9th Circle Heist Chapter I - From Plague Mort to Smaragd

The five of you (Avaniel, Haakon, Thorn, Klassandra and BoB) have become reknowned operators in the dark criminal world of the lower planes, where nearly everything has a price, and it rarely counts out neatly in gold coins. It is not surprising that you'd ever attract the attention of a wealthy patron like Tharirmun.

Tharirmun is well known by reputation to you all. He deals in artifacts- both buying, selling, and "procuring", which usually means stealing.

So here you all are:

You are now all in the dismal town of Plague-Mort in the Outlands.

You are all standing outside a darkened mausoleum, which is itself half-buried in the silt of the oldest part of the town's massive graveyard. You've already had a look inside. The mausoleum is empty- the stone sarcophagus inside is hewn in two, and the bodies were stolen long ago. A few bones and scraps are scattered around the tomb, and scattered around outside.

That is, you thought it was empty.

There is a creaking sound and the rattling of rusty chains and the door to the tomb opens with a groan.

It is an old woman- ancient and wrinkled but also impossibly tall- over 8', and she is bent over and stooped as she emerges from the mausoleum. She has dark blue skin and wiry black hair, and she is leaning on a gnarled stick. She looks around at you all smiling strangely. Her teeth seem to be made of pitted iron, each one filed to a point.

"Hello.. here for the deal with Tharirmun?" she asks. She looks around shiftily, sniffing at the wind. "You weren't followed, your'e certain..?"

She chuckles quietly.

Thorn lounges against the wall near the doorway as the cryptkeeper speaks. She doesn't look at the woman-thing, instead choosing to scrutinize the faces of the others in the pack while their attentions are almost certainly distracted. She nearly cracks a laugh at the sight of the dretch, squat and harmless looking. Unless, of course, one ignored the many objects of power that adorned it. In the Lower Planes, such objects belonged only to those strong enough to keep them. Clearly, no ordinary dretch.

Her eyes lingered on the succubus as well, though only for an instant. Thorn knew the type. Demons of pleasure and pain, and the no-one's-land between, where they mingled and became something else entirely. Of all the demons she'd dealt with, Thorn disliked Succubi the most. They were among the few demons that were capable of subtleties like -pretending- to be friendly...which made the betrayal all the more horrible. It didn't help that she probably had succubus/incubus blood in her as well.

Not that Thorn was any better, of course. It was all a question of perspective.

She herself was a study in contrasts. Dark, unkempt hair that topped her head like a tuft of black flame. White skin of almost deathly pallor...beautiful in a cold sort of way; more like a sculpture of a lovely woman than an actual living being. Prominent cheeks, strong, angular nose, full lips and dark eyes...she was no succubus with her athletic figure, but the seeds of that line could be seen in her face; in the shape of her waist and hips and legs. And, of course, in the smallish set of violet-black batlike wings that curled from her back. Thorn wears a set of mithril chain, enameled to be dead black, and bolstered by spells to blend with shadows and dampen any noise the wearer makes.

"No one followed us," Thorn says quietly, with conviction. "

BoB grins and waves.
A look of utter stuipidity and innocence on its face. The Dretch who resembles a dull gray pumpkin with short tiny arms and legs smells as if it has found something dead or decaying to roll in on the way. In fact it is still dabbed and stained with whatever it was, except for the magnificicant cloak streaming behind it, which is spotless and worthy of a king. The staff strapped to its back is rowen wood bound wih cold iron set with silver runes, obviously a potent weapon against those of the lower planes. Nothing it has radiates magic, not even the glimmering of an aura.

**I was followed** a voice speaks into everyones mind.
The old woman turns a glare on the Dretch that would split stones, and weapons are loosened around he room.

** He is over there** points to the air behind him **He is my Qazzzz, erm Qest- little flying demon buddy** BoB flaps its stubby arms to mimic wings.

A dry, cold voice speaks from nowhere - "Quaist - and no mistress we were not followed."

**There was the flies...** "There are always flies (sigh) master, none had intelligence or enchantments on them"


Some of you may have heard of BoB the dretch sorcerer, its a bit of a joke around the pits. You heard that he was not expected to come back alive from its last journey. BoB may have heard of each of you or even worked with you before, but it doesnt remember.

The ancient hag grimaces in the pale light that now seeps from the doorway.

"good..! Then come in, come in.. er.. "

She looks appraisingly at the hulking gargoyle. "You'll fit, but just barely.. come in last."

She turns and effortlessly budges the heavy crypt door aside. Inside the cramped mausoleum you can see a spiralling nimbus of pale light pulsating slightly has opened in the crypt. As you watch, the nimbus expands and rips open, showing a faint impression of something on the other side- a tangle of vines and lush plantlife. A grappling hook shaped like a tentacled beast of some kind (worked in metal) is hooked onto the side if the sarcophagus and the iron chain attached seems to disappear into the nimbus.

"The gate won't stay open long.. and it hasn't started to rain yet...Tharirmun's Villa awaits you."

Haakon's eyes narrow as his gaze falls upon the blue-skinned hag. The hulking armored gargoyle appears to briefly consider how hag tastes. He pulls in his wings however and waits to enter after the others, his massive sword strapped to his back and his giant black shield floating beside him.

"Anything we should know before we go through?" Thorn asked. Her tone was neutral; the question was one any professional planewalker had to ask before stepping into an unknown plane. "Acid plants? Random bursts of fire?" she allowed herself a smile now, "Rains of holy water?"

She moved a little closer to the portal as she spoke, circling a little to give her 'friends' some space. However, she made no move to enter...yet.

"Well, " she chuckles.

"It's the Abyss. Acid rain, rivers of poison...devouring beasts and all of that. Still, I think you'll find Smaragd one of the more hospitable realms in the endless layers. Tharirmun will make it worth your while."

She begins climbing down the rest of the way into the portal. And on the other side, dimly you can see her making her way down through the loops of chain, and landing on a wildly leafed jungle branch.

Haakon's clawed limbs and great strength make climbing easy even in areas too cramped for his wings to be employed. Entering the abyssal jungle the great predator's eyes dart about picking up the movement of anything that might be prey.

BoB peers carefully from the edge of the portal, and casts mage armor, just in case.
While he continues to hesitate, an 'accidental' bump from behind sends him plungeing through the gate.

Klassandra Doomrunner : Female Dwarf Lich Cleric 11

Klassandra merely listens as the woman speaks. Then when the time comes she enters the portal to take her place in the group. She wonders what this, Tharirmun, has in store for them.