an authority figure." The angel turned to Terenon and Lisa, a stern expression on his face. "Now then, come out from behind that wall and let us have a discussion like civilized people."
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