JollyDoc's Age of Worms (Updated 11/30, Epilogue!)

THE SPIRE OF LONG SHADOWS

The air was thick with heat, moisture and the cacophonous din of the jungle. Chirping birds, cries of hunting predators and the incessant whir of insects combined to create an exotic song. The plants of the jungle pressed in, a wall of color and vegetation interrupted only by a twenty-foot gap in the undergrowth that looked out over an immense, bowl-shaped valley.
Within the valley sat a ruined city. The buildings were, in most cases, little more than crumbling foundations overgrown with vines. In places, small copses of exotic trees had reclaimed the ruins, while elsewhere, some buildings still stood. The city’s streets were visible only as faint lines where the undergrowth hadn’t grown as thick. Yet, as incredible as the spectacle of this forgotten city was, it was dwarfed by what dominated its center.
There, a giant ring of black rock circled the heart of the city, runes graven upon its surface. Within this ring rose an ancient stone ziggurat. Two openings into chambers within beckoned on opposite sides of its base. Atop the ziggurat rose an unbelievable sight…a towering spire of stone shaped almost like a stylized tree or cactus. Arms projected from the sides of the stone spire in mocking defiance of gravity, either a feat of divine engineering or the product of powerful magic. The apex of the spire was missing. Whatever rested at this forgotten peak was long gone.

The League had arrived in the midst of the ruined city, some hundred yards from the great, obsidian wall that surrounded the ziggurat. Slowly, they began to pick their way thru the rubble and undergrowth. The ruins seemed to be suffused with a strange taint that hovered just beyond the edges of reality. Like an oily stain spreading over a pool, a vision wavered in the air. Within the tainted energy was a man seated on a great throne made of green stone. He wore ornate plate armor, and a black circlet rested on his brow. Both the circlet and the armor were adorned with silver symbols. The vision expanded, widening its scope to reveal that the throne was located at the apex of the large ziggurat in the shadow of the spire. The spire itself gleamed with flashes of white light, and at its peak was balanced a fifteen-foot tall black stone monolith shaped like a trapezoid. Around the ziggurat spread a thriving city, its streets paved in white stone, its buildings painted and whole. Thousands of figures were gathered in the large open plaza that surrounded the ziggurat, all facing the figure seated at its center. Their cries were a rhythmic chant, surging like waves on the monolith’s shore. As these cries rose in volume, threatening to shake the jungle apart, the vision faded and was replaced once more by the ruins of Kuluth-Mar.

“Did you see the symbols that he wore?” Giovanni whispered quietly.
“Yes,” Drasek answered. “They were archaic in design, but they were Cyric’s nonetheless.”
“So Kyuss was a death worshiper even before he became a god himself,” Hawk stated. “I guess we came to the right place after all.”

As they neared the black wall, they could see that it had been formed from a single, giant block of obsidian. It was featureless except for eldritch symbols that covered the upper rim, each of which glowed as if lit from within by molten rock.
“It’s draconic,” Hawk said as he studied the writing. “The language of magic. It repeats, ‘Kyuss forever bound,’ over and over…like a warning.”
The wall was at least thirty feet high, with no apparent opening in its smooth surface. As the rest of the group pondered how they might pass it, Faust, once more in his dragonet form, flitted up to the top.
“It’s just a barren courtyard beyond,” he called down. “I’d say it’s about two-hundred feet from the wall to the ziggurat. I’m going to fly around the perimeter and see if I can find another way in. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”
Hawk shouted after him, but the psion seemed not to hear. “That one will be the death of us yet,” the civilar muttered.
“Yeah, well, I’m not waitin’ around for’im,” Grim groused, and as his team mates watched dumbfounded, the dwarf got down on all fours and began burrowing into the ground. In a matter of seconds, there was nothing but churned earth where he’d been standing.

The same ceremony that had transformed his skin into rock had also given the mineral warrior the ability to tunnel through natural earth like a badger. Grim found that the obsidian wall extended ten feet below the ground. As he dug his way under the five-foot wide barrier, he suddenly found the soil around him literally crawling with thousands of green worms! Redoubling his efforts, he surged to the surface on the far side of the wall, slapping the foul vermin from his clothes and skin. He looked down and saw them still in the freshly turned dirt, though they appeared to be moving top slowly to pose him any real threat.
“It’s all clear!” he called over the wall to his friends. “But mind your step!”

One-by-one, Giovanni ferried his colleagues through the wall trans-dimensionally, but each time he did so, he felt a growing sense of unease, almost as if his life hung in the balance each time he crossed the barrier. Finally, they all stood within the plaza surrounding the ziggurat…all except Faust.
“Let’s move out,” Hawk said after ten minutes had passed. “He can take care of himself…he’s done it before.”
Cautiously, the team began heading for the eastern entrance to the ziggurat.

Nezzarin watched from his place of concealment as the group of mortals dared to approach the place of the Ascension. For two-thousand years he had kept his vigil, awaiting the return of his lord. For those two millennia no dweller of the outside world had set foot upon this holy ground. None had entered the Spire of Long Shadows. And none would enter on this day. Silently, he called out to his hounds.

Grim was the first to enter the gloom of the ziggurat. At the bottom of a short flight of stairs was a chamber, the walls of which were carved to depict an army of undead soldiers engaged in the ruin and destruction of a city of helpless men, women and children. Buildings burned, blood washed the streets, and dark thunderclouds boiled in the skies above. Over them all, directing the army, was an enormous figure dressed in a tattered dark gray robe. His visage was only remotely humanoid, a seething mass of worms in the mocking shape of a face, with vast, cavernous sockets for eyes.

“Grim wait!” Hawk cried out in warning as alarm bells went off inside his head. The presence of great evil suddenly washed over him like a wave. As Grim turned questioningly, a figure stepped out of the gloom of the chamber. It wore dark armor that hid much of its form from view, but its skeletal visage and horrid stench revealed that it could be nothing but some kind of undead. Small green worms, their mouths filled with row upon row of jagged teeth, writhed along its armor, crawling under the plates and panes. Its most gruesome feature was its eyes, which had been replaced by the ravenous mouths of two bloated worms. Behind this horror appeared two large, bloated beetles moving with unnatural speed, their mandibles clicking and clicking and clicking in a maddening rhythm. Their rotted and pitted shells evoked thoughts of ancient decay and unfathomable corruption, and tiny green worms, each a wriggling abomination of terror in its own right, squirmed through these holes in their exoskeletons.

Grim whirled to face the threat, but Nezzarin moved with mind-numbing speed. Raising a bastard sword, which he gripped one-handed, the ancient knight slashed at the dwarf, ripping into his rocky hide as if it were parchment. As the blade struck, dark energy flowed through it, scorching the mineral warrior’s very soul. As Grim recoiled, Nezzarin thrust his face forward, and horribly, one of the worms in his eye socket struck out like a serpent, fastening its fangs into the dwarf’s cheek. For an instant, Grim’s head swam with nauseating dizziness. He jerked free from the worm, but his thoughts were clouded and muddled. He couldn’t quite organize them enough to counter-attack.

At the same time, one of the rotting beetles surged up the stairs towards Hawk, snapping at his thigh with its razor-sharp mandibles. Hawk felt the chitonous weapons bite into his flesh, but simultaneously, there was a bright flash from his armor. While in Waterdeep, he had had one of the master-smiths there imbue the plate mail with the ability to ward off negative energy. Now, as his breast-plate flared to life, he knew that the monster’s bite was even deadlier than it appeared.

Grim finally gathered his wits enough to heft his axe. Still feeling sluggish, he chopped at the undead knight, sinking the blade into Nezzarin's corrupt flesh. As he did so, Grim willed a surge of magical fire through the axe-head, but to his dismay, the flames sloughed harmlessly from Nezzarin like water.

As the second beetle closed in on Grim, the combined, mindless clicking of the two undead creatures’ mandibles began to gnaw into the psyche of Hawk, Shay, Grubber and Storm. All three clutched at their skulls, trying in vain to rid their minds of the terrible sound.

Drasek knew instinctively what it was that he and his team faced. In his reading of the Apostolic Scrolls, he had come across a reference to four warriors who had been the personal bodyguards of the mortal priest Kyuss. Upon his ascension to god-hood, his unholy power had transformed this quartet into powerful, undead creatures, sworn to forever maintain their vigil until Kyuss’ return. This then was one of the four. Acting on impulse, the inquisitor began chanting a prayer, filling his mind with a litany of this particular knight’s past transgressions, and the list was impressive. As he began uttering the charges, calling on Kelemvor to punish this sinner for his life of evil, Nezzarin recoiled, hissing, his skin blistering as the Deific Vengeance of Kelemvor washed over him.

Still at the top of the stairs, Havok could clearly see the battle raging below, and he could also see that the undead knight and beetles were just as he wanted them, grouped together in a tight knot. Eldritch power arced from his hand, striking Nezzarin first, then leaping to the nearest beetle, and then to the next, in a chain of emerald devastation. As the chain faded, the warlock dipped deep into his magical reserves, and unleashed a lighting-fast eldritch spear, stabbing it deep into the Kyuss knight’s chest.

Nezzarin felt pain, a sensation he had not experienced in millennia. It was something novel, and therefore not entirely unpleasant. His discipline allowed him to focus past the feeling, however, and continue his assault. Darting past Grim’s hovering tower shield, the knight drove his sword straight into the dwarf’s gut, then slashed across, practically eviscerating the mineral warrior in the process. At the same time, one of his eye-worms struck again, feeding off of the dwarf’s mental energy, and healing some of Nezzarin’s own wounds in the process. The second beetle attacked as well, its mandibles scouring Grim’s shoulder, negative energy pouring into the wound, further weakening the dwarf. Its companion continued to strike at Hawk, the civilar unable to effectively defend himself or counter the attack due to the maddening chittering of the beetles.

Staggering from blood loss, Grim nevertheless managed to strike at Nezzarin again, this time smiting the knight with pure earth-power, another gift bestowed upon him by his transformation. This final blow sapped what was left of the dwarf’s strength. He sagged to one knee, fully prepared to meet Hela Brightaxe. It was not her hand that reached out to him, but rather that of Drasek. Calling once more upon Kelemvor, the inquisitor sent healing energy into the mineral warrior’s body, closing his most critical injuries.

Havok tried to back away from the mind-numbing clicking of the beetles, while still keeping the combatants in sight. Seeing the state of Hawk, Grubber, Shay and Storm, he knew that he had to take down the necrotic insects, and quickly. He unleashed a second chain, this time starting with the nearest beetle, then arcing to the second, and finally to Nezzarin. Again, he followed this with a quickened spear of eldritch power, and with this last blast, the Kyuss knight went down.

Finally, Hawk managed to shake off the effects of the beetles mandibles. Fending off the nearest insect’s attack, he thrust his sword through one of the holes in its carapace, loosing a surge of electricity as he did so. As he withdrew his blade, the giant bug collapsed.

As the last of Grim’s wounds began to close, the sole remaining assailant lunged again, piercing the newly formed skin on the dwarf’s abdomen, ripping at tearing at the soft entrails beneath. Grubber, also now free of the beetles’ mind effects, quickly stepped forward, and summoned his most powerful Healing spell, instantly closing every one of Grim’s wounds, as well as restoring the damage done to the dwarf’s mind by Nezzarin’s eye-worms.

One last time, Havok released his eldritch spear, striking the beetle at the same time an orb of lightning hurled by Storm did. Its mandibles closing for good, the beetle flipped onto its back, its legs contracting like a fist.

Beyond the antechamber, the group found themselves in a huge room. The once-grand chamber suffered from long neglect. The dark green stone floor lay broken in its center, giving way to a gaping pit. Writhing tendrils of sickening green vapor slithered up from the pit, only to break apart and fade before seeping much further into the room. Great pillars lined the outside walls of the vast hall, but those near the center of the room lay broken…blasted outward by whatever force caused the hole in the center of the chamber. Immense, stone double-doors stood in the center of each wall.

No sooner had the entered the vast chamber than Hawk and Drasek looked at each other. Both paladins could sense the overwhelming evil, on a scale like nothing they’d ever felt, emanating from the pit. Grim cautiously approached the edge.
“Careful,” Hawk warned. Grim nodded and tentatively peered over the side. The hole fell away into darkness, its perimeter pock-marked by large, round holes.
“Leave it for now,” Hawk said. “Let’s secure this area first, and then check these doors.”

A short time later, confident that the room was unoccupied, they team approached the northernmost set of doors. As per their routine, Grim turned the handle on one of the two doors, and shoved it open. The green walls of the room beyond seemed to writhe and glow with an unhealthy light. Scattered around the chamber were instruments of torture…rusted and pitted iron hooks, ancient blades, and other tools of horrid intent. Three beings stood around the perimeter of the room, looking expectantly at Grim. For a moment, the dwarf could only stare, open-mouthed. Two of the figures were as large as giants, fully nine-feet tall, yet they were gloriously beautiful. Male in form, they had golden hair and eyes to match. Large, feathery white wings, edged with gold, sprouted from their muscular shoulders. The third figure was of normal size, but no less impressive. He appeared to be an elf of noble bearing, wearing exquisitely crafted breastplate, and carrying an ornate greatsword.

Kelvos smiled at the dwarf’s obvious confusion. Three celestials were surely the last thing he and his band expected to find in this stronghold of darkness. So much the better, Kelvos thought. The ghaele eladrin and his sword archon brethren had indeed come to this place long ago, intent on stopping the vile necromancer Kyuss from achieving divinity. It was folly on their part, and utterly in vain. They were fools to have believed they could ever hope to defeat one as powerful as he. In the end, Kyuss had shown them the error of their ways, and now they too patiently awaited the return of their lord. The years had been long, even for immortals, and there was little opportunity for sport. Until now…

When Kelvos spoke, his voice was musical and hypnotic, but there was a cold cruelty to his words. “You have desecrated the temple of the Worm God, and for that you cannot be suffered to live!”
Sensing what was coming, Grim slammed the door shut, then gripped the handles tightly. “Fan out!” he called over his shoulder to his teammates, and then the doors were ripped from his grasp. Looming over him was one of the Angels of the Worm. In the blink of an eye, the celestial’s arms both transformed into wickedly barbed blades.

Havok had heeded Grim’s warning, and ducked behind one of the pillars in the outer chamber. Now, as the sword archon stood in the doorway, the warlock unleashed one of his most powerful blasts, striking the angel, and then letting it arc to the eladrin, whom he could just make out from his vantage point. The bolt bounced harmlessly off the archon’s bronze skin, but the eladrin grimaced in obvious pain.

Directly behind Grim, Drasek leaped into action. Though confused as to why three celestials would be serving as guardians in such an unholy place, his senses nevertheless told him that they were unredeemably evil. Calling upon Kelemvor to guide him, and forgive His fallen children, he loosed a cone-shaped Diamond Spray upon all three, but when the glittering shards cleared, there was not a scratch on any of them. Simultaneously, Storm hurled a sizzling orb of electrical energy at the archon in the doorway. The sphere struck unerringly, but the current merely played over the surface of the angel’s chest, leaving behind no trace of injury.

Kelvos could tell that he and his brethren faced a seasoned, and well-coordinated band. Though the outcome of the battle was assured, he intended to give himself every advantage possible. Calling on the power of his own god, he rendered himself invisible, and moved to a better tactical position.

“Grim, move!” Hawk cried, charging past the dwarf, sword poised to strike. As he came, however, the sword archon struck, stabbing one of his arm blades into the civilar’s knee. Though he stumbled, the paladin did not falter. He immediately struck back, his holy blade gouging deep into the celestial’s flesh. With blinding speed, he called upon Helm to guide his hand, and struck again. The angel recoiled, and as he did so, a second orb from Storm, this one made of acid, struck him full in the chest. The archon screamed as the caustic fluid burned away his skin, eating into the sinew beneath. With a final howl of pain, he succumbed.

“Holy power is their bane!” Drasek called out to his comrades, and as he did so, he chanted another prayer, this one meant to bless the blades of each of his teammates.

That would be quite enough of that, Kelvos thought to himself as he stepped over Gabriel’s ruined body. Standing unseen (save by Havok) in the door, he clenched one immaculately manicured hand and spoke a single word, so vile that it caused his lips to sting a bit, though he had been wholly corrupted for over two-thousand years. Its utterance had immediate and dramatic effects on the entire League. Each of them felt the strength drain from their muscles, with Havok so weakened that he almost collapsed under his own body weight. Storm became rooted to the spot, unable to even blink her eyes. The rest of the team were so stunned by the blasphemous energy that they could do nothing but stare in dazed confusion.
“Excellent,” Kelvos smiled. “Now, for my next trick…”
A fan of vibrant, prismatic colors fanned out from the invisible eladrin’s fingers, engulfing the League, each of them struck by at least one band of the color spectrum. Grubber’s skin blistered as acid coalesced from thin air around him. A shock of pure electricity jolted Drasek. Grim was immolated in fire. Hawk retched as a cloud of noxious green vapor further sapped his flagging fortitude. Havok felt his flesh momentarily harden to the consistency of stone, before it snapped back. Shay saw the room around him waver, replaced by a roaring inferno, pools of magma, and the screams of the damned, but just as suddenly he was back in the temple of Kyuss. A purple beam struck Storm, but the drow’s innate resistance to magic allowed it pass harmlessly through her.

As the prismatic spray vanished and their dazed state abated, the team struggled to regain their wits and resume their offensive. Grubber lumbered quickly to Hawk’s side and once more cast his most powerful Healing spell upon the civilar. Instantly, all of the paladin’s wounds closed, and he felt his strength and vigor restored. Hawk still could not see the eladrin, so he instead closed the distance to the remaining archon. Again as he came, the angel’s impressive reach allowed him to make a token slash at the civilar before he reached striking distance. At that point, Hawk opened the archon’s right pectoral with his sword, calling on Kelemvor’s wrath once more to smite his foe. The archon reeled, and Hawk struck again, backing the giant celestial into a corner. At this point, the archon raised his sword-arm to strike, and Hawk ducked behind his shield, bracing for the blow. Incredibly, the fallen angel missed the civilar by a large margin, striking the wall next to him instead. It was only at this point that Hawk realized the horrible truth about the writhing green light within the walls of the smaller chamber. They were made of glass, and when the archon’s sword shattered the barrier, a swarm of the horrid green worms were released from their terrarium, tumbling down upon the paladin.

Havok still had a clear view of Kelvos, and though the warlock was still pathetically weakened, he could still summon his birth-right, releasing another maximally empowered eldritch chain at the eladrin, and then having it arc to the archon. To Havok’s complete dismay, neither of the celestials even seemed to notice the withering blast.

From previous experience with swarms of vermin, Shay knew it would be useless to attempt to target the slithering worms with his bow, so instead he turned the now-blessed weapon on the archon. His first shot struck the angel in the shoulder, and the archon quickly tore it free. The second shot, however, was more precise, piercing the celestial’s left eye. He howled in agony, clawing at his exploded orb before collapsing to the ground.

Grim was struggling to move his four-hundred plus pound frame even a single step, weakened as he was by the eladrin’s blasphemous attack. Drasek hurried to the dwarf’s side, uttering a simple restorative spell which removed Grim’s fatigue. Kelvos watched as the inquisitor and the goliath continued to undo the damage he had wrought, and he decided the pair must be neutralized. Concentrating on a point in space between the two, he caused a bubble of silence to envelope them, preventing them from uttering the words to their potent prayers.

Grubber recognized the silence spell for what it was immediately, and knowing its limitations, he began moving towards the perimeter of the room until he reached a point where he could once more hear his own heavy footfalls. The eladrin still eluded his perception, but Hawk was obviously in trouble. The civilar was struggling in vain to sweep the writhing worm-swarm from around and on him, but it was a hopeless effort. The goliath focused on the swarm itself, and with Grumbar’s blessing, unleashed another spray of holy diamond shards into the mass. He was relieved to see a large number of the vermin shrivel and die, but more than enough remained. Once more, he loosed the holy spray, and then he saw that Drasek had managed to leave the sphere of silence as well, and had conjured his own Diamond Spray. One final blast from the goliath consumed the last of the worms, freeing Hawk.

All of the distractions were serving Kelvos’ purposes well. The eladrin used the opportunity to heal some of his own wounds, watching the pathetic mortals stumble around like rats in a maze.

Storm still stood paralyzed within the zone of silence. Havok decided to attempt to undo both ills simultaneously. Summoning a dispelling field, he dropped it over the area in which the drow stood. Instantly, sound returned to the zone, but Storm’s state was unchanged. Following the warlock’s lead, Drasek cast a dispelling field upon Storm herself, knowing he risked undoing many of her protective spells, but knowing that, more importantly, they wouldn’t help her if she remained a sitting duck.

With tremendous relief, Storm felt mobility return to her limbs. Realizing that their remaining foe was free to strike at them with impunity as long as he remained unseen, the sorceress cast a spell, touching her eyes as she did so. When she opened them again, she could clearly see the eladrin still standing in the small chamber.
“He’s there!” she cried. “In the far left corner! Don’t let him escape!”

Grim did not hesitate. Moving quickly through the doors and into the room, he headed for the corner Storm had indicated, but Kelvos would not be so easily trapped. He stepped nimbly into the air, walking upon it as if it were solid ground, moving over the dwarf’s head, through the doors, and into the temple beyond, until he stood, unseen, right next to Grubber, the source of the hated Celestial light that had been searing his skin ever since the goliath had appeared. Reaching out gingerly, almost lovingly, he caressed Grubber’s left cheek…releasing his devastating Harm spell as he did so, hoping to draw all but the barest essence of life from the priest. To his astonishment, the goliath was unfazed. Knowing full well the possible nature of the undead they would in all probability be facing in Kyuss’ temple, Grubber had prepared himself with a Deathward, a spell that protected him from all life-draining effects. He now thanked Grumbar that he’d had the foresight to do so. Recoiling from the unseen touch, Grubber quickly uttered the prayer he’d been waiting for the right moment to use. In a flash, the area all around the priest was purged of all invisibility effects, showing everyone clearly exactly where Kelvos was.

Hawk charged, roaring in indignation at the abomination that the eladrin had become. The civilar railed against the fallen celestial as he struck again and again, but Kelvos only smiled at him as he deftly side-stepped each blow easily.

“Drasek, now!” Havok cried. “Dispel his defenses!” The inquisitor and the warlock then both dropped dispelling nets over the eladrin, hoping to strip him of his magical protections. Kelvos felt some of his more minor magics falter, but he was unconcerned. They could be easily replaced. What concerned him more was the charging mineral warrior bearing down on him. As he braced himself for the impact, he failed to see Shay knock another arrow, and as a result he also failed to avoid it. The black-fletched missile pierced his thigh, and he hissed in irritation. The distraction was just enough for Grim to make his move. Sweeping his axe in a looping arc, the dwarf swept the eladrin’s feet off the floor, and Kelvos landed hard on his back. With cat-like reflexes, the celestial vaulted back to his feet, Grim slashing at him as he rose. Dodging around the dwarf, Kelvos walked out over the gaping pit in the midst of the chamber, hovering there, daring any to follow. Once in place, he casually gestured towards Drasek, Havok and Storm, causing a wall of impenetrable force to spring up in front of them, separating them from their teammates.

Havok did not grasp the nature of the spell Kelvos had created, and the warlock thought to catch the eladrin flat-footed now that he was in plain sight. Hurling a blast of noxious energy in Kelvos’ direction, he was shocked to see it stopped in mid-flight.
“He’s erected a barrier of some sort!” Havok shouted.
“A force wall,” Storm agreed. “But if he has made it wide enough to bisect the entire chamber, I’m guessing it does not reach the ceiling. We can go over it.” The sorceress then placed a fly spell upon herself while Drasek did the same for Havok.

“Get me over there Grubber,” Grim snarled, glaring at the eladrin that sneered back at him, well beyond his reach.
“As you wish,” Grubber said, placing his hands upon the dwarf’s shoulders and murmuring a spell to imbue the mineral warrior with the feathery wings of a celestial. Grim launched himself into the air and over the pit, closing rapidly with Kelvos, but at the last instant, Kelvos smiled…and created a dispelling field around the dwarf.

For a moment, Grim did not know what had happened. Then he felt as heavy as lead and realized that his wings had vanished. He dropped like a proverbial stone, the walls of the pit flashing past him as he fell, and fell, and fell. Five-hundred feet the mineral warrior plummeted, crashing to a stone floor what seemed like an eternity later. The wind was driven from his lungs and he was sure that he had felt bones snap. It was only the supernatural hardness of his flesh that had kept him from dieing instantly. As he struggled to look around him, he wasn’t sure that the latter option wasn’t preferable. He lay in the middle of a small room, the floor of which was literally crawling with green worms. Then he heard it…the tell-tale clicking of mandibles…

ROUND TWO

The troll limped slowly down the darkened stairs on the western side of the ziggurat. Blood flowed freely from a gaping wound in his right thigh. The demodand had taken him by surprise, and it had been a miracle he’d escaped with his life. Oddly enough, the laceration was not closing or regenerating the damaged tissue, as would be expected of such a creature. The chamber at the bottom of the stairs was empty. Its walls were carved to depict an army of armored soldiers engaged in the ruin and destruction of a city of helpless men, women and children. Buildings burned, blood washed the streets and dark thunderclouds boiled in the skies above. Above them all, directing the army, was an enormous figure dressed in plate mail. His face was cold and cruel, but also quite handsome. He wielded an exotic pole-arm that combined the features of a pick, an axe, and a mace.

The troll noticed none of this. Purposefully, he strode across the room to a set of double-doors on the far side. Without hesitation, he pulled them open…and beheld a scene of pure chaos! The vast chamber before him bore a large, smoking pit in its center, surrounded by shattered pillars. A battle raged within the room. Several figures surrounded the pit, over which floated the object of their ire…a strikingly handsome elven man, dressed in a gleaming breastplate and wielding a glowing greatsword. The only thing that marred his beauty was the cruel smile that twisted his lips, and the dark miasma that surrounded him like black flames.

“What in the Nine Hells is going on in here?” the troll roared. A goliath stood chanting at the near side of the pit. At the sound of the troll’s bellow, he turned, his eyes glowing like twin flames.
“Faust!” Grubber yelled. “It’s about damn time you showed up! The eladrin’s evil! Grim fell in the pit! Go get him!”
Faust the troll sighed, trying to remind himself again why he had thrown in his lot with these misfits.
“There’s only one problem with that…well, not only one, but the main one.” Faust said sarcastically. “I can’t fly.”
“I can fix that,” Grubber said as he quickly crossed the floor to the troll. Speaking a prayer and then touching Faust’s back, the priest caused leathery, bat-like wings to sprout. “Hmm,” he said, looking at the wings critically. “Those were supposed to be angelic.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m in a bad mood,” Faust grumbled, heading towards the pit.

Havok breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Faust. Maybe the psion would be able to tip the battle in their favor. For now, however, the warlock was wounded. Grubber had restored his strength, but several gashes and ugly burns marred his flesh. Nearby, Drasek did not look much better.
“Time for a brief, tactical retreat,” Havok said to the inquisitor. Then, touching the paladin’s shoulder, the warlock transported the two of them into the room where Kelvos and his Angels of the Worm had been holed up.
“Timely,” Drasek said, as he began fishing potion flasks out of his belt. One was to again give him the power of flight, which the eladrin had dispelled, and the others were to heal his injuries.

Kelvos watched the hijinks of his foes with amusement. He had them on the run. They were unable to organize any coordinated strike against him…just as he’d planned. Casually, he began walking on air as if it were a solid surface, down into the pit, regaining his invisibility as he left the area of the priest’s damnable purge. Twenty feet below the rim, he stepped into one of the rough hewn holes that festooned the sides of the shaft. While he still did not feel that the buffoons above posed him any serious threat, they had managed to injure him and before he destroyed them, he needed to make sure he was at his peak. Calling upon his lord Kyuss, he suffused his body with unholy power, closing each of his wounds in turn. That task complete, he then called out into the void of the pit, speaking in the tongue of the Abyss. “Come worms! Heed the words of the Wormtouched! Your master has need of your service once again!”

As the maddening clicking of the mandibles came closer, Grim fumbled at his belt pouch, digging out a small flask. Just as a large shadow fell over him, the dwarf upended the flask, and his form winked out of sight. He wasn’t quite fast enough. The undead beetle had already reached him, and mindlessly, it lashed out at where it had last seen him. Its cruelly barbed jaws sliced into him, drawing out his very life-force as easily as they did his blood. Grim clenched his jaws to keep from screaming, and also to hold back his gorge. The writhing worms still crawled over him, biting him like a thousand wasps’ stings. The effect was nauseating. Quickly, he reached for a second potion, imbibing it just as the beetle struck again. This time, the vile creature’s mandibles stabbed deep into his gut, and despite his best efforts, the mineral warrior cried out. It felt as if his innards were literally being ripped out of him. For a moment his vision blurred and darkened, but he knew that if he lost consciousness he was finished. At that moment, he felt his body lighten as the flying drought took effect. Willing himself up, the dwarf shot into the air, straight into the narrow hole through which he’d fallen. He had to get out of the pit. That was his only thought as he flew up, and up, and up.

Faust didn’t know where the eladrin had gone, and he wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Running to the edge of the pit, he threw himself over the edge, diving down into the darkness as fast as his wings would carry him. Deeper and deeper he flew, at one point passing the invisible form of Grim, who did not call out to the strange, winged troll, thinking it another spawn of Kyuss coming to finish him off. Eventually, Faust could see the bottom of the shaft, where it narrowed down to a scant eight feet in diameter, before opening into chamber, the floor of which was crawling with green worms. Directly below the hole was also a large, half-rotted green beetle, its mandibles clicking in a maddening tempo that seemed to bore into the psion’s skull. If Grim was down there, he was already dead, or worse. Faust concentrated, manifesting a flaming ball of energy, which he flung into the hole, and then retreated out of the blast radius as it consumed the chamber. He didn’t wait to see the effects of his attack, instead turning back up the pit, and starting his slow ascent back to the surface.

Grim willed himself to fly faster. He had heard the explosion below him, and knew for a fact that the fiend he’d passed had been sent to insure his death. Pulling flask after flask as he flew, he attempted to abate the worst of his hemorrhaging.

Cautiously, Drasek and Havok approached the edge of the pit. Peering over its edge, they saw no sign of the eladrin at first, but then the warlock’s fiendishly acute eyesight picked out the invisible form of the celestial outlined in glowing, green light, standing just inside one of the holes below. Kelvos saw them as well. Without hesitation, he thrust one hand towards them, a bolt of lightning flashing from his palm and striking Havok. It then leaped from the warlock, arcing into Drasek. At that moment, both Drasek and Havok saw something else. Emerging from another hole, some forty-feet below them, was a vile, bloated worm, with a thick, green body. Its vaguely human head was covered in stringy green hair, and its mouth was a round, sucker-like orifice, ringed with rows of tiny teeth. Its identity flashed into Havok’s mind instantly. Once again, the knowledge gleaned from the Apostolic Scrolls served him well. The creature was a worm naga, created by Kyuss after his transformation to godhood as a way of rewarding the powerful arcanists that had served him in life. Even as this realization came to him, Havok heard the horrid thing began to chant the words to a spell. A blast of freezing cold air and ice roared up from the pit, engulfing Drasek and him. Reflexively, Havok’s hand came up in an ineffective attempt to ward off the spell, but as it did, the warlock loosed an eldritch spear at the naga, followed by a second blast of noxious energy. With that, his stamina flagged. Staggering away from the pit, he stumbled back into the smaller antechamber. Closing his eyes, and concentrating, he summoned up a new aspect of his fiendish power…the ability to somewhat clot off flowing blood and close minor cuts. At the same time, he heard a voice speaking in his head: “Fear not, master. I am here. Let me tend your need.” It was the armor given to him by Malchor. The wizard had told him that it could provide some healing in times of great necessity. The warlock supposed this was one of those times.

Grubber quickly stepped to Drasek’s side, grimacing in disgust at the horrible naga protruding from its hole below. Calling out to Grumbar, the goliath caused a wall of whirling, slashing blades to appear directly across the opening from which the worm had emerged. The creature screamed as the blade barrier ripped at its flesh, and it quickly drew its head back inside the hole and away from the whirring shards. As it retreated, Drasek appealed to Kelemvor for his own spell, a radiant blast of power which seared the naga’s warty hide.

Continuing his ascent, Faust saw something emerge from one of the holes in the side of the pit above him. Had he been at the top with his companions, he would have seen that it was the same type of creature that assailed them. As it was, he guessed it to be some sort of naga, though not any kind that he had ever heard of. Even as he contemplated this, the worm spat out a spell, sending a scathing beam of green energy at him. The ray struck Faust, but dissipated on impact, the psionic spell resistance he had manifested earlier against the demodand still in effect.

Hawk couldn’t see exactly what was throwing spells from down in the pit, but he assumed it was the eladrin. Imbued with the power of flight from a potion, the civilar dove into the pit, only to see the naga trapped behind the wall of blades. Confused, he turned to look for the eladrin…but Kelvos saw him first. Laughing to himself at the stupidity of these mortals, he again summoned a dispelling field, watching with delight as horrific realization dawned on the paladin and he began to fall. Fortunately for Hawk, unlike Grim, his flight ability was not granted by wings, and so when it suddenly ended, he merely drifted down instead of plummeting, though he knew that effect would last only a few seconds before he began to fall in earnest.

The naga, trapped behind its prison of blades, glared balefully up at grubber. The goliath could see its puckered lips begin to move as it spoke the words to another spell. A ray of emerald death lanced towards the priest, but as it passed through the blade barrier, its path was deflected just enough to cause it to strike at Grubber’s feet, where it promptly disintegrated several inches of stone. Just then, a hand gripped his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled, preparing to face this newest threat. Instead, he saw Havok standing behind him, the warlock looking worse for wear, but no longer ashen with blood loss. Havok nodded, and looked past the goliath at the snarling, hissing worm below. With almost a casual flick of his hand, he sent an eldritch blast through the blade barrier to strike the naga between the eyes. The wretched creature blinked once, and then collapsed.

Faust ignored the naga as he flew past it, intent on reaching the top of the shaft. Again and again, though, more nagas appeared at intervals, each one hurling disintegration beams at him, and each one rebuffed by his protective aura. As the psion passed his nearest assailant, his eyes locked briefly with those of the naga. In that moment, Faust was lost. At first his thoughts became jumbled and he found it hard to concentrate. He paused in his flight, hovering in place. A moment later, he forgot why he had come down here in the first place. A moment after that, he forgot his own name. All that remained was the feral mind of the troll. Faust was no more. Red rage filled his mind as he continued to stare at the naga. He wanted to rend it, tear it, taste its blood. With an inhuman roar he charged at the hole.

Hawk glided down another sixty feet, sheathing his sword as he fell, and pulling a second fly potion from his belt. As he passed one of the ubiquitous holes, he saw another of the nagas emerging from it. It spoke in a guttural voice, and green light enveloped him. The civilar hissed in pain as the ray seared his flesh like acid. A small hole had been bored through his breastplate, and through his skin beneath. Then he was past the hole, falling deeper into the pit. Unfortunately, below him he saw yet another naga appear, and a second beam struck him.

Drasek finished his laying on of hands upon himself, and somewhat revitalized, moved to rejoin Havok and Grubber. There, he saw that a second naga had crawled from a hole forty feet below where the first one had been. Storm saw it too. The sorceress floated above the top of the force wall that Kelvos had erected, and now she hurled two scorching rays of electricity at the worm. The first struck the creature a glancing blow, but the second blasted it directly in the mouth as it was preparing to cast its own spell. As a result, the disintegration ray it was sending towards her missed her by a wide margin.

Kelvos could not keep himself from chuckling as he saw the frustration etched on the faces of his foes. They were so confused that they did not remember not to cluster in one place. Once more calling on Kyuss, the eladrin brought down a column of green fire directly upon the spot where Havok and Drasek stood. The warlock hurled a token blast back his way, but the pitiful attempt simply dissipated as it touched Kelvos’ divine flesh. Once again, the warlock was forced to retreat. To Kelvos’ great surprise and delight, however, the inquisitor leaped from the edge of the pit and dove straight towards him.

The troll’s quarry slipped eel-like away from him, speaking unintelligible words. A blast of bitter cold struck the troll, but he barely felt it. He prepared to leap upon the naga, but at that moment, a brief flash of insight struck him. There were clan-mates nearby, allies to be protected. A primal instinct caused him to retreat from the hole and launch himself back into the pit, his wings straining as he climbed steadily upward.

Struggling to ignore his pain, Hawk finally managed to swig down his potion. Feeling the power of flight once again return to him, he willed himself up. More nagas were above him. He raised his shield over his head as deadly, green beams began to crisscross the shaft.

Storm watched as Drasek closed with the eladrin. The inquisitor swung his maul, but the celestial deflected it easily. The drow could see that the paladin was outclassed in a one-on-one contest. Thinking to aid her comrade, she hurled a glowing ball of fire into the hole behind the eladrin, but unfortunately, she misjudged her aim, and when the spell exploded, it engulfed both combatants. When the flames cleared, the eladrin looked unscathed, but Drasek bore several blistered burns.

“With friends like that,” Kelvos laughed at Drasek, “I won’t have to raise my hand against you at all! Come now my friend.” He held one hand out towards the inquisitor. “I can see you are of pure heart and noble of spirit, but do you truly think your devotion to goodness and law could ever come close to that which I once held dear? And yet here I am, a testament to flawed thinking. We are kindred spirits. Can’t you feel it? Everything you have believed in is a lie. Join me, and I will show you truths you could never believe possible.”
“Never!” Drasek hissed, and he swung his maul again. Kelvos caught the head of the weapon on the guard of his sword. Rotating his wrists, and jerking back, he wrenched the weapon from the paladin’s hands. It clanged to the floor at Drasek’s feet, and before the inquisitor could reach to recover it, Kelvos kicked it out of the hole and into the abyss beyond.

“Havok!” Grubber called over his shoulder to the warlock, who was allowing his armor to again pull him back from the brink of unconsciousness. “Drasek’s in trouble!” The goliath then turned back to the scene below him, and launched twin beams of fire from his eyes, which bore the aspect of the celestial firre’. The beams hit the side of the wall where Kelvos’ head had been but a moment earlier, before the eladrin had dodged with superhuman speed. Havok limped back to the pit edge, hurling his own magic at the celestial, amazed that this time his blast actually seemed to hurt Kelvos, though it did not have the nauseating effect that he had hoped for.

“Now what will you do?” Kelvos taunted the unarmed inquisitor, feinting at him playfully with his sword.
“This!” Drasek said, speaking a prayer to Kelemvor that caused his arm to become a living blade, ironically that of a sword archon.
“Ah,” Kelvos said, smiling, “but how can you hit what you cannot see?” The eladrin then retreated several feet down the worm tunnel, and willed himself invisible once more. Speaking the words to one of his most lethal spells, he hurled destructive energy at Drasek, intending to snuff out the paladin’s life like a candle. Incredibly, as the spell struck Drasek, his armor flared with blinding light, the Soulfire enchantment placed upon it by Malchor protecting him from the life-draining effect.

Hawk had managed to survive the deadly gauntlet of nagas, and he had only one more to pass before he reached the pit’s rim again. This last one, however, did not attack him as the others had, with a disintegration spell. Instead, it summoned a dispelling field, and again the civilar’s power of flight failed him.

Grubber saw Hawk’s plight, but could do nothing to directly aid his friend. Instead, he summoned a spiritual hammer of Grumbar to him, willing it to fly at the naga. The great maul closed the distance rapidly, hammering at the worm repeatedly. Simultaneously, Havok hurled a noxious blast at the naga, relieved when the creature began to retch and heave violently. Relinquishing his concentration on the spiritual weapon, Grubber cast a second spell, this time striking the worm naga with a hammer-like blast of righteous power. Havok followed again with an eldritch blast. The combined assault quickly overwhelmed the naga, and it tumbled from its hole, disappearing into the darkness of the pit.
“Fall back!” the warlock called to Drasek, and heeding his own warning, he moved back towards the antechamber. Drasek did not hesitate. Knowing he had no way of combating the eladrin when he could not see it, he flew from the tunnel, but instead of making for the top of the shaft, he dove deeper in, heading towards Hawk. As the inquisitor reached the civilar, he seized his hand, and then Dimension Doored them both back into the temple chamber next to Havok. Storm joined them, but for some reason, Grubber hesitated.
“Grubber!” Drasek called. “Get away from there you fool!”
“In a moment,” the goliath replied calmly, holding up one hand. An idea had struck him. The eladrin was too well defended, hidden as he was in the naga-hole, but perhaps that could be turned to their advantage. Calling to Grumbar once more, the goliath priest created a wall of iron across the opening to the hole, sealing it completely shut.
“I’ve bought us some time!” he called, moving towards his friend.

Just then, the winged troll that had been Faust soared out of the pit, landing heavily near the others.
“Where is Grim?” Havok asked. “Did you find him?”
The troll stared at him blankly, growling low in his throat. He knew this was a pack member, but he could not understand the noises it was making.
“Something’s wrong with him,” the warlock said, backing several steps away. “Grubber, can you tell what’s happened?”
The goliath looked closely at the troll, but he could see no sign of comprehension nor intelligence in its eyes.
“Something has affected his mind,” he said finally. “If Faust is still in there, he is locked deeply within. It is beyond my power to help him right now.”
“Damn it!” Hawk cursed. “This is poor timing. We need him.” He shook his head in frustration. “Storm, keep an eye on Faust. Havok, I want you to transport Grubber, Drasek and me into the hole where the eladrin is. This may be our one and only chance to defeat him, while he is relatively weakened, and spent of spells.”

Havok, Hawk, Grubber and Drasek linked arms. The warlock closed his eyes and pictured the entrance to the wormhole where the eladrin had taken cover. When he opened them again, they stood in the exact spot, the iron wall to their backs. Immediately, Grubber’s celestial light and purging aura showed them Kelvos. He stood several yards down the tunnel, smiling at them. No hint of his previous wounds now showed. Hawk and Drasek were moving as soon as the group appeared. The two paladins rushed the celestial, with Drasek going head on while Hawk dodged to the side, deflecting a blow from Kelvos’ sword off his shield as he passed. Kelvos found himself flanked, but seemed unconcerned. Casually, he walked past Hawk. The civilar snarled and slammed into the celestial with his shield. Kelvos was forced back several steps, blood dripping from his lip. Still, the smile never left his face, even as he touched one finger to the trickle and licked it off. Speaking a litany of words, the eladrin began to grow, until his body filled the corridor. Madness blazed in his eyes as he raised his sword to strike.
“Not so fast, my friend,” Havok whispered, and he pointed one finger at the giant eladrin. A green energy field appeared around Kelvos, and within it were what appeared to be dozens of fanged mouths. The celestial cried out as spell after spell of his defensive repertoire was ripped away by the voracious dispelling effect, including the Righteous Might that had granted him his increased size and power. Once more Drasek and Hawk closed, Hawk hammering at the eladrin again with his shield. For the first time, Kelvos’ smile faded, replaced by a look of hate that was far worse. Taking one step back from the paladins, he vanished from sight.

Storm stood looking over the edge of the pit, listening for any sign to tell her how the battle fared below. The drooling troll stood behind her, his fetid breath hot on her neck. It was then that she saw a figure emerging from the darkness. The spell she had previously cast that allowed her to see the invisible showed her that it was none-other-than Grim! The mineral warrior looked battered and beaten, but he was alive nonetheless. Just as he reached the top of the pit, the others rematerialized behind her.
“What happened?” she asked.
“The bastard fled,” Drasek spat. “Teleported. He could be anywhere.”
“Or he could be right there,” Grim said, pointing to the far corner of the chamber, where Kelvos stood, rage etched across his face.

Storm drew a wand from her cloak and spoke the command word. The effect she hoped for was that the eladrin would become charmed, considering her a friend. She was disappointed when the spell fizzled as soon as it touched Kelvos. Behind her, Havok again summoned a dispelling field, but this time he was not strong enough. Kelvos shrugged it aside.
“The time for magic is over!” Grim cried. “It’s time for cold steel!” With a roar of challenge, the dwarf charged across the room, Hawk and Drasek on his heels. Grubber gripped his maul, then looked up at the troll, who was staring after the others with his head tilted to one side, like a dog who hears a rabbit in the grass.
“What are you waiting for?” Grubber shouted at him. He swatted the giant on the flank and pointed towards Kelvos. “Sic’em boy!” The troll snarled and leaped into the air, beating his leathery wings and rapidly closing the distance to the eladrin. Grubber brought up the rear.

In no time, the warriors had Kelvos surrounded, just as he’d hoped. The filthy civilar even managed to score a minor blow. The others, the eladrin evaded easily, and then, just as they were closing in for the kill, he vanished once more, only to reappear right next to Havok.
“You have caused me enough trouble,” the eladrin hissed. “Once I’m done with you, the rest of your friends will be child’s play. And once you are all dead, I’ll feed you to the worms. You will serve Kyuss one way or the other.”
In a panic, Havok scrambled back a step, hurling a noxious blast point blank into the celestial’s face. Kelvos’ skin blistered, but he was otherwise unaffected. As he advanced on the warlock, he saw the warriors already on the way to intercept him. The troll reached him first, its filthy claws scraping at his armor as it tried to grapple with him. Kelvos thrust his sword into the beast’s armpit, eliciting a howl of pain from the brute. As he turned to move towards Havok again, he found Grim barring his way. The dwarf swung his axe low, slamming into the eladrin behind his knees. His legs buckling, Kelvos fell heavily to the floor. Immediately, he surged to his feet, but Drasek had arrived by that time, and the inquisitor drove his sword arm into the eladrin’s back. At the same time, Grim kicked Kelvos’ leg out from under him again, and once more he sprawled at the dwarf’s feet. From the ground, the eladrin spat out the words to an unholy prayer, and a sickening, black aura descended upon the group, searing their skin, and churning their stomachs. All except for Storm. The sorceress still stood near the pit, and she could see that the eladrin was in dire straits. Knowing she was taking a risk, she summoned a deafening thunderclap, which enveloped both friend and enemy alike. Her companions reflexively clutched at their ears as the sonic wave struck, but so did Kelvos. While he was thus distracted, Havok fought back his own pain and pointed his finger once more. The eldritch blast tore through Kelvos’ skull, leaving a gaping hole through which a writhing mass of worms could be seen.

REGROUP

No sooner had Kelvos fallen than the ruins of the room wavered and faded, replaced by a well-equipped torture chamber. Wailing victims strapped to horrific devices hung in the background from chains. In the foreground stood two figures. One was a handsome man dressed in flowing robes. Facing him was a strange, six-armed creature that looked as much insect as it did humanoid. The insect creature’s eyes were hollow sockets containing a pinpoint of light deep within. Its flesh was rotting and festering, and the green robes it wore were old and moth-eaten. The creature wielded a long green crystal rod in one hand, a cruel hooked rod in another. In two other hands it held a jeweled gold box that it presented to the man, who took it and set it upon a table. He opened it and, using a pair of iron tongs, withdrew a writhing green worm. The man’s expression changed to one of excitation as he looked upon the worm…and the vision faded.

It was obvious to the members of the League who were still capable of coherent thought, that the man was the same one they had witnessed in their vision outside in the ruins, just as it was obvious that the green worm was a Kyuss worm. The six-armed creature, however, was an enigma. None of the group had ever seen such a being, but its significance was obvious…it had gifted Kyuss with his first worm.

“Well, what now?” Giovanni asked the others after the vision passed. “I for one feel we are in no shape to go any further. Faust is a drooling beast. Grubber, Storm and Drasek have depleted their spells, and all of us are injured.”
“I might at least be able to help Faust’s situation,” Grubber said quietly.
“How so?” asked Hawk.
“It is apparent that he is under some sort of enchantment,” the goliath replied. “I have a scroll with a spell designed to break any such ensorcelment…provided the source of the effect was not too powerful. Shall I try?”
Hawk shrugged and gestured for the priest to proceed. Grubber pulled the scroll from his pack and began to read. The others watched the troll closely as the spell began to gather strength. Finally, Grubber spoke the last word, and a sense of power rippled through the air. Faust grunted, then sniffed the air before inserting one large finger into his right nostril.
“It didn’t work,” Grubber said, shaking his head. “I can perhaps try again tomorrow.”
“Then I suggest we leave now,” Giovanni spoke up. “Furthermore, I recommend we use the last scroll that Malchor gave us, and travel back to Waterdeep. We can rest there, recover, and purchase more scrolls to bring us back, now that we know where we are going.”

The others could not argue with the warlock’s logic. Camping inside the ziggurat would be foolish, and making camp in the outlying ruins or the jungle, with their unknown hazards, would be more foolish. Using their usual travel mode, several of the lighter team members slipped into Shay’s Bag of Holding, and then Giovanni read the scroll.

The night and next day were spent recuperating and restocking supplies. Grubber cast his Break Enchantment again the following morning upon Faust, who by this time had returned to his natural form, and was relieved when the psion’s mental faculties were fully restored. Once he was brought up to speed on what had transpired, Faust made a request of Grubber.
“I want you to deafen me…permanently.”
Grubber looked at him blankly. “You want me to do what?”
“Deafen me,” Faust replied calmly. “After your stories of those undead beetles with their maddening chittering, I would just as soon not succumb and be a sitting duck, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Yes,” Grubber said, “but isn’t this a bit drastic? How will we communicate with you?”
“Simple,” Faust responded. “I can mind link all of us so that we can speak telepathically with one another. It will work no matter the distance between any of us. So, if one of you should, say, fall in a pit, you can notify the others that you are still alive and what your situation is.”
Grubber shook his head. He had become accustomed to the psion’s eccentric behavior. Besides, he knew that the deafening spell could be dismissed by him whenever he wished. Shrugging, he granted Faust’s wish.

The following day, the team was ready to return to Kuluth-Mar. Both Grubber and Storm had imbued themselves with the permanent ability to see the invisible. In addition to his hearing impairment, Faust also vowed that he would not open his eyes as long as they were within the Spire. He had no intention of meeting the gaze of another naga. Instead, he manifested Touch Sight upon himself, which effectively granted him the ability of Blindsight. The group assembled in a quiet place. The bag riders re-entered their home-away-from-home. Faust once more assumed troll-form, and then Giovanni recited the teleportation spell from his scroll.
“Rise,” Mak’ar hissed into the darkness. “You are needed. There is yet work to be done, as I fear that our unwanted guests will be returning soon. In the mean time, you will stay be my side. Do not fail me in this.”

The first thing that the League noticed when they reappeared in the temple, was the absence of bodies. No sign remained of their previous battles. All of the corpses were gone.
“I don’t like this,” Grim grumbled.
“Maybe they return to the worms from which they were spawned when they die,” Grubber offered.
“Yeah, and maybe trolls can fly,” the dwarf sneered, but then he caught Faust’s eye. “Sorry.”

The team was not yet prepared to brave whatever awaited them in the steaming pit, not-the-least of which would most assuredly be more worm nagas. Instead, they made for the double stone doors on the far side of the room. After Shay assured him that the doors were not trapped, Grim pushed the portals open. The long chamber beyond obviously served as a library, as dozens of bookshelves lined the walls and stood back-to-back amid the room. In addition to the surprisingly well-preserved tomes, twelve clear jars sat on various shelves, each one filled with a thin, gray liquid and containing a single writhing, green worm. In one corner of the chamber crouched an eviscerator beetle, its mandibles clacking together rhythmically. Four other figures also stood about the room. Three wore baroque armor, which covered every inch of their skeletal forms, save for two gaping eye sockets. The ornate steel and silver plate carried a sickening, green sheen, and from the armor’s well-crafted joints, small, green worms wriggled to be free. Similar worms writhed and slid between many of the armor’s plates, yet the creatures’ grips on their massive greatswords remained firm and hinted at deadly skill. The fourth figure was a stooped creature sheathed in full plate armor, over which lay the tattered remains of ancient robes of state. The creature’s shriveled and tortured limbs teemed with writhing hordes of green worms. These vermin moved over the figure’s decayed body, crawling between the plates of its armor as well.

Havok didn’t hesitate. As soon as he saw the Kyuss spawn, he loosed an eldritch chain, which arced between the beetle and the nearest swordsman. In unison, all three of the warriors pulled a single worm from their mouths and raised it towards the ceiling. Instantaneously, three blasts of cold, negative energy surged through the members of the League, and through the undead as well. On each League member, a Soulfire or Deathward effect automatically triggered in response to the assault…all except Storm. The drow had no such protection, and she felt the cold all their way to her bones, sapping her vitality. At the same time, the wounds Havok had just inflicted upon the undead seemed to melt away, healed. The robed figure gestured silently at Hawk, and for a brief moment, the civilar felt his muscles seize and spasm, but the sensation quickly passed. The creature gestured again, and this time a powerful dispelling field settled over the entire team, stripping off defensive spells as it triggered.

Seeing the effects of Havok’s eldritch chain, Storm decided to attempt the same tactic, only with lighting. Casting her spell, she arced a short burst from the robed undead to a nearby swordsman, but to her dismay, the electricity seemed to affect them not at all. Meanwhile Drasek, who had purchased a new maul in Waterdeep to replace the one lost by Kelvos, stepped forward to meet one of the swordsmen. He swung two mighty blows at the undead, but the creature deftly parried both with the flat of his blade. The momentum of the defense forced the inquisitor to turn with the undead warrior, exposing his flank to the closing eviscerator beetle. The insect’s mandibles snapped shut an inch from where Drasek’s lumber spine had been a moment before he managed to lean his body in the other direction.

Hawk closed to Drasek’s side, plunging his sword into the beetle’s thorax and loosing a surge of holy energy as he struck. Grubber was also moving to join the fray, but at that moment, the maddening chitter of the beetle overwhelmed his thoughts, forcing him to grab at his ears in a futile attempt to rid them of the noise.

Faust ‘saw’ Grubber’s dilemma, and secretly smiled at his own ingenuity at having the priest deafen him. As the psion scanned the battlefield, he identified each of the combatants. The swordsmen were known as Swords of Kyuss. They were once the elite shock troops of Kyuss’ army. The robed figure was a Wormcaller, at one time a lesser priest of Jergal who assisted in Kyuss’ own ascension to godhood. This was how Kyuss’ ‘rewarded’ his faithful. Not wishing to give the Wormcaller a second opportunity to rid him of his precious magical defenses, Faust manifested a current of fire between the undead priest and one of the nearby Swords.

Havok prepared to blast the beetle a second time, but he too could not drive out the horrific noise of its mandibles from his head, and he screamed in pain and frustration.

Hawk pulled his blade from the beetle just as the Sword behind him swung its own weapon. The civilar was a fraction of a second too late. The undead warrior slammed the greatsword down across the paladin’s spine. If not for his armor, he knew the blow would have severed it. As it was, he was staggered and momentarily off-balance. Deftly, the Sword took a step back so that one of its brethren could move into the breech. Winding up, and taking advantage of Hawk’s lapse in defense, it too hammered at him, this time the blade coming from beneath and catching him in the gut. The civilar spat blood as the air was driven from his lungs.

The Wormcaller hissed as its moldering robes began to smolder from the beam of fire being generated by Faust. Quickly, the priest ducked behind one of the nearby bookshelves, out of the psion’s line of sight, and thus out of the path of the energy current.

Seeing the effect that fire had had on the undead, Storm, who had moved a safe distance away from the melee, now hurled a pea-sized ball of fire into the library, where it detonated with a roar, engulfing the beetle and two of the Swords. Unfortunately, the sorceress did not take into account the susceptibility of the books to her flames, and several of the ancient tomes began to burn.

“Back pit-spawn!” Drasek cried as he loosed a spray of diamond shards at the pair of Swords harrying Hawk, catching the beetle in the blast as well. The undead moaned, and recoiled, but they recovered quickly and the beetle lunged at Hawk again, savaging one of his legs with its claw. The third Sword had still not entered the battle. Instead, it plucked another worm from its armor and raised it up. Once more, a blast of negative energy filled the area, and again the undead were healed of many of their wounds. The League was right back to where they’d started from.

Hawk was not so fortunate. His own wounds continued to bleed freely, and he was forced to stagger back into the temple room to grant himself a temporary respite. As he cleared the doorway, Grubber, who had finally managed to shake off the effects of the beetle’s chittering, called down a column of holy fire upon the two Swords who stood there, as well as the beetle.

Faust was intent on the Wormcaller. Though the Swords were unquestionably puissant, he knew that the undead priest could ultimately cause them the greatest harm if it was able to bring its full arsenal of magic to bear. Moving behind the battle line until he could see the creature again, he channeled his energy current solely into the priest.

Havok clenched his eyes shut, and ground his teeth in an effort to regain control of his faculties. Finally, driving the deafening clicking to the back of his mind, he opened his eyes again, and fixated on the beetle. Channeling his most powerful energies, he sent a roaring, green spear of eldritch power lancing into the undead insect, and then instantly followed with a second blast. The eviscerator beetle exploded into a gory pulp.

With the doorway unblocked, one of the Swords stepped quickly between Drasek and Hawk. Both paladins struck at the undead warrior as it passed, connecting solidly, but the creature seemed to shrug off their attacks, and kept moving…straight towards Faust! Grubber swung his maul as well when the Sword passed him, and the silver-headed weapon burned deeply into the creature’s flesh. It glared at him balefully, but did not deter from its course. In desperation, Faust slashed at the approaching Sword with one clawed hand, but the razor-sharp talons did not even break the rotting flesh of the warrior. To make things worse, the second Sword followed the first, darting among Hawk, Drasek and Grubber while they were distracted by its predecessor. The warriors now had Faust flanked.

Chuckling evilly, the Wormcaller once more ducked for cover from Faust’s energy beam, knowing that the hateful mortal would soon be incapable of summoning any more such magics.

The final Sword stepped into the now empty doorway, and grasped a third worm in its hand. Again, the energy blast filled the air, and again its allies began to heal.
“You’ve done quite enough for one day,” Hawk snarled, stepping up to confront the swordsman. Like a dervish, the civilar swung his blade with blinding speed, striking the undead warrior once, twice, three, four blows! Holy energy and divine might flared and the creature shrieked and gave ground, though to Hawk’s utter amazement, it did not fall. He knew he had dealt enough damage to kill an elephant, and still his opponent stood. And it had just healed its compatriots.

Drasek and Grubber struggled to put themselves between the Swords and Faust, but the warriors were too fast and coordinated. They dodged and parried blows expertly, and still managed to maintain their proximity to the psion. Faust was as close to panic as he had ever been. He manifested a second energy current between the two Swords, then pictured a point just behind Grubber, and a moment later stepped between dimensions to put himself there.

‘Just where I want you,’ Havok though as he saw the position of all three Swords. He focused, and a chain of eldritch energy leaped among the warriors. To his great relief, the one whom Hawk had dealt such withering damage to finally succumbed. Quickly, the warlock loosed an eldritch spear at one of the two remaining, and it too crumbled, perhaps not quite so healed as they had believed. Only one Sword still stood, and it lunged at Grubber, trying to fight past the goliath to get at the psion behind him. Grubber blocked the blow with the haft of his maul, and clashed with the swordsman, their footwork bringing them both dangerously close to the edge of the gaping pit.

Faust turned to find the Wormcaller again, but just as he did, the priest conjured a dispelling field solely around the psion. Faust felt spell after spell, and power after power fade away, and he did not have the resources to replenish his defenses. Storm watched from her position of relative safety, and an idea came to her. If a Feeblemind spell could neutralize as potent a psion as Faust, perhaps it could do the same on the Wormcaller. The sorceress chanted the words to the spell and focused the magic on the priest, but the creature did not so much as glance her way. If it even noticed her attempt, it gave no sign.

Drasek did, however, get the Wormcaller’s full attention. Calling upon the Deific Vengeance of Kelemvor, he began to recite a litany of the priest’s crimes, crimes made worse by the creature’s transition to unlife. The priest quailed before the diatribe, and Hawk took the opportunity to rush forward, slashing at the Wormcaller and smiting it with the power of Helm.
“I’ll handle this from here boys,” Faust said in a low, menacing voice, as he stepped to the library door. Concentrating, his used his vast mental powers to seize control of the Wormcaller’s motor functions, taking over its body in full. Like a puppet, he commanded it to begin walking forward. As it passed Hawk, the civilar swung again, carving large chunks from its flesh. Unable to defend itself, it continued past the paladin, and then past Drasek as well. The inquisitor smashed his maul into its chest as it approached, and caved in its sternum. The Wormcaller went limp, though it did not fall, still in the grip of Faust’s body control. Like a rag doll, the psion cast it aside.

Slowly, the last Sword backed Grubber closer and closer to the lip of the pit. Havok hurled an eldritch spear into it, but the warrior did not relent. Storm flung an orb of corrosive acid upon it, and still it persevered. Grubber felt his back foot slip on the edge of the chasm.
“Grubber, move!” Drasek cried. The goliath suddenly stopped resisting the Sword, and fell to one side, landing heavily on the brink of the precipice. Behind the Sword, Drasek charged. Lowering one shoulder, he slammed into the creature, which teetered precariously on the edge. The inquisitor drove the Sword into the open air above the abyss, and it dropped silently out of sight into the void.

The library wavered and shimmered as the last Sword fell, and suddenly a human man appeared at one of the desks nearby. A strange, gray-skinned humanoid creature with six arms stood at his shoulder. The man studied a collection of worn and pitted bronze disks arrayed on the desk before him. Faint etchings adorned the plates, and it seemed as if the alien figures and symbols writhed together at the behest of some sinister will. The gray creature pointed to one of the plates, and a look of sudden comprehension bloomed on the man’s face. The man, the creature, and the plates then faded away, and were gone.

“That’s the same creature we saw in the previous vision,” Giovanni remarked.
“I didn’t notice a creature like that in the vision we first witnessed on entering the city,” Faust replied questioningly.
“Oh yes, I forgot,” the warlock answered. “You were…not yourself when we saw the second vision. It was after we slew the eladrin.”
“Ah,” Faust nodded. “Well, for your information, that ‘creature’ was a spell weaver. An undead one if I’m not mistaken.”
“What is a spell weaver?” Grubber questioned.
“I thought you might ask,” Faust said, warming to the topic. “Spell weavers were an ancient race who steeped themselves in strange, arcane research. Their accomplishments were said to be far beyond anything we could imagine today. They supposedly died out centuries, if not millennia ago, although I have heard rumors that one might have been involved with that nasty business in Cauldron a few years back.”
“Cauldron?” Grubber asked again.
“You haven’t heard of it?” Faust said in surprise. “Its picture was on Malchor’s wall, and the archmage even spoke of it when he told us of the predictions that were the harbingers of the Age of Worms. ‘The ruin of a city built in a bowl.’ He was speaking of Cauldron. The city was built inside a supposedly dormant volcano, but it was destroyed when that same volcano erupted. All sorts of tales abound as to what caused it, but the most popular one is about demons trying to open up some sort of Gate within the city to stage an invasion of our plane. Balderdash if you ask me.”
“Well, regardless of what occurred in Cauldron,” Hawk said, “it is obvious that Kyuss was involved with at least one of these creatures, and it would appear that it was the one that gave him the knowledge to begin his divine ascension.”
“Perhaps the library itself will tell us more…” Giovanni said, walking over to a podium where a book lay open, untouched by the fire caused by Storm’s spell.

The book showed a strange diagram of a rune-covered worm inside a human head. The worm seemed to be whispering words into the human’s brain. Giovanni stared at for a moment, before slowly lifting his eyes to the jars which contained the floating worms. Three of the jars had been destroyed by the fireball, but nine still remained. Crossing the room to the nearest shelf, he lifted one of the jars to examine it more closely. As he had suspected, the worm was covered with strange, tiny runes.

“They’re knowledge receptacles,” he said absently, still studying the floating worm.
“What??” Grubber asked, incredulous.
“You heard me,” the warlock replied. “Each of these…things…contains information about a certain area of study.” He began examining each jar in turn.
“There are four disciplines in all: history, arcana, religion, and planar facts.”
“But…how are you supposed to access the information?” the goliath asked, dreading the answer.
Giovanni looked up at him and smiled, “Isn’t it obvious? You eat one.”
The entire team looked revolted, except Faust, who seemed intrigued.
“But won’t that expose you to infection?” Hawk asked.
Giovanni nodded. “Yes. It’s a calculated risk.”
“I’ll take it,” Faust said, lifting one of the jars and opening it. Before anyone could protest, he plucked the wriggling worm from the solution and swallowed it whole. The others watched him tensely. Immediately, Faust felt wracking cramps in his abdomen, followed by a searing pain in his back, which began traveling up his spine into his neck, and then his head. All along, however, he heard whispering in his mind, speaking to him of secret religious lore, things long lost from mortal knowledge. As the pain in his head became almost unbearable, he sensed the worm expire, just as the knowledge it imparted took root in his psyche.

“Well…?” Grubber asked as Faust recovered from his ordeal.
“I can’t say it would be my choice of ways to study, but it beats pulling an all-nighter.” He described to them what he had felt and what he learned. It was decided that he, Grubber and Havok would consume six of the remaining worms. Havok ate two of arcane lore, and one of planar, Grubber one of religion and one history, and Faust the last of the planar worms. All of them endured the grisly ritual, and the pain it inflicted, but all emerged otherwise unscathed. The final two worms they would take back to Malchor for further study.

The remaining books in the library contained a vast storehouse of research on all of the areas covered by the knowledge worms, but it would take days, if not weeks to catalogue it all. The group decided to leave them for the time being and retrieve them later if possible.

Back in the temple, they discovered that each of the narrow stairways leading up ended at a hidden door which opened out onto one of the high steps of the ziggurat. Nothing more was to be discovered in the upper level. That left but one choice…the abyss.

At first, the team thought to start at one of the wormholes in the side of the pit. Perhaps by following one of them, they could wind their way to the bottom without having to descend the shaft itself. They were sure to meet more of the worm nagas on the way, but dealing with them individually would be far better than being targets for them in the main pit. However, they quickly discovered that the tunnels were a chaotic, twisting maze, and it would take hours for them to find a path down. Plan B involved Faust using his ability to Dimension Door to take them to the worm hole closest to the bottom of the pit that he had seen. It would place them some forty feet above the end of the shaft. Doing so would require one of the group to ride inside Shay’s bag of holding. It was Giovanni who volunteered.

When they appeared inside the opening to the worm hole, the shaft itself had tapered down to a mere twelve feet in diameter. Similar holes opened into the shaft at the other three compass points. Grubber was the first to be able to take full stock of their surroundings, and the first thing he noticed was the baleful glare of a worm naga staring at him from no more than twenty feet further down the tunnel. Remembering Faust’s warning about the power of the nagas’ eyes, the goliath quickly averted his gaze and then charged down the tunnel, maul raised and a war-cry on his lips. His eyes on the ground just in front of him, he was unable to gauge his distance accurately, and his blow fell just short of the worm.

Storm also recalled Faust’s words, and in addition she remembered that he had said arcansists were inherently more susceptible to the feeblemind effect. She wasn’t quite sure how the psion had come to this conclusion, but she wasn’t about to test it. Closing her eyes firmly, she pictured a point in the worm hole on the opposite side of the shaft from where she and her companions stood. Speaking the words to her own Dimension Door spell, she vanished and reappeared at her chosen spot, eyes still shut. It was then that she heard the faint scrape of scales on stone coming from directly in front of her.

Hawk was right behind Grubber, his eyes turned away from the fiend. The civilar had the advantage over the priest, however, in that he was trained to rely on his other senses when in combat. His blade struck true, and he willed electricity through it, shocking the naga as he drew out its life blood.

Faust waded past the civilar and the goliath. His eyes were shut, as they had been since he’d reentered the temple, relying on his Touchsight to guide him. Reaching for the naga, he wrapped his muscular troll arms around it, hugging it to his chest, holding it immobile while at the same time preventing it from bringing its arsenal of spells to bear. Writhing and hissing in the psion/troll’s grasp, the naga lunged at Faust’s face with its razor-sharp teeth. Instinctively, Faust flinched, loosening his grip just enough for the worm to slip through his arms. Moving with amazing speed, the naga quickly disappeared around a bend in the tunnel.

Drasek hastily loosened the knot binding the magical bag shut. Upending the sack, he dumped Havok unceremoniously to the floor.
“You’re on,” he said to the warlock.

Before Storm could even open her eyes, she heard the naga speaking in the language of magic, and recognized the spell just before the blast of cold air and ice shards struck her. It was the last thing she heard or saw. Drasek and Havok saw the drow fall an instant before the same blast rolled over them, chilling them to their marrow.

Grubber felt his mind-link with Storm vanish, and he knew the sorceress was dead. Still, there might be time to save her. Turning back down the tunnel, he hurried to Drasek, praying as he moved. When he reached the inquisitor, he touched him on the shoulders, granting him the celestial aspect of the winged angels. Drasek nodded in understanding, he too having felt the loss of mental contact with Storm. Taking to the air, he soared the short distance across the shaft to the opposite tunnel. Careful not to meet the gaze of the naga, the inquisitor called upon Kelemvor not to take the drow’s soul just yet. As he laid one hand upon her brow, he felt warmth return to her skin, and saw her chest rise and fall with her respirations, though she still remained unconscious.

Hawk didn’t have time to spare see what was happening with his comrades, though he guessed at Storm’s fate. Instead, he pursued the fleeing naga, catching up to it just around the corner. His eyes still averted, he swung again, but this time his skills failed him, and his blade cut only air.

Havok scrambled to his feet, trying to shake off his momentary disorientation. To his right, he saw Hawk disappear around a bend. To his left, he saw Storm’s body lying on the ground before a worm naga, Drasek facing off with it on the other side of the fallen sorceress. Quickly turning his eyes away, he loosed an eldritch spear, but the shot went just wide of the mark, striking the wall inches from the naga’s head. His quickened follow-up, however, was right on target, gouging a deep fissure across the worm’s carapace.

Enraged, the naga before Drasek spoke its spell a second time, unleashing a second cone of cold. Drasek took the blast full force, as did Havok in the tunnel behind him. Unfortunately, the newly revivified Storm was also caught in the blast. Drasek saw her life-force wink out once again.

Hawk’s opponent prepared to strike at the civilar, a potent spell on its lips. However, at precisely that moment, Faust rounded the corner, and manifested a circular wall of fire around the naga, with one edge of the barrier passing directly through half of the worm. It reeled, and tried to move away from the flames, but Hawk was there. Praying to Helm to grant him strength, he buried his sword deep behind the naga’s neck, momentarily stunning the creature as he connected.

Havok was weak, his armor doing everything in its power to keep him alive. Concentrating one more time, he fired another blast at the naga across the shaft. As the blast struck, the naga shriveled into an unrecognizable husk.

Drasek knew of only one other way to save Storm. Though the prayer he requested was normally used to grant a soul slain before its time one final chance at vengeance against its killer, this time it would temporarily restore Storm’s life for a few minutes. When the spell expired, Storm would die, and Drasek would attempt to Revivify her once more.

The stunned naga was unable to remove itself from Faust’s burning energy wall, and so it continued to cook in the roaring flames. Not wanting to waste further needless mental energy to no purpose, the psion instead charged forward, slashing at the worm with his claws. At the same time, Hawk struck as well, his sword disemboweling the creature.

“We should keep going,” Faust said after the team had regrouped in the first tunnel.
“Storm’s not doing so well,” Drasek said pointedly.
“What are you talking about?” the sorceress asked. “I am a little bruised, but otherwise I feel fine.”
Drasek turned to her, his face grim. “You are fine…for now, but the spell I cast to restore your life is of limited duration. You have maybe another ten minutes to live.”
The drow stared at him, shocked. “You mean I going to die again!? Why did you bring me back then? Just so I could suffer?”
“Not at all,” the inquisitor said, placing his hands on Storm’s shoulders to calm her. “I only have the ability to perform one more Revivification prayer today. If I had done it while the naga was still alive, it would have just killed you again, and then you might have been lost to us forever. This way, when you die, I will restore you permanently, and heal you in the bargain.”
Storm nodded in understanding, and then looked into Drasek’s eyes. “Why not just kill myself now? Get if over with?”
“I can’t allow you to do that,” he replied calmly. “Kelemvor sees suicide as an abomination. Just wait. I assure you that your death will be painless.”
“Which is more than I can say for the rest of us if we stay here until more of those nagas come,” Faust snapped.
“Then we should leave until Storm has regained her strength,” Drasek said flatly.
“And I say we should move on,” Faust argued. “We know those worms are in the room below us. We can at least clear that threat out of our path and see what lies beyond. If our resources are too taxed, we can retreat then.”
For a moment, there was silence, and then everyone looked at Hawk.
“We go on,” he said after a time. “We take as many of them by surprise as we can now. I fear what forces may be arrayed against us if we continue to let our enemies know that we are coming, yet are unable to finish the task.

Preparations were made. Storm rendered Faust invisible. The troll/psion then quaffed a fly potion, and descended into the rapidly narrowing shaft, until he was just above the opening in the ceiling of the lower room. Grubber drank his own potion, enabling him to climb the sheer walls of the pit like a spider, and he quickly moved to join Faust. Drasek was the last to follow, still using his wings that Grubber had granted him. The others remained in the tunnels above, ready to lend support if need be.

Faust peered into the small chamber below, and beheld the thousands of writhing worms blanketing the floor. Unfortunately, his deafness prevented him from hearing another sound…the scuttling of something large moving his way, followed by a very familiar clicking.

Storm was just preparing to cast an invisibility spell upon herself when the clicking noise filled the air. She clenched her eyes shut, but could not drive out the sound. Slowly, hands covering her ears, she sank to the floor of the wormhole.

Faust quickly descended into the chamber, noticing the beetle for the first time. He also noticed that all of the worms were slithering from the room. Half disappeared through an archway to the west. As Faust watched them go, he could see the room beyond, the floor of which was covered with perfectly preserved corpses, arrayed head-to-toe in neat rows. Thick dust obscured the walls and floors, signs of the chamber’s great age, yet no trace of decay touched the corpses. The massive green stone blocks that lined the chamber were covered with ancient symbols resembling coiling worms. Another group of worms had crawled down a short southern passage. Beyond it, Faust could just see what appeared to be an immense cavern filled with a horrific sea of writhing green and the nauseating susurrus of millions of slimy bodies slithering over each other. One clump of worms remained, directly under the hole in the ceiling.
“Not so fast, my wriggling friends,” the psion muttered, and he loosed a cone of fiery power down the western hallway. It engulfed the slithering horde, and also the swarm still in the chamber with him. Unfortunately, his attack ended his concealment. With a target plainly in view, the eviscerator beetle charged, clamping its mandibles around the troll’s thigh.

Grubber clung to the top of the hole like the spider who’s power he was emulating. Into the center of the room, he unleashed a Storm of Shards, the razor-sharp blades spilling into the corridors beyond. The remaining worms in the western corridor were obliterated, as was the group directly below him. “Faust’s in trouble!” he called over his shoulder, back up the shaft.

Back in the wormhole, Havok unfurled a scroll. Reading the arcane writing upon it, he spoke the name of Magmus Moltenspear, summoning the noble salamander from his home in the City of Brass. The elemental appeared in the center of the chamber, beneath Grubber. “Your enemies are mine, master,” he said, “for now…” Gripping his great, iron spear in both hands, Magmus stabbed at the eviscerator beetle again and again, each blow leaving gaping holes in its already crumbling carapace.

Drasek folded his wings and dropped past Grubber to land in the room adjacent to Faust, his eyes darting to the three exits from the room, wary of other enemies. Behind him, Storm had managed to free herself of the beetle’s enthrallment, and had rendered herself invisible. She glided silently down the shaft, and into the room, hovering just near the ceiling. At that moment, Drasek spotted movement from the western hall, in the room lined with corpses.
“We’ve got company,” he said.

A Wormcaller and three Swords of Kyuss appeared in the entry to the far chamber. The undead priest immediately gestured, and a powerful dispelling field filled the near room. Instantly, Magmus vanished, the summoning spell undone. Likewise, Storm’s cloak of invisibility was stripped away, as were several defensive spells upon Grubber, Drasek and Faust.

“Time to go gentlemen,” Hawk said, the civilar dropping through the ceiling hole and landing near the others. “I’ll hold the retreat.”
Faust manifested two glowing missiles of pure energy, one at the beetle, and the second at the Wormcaller, before leaping towards the ceiling. As he left the ground, the beetle lunged at him, taking a large bite out of his right foot. The beetle then rounded on Drasek, closing the distance between them rapidly. The inquisitor fended off the undead horror’s assault, and loosed one final spell at the approaching Wormcaller and Swords. The Diamond Spray ripped into the minions of Kyuss, but did not stop their advance. Shaking his head, Drasek flew towards the ceiling as well, but again the beetle attacked, pulling off one of his boots, but luckily not his foot.

“Grubber, go!” Hawk called, but he saw that the goliath was clutching his head in agony. The beetle again. ‘We’re in trouble,’ the civilar thought.

TRAITORS AMONG US

As the Wormcaller and trio of Swords continued to advance towards the chamber, Hawk flew up to the ceiling hole, joining Storm and Grubber. With relief, the civilar saw that the goliath seemed to be coming to his senses. At that moment, a large troll hand reached down from the shaft above.
“Grab hold,” Faust shouted. “This ship’s pulling out!” All three of them latched onto the psion, and in an instant were whisked through the Astral plane to reappear in the library a moment later.

Havok, Shay and Grim waited for Drasek to join them back in the wormhole.
“I can’t take you all,” the inquisitor said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Grim muttered. “I know the drill…dwarf in the sack again.” Still grumbling, the mineral warrior clambered into Shay’s bag of holding, and then Drasek Dimension Doored them into the library as well.

“This seems to be a recurring theme,” Faust said sarcastically as he surveyed his battered companions. “I suppose we’ll be retreating to Waterdeep again, and after a full half-hour of exploring, no less. This has to be some sort of personal record for us!”
“Zip it Faust,” Hawk snapped. “We’re in over our heads here. These glorified zombies have been shambling around these ruins for centuries. They aren’t going anywhere in the next couple of days. We’re here to get information, not killed.”
Faust shrugged, looking at the library around them. “Looks to me like we’ve already found information.”
“You’re right, and we’re going to take as many of these books with us as we can, so Shay and Storm, empty out that bag and haversack and start loading up. We’ll see what we’ve got when we get back to Waterdeep, but I’m guessing there is much more here to be found. You’ve seen the visions we’ve been witnessing.”
Blessedly, Faust held his tongue, and helped the others in gathering up some three-hundred of the books in the library, which amounted to only about a third of the tomes that were still intact. It bears mentioning that during this process, Storm died. She was leaning over to inspect a pile of grimoirs when Drasek’s Revanance spell expired and she simply collapsed. Drasek, fully expecting this, rushed quickly to her side and spoke a prayer of revivification over her.
“See,” he said as she drew breath and opened her eyes, “painless, just as I promised.”
“But still disconcerting,” she replied as he helped her to her feet.

Once the task was completed, the group gathered together again, and Havok read the scroll they had purchased, transporting them to the City of Splendors.


“There’s got to be a better way,” Drasek said in exasperation as he and Giovanni walked towards the Thayan embassy.
“What do you mean?” the warlock asked. “We don’t have any choice but to purchase more of the Teleportation scrolls. It’s the only way we can get to and from Chult.”
“Yes, but at the prices these extortionists are charging,” the inquisitor railed, “we’re going to go broke very soon.”
“What do you propose then?” asked Giovanni.
“The problem is distance,” Drasek said, stopping in the street and turning to the warlock. “Waterdeep is just too far from Chult for me to Teleport us. We need to find some place closer, say, Calimport for instance.”
“Calimport?” the warlock looked puzzled. “Have you ever been to Calimport?”
“No,” Drasek answered.
“Then how can you Teleport us there if you’ve never seen it.”
“The Wayfarer’s Guild,” said Drasek.
Giovanni smiled as understanding dawned on him. The Wayfarer’s Guild was comprised of sorcerers and magicians who would, for a fee, Teleport travelers anywhere in the Realms. They could transport the League members to Calimport, where Drasek could memorize a point of reference, and then transport the group back and forth to Chult as needed. It was brilliant in its simplicity.

Giovanni spent much of the rest of the short stay in Waterdeep studying. The books from the library of Kuluth-Mar contained a treasure trove of information on many things, but the young warlock had something in particular on his mind. His supernatural heritage gave him a certain affinity for all things magical, including items normally only usable by arcanists or priests. Among these items were scrolls…spells written on parchment that could be cast simply by reading them. One spell, specifically, Giovanni wanted. He went to the Thayans and made his purchase…one scroll with the Shapechange dweomer. With it, he could literally transform himself into other creatures, gaining their abilities and powers. The possibilities were endless. So, he devoted his research to certain types of creatures whose form he could assume. Ultimately, he settled on three to study in depth, two angelic, and one decidedly not. Deva’s and archons were celestials, beings from the Upper planes. Kelvos had been a related creature, though corrupt, and Giovanni was intrigued by the power the eladrin had wielded. The celestials he chose could bring similar powers to bear. The third type of creature was one whose existence he had only just become aware of…the Wormcaller. Some intuition in the back of the warlock’s mind told him this knowledge might prove very useful in the days to come…

Two days later, the League traveled to Calimport via the Wayfarer’s Guild, and spent just long enough in the rogue-infested city for Drasek to familiarize himself with a safe, out-of-the-way spot to focus his return Teleport spell on. Then they made their preparations to return to Kuluth-Mar once again.

Giovanni read his new spell from the scroll, transforming himself into the winged form of an Astral Deva. Faust, relying upon his more mundane psionic talents to alter his shape, opted this time for the sturdier form of a Stone Giant. He remained deaf, thanks to Grubber’s spell, and he again vowed to keep his eyes shut, relying on his Touchsight to see for him. When all was made ready, Shay, Storm Grim, and Faust crawled into the rogue’s magical bag. Drasek, holding the bag, then Teleported himself, Grubber and Hawk directly to the chamber where Faust had seen the preserved corpses, the room positioned between where the worms swarmed, and the chamber from which the Wormcaller and Swords had emerged. Havok followed with his own Teleportation spell.

No sooner had the League members appeared in the corpse-filled chamber, than they heard movement coming from all sides…almost as if their foes were expecting them. From the western archway the Swords of Kyuss appeared, while from the east, a living river of green worms flooded, soon encompassing most of the floor upon which the party members stood. The vile vermin ripped with their razor-sharp teeth at the feet of the companions, and the sight of their writhing, bloated bodies brought gorge into the throats of the heroes.

Havok, in his angelic form, hovered above the floor with its undulating swarms. His studies and meditations had recently awakened a new aspect of his power within him, and he now summoned it to bear upon the advancing soldiers of Kyuss. At a gesture from him, a small forest of grasping tentacles erupted from the floor all about the Swords, radiating a bone-chilling cold in their wake. However, to the warlock’s dismay, the ‘tentacles’ resembled gigantic green worms rather than the black octopoid appendages he had expected. What was wrong with him? First his eldritch blasts and now this? He didn’t have time to ponder it further, for though the worm-like tentacles reached for the undead, the warriors batted them aside with relative ease, their momentum merely slowed. With the speed of though, Havok loosed an emerald spear of eldritch energy at the foremost Sword, the ray tearing through the undead’s ancient armor.

It was then that the clicking began. From the eastern archway lumbered the eviscerator beetle, all of its previous wounds erased. It scuttled quickly across the floor, straight for Hawk. The civilar raised his shield, but the undead insect lunged beneath it, tearing into his thigh with its mandibles. Hawk screamed through clenched teeth as the beetle tore a fist-sized chunk from his quadriceps.

Grubber stomped ineffectively at the worms crawling over his boots. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand. They were surrounded on all sides. The goliath grasped his holy symbol and began chanting. As he did, a corona of power coalesced around him before exploding in all directions as a Storm of Shards. The spell rippled through the chamber, spilling into the two adjacent rooms as well. The Swords rocked back on their heels and the beetle squealed in pain. Several hundred worms shriveled and died, still leaving thousands to contend with.

At that moment, beyond the waving worm-tentacles, the Wormcaller appeared. The canny priest muttered its own vile prayer to Kyuss, calling upon its dispelling magic and filling the chamber with it. Instantly, the tentacles winked out of existence. The League members felt a number of the protective spells woven by Grubber, Faust and Drasek also disappear. This was what they had feared.

Though Drasek knew the Wormcaller was their greatest threat, he also saw that the hordes of worms were distracting the others enough to give the rest of the foes an advantage. He had to get rid of them. Holding both hands out in a fan before him, he called upon Kelemvor and a spray of diamond-like projectiles spread over the floor in front of him. To his relief, an entire ten-by-ten section of the floor was immediately cleared of worms. To his utter shock, the trailing Sword, caught by the back edge of his blast, also collapsed, moldering to dust in seconds.

Faust, still clutching the Bag of Holding and standing in the rear of the party, saw that the two remaining Swords were badly injured, but they were also reaching to pluck worms from their eye-sockets. They were preparing to heal themselves. Quickly, the psion manifested a ball of pure energy…fire. It exploded around both of the undead warriors, crisping them to withered husks, and also wiping out another section of the worm carpet beneath their feet.

Havok gestured again, and a second wall of worm-tentacles sprang into existence, surrounding the Wormcaller, as well as Hawk. The warlock knew, however, that Malchor had given the civilar a ring that allowed him freedom of movement in any situation, thus making him impervious to the writhing, grasping tentacles. The Wormcaller, unfortunately, did not, and one of the green worms wrapped itself around his body, pinning his arms to his sides.

Grubber, seeing the trapped Wormcaller, began wading through the forest of worms towards it. Grumbar lent his priests the supernatural ability to move unimpeded through just such terrain, and Grubber ignored the worm-tentacles as if they’d never existed. The Wormcaller, however, saw him coming, and it did not need its hands free to bring its powers to bear. Concentrating, it focused a single dispelling field around the advancing goliath…with devastating effect. Immediately, Grubber felt spell after spell fail him, and his sudden vulnerability threatened to weaken his resolve.

Faust was becoming concerned about the occupants of the bag he held. He wasn’t quite sure how long they could hold their breath. Unceremoniously, he upended the sack, dumping the drow, the rogue and the dwarf upon the writhing floor.
“Thanks for nothing!” Grim roared, surging to his feet, and swiping green worms from his exposed skin. Storm quickly cast a Fly spell upon herself and drifted towards the ceiling.

Hawk continued to push his way through the green tentacles, closing on the Wormcaller. Without a word, he thrust his blade into the undead priest’s chest, filling the weapon with holy power as he struck. Pulling the sword free, he whirled, gaining momentum, and slashed across the vile creature’s neck, nearly decapitating it. Yet still, the abomination remained upright. Grubber could see it preparing to use its dark magic again, but this time, the priest was prepared. He spoke a word to Grumbar, summoning an eldritch hammer of Righteous Might which smashed into the Wormcaller, silencing it for good.

With the Swords and Wormcaller destroyed, Havok prepared to focus his attention upon the eviscerator beetle, but even as he turned towards it, the maddening chitter of its mandibles overwhelmed him. Nearby, Shay had also succumbed to the clicking, leaving him helpless amid the worms which swarmed over him. Faust reached down and grabbed the rogue, triggering a Dimension Door as he did so, and reappearing with his friend in the chamber beyond the eastern arch.

Focusing with all his power, Havok broke himself free of the beetle’s hypnosis, and spawned his worm-like tentacles once again, this time enveloping the beetle and Drasek. Kelemvor had also granted the inquisitor absolute Freedom of Movement, and so he was unencumbered by the clutching appendages, though their radiating cold pierced his armor as if he were naked. Ice crystals also appeared on the carapace of the beetle, though the tentacles were not strong enough to hold the insect in place. The worms at Drasek’s feet, however, shriveled and died in the wake of the icy blast. A small blessing. The eviscerator beetle feinted at the inquisitor, and then made to move out of the swaying tentacles, but Drasek was after it in a flash, smashing at its carapace with his maul.

The beetle continued moving towards the eastern exit, through which it could see Faust and the fallen form of Shay. By this time however, Grubber, Hawk and Grim had managed to maneuver around the creature, blocking its escape. Simultaneously, Storm hurled an orb of concentrated acid from her perch near the ceiling. The orb left a grape-fruit sized hole in the beetle’s shell where it ate through into the soft flesh below. The beetle lunged from one side to the other, striking first at Drasek and then at Hawk. Each time, a flanking attacker would strike. Finally, as the beast heaved itself one last time towards Drasek, Grubber brought his silver maul down upon its head, crushing it into a formless mass.

Only a few hundred of the green worms still remained, crawling around in a loose circle. Havok evoked another tentacle field, knowing the appendages themselves were too large to harm the worms, but letting the emanating cold do its work. At the same time, Faust manifested a small, controlled wall of fire straight through the mass, cooking any that escaped the warlock’s trap.

“Let’s keep moving,” Hawk said once the team had regrouped and healed their wounds. “We made relatively quick work of that lot, and no reinforcements have arrived yet. We just might have the element of surprise on our side.”

Crossing the now empty chamber into which the shaft opened, they proceeded down a corridor to the east which ended at a set of double stone doors. The portals were unlocked and Shay deemed them free of traps. Grubber, Hawk and Drasek arranged themselves before the doors, and the goliath pushed them open. The chamber beyond was lined with the trappings of religious ceremony in homage to Kyuss the Wormgod, but in place of an altar stood a beautiful, if disturbing fountain carved from black marble. Even more disturbing were the three Wormcallers standing poised about the fountain, as if they were expecting the party…

Havok immediately took evasive action, firing off an eldritch spear at the foremost Wormcaller before flying several dozen feet back the way they had come. He knew that the Wormcallers’ most potent power was their ability to dispel magic, and he had not shelled out thousands of gold pieces for his Shapechange scroll just to have it stripped away by some moldy bag of bones.

Grubber, Hawk and Drasek were not so swift in their reaction times. Each of the Wormcallers targeted one of the front rank with a dispelling field. Spell after spell collapsed. Grubber, who was literally layered in magic felt all-but naked once the assault had passed. Crying out in rage and frustration, the goliath hurled a Storm of Shards into the room, buffeting the undead priests with exalted power.

Drasek could see that the nearest Wormcaller had been badly injured by Grubber’s and Havok’s combined assaults. The inquisitor hefted his maul and charged the priest, but just as he drew close enough to strike, he was overcome with a powerful thirst. The water in the fountain looked so clear and inviting. So distracted was he, that his strike went wide. Then the room erupted in flames. Drasek was hurled forward by the force of the blast, passing through the charred remains of the Wormcaller that had stood before him just moments before. When the inferno cleared, Drasek sagged to one knee, his flesh blistered and oozing.

“Storm! What in the Abyss do you think you’re doing?” Hawk screamed. It had been the sorceress who cast the Fireball, almost incinerating Drasek in the process.
“I…I thought he was warded,” the drow stammered.
“Have you not yet learned what these creatures are capable of?” Hawk snarled. “Removing spells seems to be their specialty! When we need your help, we’ll ask for it!” The civilar turned and stormed into the room, closing with the priest standing to the left of the fountain.

Shay stepped past storm, smirking at the sorceress. “You might try a little finesse next time,” he jibed. Then, retrieving two silvered arrows from his quiver, the rogue fired two quick shots at the other remaining Wormcaller, smiling in perverse pleasure as it screamed in pain.

Simultaneously, both Wormcallers began to cast. Reflexively, those League members in the room flinched, waiting for another blast of dispelling fields. However, what came instead were two waves of negative energy, normally intended to inflict painful wounds upon their targets. All of those within the chamber were protected from such effects by various Death Wards, but the magic still had an impact. The wounds that the Wormcallers had suffered began to close.

Faust sighed, frustrated at how long this was taking. Extending one hand, he focused his mental energies and seized control of the motor functions of the Wormcaller facing Hawk, just as he had done to the one in the library above.
“Dance puppet!” the psion cackled, and at his words, the Wormcaller began shambling forward. As it moved past Hawk, the civilar slashed his blade across its back. The creature could not even cry out as the holy blade seared its rotting flesh. It continued to move towards the doors, until it exited the room, coming to a halt before Faust.
“Kneel,” Faust commanded, and the priest’s knees buckled. “Storm,” the psion called over his shoulder, “he’s all yours.” The drow moved slowly up to stand beside Faust. Though she knew how vile and evil the Kyuss-spawn was, to strike down any creature so completely defenseless felt distasteful to her. Still, she called an acid orb to her hand, and with only a slight hesitation, hurled it directly at the Wormcaller’s face. Faust allowed the smoking corpse to fall to the floor.

The remaining Wormcaller then did something odd. It stepped into the fountain, facing the still kneeling Drasek. Raising its hand, it summoned a column of green fire, which completely engulfed the inquisitor. Drasek howled in agony, the flames searing his already raw flesh.
“Bastard!” he cried, clutching his holy symbol and shouting the words to his own prayer. Another column of flames, this one pure white, erupted around the Wormcaller. The creature collapsed into ash, just as Drasek sagged to one side. Grubber caught him just before he hit the floor, the words to a Heal spell already upon his lips.

There was no way out of the room, and none of the company felt inclined to closely investigate the fountain itself, especially with the strange sensation of thirst that came upon any who strayed too close. Instead, they returned from whence they’d come, crossing the room full of the strangely well-preserved corpses, and entering a similar chamber beyond. This room, however, contained dozens of skeletons lying on the floor, neatly arranged and surrounded by halos of stonework stained with ancient decay. The bones were unquestionably dead, and the League members wasted no time in the area. One corridor lead south from the chamber, and they could see another hall branching east about half-way down. At the far end of the hallway stood another set of closed stone doors.

Cautiously, the company spread out along the hallway as they approached the doors. The branching hall turned due south after twenty or thirty feet, and they could just catch a glimpse of the lake of worms around its bend.
“I have an idea,” Faust whispered. When Hawk nodded for him to continue, he said, “I can create a construct out of Astral material. It will do my bidding without question. I can even imbue it with certain abilities, such as constant invisibility. I will have it open the doors, and if there are enemies beyond, or traps, it will serve as a buffer.” No one could see a flaw in the psion’s logic, and so he proceeded with his manifestation.

Havok and Storm were the only ones who could see the invisible construct, though in truth there was not much to see. It was large, about eight feet in height, and vaguely humanoid. Its skin was composed of some silvery material, and save for a pair of lifeless eyes, it had no other features. As it approached the doors, the company members moved into concealment.

Nests of tattered books, bits of fabric, and other refuse lay scattered about the chamber beyond, curved troughs each big enough to fit a creature the size of a small horse. There was a disconcerting symmetry to the way the nests were positioned, a marker of an alien will making itself at home amid the refuse of Kyuss’ arrogance and power.

“Who’s there?” a guttural voice called out from the chamber. Havok, who was the only one in position to see directly into the room, peered around the corner. A worm naga crouched amid the clutter, an open book on the floor before it. The creature saw the angelic warlock and its eyes narrowed. “Is any one with you?” it asked. “Can any of you perform Teleportation?”
Havok held up a hand to forestall any sudden actions by his team mates. “Who are you?” he asked. “Why do you want to know about Teleportation?”
“I’m Sruggut,” the naga replied, “and I want to leave this place.”
“You are a minion of a corrupt god,” Drasek called out suddenly. Havok sighed, placing his hand over his eyes. “You have been imprisoned here for a reason,” the inquisitor continued, “and here you shall stay, at least for what is left of your miserable life!”

At that point, Faust stepped from his hiding place and entered the room, pushing past his unseen minion. “Forgive the rash words of my companion,” the stone giant offered, having overheard both sides of the conversation via his mind-link. “He does not speak for us all. Of course we’ll take you out of here…after you’ve answered a few questions for us.” Through the mind-link the psion spoke to the others. ‘Don’t worry my friends,’ he said. ‘I’ll Dimension Door him alright…right to the top of the shaft!’
“You’re lying,” Sruggut hissed.
Faust shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said after Havok relayed the worm naga’s words to him. Silently, he ordered his construct forward.

The astral construct began lumbering forward. Sruggut heard its approach, but could not see it. It reached for the naga, attempting to wrap its massive arms around him. In a panic, the naga wriggled free of the construct’s grasp. At that moment, a nest of Havok’s writhing worm-tentacles appeared in one corner of the chamber, Sruggut caught within their reach. As their supernatural cold caused frost to appear on the naga’s hide, one of the appendages twined around the creature, holding him firmly in place.
“Now Grubber!” Havok called.
In response, the goliath summoned a wall of blades, which began ripping into Sruggut. Shrieking in pain, the naga writhed and twisted in a frenzy, biting at the tentacles that held him, all to no avail.

‘Grubber,’ Faust spoke into the goliath’s mind, “dismiss my deafness. I need to speak with the naga directly.
Grubber snapped his fingers and the psion’s hearing instantly returned. Faust then stepped as close as he dared to the maddened naga and whispered, “Come with me if you want to live.”
Sruggut stared at the giant, unsure whether to believe him or not, but knowing full well what his fate would be if he remained where he was. Hastily, he nodded. Faust reached out for him, and then they were gone.

They were outside the Obsidian Ring. Faust, Sruggut and, unbeknownst to the naga, the psion’s astral construct. Sruggut couldn’t believe it. After centuries...millennia of imprisonment, he was free.
‘If he moves,’ Faust silently commanded his construct, ‘attack.’
Sruggut looked questioningly at the giant, and then pain overwhelmed any other concerns. The injuries he had suffered were grave, and he needed to tend to them immediately. He began casting a healing spell. Instantly, he was struck with the force of a battering ram by some unseen force. Nevertheless, he completed his spell, and all of his wounds vanished.
“Traitor!” he spat at Faust.
“My apologies,” Faust said, holding up his hands. “I misinterpreted your spell-casting for aggression. It won’t happen again. Truly, I seek a parley with you.”
Sruggut stared intently at the stone giant, intentionally suppressing the Feeblemind ability of his gaze, though from the giant’s closed eyes, it was clear he was well aware of his danger. “You have freed me,” the naga said finally. “I will hear your parley.”
“I only require answers to a few questions,” Faust said, “then you may you go your way. First, who leads the minions of Kyuss that inhabit the ziggurat?”
“No one,” Sruggut answered quickly. “We were abandoned here when our master vanished two-thousand years ago. We are like a ship without a rudder.”
“We are here in search of ancient lore pertaining to Kyuss,” Faust said. “Do you know of any such hidden repositories?”
Sruggut considered this for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, I know of what you speak. Kyuss placed records of his greatest accomplishments and triumphs in a place where they would be secure for all eternity…beneath the Lake of Worms.”
“What about the visions we have received?” Faust asked. “Where is Kyuss now?”
“The visions are but a remnant of Kyuss’ power,” Sruggut answered. “As for our Lord…he is ascended.”
“Why did the other nagas attack us?” Faust next queried.
“They are not as…enlightened as I,” said Sruggut. “They have reverted to savagery under the duress of our long imprisonment.”
“What of the fountain the Wormcallers guarded?” Faust pressed. “What is its significance?”
“Those who drink from its waters are said to receive visions,” Sruggut smiled. “Such knowledge is to be protected.”
“One final question,” Faust said. “What is the nature of the knowledge beneath the lake?”
Sruggut smiled again. “There is a key secreted in a hidden compartment beneath the ooze at the bottom. The key is fashioned in the likeness of a golden worm. With it, those who are deemed worthy are granted great power over the spawn and minions of Lord Kyuss.”

‘Did all of you get all that?’ Faust asked his team mates after he had relayed Sruggut’s information to them.
‘Yes,’ Drasek responded first. ‘Now kill him!’
‘I gave him my word,’ Faust replied, ‘but I will bow to the will of the majority. What say you all?’
Grubber answered. ‘I have consulted with Grumbar,’ the goliath said solemnly. ‘He deems that the worm-spawn should not be suffered to live.’
‘I say let him go,’ Havok spoke. ‘What harm can he do? He has already said he can’t Teleport. He is in the middle of a jungle with civilization hundreds of miles away. Some predator will surely be the end of him before he gets very far.’
‘Follow your conscience,’ Hawk offered. ‘Do the right thing.’
‘I could care less,’ Shay added. ‘Kill him, don’t kill him, it’s all the same to me.’
‘You have given your word,’ Storm said. ‘Keep it.’
‘Gut’im,’ Grim said simply.
‘You have in essence left this decision to me then,’ Faust replied. ‘I will set him free.’
Before anyone could respond further, Faust motioned towards the jungle, “Go. We shall trouble you no longer.”
Warily, Sruggut began slithering through the ruins, casting cautious glances back at the giant psion before he vanished from view into the undergrowth.

‘You have shown your true colors repeatedly,’ Drasek spoke to Faust through the Mind Link. ‘From this point on, expect no assistance from me.’
‘You cannot be trusted, Faust,’ Grubber said. ‘Grumbar has declared it.’
Faust sighed and took hold of the construct’s hand, preparing to return to his team. Time to face the music.

THE HARBINGER

When Faust reappeared in Sruggut’s library, it was to a mix of sullen, cold stares, and uncomfortable downcast eyes.
“I’m surprised you came back,” Drasek began without preamble. “I would have thought you would have slithered away with your new friend.”
“I probably deserved that,” Faust said, nodding.
“No, you deserve far worse!” the inquisitor snapped. “Twice now, twice you have unleashed an imprisoned agent of evil into the world! And for what? Information of questionable value that we probably could have gotten anyway!”
“By what means?” Faust asked, lifting one stony eyebrow. “Torture?”
“There are other ways to get what you need from those who are uncooperative,” Drasek replied. “You should have asked us before you acted. We could have come up with an alternative. However, since you have decided to be a singular judge and jury, then you must deal with the repercussions of your actions. From now on I will do nothing to aid you, short of letting you die, and I expect nothing from you in return. In essence, stay out of my way misfit!”

Faust looked at the faces of the others. “Do the rest of you feel the same way?” he asked.
Giovanni sighed. “Faust, the only thing I ask is that you not keep us in the dark as to your tactics. The only reason the rest of us attacked in the first place was because you did. When you changed strategies and did not inform us, we were at a loss. We are supposed to be a team, but the only way we can function as one is to have trust and faith in one another.”
Faust nodded again. “Agreed,” he said. “It has never been my purpose to mislead you, despite what some of you may think. I did what I thought was best, but perhaps I acted in haste.”
“Now,” Giovanni said, “I suggest we table this discussion for a more appropriate setting. We still have a job to do.”
“You all heard what Sruggut told me,” Faust said. “I suggest we start with the fountain and see if we can discover the visions that he spoke of.”

Faust stood before the fountain, staring down into the crystal, clear water. The others were gathered in the room at a safe distance, but close enough to intercede should the need arise. As Faust had approached the fountain, he had become noticeably thirstier.
“Wait a moment,” Giovanni said from the doorway. The warlock was still in his angelic form. “Let me see if I can discern anything about the fountain’s purpose.” He began concentrating, allowing his vision to absorb the auras in the room, separating the magical from the mundane. The fountain itself radiated strong magic, though Giovanni could not determine the type. It seemed to him, however, that the general purpose behind the magic might be some sort of compulsion, or brain-washing effect.
“I’m not so sure about this Faust,” he warned the psion. “This may be a trap.”
“Then we’d best spring it,” Faust replied, dipping his hands into the water and bringing the cool liquid to his lips. It was only after he had tasted the water that he felt something…wrong. In his mouth, something wriggled and bit at his tongue. Looking into his hands, he saw that they were filled not with water, but with green worms. In fact, the entire fountain was writhing with them! He tried to spit the vile vermin out, but reflexively he swallowed. Almost immediately, he felt a horrible, burrowing sensation in his stomach, but then his surroundings wavered and faded, replaced by a bird’s-eye view of the city of Kuluth-Mar at its height. The streets were empty, as the thousands of citizens seemed to have gathered in a mass in the central plaza surrounding the Spire of Long Shadows. Suddenly, a foul energy welled from the spire at the center of the city, and swept outward, felling the living as it passed. For each creature that fell, a silent but potent sense of wrongness could be felt, as some indescribable part of the creature, perhaps its soul, was drawn back towards the Spire to be absorbed by the strange, black monolith of stone balanced at its peak. As the energy built around the peak, a shimmering image of a colossal humanoid figure, its body composed of a million writhing worms, took form around the Spire of Long Shadows, its arms raised in triumph. Yet in another moment, that triumphant pose seemed to change to one of rage and a soul-wrenching cry of fury tore from the undulant face. The image shrank, pulled into the stone monolith at the Spire’s peak, before imploding with a horrific, wet burst. In an instant, the city was quiet again, yet as the vision faded, the first signs of unlife began to spread through the thousands of dead bodies strewn around the ziggurat’s base as the corpses, now festering with green worms, rose from death.

Faust crumpled to his knees, crying out in agony and clutching his head as he felt the worm begin to burrow into is brain. Quickly, Hawk stepped to the psion’s side and gripped his skull with both hands, praying under his breath as he did so. After a moment, white light spread from the civilar’s hands and into Faust’s skull. Gradually the pain eased until it was finally gone completely.
“Thank you,” Faust said
Hawk merely nodded.
“I warned you,” Giovanni snapped. “This is what I mean about not sharing your plans.”
“I did share my plans,” Faust retorted. “I told you that I was going to drink from the fountain, no matter what, and you saw the vision, didn’t you? That backlash of energy was not just the souls of Kyuss’ followers. It was their very faith! The possibilities of what a powerful creature could do with that much devotional energy are staggering! At the very least, ascension to godhood would be possible! And yet, it seemed to me that Kyuss was not able to control his apotheosis, and became trapped within the monolith.”
“A monolith that no longer exists,” Hawk observed.
“As far as we know…” Faust answered cryptically.
_____________________________________________________________

“How do I look?” Giovanni said as his latest shape-changed form manifested.
“Like the walking dead,” Shay said dryly.
That was an apt description, as the warlock had morphed himself into a Wormcaller. The team now stood in the chamber at the bottom of the worm naga shaft. To their south lay the lake of worms, where Sruggut told them the key to Kyuss’ power could be found. Giovanni volunteered to lead the search, reasoning that the worms would not molest him if he were perceived as a Kyuss spawn. Drasek placed a Fly spell upon him, and he quaffed an Invisibility potion before stepping into the cavernous room.

The immense cavern was filled with a horrific sea of writhing green, and the nauseating susurrus of millions of slimy bodies slithering over each other. There was no floor. The hallway fell away to the undulating surface of an immense lake of green worms. The rippling surface lay about five feet down from the floor of the passageway, while the ceiling rose to a vault nearly ninety feet above. Low islands of stone protruded here and there from the wormy expanse, and additional passageways extended out of the sea and back onto solid ground in the wall opposite, and in the walls to the left and right.

The first thing Havok noticed was the two Wormcallers standing on the far shore, and they in-turn were pointing towards the passageway behind him, where Hawk stood, revealed by the glowing blue light shed by Grubber’s Luminous Armor enchantment. As quickly and quietly as he could, Havok slipped into the sea of worms. As he had hoped, the vermin ignored him, and to his surprise, they did not fill the lake. Some ten feet below the surface was water, murky but free of the vile worms. Havok swam deeper, straining to see the bottom, but then something else caught his eye…something enormous.

Hawk saw the two Wormcallers as they stepped into the gloom at the far edge of Grubber’s light. The priests were literally walking on air above the worm-lake, and in unison they thrust their hands towards him. Twin columns of green fire exploded around the civilar and the goliath, scorching them not only with heat, but also with a greasy, unholy energy. Hawk and Grubber each dove for cover, rolling into the hallways on either side of the smaller chamber. His hands spasming with pain, Grubber gripped his holy symbol, chanting. His pain eased as the healing magic washed over him, his breath slowing from the ragged gasp it had become.

The giant, green worm in front of Havok had a vicious maw ringed with row upon row of needle-like teeth. Its great bulk flattened on its underside, its color lightening and the rings of its musculature becoming tighter. It had no obvious sensory organs, yet it turned unerringly towards the warlock, and it moved with surprising speed. Havok gasped, relaying mental images of what he was seeing to his comrades before willing himself through the Astral plane, and reappearing in the chamber of preserved corpses. Shedding his undead form, the warlock instantly replaced it with that of the Deva.
‘Be wary!’ he warned his friends. ‘I’m going around to the western hall to see if I can give those Wormcallers a bit of a surprise.’

Drasek, hearing Havok’s warning, uttered a brief prayer to imbue himself once again with the aspect of the celestials, this time the burning eyes of the Firre’. Stepping into the passage connecting the smaller chamber with the cavern, he heard Faust speak into his mind. ‘Just hold them off for a moment,” the psion said. ‘If not for me, then for the others. I will get us some help.’ Drasek did not respond. He knew his duty clearly, and did not need the black-hearted psion to instruct him in tactics. The light from his own armor spilled into the cavern, lighting him like a beacon, and making him an obvious target for the undead priests.

As the light filled the chamber, Havok had a clear view of both Wormcallers. With a moment’s concentration, he willed a forest of his worm-like tentacles to sprout from the surface of the lake. Striking like snakes, the worm tentacles wrapped themselves around the priests, holding them fast.

Drasek heard heavy footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw a giant with silvery, mirror-like skin and no facial features lumbering towards him. Another of Faust’s constructs. The behemoth stepped past him, and right into the lake, sinking like a stone.

Shay remained concealed in the shadows, as he preferred. He fished a flask from one of his many belt pouches and upended it, fading from sight as he drank. Then, literally melting into a nearby patch of darkness, he stepped from another in the corridor on the far side of the lake, right behind the trapped Wormcallers. The moment he appeared, his cloak of invisibility vanished, leaving him completely exposed to the grinning priests.

Mindlessly obedient to its creator, the astral construct began striding through the ooze and sludge at the bottom of the lake, straight towards the gargantuan worm. The worm’s head snapped towards the construct, and its maw opened. In a flash, it seized the giant in its jaws. The construct struggled in vain to free itself as the worm opened its mouth even wider, dropping the colossus down its gullet.

Drasek focused on the nearer of the two Wormcallers, and twin beams of fire flashed from his glowing eyes. They struck unerringly, but seemed to have no effect at all. The priest’s robes did not so much as smolder.
“We’re going to have to take this to them up close and personal,” Hawk said, stepping up next to the inquisitor. The civilar had managed to heal his burns, and looked fit, sword in hand. “Are you with me?”
Drasek nodded as his eyes returned to their natural shade of blue, and white, feathery wings sprouted from his back.

Despite being held securely by the tentacles, Havok could still see the foremost Wormcaller’s features knot in concentration. The warlock knew that the undead priests did not need words or gestures to perform their magic, and so when the creature’s brow furrowed, Havok unleashed his eldritch power, a green spear of energy which limned the Wormcaller in an unearthly corona. As the glow from the blast faded, a second, smaller beam of green light struck from the opposite side of the room, where Faust now stood on the edge of the lake. As the beam hit, the Wormcaller began to disintegrate before Havok’s eyes, becoming nothing more than dust in the wind within seconds.

Shay quickly knocked two silver arrows and loosed them in rapid succession at the remaining Wormcaller. The creature shrieked as the metal, with was anathema to it, began to sear its rotting flesh. Suddenly, the rogue saw Hawk and Drasek soaring just over the reach of the grasping tentacles, landing in the hallway between the Wormcaller and himself, just as the priest was turning its attention towards him.

Acting on the assumption that the gargantuan worm was still roughly where he’d last seen it, Havok focused on his forest of worm-tentacles, and then willed an identical one to appear exactly thirty-feet below it, sprouting from the floor of the lake. It was his hope that the barrier would at least slow the behemoth. Unbeknownst to the warlock, the Overworm was already headed towards the surface, but just before it breached, a spasm shook it as a great gout of ichor belched from its underbelly. A ragged hole appeared as Faust’s astral construct ripped its way out of the worm’s gizzard. The wound immediately sealed itself, but the construct sank quickly towards the lake bottom, coming to rest directly in the middle of Havok’s tentacles. Instantly, four of the rubbery worms twined around the construct’s arms and legs, holding in place.

As the two paladins alighted, the Wormcaller channeled its innate magic into a huge dispelling field, catching Shay, Hawk and the tentacle swarm in its area. The powerful magic of the tentacles persisted, however, though several of Hawk’s and Shay’s defensive magics did not, including Hawk’s ability to fly.

Grubber stood next to Faust and spoke several divine words of power, causing a glowing silver maul to appear in the air next to him. At his command, the Spiritual Weapon of Grumbar soared across the cavern, flying unerringly towards the Wormcaller. The creature struggled to free itself as the weapon approached, but to no avail. Then, from behind, Hawk struck. His gleaming blade flashed like lightning, scoring blow after blow upon the priest. From prior experience, the civilar knew the creatures’ weakness to silver, and he had coated his sword with a magical silver sheen prior to leaving Calimport. Now, as the blade struck, it dealt horrible wounds to the Wormcaller, drawing cries of agony from its worm-filled mouth.

At that moment, the Overworm breached. Like some mighty green whale it reared from the lake of worms directly before Hawk and Drasek. Its cavernous maw lunged at the civilar, but Hawk crouched low behind his shield, feeling his entire arm go numb as the beasts teeth rasped against the steel. Above and behind the behemoth, Hawk saw Havok soar into the room, positioning himself well beyond the worm’s reach. A pulse of emerald light as bright as the sun burst from the warlock’s hands, ripping through the Overworm’s skin as though it were paper. A heartbeat later, a second blast struck the brute, and it flailed about blindly, seeking the source of its torment.

The Wormcaller saw that source clearly, and knew that if the angelic being was not brought down, the Overworm was doomed. Concentrating, it centered a dispelling field right on top of Havok. For a moment the warlock panicked, for if his ability to Shapechange were negated, he would drop straight into the worm lake, right next to the Overworm. Fortunately, the potent spell remained, though many others did not, including his Mindlink with his comrades. The Wormcaller prepared to try again, but just then, Grubber’s glowing maul struck, caving in the priest’s skull.

Shay had never seen a creature as large and imposing as the Overworm, not even the ulgurstasta. Fishing blindly through his quiver, he withdrew two arrows forged of adamantine, hoping the incredibly hard metal could pierce the creature’s hide. He fired once and again, both flying true, but the great worm did not seem to notice their impact… until they started melting into its unholy bulk, imbued with the holy power of the rogue’s bow.

As the Overworm lurched and writhed, Drasek reached out one gloved hand, and simply touched it. Kelemvor’s power allowed him, upon occasion, to deliver the final touch of death to those deserving…which, apparently the Overworm was not, as its vile heart continued to beat. However, as the inquisitor withdrew his hand, he saw that several green worms clung to it, gnawing at the leather of his gauntlet. In disgust, he brushed them into the lake.

Holding nothing back, Havok unleashed two more savage barrages upon the Overworm. As each one struck, green blood streamed from the beast’s mouth and many wounds. It reared one last time, preparing to slam its entire bulk down upon Hawk, Drasek and Shay, but at the last moment, a blazing missile of fire soared from the hand of Faust, drilling through the worm’s cranium. The massive behemoth convulsed once and sank back into the lake one final time.

“Why don’t you just accept it?” Drasek shouted. “The filthy, evil, hell-spawned worm lied to you! Does that surprise you?”
Faust had to admit, if only to himself, that it did. They had spent the last hour fruitlessly searching the bottom of the lake, and ultimately finding no hidden caches nor any sign of Sruggut’s promised key. Drasek was right. The naga had lied
“He told the truth about the fountain,” the psion said sullenly.
“Hah!” Drasek laughed. “He also told you the water wouldn’t harm you. He only told you about the vision so that you would eat the worms and hopefully become corrupted…well, more corrupted.”
“Faust made a mistake,” Hawk interrupted. “Who among us has not? I believe the lesson has been learned, so let’s waste no more time on it. We still have two paths before us.” He indicated the hall to the south, which ended at a pair of double doors, and the hall to the east, which ended at a single one. By random decision, the team chose south.

Drasek and Hawk threw open the doors, revealing a chamber, opulent by any standard, yet somehow alien despite its finery. Furniture placed at odd and uncomfortable angles blended with the disconcerting imagery of the carpets and tapestries that decorated the room. The imagery was sometimes understandable, depicting scenes of carnage and torture in great detail, while in other places it was simply abstract patterns drawn by an unsettled mind. A lone figure rose from a divan at the far side of the room. Both of the paladins’ mouths dropped open. They had seen this creature before. It was the spellweaver liche from the visions! Its eyes were hollow sockets containing a pinpoint of light deep within. Its flesh was rotting and festering, and the green robes it wore were old and moth-eaten. In one of its six hands it held a long, green crystal rod, and in another a cruel hooked rod.

‘I’ve been expecting you,’ a high-pitched, buzzing voice spoke into the minds of each member of the League. ‘You have taken your time about getting here, and now that you have finally arrived, I would know what exactly it is that you think you have achieved.’
It was Grubber who replied, speaking aloud. “We have come seeking knowledge to stop the so-called Age of Worms.”
‘Is the time nigh?’ the liche asked. ‘Which of the prophecies have come to pass?’
“The ruin by fire of a city built in a bowl,” Grubber began to recite, drawing withering glances from several of his team mates. “The recrudescence of the worm-eaten dead, the recovery of potent artifacts from ancient tombs, the destructive manifestation of an immense, demonic tree in a distant city across the sea, the arrival of a Fane of Scales amid a storm of wind and fire, and the awakening of an evil taint in a city once besieged by giants.”
‘Ah,’ the liche sighed, ‘then the hour is indeed at hand, and yet I sense that all of you may have a roll still to play in bringing about the true Age of Worms. Therefore, I grant you mercy and bid you take your leave of this place. Go on your way and fulfill your destiny.’
Several of the group still stood on the ledge beyond the hallway, overlooking the lake of worms. From this vantage point, they could see the eastern passage, and at that moment, the door at its far end opened. Emerging from the chamber beyond were three Knights of Kyuss.
‘My associates will see to it that you do not become lost on your way out,’ the liche said.
‘I’m sorry,’ the voice of Faust now spoke into his colleagues’ minds as well as to the liche, ‘but I’m afraid an evil such as yours cannot be suffered continued existence.’
Drasek swore silently to himself.
‘What harm can I do?’ the liche answered. ‘I have been imprisoned here for two millennia, and it is likely I will remain here until the Age of Worms has come to pass.’
It was Drasek who had the final word. “My friend speaks truth. We do not believe your lies, and there is no redemption for one such as you save through true and eternal death.”

Storm heard Drasek’s words, and her gaze shifted nervously towards the approaching Kyuss Knights. There seemed no way for them to cross the lake to where she and the others stood, but she would not put it past them to have some trick up their sleeve. It seemed open conflict was inevitable, and so it was the sorceress who struck the first blow. Speaking the words to a spell, she hurled three tendrils of scorching flames towards the first Knight, who when he lived was called Barnos Indarna. In dismay, Storm watched the flames simply evaporate as they touched the warrior’s antiquated armor.

‘Perhaps I was mistaken about your roles,’ the liche Mak’ar sighed. ‘Perhaps it is only your destiny to die at my hands.’ With that, he gestured absently at Grubber, and the goliath simply vanished. His Mindlink was instantly severed. At the same time, six identical images of the liche sprung into view around him, dancing and spinning about so that the true enemy could not be discerned. Shay quickly drew back his bow and fired a rapid volley of three arrows, each one striking an image, which promptly vanished.

Faust, still out on the ledge overlooking the lake, turned to Havok. “I can end this very quickly,” the psion said.
“How?” Havok asked, perplexed.
“Transport us next to him,” Faust replied, “and once I’m there, I can manifest a field of null-magic. No magic of any sort will function within, not even mine. I’ll be vulnerable, but so will the liche. Drasek and Hawk can carve him to ribbons.”
“Sounds risky,” the warlock said doubtfully.
“What about this whole scenario isn’t?” the psion asked.
Havok couldn’t argue the point. He reached out for Faust’s shoulder, and they disappeared.

Grubber found himself on a vast, empty plane, stretching on endlessly in every direction. All about him were softly glowing translucent walls…a vast maze. He was imprisoned, and had no idea how he might escape.

Havok and Faust appeared, not ten feet from Mak’ar, but at that moment, all of the psion’s hopes were destroyed. His eyes still closed, Faust continued to rely on his Touchsight, and with it he could see another figure standing directly between the liche and himself. It was Kelvos.
“Havok!” Faust cried out in warning.
“I see him!” the warlock shouted.
Not daring to risk making himself helpless in the face of the eladrin, the psion quickly manifested a current of fiery energy between the celestial and Mak’ar. The flames simply washed off Kelvos like water, but the liche shrieked in agony and frustration.
“Kill them!” the Harbinger roared to his minion.

With dawning horror Storm watched the Knights continue their relentless approach. They reached the edge of the passageway, and then simply stepped into the lake, disappearing beneath the writhing worms. They were coming. Quickly, the drow slipped into the hall, intent on warning the others. As she saw Faust and Havok confronting the liche, she summoned a globe of pure acid into her hand, and hurled it towards Mak’ar. To her complete shock, it smashed into some unseen barrier directly in front of her…and between her and her companions. She was alone out here…just her and the approaching Knights.

Drasek knew that something else was in the room with them, something that only Faust and Havok could see. Quickly, the inquisitor spoke a prayer, causing a field of rippling energy to emanate in all directions from him, revealing anything that might be hidden under the cloak of invisibility. When he saw Kelvos, his jaw dropped open for a second time that day.
“I don’t know how you violated the sacred Law of Death,” Drasek snarled, struggling to regain his composure, “but this time I will insure you stay dead!” He charged towards the eladrin, but Kelvos moved with the quickness and grace of an eel. Stepping deftly to one side, he lowered the blade of his greatsword, tangling it between the paladin’s feet, and sending him tumbling to the floor in a heap.
“Charming,” Kelvos smiled. “When last we met, I offered you a chance to stand by my side. You won’t get the chance to refuse a second time.” The celestial’s eyes blazed, and a word so vile left his lips that it left all of the occupants of the room, save himself and Mak’ar, stunned by its evil. At that exact moment, Storm Dimension Doored herself past the Wall of Force to stand beside Shay, realizing too late that her friends were helpless. Kelvos and Mak’ar walked past her dazed companions to stand calmly beside her and Shay.
“We’ll be with you in a moment, my dear,” Kelvos smiled, and then he spoke another vile prayer, and the wounds Faust had inflicted on Mak’ar began to mend.

Just then, the numbing shock left the limbs of the others, and relying on instincts and training, they sprang into action. Shay quickly somersaulted away from the liche and the eladrin, rolling up on one knee with an arrow already knocked. He loosed it, and smiled tightly as it thunked into Kelvos’ thigh.

Havok whirled towards his enemies, summoning up a chain of eldritch energy, which arced from his hand to Kelvos, and then towards Mak’ar…only to strike another of the illusory images.

Faust’s original energy current had been disrupted by Kelvos' blasphemous prayer, but now the psion created a new one, once more synching it between the liche and the celestial.

Drasek, still on his back, gripped his holy symbol and called upon Kelemvor. A wave of dispelling energy washed over Mak’ar, and all of the liche’s illusory images vanished.

While her adversaries were distracted, Storm shoved past them, struggling to follow Shay to safety. Kelvos was too quick however. As she passed, he thrust his sword into the ground in front of her, and the sorceress tripped over the blade, sprawling to the floor.

“Kelvos, we are trapped here!” Mak’ar snarled, slamming his fist against the invisible barrier at their back. Stepping between his master and their opponents, the eladrin dismissed the wall with a thought. Quickly, Mak’ar scuttled down the hall, and around the corner to the ledge bordering the lake. Once again, Faust’s current was snuffed out.

“Game over,” Shay whispered, as he let fly two arrows of cold iron, inimical to outsiders, from his bow. Both shafts struck Kelvos in the chest, and for a moment the eladrin could only stare at them in disbelief, before he sagged slowly to the floor.

“Come on before he gets away!” Faust shouted, running down the passage and skidding to a halt on the edge of the lake. He reached out with his Touchsight, and there, at the bottom of the lake, he sensed Mak’ar…surrounded by all three of the Knights.
“He’s right below us!” the psion cried. Drasek came to his side, and fingers spread, unleashed a Storm of holy Shards into the water. Hundreds of worms shriveled and died, and Faust could sense that Mak’ar and his minions were wounded. Then suddenly, Mak’ar vanished.

THE AGE OF WORMS REVEALED

Mak’ar stood gazing off into the infinity of the maze, chuckling at his own ingenuity. Those fools may have drawn first blood, but it was the outcome that mattered. He now had all the time he needed to tend his wounds and replenish his defenses. Then he would return to the ziggurat, and there would come a reckoning.

“Are they still there?” Havok called as he hovered over the writhing lake of worms.
“Right below me,” Faust answered, his eyes still tightly shut, but his senses stretching into the depths of the lake where he could sense the three Kyuss Knights still gathered at the base of the ledge on which he stood.
“Excellent!” the warlock shouted. “Now let’s see what we can do about keeping them there.”

Havok was familiar with the layout of the lake bottom from his fruitless search for the nonexistent Key of Kyuss. Now, drawing on that knowledge, he swooped low over the crawling surface, imagining points some thirty feet below, and willing wave after wave of the worm-like green tentacles into existence.

Below, Barnos Indarna, called the Dreamer in Green, Kardic, the Shadow Worm, and Markath, the Mageslayer stood still and silent. The Harbinger had bade them wait for him at this spot just before he left, but he also commanded them to do everything in their power to remain corporeal until that time. When the giant worm-tentacles began sprouting around them, they at first took it as a manifestation of the Harbinger’s power, but when the tendrils began twining about their limbs, they understood that their enemies were going to make it as difficult as possible to follow Mak’ar’s orders. Barnos was snared first, the tentacles seizing his arms and legs and lifting him from the bottom of the pool. Kardic and Markath managed to evade the flailing appendages, but they were in no position to aid their comrade. Suddenly, the area around them erupted in a concussive blast that flung them away from each other and sent a geyser of water and worms erupting from the surface of the lake.

“Bullseye!” Faust laughed as he saw the results of his sonicball. “We’ve got them on the run!” he shouted. “Now’s our chance!”
Hawk nodded from his perch atop one of the stalagmites which protruded from the lake, and then dove head first into the swarm of worms. His flight ability carried him like an arrow through the water, though he still felt the sting of hundreds of needle-like teeth pierce his skin as he passed through the vermin. Down into the tentacle forest he continued, moving freely through them thanks to the enchantment of his armor. When he reached the lake bottom he saw that one of the Knights was still firmly grappled by the tentacles, but the other two were free, and plodding directly towards him. Kardic reached him first, and though the Knight’s blade was slowed by the water, Hawk still felt as if he’d been struck by a sledgehammer when it connected. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Hawk saw a shadow detach itself from the entangled Knight. As it floated above its host, twin flares of emerald light flared where its eyes would be, and a stabbing pain went through the civilar’s head. Horrid visions of death and mayhem flashed behind his eyes, threatening to drive him mad. With an effort of will, Hawk pushed the images away, shaking his head violently to clear it. He braced himself, knowing that his momentary distraction had probably given the two remaining Knights a chance to flank him, but the expected blows did not fall. Instead, when he looked up he saw that both of the undead warriors were now as enmeshed in the tentacles as their brother was.

Hawk lunged towards Kardic, who was nearest to him, chopping at the Knight’s neck. To his utter amazement, his blade passed right through Kardic, as if he were a ghost. In that same instant, the Knight phased through the tentacles as well, and then stood before Hawk with sword upraised. Again Hawk struck, this time calling upon Helm to smite this unholy abomination, but once more it was if his sword were trying to cut air. Kardic swung his own sword, its blade translucent and passing effortlessly through the water, and Hawk’s armor. Though the weapon appeared insubstantial, Hawk felt it cut deep into his flesh, and bone-chilling cold filled him in its wake. Kardic prepared to attack again, but just then a tentacle wrapped around his waist and jerked him away from the civilar. Quickly, Hawk flew upwards through the water, enduring the biting worms once more as he broke from the surface of the lake.
‘I can’t touch them,’ he gasped through the mental link he still shared with his comrades.

‘I bet I can,’ Faust answered back through the link. The psion could still pinpoint the exact position of the three Knights below. Opening his mind, he let his mental energy flow forth, shaping it as it came. The result was a curtain of solid sound placed like a wall along the bottom of the lake. Barnos and Kardic were caught in the midst of the barrier as it manifested, and its sonic energy buffeted them. Even Markath, who was some ten feet away from the others, could feel the power of the energy wall. Redoubling their efforts, Barnos and Kardic tore free of their shackles and stepped out of the wall, leaving Markath on the far side. In unison, they approached the rock wall of the lake bed and gripped it with their bony fingers, preparing to climb to their attackers.

“They’re coming up the wall!” Faust cried in warning.
“Not if I can help it,” Drasek answered. Gripping his holy symbol, he began a prayer to Kelemvor. With a flash that could be seen from the surface, a curtain of living light materialized at the bottom of the lake. Rising to a height of five feet, it clung to the rock wall of the lake bed like a second skin. Searing heat scorched the Kyuss Knights as they clung to the wall. Recoiling in pain, but uttering not a sound, they dropped back to the bottom, where Barnos was immediately enmeshed in the tentacles once again.

“Nice work,” Faust said grudgingly to the inquisitor. “Let’s see if I can do better.”
Concentrating on Kardic, the psion seized mental control of the Knight’s limbs. Though the Shadow Worm struggled mightily, Faust forced him, step by step, back towards the sonic wall, finally bringing him to a halt fully immersed in the concussive energy. Then, Faust commanded the Knight to turn and place his hand fully within the light curtain. If Kardic were capable of fearing death, he would have quailed. Instead, the Kyuss Knight simply shifted his body into incorporeality, freeing him from the psion’s mental control and the pain of the twin energy barriers simultaneously.

Faust cursed. These fellows were proving to be wilier than he would have imagined. Quickly, while the two were still in close proximity, he manifested a current of sonic energy between Markath and Kardic, hoping that by keeping them on the defensive, he could whittle away at them little by little, while at the same time preventing them from counter-attacking. Yet again, the Knights were not so easily trapped. Kardic, grasping the mechanism, if not the nature of Faust’s power, lumbered towards a nearby stalagmite, interposing it between himself and Markath. Immediately, the arcing current left Markath, but continued to hammer away at Kardic. The victory was short-lived, however, as both Knights soon found Havok’s ever present tentacles wrapped around their legs, holding them in place.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Faust growled, and before anyone could stop him, the stone giant/psion leaped off the ledge, plunging through the worm-ridden surface of the lake. The worms bit at him as he passed, but his weight carried him quickly through them, and straight to the bottom. He landed behind his own energy wall, but still within the grasping tentacles. Immediately, he felt numbing cold emanating from the tendrils all about him. The worm-like appendages wrapped around him, binding him as securely as they did the Knights. Faust did not struggle, however, for he didn’t need to be free to be deadly.

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him take all the glory,” Hawk snarled, and he dove once more into the lake, again enduring the chewing worms. As he closed towards Kardic, the Shadow Worm tore himself free of the tentacles. The Knight began wading through the waving forest, attempting to place another stalagmite between himself and Faust, and thus escape the inexorable devastation of the energy current. Hawk was faster. The civilar smashed his sword between Kardic’s shoulders, cleaving his armor in two and severing his spine. The Kyuss Knight fell face first into the tentacles, which instinctively grabbed at his corpse and began to rip it limb from limb.

Now it was Barnos Indarna who broke free of the tentacles. The wall of sound separated him from the trapped psion, but the Knight did not seem to care. He strode right through the barrier, its energy ripping at him as he passed. Undeterred, he lifted his sword, aiming it towards the stone giant’s heart. That was the moment when Kardic perished, and with a thought, Faust redirected the energy current towards Barnos. The beam tore through the Knight’s chest, and he too fell.

Only Markath remained, and as Hawk closed to him, the Magekiller managed to disentangle himself from his bonds. He was too late. Hawk struck, his blade flashing with holy power at the same moment that Faust’s energy current blew the top of the Kyuss Knight’s head off.

At this point, Faust finally noticed the relentless squeezing of the tentacles about him. ‘Havok,’ he called through the Mindlink, ‘I could use some assistance.’
‘I’m on it,’ Drasek responded. The inquisitor quickly invoked two blessings upon himself, one of flight, and the other of water breathing, thus enabling him to use his magic while submerged. He dove into the sea of worms and moved quickly to Faust. Reaching out to touch the psion, he then immediately whisked them back to the surface ledge via the astral plane.

It was at that precise instant that Mak’ar returned.
“He’s back!” Faust cried, though to Hawk that fact was patently obvious. This was the moment Havok had been waiting for. Stepping between dimensions, he held his breath and appeared in the middle of the lake, below the worms, but above his own tentacles. The liche had indeed returned, and he was once again surrounded by several revolving images of himself. He stood directly in the midst of the tentacle forest, yet seemed to move through them as if they didn’t exist. The warlock had expected the Harbinger to replenish his defenses, and he was ready. Raising one hand, Havok invoked a shimmering, green field that resembled gnashing teeth around the liche. These fangs ripped and tore, literally attempting to consume the magical energies that surrounded Mak’ar, but the liche was too powerful. Only one minor dweomer was taken before the effect faded.

Hawk charged towards Mak’ar at the same time that Drasek reentered the lake. The civilar hacked at the liche, but only succeeded in ripping through one of his illusory images. Drasek, however, had another plan. Mak’ar had reappeared at the exact spot from which he had vanished. This placed him with the lake wall to his back, covered by the curtain of light, Hawk in front of him, and Faust’s sonic wall to his right. His only means of escape was to his left, and it was here that the inquisitor erected a second wall of light, thus completely boxing the liche in.

Mak’ar watched all of these machinations with amusement. These fools had no idea what they were up against. His first priority was the warlock. After all, that one had managed to bring down Kelvos almost single-handedly. With a gesture, the liche erected another psychic maze, and Havok abruptly vanished.

Hawk cursed silently in frustration. The bastard was going to pick them off one by one. Enraged, he hacked again and again at the liche, taking down image after image, until only one remained. At that moment, Drasek dropped down from above, swinging his maul with all his might and connecting solidly with the spellweaver. Bone chips and teeth flew as Mak’ar’s jaw shattered. Suddenly, a terrific splash came from above, and Faust landed next to Hawk. Immediately, the psion manifested another energy current, the sonic beam boring into Mak’ar. Desperately, the liche attempted to weave his magic and place a force barrier between himself and Faust, but the pain would not allow his mind to focus on the necessary words. Only the simplest of spells would come to him, and he hurled a minor enchantment at Hawk. The blue beam struck the civilar, and he felt his strength ebb. Undaunted, Hawk swung his shield, the edge catching the liche in the throat. Mak’ar clutched at his shattered larynx, completely unable to speak. Slowly, the flickering green light faded from his eyes as Faust’s psychic power crushed the last spark of unlife that sustained him.

At the moment of the Harbinger’s destruction, Grubber and Havok were freed from their psychic prison. The first thing they noticed upon their return was the dull rumble which shook the cavern. Dust and rocks fell from the ceiling, and abruptly, the sea of writhing worms began to dissolve into a thick, viscous ooze, until not a single one of the vermin remained. The room suddenly seemed to melt away into darkness as the air filled with strange, frightening whispers. It sounded as if a hundred different voices spoke in a hundred different languages, but an instant later, the voices joined into one and the language resolved into familiar words. These words spoke of the prophecies of the Age of Worms, and as they spoke, visions of the prophecies coming true manifested, allowing the members of the League to observe the events as if they were gods looking down upon a troubled world. The visions were violent, and horrific. Legions of worm-eaten dead rose from soggy graves. An immense and demonic tree exploded into destructive life from the heart of an unfamiliar city. A burning comet lanced down from the heavens to strike the earth in a tremendous, mushroom-shaped cloud of devastation. Another city, its town square wreathed in a cloud of black smoke filled with eyes, was held in the grip of shadows that moved independently from their source. A cackling man attached a clawed and withered hand to the bleeding stump of his arm, and the hand writhed into unholy life. A city built in the heart of a volcano suffered tragedy during an eruption that saw its complete destruction. As each of these scenes flashed by, they were accompanied by a crushing sense of certainty…these events had already come to pass. Yet finally, the whispering voices spoke of two more prophecies, and these were accompanied by blackness. “A tripartite spirit once again becomes one, and at its advice, the mighty are undone,” the voices whispered. And then, “On the eve of the Age of Worms, a hero of the pit shall use his fame to gift a city to the dead.” After this, there was only silence. It would seem that two of the prophecies had yet to be realized.

Suddenly, all of the previous visions the League had received began to flash by in rapid succession, but each was subtly different. In the first, the skull symbol worn on the armor of Kyuss warped from human to that of a spellweaver and back again. Next, above and behind the torture room could be seen a figure in the shape of a two-armed insect-creature. It was handing an identical jeweled box to Mak’ar, as Mak’ar passed the box to Kyuss. Faust recognized this creature as a Netherese depiction of the god Jergal. In the third vision this same figure could be seen above and behind the desk at which Kyuss studied. It was inscribing words onto bronze disks…the same ones that Mak’ar gave to Kyuss. As the fourth vision passed, three human-like figures clawed their way out of the ground surrounding Kuluth-Mar, each one dripping with green worms. One figure was clad in full plate mail and bore an iron scepter. One was heavily cloaked and bore a dagger dripping black blood, and the last was a lich-like abomination clad in the black robes of a necromancer. Again, Faust recognized these figures. They seemed to be archaic depictions of Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul. One by one, the Jergal-figure seen in the previous visions reached down and consumed the three, and then finally, the image of Kyuss himself. After each was destroyed, Jergal sprouted another arm and swelled in size, until in the end he had six arms and seemed larger than all of Toril. Finally, after the last vision, the figure of Jergal could be seen pulling a familiar green worm out of its ear and placing it in a jeweled box.

Malchor listened intently as the tale was complete, his expression cold.
“When we made our way to the surface again,” Hawk concluded, “the ziggurat had completely collapsed on itself, taking the obsidian ring with it.”
Dagsumn, Celeste and Agath sat silently about the drawing room, each staring at the archmage. Finally Malchor spoke, his voice heavy.
“These are ill tidings. Darker than I feared. I had hoped you would find some information that would be of use to us, but instead I fear you have brought news of our doom. I must admit, I do not comprehend the significance of your visions of Jergal. The so-called Lord of the End of Everything has diminished greatly in power, his portfolio over death divided first among Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul, then passing in large part to Cyric, and now to Kelemvor. Again these three…’the Dead Three,’ though Bane is reborn. Perhaps the Ebon Triad has a larger role in these events than that of Cat’s-paw. Indeed, while you have been away, we have managed to unearth more information about the cult. In several of the scrolls and books in my library, we found references to Ebon Triad activity, most of which had short notes written in the margins by Balakarde. These notes repeated over and over his suspicion that the cult was little more than a front for the followers of Kyuss. Even more curious, in every book and scroll that mentioned Ebon Triad activity, Balakarde had underlined the word Starmantle. It would seem that a surprising number of Triad leaders hailed from this town on the Dragon Coast.”

At this point Celeste spoke. “I actually found one book on the city itself. It was titled A History of Starmantle. It was written by a priest of Tyr named Rhorsk only a few months before a despotic ruler named Prince Zeech assumed rulership of the city. One section of the book recounted the emergence and influence of a cabal of Banite heretics who attempted to establish an underground cult somewhere in the city, a cult dedicated to the ascension of their god into something greater. This cult made particular use of what they called ‘the Writhing Dead.’ The cult was defeated with the aid of one of Starmantle’s greatest spellcasters, an elven noble named Lashonna, but its leaders escaped persecution. In the margins of this account, Balakarde made a fairly extensive note.” Celeste handed a piece of parchment to Hawk. Written on it was the following: Starmantle is the key. Missing heretics never captured…possible site of Ebon Triad foundation? Did they turn to the cult of Bhaal for aid, and then more recently to that of Myrkul? Are new Triad leaders trained somewhere in Starmantle and then sent out to start their own cult cells in other cities? To Do: Lashonna (helped defeat heretics. May know more about them that wasn’t printed.); Rhorsk (research indicates he did not flee Starmantle after it fell…he’s probably dead, but may have left some sort of legacy.); Ebon Triad (are they still active in town? Find out if their original hideout/shrine still exists.)

Hawk sighed after he read the note. “It would seem our travels are just beginning,” he said.
“Now hold on just one minute,” Shay said, standing abruptly. “If you’re talking about going to Starmantle, then count me out. That’s too close to Westgate for my comfort, and the Nighmasks still have a hefty price on my head. I’m going back to Waterdeep. When…if…you finish whatever it is you have to do on the Dragon Coast, you’ll know where to find me.”
Hawk shook his head. “You will be missed my friend, but I understand. A death mark is not an easy thing to live with. What about the rest of you? Who’s up for a trip to the Coast?”

STARMANTLE

Malchor Harpell sat brooding in his study for some time after the members of the League had departed for Starmantle. He had provided them with a detailed painting of the city gates to get their bearings, thus allowing them to teleport en masse. Now, he was deeply troubled. Not only had the rogue Shay abandoned the group, but at the last minute, the dwarven mineral warrior had also begged off. Grim had stated that he felt honor-bound to return to his clan and warn them of the impending danger of the Age of Worms. That left only six of the group…six to fight an undead army. The archmage still felt in his heart that he could not intervene directly. He had made some powerful enemies in his life, and were he to actively join in the search for the truth behind the Age of Worms, those enemies would likely be moved to join the opposition. Still, that did not mean he was completely without recourse.
“Celeste,” he said, turning to the ghaele, who was busy perusing more of the library’s tomes. “I think it might be wise for you to pay a visit to Baldur’s Gate. See if our old friend Pavel is between employers.”

Starmantle perched upon a rocky outcropping which curled around a natural harbor. Numerous ships, from proud sailing vessels to small rickety fishing sloops found shelter there. Buildings had been crammed onto the promontory with such congestion that they almost seemed afraid of the gray, featureless lands beyond…rotting hills of brown and black and gray stones, and vast muddy tidal flats pocked with collapsed structures and stunted trees. The town itself was a montage of different architectural styles, designs, and cultures. Black towers rose ominously along the walls and cliffs surrounding the town, while intimidating golden-domed temples and pagodas cast shadows upon huge wood and stone manor houses that reached cathedral height. Interspersed with these were endless rows of hovels made from bits of timber, barrels, sides of boats and rubbish. The shanties spread at the feet of the town like flotsam washed up at the seashore. Three structures dominated Starmantle’s skyline. In the center of town rose an ominous cathedral, while on the highest cliffside stood a grand palace. However, even the palace was dwarfed by another structure in the southwestern section of the city. There, a massive ziggurat of red stone appeared to be under construction. Above all of this circled crows…thousands upon thousands of them, like black storm clouds.

The League had appeared a half-mile from the city walls, so as not to attract suspicion. As they approached the town, a steady stream of travelers, both coming and going, grew along the road. Soon, they reached a pair of massive gates, where a passively disinterested hobgoblin guard stood with a ledger.
“What’s yer business in town?” he muttered.
“We’re here to see that zig…” Faust began before Hawk elbowed him aside.
“We’re here to spend some coin and see the sights,” the civilar said. Hawk had put away his Waterdhavian insignia, and now wore a featureless tabard over his armor, though the symbol of Helm still hung from its chain around his neck. Drasek likewise made no effort to disguise the skeletal hand grasping a set of scales that was Kelemvor’s sign. The hobgoblin grunted, barely giving them a second glance and waved them through.

Upon entering the town, the group was immediately struck by the overtly festive atmosphere. Banners and pennants hung from every building and sign post, and it seemed the populace was preparing for some sort of celebration. Hawk’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed, however, as he saw the emblem emblazoned on the banners…the upraised black fist of Bane. The civilar pointed this out to Drasek, and the inquisitor had to forcibly restrain himself from ripping down one of the pennants.
“Joy to you on this day strangers!” a matronly shopkeeper called out. “A blessing upon you for visiting our humble land!”
“All hail the Black Hand!” Faust called back enthusiastically, earning withering glares from both paladins.
“When in Starmantle…” the psion shrugged. He turned his attention back to the shopkeeper. “Tell me dear lady, what is the occasion for this celebration?”
The woman’s smile never wavered, but something in her eyes seemed to question its sincerity. “Why, it is the twentieth anniversary of our Lord Embuirhan's rule of Starmantle, blessed be his name! There will be parades and entertainment all week long in Lowtown, not to mention the wonderful sales in the merchant’s market! Then, at the end of the week, Lord Embuirhan will host his annual extravaganza at the palace! Everyone who is anyone will be in attendance!”
“I see,” said Faust, maintaining his own false grin. “Can you tell us where some weary travelers might find accommodations nearby?”
She pointed up the main thoroughfare. “The Deluxury is the finest inn in all Starmantle, though I dare say it will cost a pretty copper. The Ogre’s Hideout is certainly more affordable, but it caters to a less sophisticated crowd. I don’t think it would suit the tastes of gentlefolk such as yourselves.”
“You have our thanks,” Faust bowed, “and may the firm Hand of Tyranny always hold you under its thumb!”

“We are trying to maintain a low profile,” Faust said as the group continued along the road. “Perhaps less conspicuous lodging would be in order?”
Hawk looked dubious. “Perhaps. We can at least have a look.”
The Ogre’s Hideout, as it turned out, was only a block or so off the Toil Road. It was a rough looking establishment, much like many other inns the adventurers had frequented in their travels. The taproom was large and well-stocked, but unimaginative. It was also crowded with hobgoblins…large, burly sorts, well-armed and well-armored. The innkeeper was a small, jumpy looking man who’s eyes kept darting here and there among his patrons.
“Good day to you, sir!” Faust said as he approached the bar. “Might I have your name?”
“Frill Breskered,” the man answered. “Who’s asking?”
“Faust Cenodoxus,” Faust replied, “but you can call me Holocaust. My companions and I were wondering if you had any rooms available.”
Breskered shook his head, “No singles. All of them are rented out,” he nodded towards the hobgoblins. “All I’ve got’s common rooms.”
At this point, Grubber leaned across the bar. “I hope you don’t mind my presumption,” the goliath rumbled, towering over the little man, “but you seem troubled. Are your current clients causing you mischief?”
Hastily, Breskered shook his head, “No sir. None at all.” Faust didn’t think he sounded very convincing.
“Because if they are,” the psion said conspiratorially, “my friend here,” he hooked a thumb at Hawk, “absolutely detests goblins of any sort. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind freeing up a few rooms for you.”
At this the innkeeper’s eyes widened, “Oh no! No sir! I don’t want any trouble here! The last thing I need’s for the Blessed Angels to come poking around! Please, either take the room I got or move along!”
“Blessed Angels?” Giovanni asked, suddenly intrigued.
“Our protectors,” Breskered said, hastily making the sign of the Evil Eye. “They are both beautiful and terrible to behold, with their fiery hair, and black wings! They root out heretics and miscreants, like the rabble-rousers who distribute the Sinchaser Report!”
The warlock raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It’s a newspaper,” the innkeeper said, his voice low. “Full of all kinds of lies about Lord Embuirhan. It’s illegal to even be discussing it!”
“Yes,” Hawk said, interrupting before Faust could stick his foot in his mouth, “well, we can see you are a busy man, and we will not trouble you further. Come on,” he said to the others. “We’re leaving.”

“So what do you make of all that?” Drasek asked Hawk once they were back out on the street.
“I’m not sure,” the civilar said, “but there is obviously much more going on in this town than meets the eye. I say we continue our wandering a bit longer and get a feel for the lay of the land.”

Prior to departing for Starmantle, Drasek had contacted his superiors in Baldur’s Gate to update them on his progress. He had been informed of the existence of a temple to Kelemvor in Starmantle. However, the clergy of this particular temple, the so-called Scarlet Spire, were referred to as “orthodox,” that is they had once been followers of Myrkul who had reluctantly converted after the death of their god. As an inquisitor, Drasek felt that it was his duty to pay the temple an official visit.

As it happened, the Scarlet Spire stood in close proximity to the largest cathedral in Starmantle…that of Bane. This, in turn, was directly across the street from the luxurious inn known as the Deluxury. Faust agreed to accompany Drasek to the Scarlet Spire, while Grubber decided to poke about in Lowtown in search of any leads. Giovanni, Hawk and Storm had a plan of their own. It was Giovanni’s intention to purchase the finest noble garb that he could afford, and then pay a visit to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium, the equivalent of the merchants’ guild in Starmantle. The warlock’s family, House Vito, held a prominent position among the merchant houses of Sembia, and now he intended to drop that name and see if it would help him to procure an invitation for Embuirhan’s gala. No one need know that he was considered outcast from his family. Hawk would pose as his bodyguard, and Storm as his concubine. Appearances were everything.

When Faust and Drasek entered the sanctuary of the Scarlet Spire, they were immediately greeted by a bustling acolyte. The young priest’s eyes went wide when he saw Drasek’s insignia.
“My…my Lord Inquisitor!” the boy stammered. “This is a most…unexpected honor!”
“No one expects the Kelemvorite Inquisition,” Drasek said in a bored voice, casually looking around at the opulent décor of the chapel. Obviously the church was thriving. The inquisitor’s suspicions immediately increased.
“Fetch your superior lad,” he commanded.
“The High Priestess…dislikes being disturbed,” the acolyte whispered, eyes downcast.
Drasek drew himself up to his full height, “I am certain she would dislike the fact that you refused the order of an Inquisitor far more!”
“Yes my Lord!” the boy answered, bowing and bobbing back down the aisle, disappearing through a side door. A short time later, a middle-aged woman dressed in luxurious vestments appeared thru the door. The expression on her face was as severe as the bun which held back her iron-grey hair.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, striding boldly up to Drasek. “I was not informed of this inquisition!”
“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Drasek said softly, a note of warning in his tone.
“I am Almerah Kosen, High Priestess of the Scarlet Spire of Kelemvor,” the woman intoned.
“I am Drasek, but you may address me as Lord Inquisitor, and as you well know, the Inquisition goes where it is needed, not where it is invited. I have come to Starmantle to pay my respects to Lord Embuirhan on the occasion of his anniversary, but it has come to my attention that your enclave has had a dramatic increase in the size of your coffers…a bounty that has not been passed along in your annual tithes. Would you care to explain the nature of this boon?”
Almerah looked incensed…worse, she looked ready to kill. Visible restraint showed in the tense working of her jaw muscles. “The ascension of the church of Bane since Lord Embuirhan’s rise to power has not been favorable to us,” she said sharply. “We were still accorded our traditional duties of tending the cemetery, but beyond that we were barely tolerated. We had to devise…other means to support our ministry.”
“And what would those be?” Drasek asked coldly.
Almerah seemed reluctant, but finally she said, “We offer some of our divine favors to the nobility. They come to us seeking to maintain and prolong their youth and beauty.”
“Surely you are not prolonging lives by artificial means?” Drasek demanded. “That is an abomination!”
“Of course not!” Almerah snapped. “We merely offer cosmetic services.”
“I see,” Drasek nodded. “However, I’m sure you will not mind if I ascertain for myself the nature of these services. I will be here for at least a week. I will require suitable quarters here in the church for myself and my assistant.”
Almerah’s eyes widened, and she looked with unveiled disgust at Faust. “Surely you would be more comfortable in one of the local inns,” she began, but Drasek cut her short.
“I will stay here,” he said with finality.
“Very well,” the High Priestess said tightly. “Arrangements will be made. Now, if you will excuse me, I have important duties to attend to.”
“I’m sure,” Drasek said to her retreating back.

Grubber made his way down to the dock district, which proved to be as seedy and rundown as any such area in any large city. Hobgoblins seemed to comprise the bulk of the sailors and stevedores, but a few humans and half-orcs were also in attendance. The goliath briefly toyed with the idea of preaching Grumbar’s Word to the seamen regarding the inherent dangers of water travel, but the grim faces and plethora of blades boasted by the sailors gave him pause. The goliath was certainly no expert when it came to being unobtrusive, and the first several people he stopped to ask information from either ignored him completely, or cursed roundly, placing their hands on the hilts of their steel. Finally, he approached an elderly fish monger who didn’t accost him outright.
“Your pardon dear lady,” he bowed. This earned him a cackle of laughter from the snaggle-toothed crone.
“Lady is it?” she laughed. “Why I’ve not been called such in three-score years, and even then it weren’t meant as a compliment. Yer not from around here, are ye big’un?”
“No Madame, I am not,” Grubber said, perplexed at her reaction. He couldn’t tell if she was amused or angered.
“Well I ain’t no Madame neither,” the woman chortled. “If’n I were, it sure wouldn’t be scrod I’d be peddlin’, now would it? What is it ye want lad?”
Grubber was momentarily at a loss for words, and as he finally caught her meaning, a deep blush crept up his gray cheeks. “I…I’m looking for someone,” he finally managed to stammer. “Do you know a wizard named Balakarde?”
“Never heard of’im,” the crone answered, shaking her head.
“Oh. I see,” Grubber paused. “What about a man named Rhorsk? He is a Helmite priest from this town.”
“Helmite!” The woman shrieked with laughter. “Helmet-head’s more like it! If it’s those type yer lookin’ fer, ye’d best go to the Church of Blessed Deliverance. Ye’ll find all the Helmites ye want there!” Still laughing, she turned and walked away, leaving the goliath even more perplexed.

After procuring a suite at the Deluxury (for the exorbitant fee of one-hundred gold crowns a night…each!), Giovanni Vito, his bodyguard, and his concubine worked their way across town to the Red Blades Merchant Consortium. The building seemed like any other guildhall on the inside, with merchants ranging from street vendors to wealthy craftsmen mingling in a large common room. A young, bearded man wearing a fez cap sat behind a desk scribbling in a ledger.
“May I be of service?” he asked, looking up as Giovanni and his contingent entered.
“I am Giovanni Vito,” the warlock said, “of the Sembian Vitos. Perhaps you’ve heard of my family.”
The man shrugged, “The name sounds familiar.”
“Yes, well,” Giovanni continued, clearing his throat, “I am looking at some business ventures in Starmantle. Is your master available?”
The man snorted. “I’m afraid not. Mistress Mahuudril is rarely in attendance here.”
“I see,” the warlock said, looking pensive. “Do you expect her any time soon? I will only be in town for the week, until the prince’s gala.”
“Oh?” the scribe said, raising one eyebrow. “Then you should certainly run into the guildmistress there.”
“Ah,” said Giovanni. “You wouldn’t happen to know how one might go about procuring an invitation, would you?”
“You are planning on attending the gala, and you don’t have an invitation?” the man said, a bemused look on his face.
“Well, as I mentioned, I’ve only just arrived in town and heard news of the celebration,” Giovanni answered.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the scribe said, going back to his ledger, “and I wouldn’t count on running into Mahuudril while you’re here. She usually doesn’t involve herself in the more mundane aspects of our business.”
For a moment, Giovanni thought he detected a faint note of bitterness or resentment in the man’s tone.
“Can I have your name, sir?” the warlock asked politely.
“I am Trell, sergeant-at-arms for the guild,” he replied.
“A pleasure, Mr. Trell. Forgive me for being intrusive, but I could not help but notice that you don’t seem very fond or your mistress.”
Trell was silent for a moment, and then looked around for any nearby eavesdroppers.
“Look,” he said finally, “you seem a good sort, so I’ll give you a bit of advice. Take your business elsewhere. Starmantle is not the place for free and fair trade. Mahuudril has a monopoly on the merchant enterprise here, and she doesn’t share with anyone.”
“Nevertheless,” Giovanni said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “I am looking to expand my family’s interests into this market, and I will be in need of someone trustworthy who is not afraid to take a financial risk or two. Perhaps I could contact you again sometime Mr. Trell?”
Trell nodded cautiously.
“Excellent,” the warlock said, pulling his cloak around him. “If you happen to come across any leads on securing attendance at the gala, I will be staying at the Deluxury.” With that, he beckoned Hawk and Storm to follow, and they departed the guildhall.

‘Have you been to the church yet?’ Faust asked Grubber through the Mindlink he had erected among the group before they separated earlier in the day.
‘No,’ Grubber responded. ‘I thought I would contact the rest of you first.’
‘Wise move,’ the psion replied. ‘Havok, Drasek and I are closer. We will meet Grubber at this Church of Blessed Deliverance. We will stay in contact with you.’
‘I’m not sure I like this,’ the warlock said. ‘Just be careful.’
‘My middle name,’ Faust laughed.

The bitter irony of the church of “Blessed Deliverance” was not lost on Faust, Drasek and Grubber. The building was a blackened hulk, a monument to loss and ruin. Melted stained glass depictions of angels appeared to writhe in the black kiss of fire in the few walls that still stood. Those sagging, blackened ruins bore numerous signs which read, “Condemned by the Order and Ineffable Wisdom of Almighty Prince Embuirhan…Entry Prohibited!”

“I hate this city,” Drasek said in a soft, deadly voice.
“Do you want to take a look inside?” Faust asked.
“What would be the point?” Grubber answered.
“I want to go in,” said Drasek. “If nothing else, at least I can sanctify this place, so that some small beacon of light might shine in this hell hole.”
“Gather around me,” Faust said. “I don’t think we should make this too obvious. Don’t want to attract any ‘Blessed Angels.’”
Stepping into a nearby alley, the trio huddled together while Faust transdimensionally transported them inside the ruins.

The interior was just as blasted as the exterior. Nothing was intact, and rubble was piled head high. However, as Grubber poked around beneath one of these piles, he found a concealed trapdoor. Calling the others to him, he heaved on the lift-ring and hoisted the rusted door open. Underneath, a steep, circular stairwell led down into darkness.
“The crypt,” Drasek said, staring down.
“Do you hear that?” Grubber asked, whispering. From the darkness, a faint, low moan drifted up. Drasek looked at his companions, and then started down.

The crypt was a shambles. In places, the low ceiling sagged ominously. Bones were scattered in tangled heaps all over the floor, and the twelve tombs that surrounded the central chamber had been violated. The brick-lined crypt walls had been torn down, and narrow, claustrophobic tunnels had been dug through the stony earth.
“Those are not natural,” Grubber said, peering at the tunnels. “They were made by magic.”
At that moment, a piercing shriek filled the air. From behind a mound of rubble at the far end of the crypt, a creature shambled. It looked like a twisted, feral, gray-skinned man with large, jagged fingernails, sharp teeth, red eyes and festering skin. Its body seemed frail and emaciated, save for its belly, which was disturbingly round and full. The creature wore tattered remnants of once fine robes over a gleaming chain shirt. The robes bore the symbol of Helm.

“It’s some sort of ghoul,” Faust said quietly, “and yet, I sense an intelligent mind beneath. Peace!” the psion called out. “We too venerate the Watcher, and revile the Black Hand!”
The creature hissed and babbled, waving its hands in agitation.
“Let me try,” Drasek said, slowly approaching the ghoul, and brandishing Kelemvor’s symbol. “We mean you no harm,” he spoke in a soothing tone. “We are looking for a priest named Rhorsk. Do you know what has become of him?”
For an instant, Drasek swore that he saw a flicker of recognition in the creature’s eyes, but then its gaze fell upon his holy symbol, and a blind rage seemed to overtake it. Incredibly, it began a chanting incantation that was undeniably spellcasting. Rushing forward, Drasek swatted the ghouls gesticulating hands aside with the head of his maul. Hissing in anger, the creature retreated several steps, and began another spell. This time it was successful, and a baleful glow surrounded its clawed hand. Drasek recognized the spell as one that was capable of weakening servants of Law, such as himself. With a snarl, the ghoul darted forward, laying its limned hand on the inquisitor’s chest. Drasek felt a brief surge of dark energy pulse through his body, but it passed quickly, his faith in Kelemvor too strong to allow such a weak enchantment to affect him.

“Enough!” Faust commanded from the far side of the crypt, and at his shout, the ghoul went rigid.
“Kneel before the Hand of Kelemvor!” the psion intoned, and the creature’s knees folded beneath it as it dropped to the ground at Drasek’s feet.
“In the name of Kelemvor,” Drasek intoned, “I commend your eternal soul to his benevolent embrace!” With that, he brought his maul down upon the ghoul’s forehead, and it fell as if poleaxed, twitching once, then moving no more.

“Now what?” Faust asked as he moved to Drasek’s side.
“Now I will lay this tortured soul to his final rest,” the inquisitor replied, “but perhaps not permanently.” Reaching down, he wrenched one boney finger from the ghoul’s hand before stuffing its body into the extra-dimensional space of his magical bag.

The gravediggers at Starmantle’s Boneyard did not question the Kelemvorite priest when he commanded them to hastily dig an unmarked grave in a distant corner of the cemetery. Nor did they look back when he ordered them away once their task was completed. If the inquisitor was not intimidating enough, his companions, one a giant, the other a wretched creature that nonetheless carried death in his eyes, more than compensated.

Drasek laid the cursed priest’s remains in the grave, and then covered them with his own hands. After, he bowed his head and prayed to his god. “Lord of the Dead, please receive this tainted soul, and hear my beseechment on his behalf to judge him not on the events of his death, but instead on the deeds of his life.” Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and Drasek knew his prayer had been heard.

Midnight. The doors to Bane’s Cathedral were thrown wide, and dirge-like organ music spilled out onto the Toilway. Giovanni entered the narthex of the temple, followed closely Hawk and Storm. It was the warlock’s intention to bear witness to the Banite rites and glean what meaning from them he could. Surprisingly, the atmosphere inside the church seemed almost…normal. A young priest greeted them as they entered, welcoming them to the services, and escorting them to a pew about halfway down the chapel. The other pews were about three-quarters full, with townsfolk ranging from commoners to minor nobility. Prince Embuirhan was not in attendance. The mood of the congregation was somber.

A thin, balding man ascended the pulpit, and officially began the service. If Hawk was expecting blood rites and human sacrifices, he was disappointed. Though the dogma of Bane that was spewed forth in a tirade from the high priest’s mouth, and the dark hymns sung by those gathered galled the paladin, he felt as though he might be listening to any street preacher. The man inspired no spirituality in his flock. In fact, the civilar noted, many of the people did not even sing along with the hymns. They merely mouthed the words, glancing furtively at those around them. It was almost as if they were present simply because they were expected to be. The service ended as abruptly as it had begun, and the congregation filed out wordlessly. Though Giovanni seemed disappointed at the lack of drama, Hawk actually found himself slightly hopeful that the people of Starmantle were not entirely beyond redemption.

Dawn found the six companions gathered in the crypt of the Church of Blessed Deliverance. Faust had shuttled them inside unobserved in the gloom just before sunrise. Now they all stood in silence as Grubber placed the severed finger that Drasek had taken from the ghoul upon the floor. He then began to pray. “Grumbar, root of the earth, hear my prayer. Return this man from your embrace, for the change that was wrought upon his soul was unnatural, and such changes are to be shunned. Let him walk once more upon the rock and soil, so that he may help us to restore the status quo.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then the finger twitched. Before their eyes, it began to grow new flesh, then a new hand, arm and so on, until in a matter of moments, a whole man lie on the hard stones. He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a full beard. He opened ice-blue eyes and stared up at his saviors.
“I’m back,” he said breathlessly, sitting up and staring at his surroundings. Then, sorrow filled his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. “What have I done?” he sobbed.
Drasek draped a robe about the man, and gently pulled him to his feet.
“Whatever wrongs you have committed have been forgiven by Kelemvor, though atonement must still be made, and you must find your own peace with Helm. Are you Rhorsk?”
The priest nodded. “I am, and I owe all of you much, not the least of which is my apology.”
“Do not think on it,” the inquisitor said, shaking his head. “But there is a way you can repay your debt. We need information.”

And so Rhorsk began his tale, which began and ended twenty years ago. At that time, the church of Helm was strong in Starmantle, though the city itself had been under the ineffective rule of one petty lord after another, culminating in Embuirhan’s rise to power. The current prince gained popularity by putting down a heretical Banite cult, which had allied itself with worshippers of Myrkul and Bhaal. During this uprising, Helm’s church had been caught in the crossfire, and had been burned to the ground by so-called bandits, though Rhorsk had his own suspicions that Embuirhan himself had ordered it. Rhorsk had been trapped in the crypt during the fire, and had ultimately resorted to eating the remains of those interred in order to survive. Thus, he had damned his own soul. Eventually, starvation claimed him, and he rose the next night as one of the gravetouched…a ghoul. He had existed in that state, tunneling his way into the city’s sewers to feed on rats and such, until yesterday. Now, he had been reborn, given another chance to make amends. He told the League members that all of the Banite heretics had been captured and executed, but he himself had had a chance to interrogate some of them via Speaking with the Dead. He had discovered that they had been set upon their path by a mysterious contact known to them only as Mother Maggot. This person had given the cultists the worm-eaten undead they had used to cause so much trouble, and had apparently promised more support if they were successful in the crusade against Starmantle. Rhorsk never found out what Mother Maggot’s true goals where, but he did discover that the heretics met her in a subterranean room under a house in the southeast section of the city. He was able to tell the company exactly where to find this house.

“What about Balakarde?” Grubber asked.
“I do remember a strange man visited me here, though I can’t say when. He also asked about the Ebon Triad, and compelled me to give him the same information I have just given you.”
“Thank you Rhorsk,” Drasek said. “You have been a great help to us. Do you need our assistance in leaving the city?”
“No,” the priest said thoughtfully. “I think I’ll be staying awhile. There is still good in Starmantle. I can feel it. I may see what I can do to foster that faint light. If you need me, you can leave a message for me here.”
The League members thanked him again, and took their leave, with Rhorsk already setting to work reinterring the remains of his brethren.

Rhorsk’s directions were very precise, but the building located there hardly seemed like a likely site for an Ebon Triad stronghold. It was a single story wooden structure, which was badly in need of a paint job, and listed to one side. There was a single door and no windows. A sign nailed to the door proclaimed the establishment as “The Sinner’s Sanctum.”
“Ironic,” Drasek said as he mounted the porch and rapped on the door. Almost immediately, the door was snatched open, and an elderly woman with ragged hair and an almost feral look in her eyes glared out. She was dressed in rags, and stank as if she’d not bathed in some time. Her eyes snapped to the emblem on Drasek’s armor.
“We ain’t got no dead today, Father,” she said. “Yer lot’s already been by this week.”

Trying to be unobtrusive, Giovanni pulled a scroll from his case and began reading it. When he was done, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He could sense a hidden portal somewhere within the building.
“I’m not here to collect the dead,” Drasek said, not unkindly. “I’m actually new to town, and to the local church. Would you be so kind as to tell me the nature of your establishment?”
The woman looked at him quizzically for a moment. “This be a sick-house, Father,” she said finally. “I tend to the poor unfortunates that got no other resources.”
“Is that so?” Drasek said, intrigued. “Would you mind if we came in and had a look around?”
She peered cautiously at the inquisitor’s comrades, then shrugged. “Suit yerself, but don’t blame me if’n you come out with more than ye came in with.”

The bulk of the interior was taken up by a single, large room. The incense-laden air failed to cover the unmistakable stink of sickness. Twelve people lay on makeshift pallets throughout the area. Grubber went to the nearest one, a man of indeterminate age who burned with fever.
“These people are dying,” he told Drasek.
“Didn’t I tell ye so?” the old woman said. “But not to worry. Lord Embuirhan’s promised me elixirs to cure all their ailments, so he has.”
“Forgive me,” Drasek said, also kneeling by one of the patients, “but I’ve been discourteous. What is you name, dear lady? I am called Drasek.”
“Furtopia,” she said.
“Yes, well Miss Furtopia,” Drasek continued, “with all due respect, I do not believe these poor souls will live to see that day. My colleague and I, however, may be able to offer some immediate assistance.”
Furtopia looked wary, but reluctantly, she nodded. Grubber and Drasek each began to pray over their respective wards, and in a matter of moments, the ashen pallor had left the faces of the patients, and their breathing became more regular as they drifted into a peaceful sleep.
“Well I’ll be,” Furtopia said, amazed.
“We can help the rest as well,” Drasek said. “I give you my word, I’ll come by daily until they are all cured.”
“That’d be right kind of ya, Father,” Furtopia said, “but there’s always more sickness to come. Mark my words.”
“Of course,” Drasek said. “If I may beg your tolerance a moment longer, there is another reason I have come here.”
Furtopia looked at him questioningly.
“I have reason to believe,” Drasek continued, “that there is evil in this house, specifically, below it.”
“What??” Furtopia shouted. “I’ve never heard the like. There ain’t nothin’ underneath this house. I ain’t even got a proper cellar!”
“Begging your pardon, Madame,” Giovanni said, emerging from a back room where he had managed sneak off to, “but you are mistaken. Let me show you.”
Cautiously, Furtopia followed the warlock into the small pantry, where a trapdoor stood open. Iron rungs led down the shaft below into darkness. Furtopia looked genuinely shocked.
“That hole just feels wrong, dearies. None of old Furtopia’s business can be down there.”
“I agree,” Drasek said, “but our business does lie below. All I ask is that you inform no one of our presence. Should we not return by dawn tomorrow, please take this letter and leave it at the ruins of the Church of Blessed Deliverance.” He handed the old woman a folded piece of parchment. She took it with shaking hands, and nodded wordlessly.
“Time to go,” the inquisitor said to his comrades.

The shaft was deep, at least a hundred feet. Hawk, using one of his ubiquitous potions of flight, had scouted ahead of the rest. Now that he could see the bottom, he signaled back to them via the Mindlink, and then descended the rest of the way. No sooner had he reached the end of the tube, than he saw the rest of the group appear on the floor beneath him, courtesy of Faust’s Dimension Door.

The walls of the domed chamber beyond the shaft were made of red brick and lined with stone beams that arched up to a point directly overhead where the shaft led back up to the sickhouse. The iron ladder continued on from the ceiling to the floor. The chamber itself was empty, save for several rotting prayer mats strewn about. Each bore a simple black triangle, which Hawk identified as the symbol of the Ebon Triad. A five-foot wide hallway led east, and a large heap of tangled rope lay in its entrance. At that moment, two things happened simultaneously. The vest that Hawk wore beneath his armor began to tingle, while at the same time, the mass of rope began to writhe of its on accord, forming itself into a large, humanoid shape.
“It’s a golem!” Hawk shouted, intuitively warned by the magic vest.
Reacting instantly to Hawk’s warning, Havok loosed a spear of emerald energy at the creature, but in his haste, his aim was off, and stone chips fell from the ceiling where his blast struck. Grubber lunged forward, swinging his maul in a huge arc. Though the head of the hammer connected solidly with the rope-creature, there was too much give in the material for it to do much damage. Again, Hawk instinctively knew what the problem was. Most golems, being constructs rather than living beings, were innately resistant to harm from most weapons, even magical ones. However, another benefit of the vest that the civilar wore was that it allowed his own weapons to overcome those resistances. Hovering above the golem, he whirled his blade about him, slashing at the large hawsers which comprised its body, and cutting several of them in half.

Faust, by virtue of having to have been the central point around which the others had gathered for their little dimensional jaunt, was trapped among his colleagues, and well within reach of the rope-golem, a position he certainly did not relish. Morphing himself into a stone giant, as was his habit, he immediately manifested a current of fire at the construct, reasoning that its flammable form should burn quite easily. He was wrong. As soon as the beam struck the golem, it simply dissipated. Hawk could have told him that the construct was magic resistant as well.

Havok was aware of this fact, but he also knew that creatures or things that were Summoned by magic were able to bypass this property of golems. Thus, when he conjured up a forest of tentacles in the hall directly behind the creature, it was unable to escape their rubbery grasp.

While the construct struggled, Grubber and Drasek moved in, adding their blows to Hawks, though it was the civilar by far who wreaked the most havoc, and who ultimately brought the creature down.

“A guardian of some sort,” Drasek observed, once he was sure the construct was destroyed.
“A Hangman golem,” Faust said. “It would take a powerful wizard to create such a thing. If the Ebon Triad is able to employ such arcanists, we may be in for more than we can handle.”

Beyond the archway was a short hall with shallow alcoves on each side. As she passed by one of these, Storm reached down and picked up something that caught her eye. It was a desiccated green worm.
“At least we know we’re on the right path,” the sorceress said, unnecessarily.
At the end of the hall, a fifteen-foot wide pit yawned. The walls were lined with bricks and caked with mold and less-identifiable encrustations, and in the places where these growths weren’t too thick, strange figures and runes were visible carved into the bricks. Faust bent low to examine the runes, then stood with a puzzled look on his face.
“Unless I miss my guess,” the psion said, “these are Avolakia runes. They are some sort of intelligent worm with the capability to assume humanoid form. I can’t decipher the writing itself.”
“We’ll worry about it later,” Hawk said, “after we see what’s down shaft number two.”

Drasek, Faust and Storm quickly imbued themselves and Havok with the power of flight, leaving only Grubber. The goliath refused, choosing instead to imbibe a potion which gave him the power to scale walls like a spider. As the others disappeared down the well, Grubber began the slow descent behind them.

This time the shaft descended over three-hundred feet. It emptied through the ceiling of an immense chamber, its domed roof a full fifty feet over a black floor, worn smooth by the passage of countless creatures. Alcoves in the north and south walls held wretched statues of worm-like monsters coiled around pillars of skulls and bones. A single object occupied the room’s eastern half…a huge statue with three heads. One was bestial, while the other two were skull-like, one of them cowled. It had six arms, three ending in black-taloned hands, while the other three had skeletal appendages. It towered thirty feet in height, and seemed to be made of some strange stone that looked almost like leather in places, and the eyes in its bestial visage seemed wet, soft and almost alive. Hawk and Storm immediately recognized the statue as a much larger representation of the Ebon Aspect they had fought in the mines beneath Daggerford. That creature had combined features of Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul, as did this statue, only, it became readily apparent when the thing began to move, that it was not a statue at all.

The thing’s speed belied its bulk, and it closed the intervening distance rapidly. With one great claw, it ripped at Faust, just managing to reach the psion’s leg and tearing a large hunk out of his calf. Then, its brow furrowed, and a glowing, black morningstar appeared out of thin air next to Havok. Luckily, the warlock had thought to create several illusory images of himself before he descended the shaft, and it was one of these that the morningstar struck, shattering it as if it were made of glass.

Drasek could see that Faust was in trouble. Worse, Storm was within striking distance as well. Neither the psion nor the sorceress would last long against the behemoth, so the inquisitor made a snap decision. Diving down, he closed with the beast, intending to interpose himself between it and his less hardy allies. As he came, the Ebon Aspect struck at him, the jaws of its beast head snapping shut on one ankle. Drasek could feel the bones snap. Still, he did not hesitate, swinging his maul into the side of the brute’s face.

Havok felt safe, at least for the moment. He still had several images between himself and the spiritual weapon. Taking careful aim, he let loose his most powerful manifestation of his eldritch power, the beam tearing into the Ebon Aspect’s chest, causing the huge beast to stumble back a step. Faust and Storm were not feeling so lucky. Both retreated into the relative safety of the shaft, but not before Storm attempted a trick she had learned from the worm nagas of Kuluth-Mar…a Feeblemind spell. Unfortunately, not only did the spell fail to have its desired effect, but it seemed to actually heal some of the damage done by Havok. She would not soon be trying that again.

Hawk moved quickly to Drasek’s side, again trying to buy some time for the artillerists. As he drew near the creature, however, he saw an abrupt change come over it. All six of its eyes began to glow red, and foam slavered from the jaws of its central head. Many of its wounds began to knit at an alarming rate, and it roared at the ceiling, shaking loose bits of stone and dust. With blinding speed, it struck, yet it seemed to Hawk as it everything slowed to a crawl. First one claw, then another, and another tore into Drasek, each blow making great rents in the inquisitor’s armor, and in the flesh beneath. Blood flew in all directions like a geyser, and Drasek screamed, yet that cry was cut short a moment later as the Ebon Aspect’s jaws clamped around his neck, and tore out his throat. In disbelief, Hawk watched his friend fall to the floor, fifty feet below, where he lay still in an ever-growing pool of his own blood. Before the civilar could react, one of those platter-sized paws hammered into him, batting his shield aside as if it were nothing. He could see his own death coming in those crimson eyes.

Havok was just as stunned as Hawk at what had just occurred, but he had his own problems. The ebony Morningstar destroyed two more of his images, and then struck him twice. The warlock knew his own limitations, and hand-to-hand combat was one of them. Still, he couldn’t just leave Hawk to die. Concentrating, he unleashed back-to-back eldritch blasts, both infused with all the power he could muster. Each one struck the Ebon Aspect, opening horrible wounds in its hide, yet it still stood. That was it. Havok knew he had to get away from the disembodied weapon, or he would be no better off than Drasek. Quickly, he soared up into the shaft, but was amazed to see Storm and Faust passing him on their way back down.

The psion and the drow knew they might very well be going to their deaths, but it was a risk they were more than willing to take. Hawk and Drasek had certainly risked their own lives countless times before, and now Drasek had paid with his. Together, the psion and the sorceress attacked. Storm hurled a sizzling orb of lightning at the same time that Faust manifested a current of electricity. Both struck the Ebon Aspect unerringly, and like a mighty oak being felled, it collapsed to the floor.

Drasek was dead, and by the time Grubber reached the bottom of the well, it was far too late to help the inquisitor. The League would morn their friend in time, but for the moment, they were going to see if his sacrifice was worth the price. After conducting a thorough search of the chamber, they discovered a hollow wall, behind which was a small fortune in coins, gems, and magical items. Apparently some sort of emergency fund for the Ebon Triad.

Giovanni used another of his many scrolls to allow himself to read the tortuous writings of the Avolakia. They were monstrously vile prayers to Kyuss. A recurring theme in them was the mention of a ceremony known as The Ravenous Awakening, during which huge numbers of undead were animated and then led like cattle into vast banquet halls where they would present themselves to the feasters for consumption. The writings also revealed that, though the Avolakia worshipped Kyuss above all things, they seemed to believe his power was waning. The passages suggested that Kyuss was trapped in some form of large, stone monolith. They said that he had managed to partially escape his prison once, fifteen-hundred years earlier, but he was unable to maintain his freedom for longer than a few short months before the defeat of his armies by a force referred to only as the Enemy, which also forced Kyuss back into his monolithic prison. More obscure mentions in the writings included reference to a location called M’theskuss, the Writhing Tabernacle, which the Avolakias seemed to hold as the most holy site of Kyuss. Mention was also made of their great ally, and the Voice of Kyuss, the Consort of the Five-Faced One, the eternal dragon Dragotha.

All of this Giovanni related to his remaining companions before they gathered Drasek’s remains and returned to the sickhouse. Back in the pantry, Grubber created a small, iron seal over the hole, preventing anyone from returning that way again. Furtopia was horror-stricken when she saw Drasek’s body.
“By the Gods,” she whispered.
“Do not fear,” Grubber said, “I will keep his promise to you, and tend your charges. The evil below has been cleansed. It will not trouble you again.”

Concealing Drasek’s remains within their bag of holding, the group made their way once more to the Church of Blessed Deliverance, and into the crypt below. There they found Rhorsk, still busy with his clean up. They quickly explained what they had found and what had befallen Drasek. The priest of Helm nodded in understanding.
“He made his wishes clear,” Grubber said in conclusion. “If he were to die, he knew that it was his time. He wanted to remain with Kelemvor. We have no way to give him the proper rites in a city such as this, and we dare not turn him over to his brethren at the Scarlet Spire.”
“Leave it to me,” Rhorsk said quietly, “I will lay him to rest with all the honor that he deserves. This place has been consecrated once again. He will lie with others who have martyred themselves before him, and he will know peace.”

I’VE GOT A GOLDEN TICKET

The following morning found the League members once more going their separate ways. In the wake of Drasek’s death, Grubber was even more determined to fulfill his promise to Furtopia. The old healer welcomed him, telling him there was much work to be done. Entering the sickhouse, the goliath was disheartened to see that those who had been healed the day before had been replaced by more of the afflicted. Grubber sighed, rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

Giovanni and his entourage crossed the lobby of the Deluxury, intending to make another trip to the merchant’s guild when the desk clerk hailed them.
“I have two messages for you, my lord,” the man said, passing the warlock one neatly rolled and tied piece of parchment, and one crudely folded sheet. Giovanni read the rolled message first:

Lord Vito,
As you requested, I am contacting you to inform you of some news that has come to my attention. It would seem that several foreign dignitaries who were invited to the Prince’s gala will not be attending. It would be a significant loss of face for the Prince should his party not be fully rounded out. It is my understanding that the extra invitations are now in the possession of Armhin Loratio, the proprietor of the Deluxury, and that he has been instructed to find people of suitable quality to give them to. I hope this will be of help to you, and that you will remember who your friends are.

Trell.

The second message was significantly less articulate:

Be at the Ogre’s Hideout at sunset. News from Malchor.

Hawk and Storm read the missives over Giovanni’s shoulder, and the civilar raised an eyebrow at the conclusion of the latter. Giovanni glanced up to see the clerk looking at him expectantly. The warlock cleared his throat.
“Is Mister Loratio in?” he asked.
“I believe he is, my Lord,” the clerk replied.
“Would you be so good as to inform him that Lord Giovanni Vito requests a brief meeting with him?” As he spoke, he slid a platinum coin surreptitiously across the counter.
“Certainly, my Lord,” the clerk said smiling, as he made the coin vanish as if by magic. He disappeared into a back room, returning a few moments later, still smiling.
“Mister Loratio awaits your pleasure.”
Giovanni instructed Hawk and Storm to wait for him, and then followed the clerk into the rear office.

Armhin Loratio was a jolly-looking fellow, but his eyes bespoke a shrewd and cunning mind beneath the façade. He did not rise as Giovanni entered, but instead motioned for the warlock to be seated, and then dismissed the clerk.
“How may I be of service, Lord Vito?” the hotelier asked without preamble.
“As you may know,” Giovanni began, “I am from Sembia, seeking to establish some business contacts here in Starmantle. I have, of course heard of the coming gala, and those who are expected to be in attendance. It would present a wonderful opportunity for me to network with those in position to facilitate my venture. I have, ah…heard that you might be the man to see if one were to be looking to procure an invitation to this fete.”
Loratio looked at him, unblinking, for a full thirty seconds before answering.
“Assuming what you have heard is true, the Prince prides himself on the quality of those he chooses to surround himself with. I would insist on personally interviewing everyone in your retinue.”
“Of course,” Giovanni replied. “I think you will find them a…colorful group. I can have them assembled by this evening.”
“Very well,” Loratio said, rising and opening the door, “then I shall look forward to our meeting tonight.”

Faust materialized within a nimbus of blue light inside the catacombs beneath the Church of Blessed Deliverance. Rhorsk did not seem surprised to see him.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” the priest said. “I have already laid your comrade to rest.” He pointed to one of the newly sealed tombs, now inscribed with the symbol of Kelemvor.
“I have news,” Rhorsk continued.
Faust nodded, “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I would think you were a psion yourself. It’s like you read my mind.”
“It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what information you would find useful,” the priest chuckled. “It’s amazing what one can hear when one lurks in the sewers right beneath the feet of those above. Rumor has it that the remnants of the Ebon Triad in Starmantle had allied themselves with a dragon of late. However, I have also heard that same dragon was recently slain somewhere on the Sword Coast, but that its lair might be found somewhere beneath the Traitor’s Graves.”
“Traitor’s Graves?” Faust asked.
“It’s a small island in the river where the Prince disposes of dissidents.”
“I see,” Faust said. “I don’t suppose you know what color this dragon was?”
“Black,” said Rhorsk.

Later that afternoon, the team regrouped on the patio outside the Deluxury and exchanged the information that they had uncovered.
“It’s almost sunset now,” Giovanni said. “I suppose we should get over to the Ogre’s Hideout and see what Malchor sent us.”

“Not you lot again!” Frill Beskered moaned when he saw Giovanni and his friends enter the taproom. “I told you once already, I ain’t looking for trouble!”
“And we don’t intend to bring you any,” Giovanni said placatingly. “We just want to know if anyone new has checked in within the past two days.”
“Yeah, him!” Frill said jerking a thumb towards a table in the corner. The group looked in that direction, but all they could see was a table stacked with ale steins. They walked curiously over, and Giovanni cleared his throat.
“Did you leave a message at the Deluxury for Giovanni Vito?”
“Who’s askin’?” came a gruff voice from the other side of the mugs.
“I am Lord Vito.”
“Lord is it?” scoffed the disembodied voice. “Way I heard it, yer family booted ya out. Ain’t lord of nothin’ no more.”
“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Giovanni asked coolly.
“You can call me Pavel.” A meaty hand casually swept the steins to the floor, revealing a scowling dwarf seated on the other side. His frizzy black hair stood up in all directions, like a crazed corona around his head. His beard was haphazardly bound in three braids. He wore well-made, but battered armor, and two large axes were strapped to his back.
“I was sent by Harpell. He thought you lads…and lady, might need an extra hand.”
“Perhaps,” Hawk said, stepping forward, “but it might help us to know something about your credentials.”
In an eye blink, both axes were out and embedded in the stained wood of the table.
“This is all the credentials I got!” Pavel bellowed, drawing the attention of several hobgoblins nearby.
“Yes, well, we typically have a six month trial membership period,” Faust smiled.
“I don’t work fer you, ugly,” the dwarf sneered. “I’m on Harpell’s payroll. He says help ya, and the price is right, so I’m here ta help, like it or not.”
“I see,” Hawk said. “Well, as it just so happens, we were just on our way to a little rendezvous that might be right up your alley.”

A low, sodden hummock of mud and rocky soil rose only a few feet above the dark brown waters of the slowly flowing river. Here and there, tangled patches of wiry undergrowth grew, interspersed with muddy pools of water. Wooden frames in the shape of a Y protruded from the island in several places, and on some of them still hung the rotting bodies of traitors executed for heinous crimes. A startling number of crows perched on these frames or hopped along the ground, where they hunted for bugs and worms.

The League members slogged through the shallow waters of the river, which were only knee-deep at low tide, to the island, such as it was. Clouds of mosquitoes filled the air, buzzing and biting constantly. No sooner had the last member of the group set foot on the island, than the waters around it began to boil and froth. Six black-scaled dragons, roughly the size of small horses, with eyes that smoked with green vapor, crawled from the river, surrounding the party on all sides. The group tensed, readying themselves for battle, but then one of the dragons spoke in its native, hissing tongue. Only Faust was able to understand the creature.
“We have need of you,” the dragon said. “Our lair has been invaded by a tremendous creature. It exceeds us. You will slay this invader for us, and we shall reward you handsomely.”
“Um…is it the dragon Ilthane that you speak of?” Faust answered hesitantly in the wyrm’s language.
The young dragon’s eyes darted towards its siblings and back. “We do not know she of whom you speak.”
“I see,” Faust said, though he had not mentioned Ilthane’s gender. “What does this creature look like?”
“It has the shape of our kind,” the dragon hissed, “yet much larger, and it has three heads made of bone.”
Faust could not imagine what such a creature might be. “My companions do not understand you,” he said, buying time. “I must translate your words for them.” The dragon nodded, its eyes narrowing. The psion quickly summarized its offer for his comrades.
“They actually expect us to work with them?” Hawk said incredulously. “Tell them absolutely not! We have had our share of deals with devils!”
“I agree whole-heartedly,” Faust said. “Prepare yourselves while I tell them we decline their offer.”
Turning back to the dragon, Faust smiled. “My friends say they would be happy to assist you, but you must first give us a moment to prepare for the coming battle.”
The dragon eyed the élan suspiciously, and then nodded again, slowly. “Be hasty.”
Faust turned again to his friends, “They’re not taking it well. Since black dragons breathe acid, I think it would be wise to protect ourselves, don’t you Grubber?”
The goliath looked momentarily confused, and then understanding dawned on him. He spoke a prayer, conveying a minor miracle upon all of his team mates that would render them somewhat impervious to the effects of caustics.
“Good,” Faust said. “Hawk, I don’t think they’re going to take no for an answer. I suggest we strike…now!”

Havok didn’t hesitate. A sizzling blast of eldritch energy leaped from his hand to the three nearest dragons, in a noxious chain. The young dragons writhed in agony, and one began retching violently. Quicker than thought, the warlock unleashed a second blast, this one striking only one of the beasts this time, but leaving it quivering and near death.

Right on the heels of Havok’s attack, Grubber raised one fist into the air, calling on Grumbar to rain a Storm of Shards down upon all of the dragons. Havok’s first victim collapsed, while the eyes of the sickened wyrm suddenly lost their emerald glow as the creature was blinded by Grumbar’s holy power. Wailing pitifully, the wretched dragon slithered back into the river.

The four remaining dragons, two on each side of the League, simultaneously stretched their maws and breathed forth streams of hissing acid, catching the entire group in a deadly crossfire. When the steam from the fluid abated, not a mark shown on any of the heroes, Grubber’s magic having afforded them complete protection.

Lowering his shield, Hawk lunged forward, running the nearest dragon through with his family blade. A stunning jolt of energy surged through the blade, leaving the young wyrm twitching uncontrollably.

Taking a page from Havok’s book of tricks, Storm twined her hands above her head, generating a turbine of electricity there before hurling it at the two dragons nearest her. The bolt arced between the pair, killing one instantly.

Faust was feeling cocky. His companions seemed to be having no trouble dealing with the dragons, and the psion saw no point in wasting his precious mental energies. Concentrating, he morphed himself into his now-familiar stone giant form and lumbered towards one of the dragons. The dragon crouched as he approached, and when he tried to sweep the beast into a bear-hug, it fought like a cat, hissing and scratching before wriggling out of his arms.
“Having trouble, eh?” Pavel laughed, stomping on the retreating dragon’s tail and then burying one of his axes in its haunch. The creature wailed and squirmed even harder to escape.

“Seems like you’re both having some trouble,” Havok laughed, before sending another chain of stinking energy into both the dragon attempting to escape, and its helpless sibling cowering before Hawk. Now, that creature also began vomiting continuously.
“There is no honor in this,” Hawk said with a scowl as he brought his blade down upon the pitiful thing in front of him, putting an end to its suffering.

It was only a matter of time before the remaining pair of dragons fell before the combined onslaught of the League.
“I hope that was just the appetizer,” Pavel bellowed, “’cause I’m still hungry!”
“You heard what the dragons said,” Giovanni reminded him. “It would seem something else has taken up residence in Ilthane’s lair. The problem is, we just killed our only sources for finding it.”
“Not quite,” Faust replied. “Black dragons typically lair in underground or underwater caves. Since the young ones came up on land, we can assume the entrance is here on the island somewhere. I’ll just have a look around.” Morphing again, the psion assumed the form of a large, beetle-like creature…an umberhulk, and then promptly burrowed into the soggy ground.

A short time later, he reemerged and resumed his giant habitus.
“There’s a shaft leading straight down just over there,” he indicated a nondescript patch of earth in the center of the island. “There appears to be some sort of cave below it.”
“Let’s not waste time then,” Giovanni said. “Everyone join hands.” The group gathered around him, all except Faust, who in his current incarnation would have to provide his own means of transportation, being too large for the warlock to accommodate. In a flash of light, they vanished.

The earthen-walled cavern reeked of sharp, bitter chemicals strong enough to water the eyes and steal the breath. The walls were a tangled mess of roots, mud and stone. Water dripped constantly from them, gathering in puddles on the floor and collecting in a fuming pool to the east. North of the cavern entrance, four large, glass canisters once stood, now shattered with their contents washed away. To the northeast, a ledge was heaped with smashed containers, crates, and other unrecognizable ruins. To the east, a second ledge was similarly cluttered, only this time with alchemical equipment and large, ruined tables of stone and wood.

Havok scanned the room quickly, his fiend-touched eyes showing him nothing concealed by invisibility within his line of sight. Cautiously, Faust approached the pool, allowing his Touchsight to peer beneath its calm surface. Nothing lay there save more debris and a few skulls. Suddenly, the still pool began to churn violently, sliding up onto itself and quickly filling out into the form of a lumbering, draconic beast. The thing’s body was semi-translucent and gelatinous, with streamers of acid dripping from its flanks to sizzle on the ground. Some of these strands writhed and cracked like whips. Its long neck ended in a disturbing tangle of skulls, some human, some draconic, and some something in between.

Before Faust could react, the skulls screamed simultaneously, and as they did so, a great gout of yellow-green acid spewed forth, drenching the psion from head-to-toe. Though Grubber’s spell still protected him, Faust still felt a few sharp stings on his flesh, and he knew that had it not been for that protection, he might well be dead.

Havok had conserved most of his strength for this moment, and now he held nothing back, hurling back-to-back surges of his most powerful blasts. Both passed harmlessly through the creature. On the heels of this came a fiery burst from Storm, which proved equally ineffective. Both arcanists stared at each other, mouths hanging open.

“Maybe steel’ll do where magic can’t,” Pavel snarled, and he charged forward, Hawk right behind him. The dwarf reached the creature first, slashing one of his axes furiously across its long neck…and standing dumbfounded as the weapon cleaved nothing but air. Hawk took a different tact, and aimed his blow at one of the undulating skulls. His blade connected solidly, and a large crack appeared in the bone, but almost immediately it began to knit itself back together.

“Just hold it there!” Faust shouted at the warriors as he stepped back from the edge of the caustic pool. Concentrating, he manifested a writhing current of fire from the center of his brow, sending it like a whip at the monster. This too passed through the beast as if it were non-existent. The psion was beginning to believe that no magic of any sort could touch it. Another failed salvo from Havok and Storm only reaffirmed this belief. Even Hawk’s blade failed to connect a second time.

It was Grubber who stumbled upon the key. Taking a chance, and mainly trying to buy his friends some time, he chanted a prayer, creating a whirling wall of blades that cut directly through the space in which the abomination stood. To his, and everyone’s amazement, the blades actually seemed to harm the beast. It screamed in an unearthly shriek, and backed quickly out of the biting wall, placing it between itself and its attackers. Then Grubber understood. The blades were made of pure force, an energy which could harm even intangible beings such as ghosts and wraiths. Perhaps this creature was similar in nature. “Force!” he cried to his spell-casting comrades. “Use force effects!”

Unfortunately, Faust had no such options available to him, but he did understand the nature of incorporeality, and knew that such creatures tended to shift rapidly between their solid and intangible forms. He could still get lucky and strike the creature with his energy current when it was momentarily solid. Focusing his will, he lashed out again, and this time the flaming whip actually burned the beast, causing it to wail louder. At that moment, however, it breathed its searing breath again, catching Pavel and Hawk, as well as the psion. Though Grubber’s spell again deflected the bulk of the effect from Faust, Pavel and Hawk did not possess the toughened flesh of a stone giant, and Faust could see their skin blister and crisp under the assault. Yet the warriors did not falter. Striking through the intervening wall of blades, Pavel managed to connect twice with his twin blades, though Hawk could not duplicate his earlier effort.

Havok and Storm both shrugged at Grubber, unable to generate the type of magic that was required. The goliath knew that it was solely up to him. As the creature breathed a third time upon the warriors and Faust, Grubber called upon Grumbar one final time, calling down a hammer-blow of righteous power. The concussive force struck the horror at the base of its neck, severing it from its amorphous body. In an instant, the beast’s entire form collapsed back into the pool.

A thorough search of Ilthane’s lair turned up thousands of corroded and useless coins and pieces of jewelry. Storm identified most of the smashed equipment as belonging to a very sophisticated alchemical lab. Apparently, some catastrophe had destroyed the lab and possibly caused a mixing of the chemicals within it that created the abomination. Alas, they would never know, since Ilthane had taken her secrets with her to her grave.

The League made their way back to the Deluxury, where Giovanni arranged for baths and new clothes to be provided for his cohorts before their meeting with Armhin Loratio. When the appointed hour arrived, the group went to the proprietor’s office, and were escorted directly in.
“Well, well,” the innkeeper said, pacing slowly in front of the motley crew. “You were certainly telling the truth, Lord Vito, when you described your associates as ‘colorful.’ However, as I mentioned to you before, the Prince expects a certain caliber of guest from me. So why don’t we start with you. Tell me something of your past accomplishments and your future goals.”
Giovanni nodded. “I understand perfectly. Well, I should start by mentioning that several of my teammates and I were very recently the winners of the Waterdeep Champion’s Games. We also were instrumental in ridding the town of Daggerford of a certain dragon that was plaguing it.”
“Intriguing,” Loratio said, still pacing. “So where will you go from here?”
Giovanni smiled, “My goals are simple. I intend to save the world…whether it wants to be saved or not.”
“Bravo,” Loratio grinned, “and what of you my large friend?” He stopped in front of Grubber. “What do they call you?”
“I am Grubber,” the goliath replied, bowing. “I am a traveling priest of Grumbar, the Earth Lord. I do not claim valorous titles or honor for myself. I seek merely to spread the word of the Unchanging One in a troubled world. My Lord has bestowed upon me certain talents, and with these I minister to the ill and infirm, both physically and spiritually.”
“I see,” Loratio said, rather dryly. “Just be sure that your god’s goals do not cross purposes with the Black Hand.” He moved on to Hawk. “What’s your story?”
“I serve Lord Vito,” the civilar said. “I have seen to his safety and protection on more than one occasion. I also acquitted myself respectably at the Champion’s Games.” He hooked his thumbs in the ornate Champions Belt around his waist. “As for my personal goals…I think I’d like to own my own continent some day.” He smiled and winked.
The proprietor looked puzzled for a moment, then laughed as if sharing a secret joke. He moved to stand before Faust.
“My but you’re an interesting looking creature,” he said, barely masking his disgust at the élan’s appearance, and smell.
“I’ve been called worse,” the psion said, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m Faust, but you can call me Holocaust. I am an élan, and I have lived for more than four-hundred years. To list all of my accomplishments over that time period would take your lifetime. Suffice it to say that I can spin a tale or two. I’ve seen the rise and fall of many of the Great, and I intend to witness many more.”
Once again Loratio smiled knowingly before turning his attention to Pavel. “You look like a feisty one.”
“Ye bet yer arse!” the dwarf snarled. “Pavel’s the name, and killin’s my game. My only goal is to stay alive long enough to kill everyone’o me backstabbin’ kin that banished me from me clan.”
“The Prince will simply love you,” Loratio drawled. Finally, he moved to Storm, letting his eyes roam slowly over her body. “And what do you do, my lovely?”
Storm lowered her eyes demurely. “Lord Vito’s pleasure is my command,” she said quietly.
“Of course it is,” Loratio leered. “I’m sure you will strike the Prince’s fancy as well.”

Finally, the innkeeper moved back to lean against his desk, eyeing them all critically. He sighed deeply, and motioned to Hawk. “You. Come with me for a moment. I’d like a word in private.” Hawk looked questioningly at Giovanni. The warlock nodded and the civilar followed Loratio to a smaller inner office.
“Let me be frank,” the proprietor began, “I can tell that there’s more to you than meets the eye, but I’ll not pry into your business. Suffice it to say that you are truly the only one of your band that I think will really fit in with the Prince’s crowd. Now, I will provide you with invitations for all of your colleagues, but let me be clear that their behavior is on your shoulders. If they cause any problems, you will be the one to pay the price. Are we clear?”
Hawk nodded, “Crystal.”
“Good.” Loratio said, and then retrieved a strongbox from a cabinet and unlocked it. He withdrew six rolled pieces of parchment tied with silk, and presented them to the civilar. Hawk took one of them and unrolled it:

TWENTY YEARS OF JOY

You are hereby and cordially invited to attend and behold the wonder and beauty of our magnificent ruler on this, the twentieth anniversary of his liberation of our fair city!

Your carriage awaits two hours before sundown on the eve of this magnificent event.
______________________
Scheduled Course of Events

Gathering in the Vertiginous Terrace
______________________
The Harlequinade Mortificatio…Premiere!
______________________
Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians
______________________
Lively Sports and Baiting…Win The Golden Egg!
______________________
Bowling the Devious Heads…Win The Silver Skull!
______________________
Five Course Feast
______________________
Song! Dance! Braggery! (as time permits)

‘Perfect,’ Hawk said dryly through the Mindlink he shared with the others.

The next morning found Faust and Pavel seated at a table in the taproom of the Ogre’s Hideout. Faust wouldn’t exactly be welcomed at the Scarlet Spire without Drasek, and the pretence of the Deluxury didn’t suit him, so he and Grubber had taken up temporary residence in the dorm-like common room of the inn. Pavel has just finished his sixth pint of ale, and was beginning yet another story of his time in the Underdark and raiding Menzoberranzan when a shadow fell across the table. Standing over them was a large hobgoblin clad in a breastplate, with a large shield and a bastard sword strapped across his back. A raven perched on one shoulder. Behind him stood a surprisingly clean, smaller hobgoblin wearing robes.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” the larger hobgoblin said in a cultured voice. “I am B’kruss, commander of the Knights of Nelanther.”
“So what?” Pavel growled. “Ya want a medal or somethin’?”
“Charming,” said B’kruss. “I merely wanted to introduce myself to fellow guests at Prince Embuirhan’s Gala. Word spreads fast, though I must confess, I though that I knew all of the invited guests. Imagine my surprise when I heard there would unexpected arrivals.”
“World’s full’o surprises,” Pavel sneered. “Best get used to it.”
“Tell me,” B’kruss continued, ignoring the dwarf, “from where do you hail?”
“All over,” Pavel snapped.
“Waterdeep,” said Faust.
“Ah,” said B’kruss, “a city supposedly renowned for its culture and nobility. Surely the two of you must be from some notable House there?”
“Not at all,” Faust said. “We are merely guests of more well-connected friends. Guilty by association, if you will.”
B’kruss frowned. “I see. So you are nothing more than coattail hangers. I thought as much. Your benefactor probably paid for invitations on the black market.”
“Are ya tryin’ to piss me off, ya overgrown kobold?” Pavel said in a low, dangerous voice. “’Cause if ya are, ye’re doin’ a fine job of it.”
“How typical,” B’kruss drawled. “Threats of violence. The final recourse of the weak-minded. Among my people we settle our differences in more…refined ways.”
“Like what?” Pavel barked. “Buggerin’ each other’s mothers?”
B’kruss’ eyes narrowed dangerously. “I would watch your tongue, dwarf, before you find yourself deprived of it.”
“I’m shakin’ big boy!” Pavel roared, leaping to his feet. “Now, if it’s a fight yer lookin’ for, just name the time and place!”
B’kruss visibly regained control of his emotions. “I will meet your challenge, but I will not shed your blood. I hereby invite you to pit your skills against mine in the Mindless Courage of the Dreadful Mauling!”

At least a hundred hobgoblins were gathered around the corral behind the inn, elbowing and shoving for position. Faust was barely able to keep his spot perched atop a fence rail. B’kruss and Pavel stood in the middle of the enclosure, both weaponless, but still in their mail.
“The rules are simple, even for one such as yourself,” B’kruss said to the dwarf, though his voice was pitched so that all could hear. Whichever of us can wrestle and pin Gristlegape in the shortest period of time shall be declared the winner.
“Gristlegape?” Pavel asked skeptically.
“V’juss, if you would do the honors!” B’kruss called to his smaller companion. The robed hobgoblin walked inside the stable, and returned a moment later leading a monstrous boar, fully as large as a horse, with bony spines protruding from its coarse hide.
“I will go first,” B’kruss said, “but fair warning dwarf…if you harm Gristlegape, you forfeit the match.” Pavel shrugged and retreated to the edge of the corral.

The boar squealed as V’juss released it, and rushed madly around the ring, churning up dust and dirt in a large cloud. As it passed close to B’kruss, the hobgoblin lunged, locking his arms around the pig’s mid-section. Gristlegape squealed louder, and threw its head back, trying to gore the hobgoblin. B’kruss managed to evade the razor-sharp tusks, and then with a grunt of effort, he threw himself to the ground, bringing the boar with him. Gristlegape bucked and squirmed, kicking its feet and flinging its head in all directions, but still the hobgoblin held on.
“Time!” V’juss called, and the assembled crowed roared their approval. B’kruss had managed to pin the boar in just under thirty seconds.

When B’kruss released Gristlegape, the boar once again began charging around the circle, rushing at many of those hobgoblins nearest the fence. Pavel moved cautiously towards the center of the ring, waiting for just the right moment. Finally, the pig noticed him, lowered its head and charged. The dwarf stepped aside at the last possible moment and seized the boar around the neck as it passed. Pavel dug his heels into the ground for traction, trying to stop Gristlegape’s momentum.

Unnoticed among the crowd, Faust’s brow furrowed slightly. In that moment, an invisible, whip-like tendril of pure psychic energy lashed out towards the boar, penetrating its feeble mind. The effect was immediate. All of the rage drained out of Gristlegape, replaced by a feeling of fear and hopelessness that its puny mind could not comprehend. Its psyche collapsed in on itself, and the boar curled itself into a fetal position. Pavel felt the pig go limp, but remembering B’kruss’ warning, he continued to wrestle with it, tossing it this way and that to maintain the appearance that it still struggled.
“Time!” V’juss shouted again, and Pavel released his hold, the unconscious boar sliding to the ground. B’kruss rushed over immediately and knelt beside his mount. “You killed him!” the hobgoblin shouted.
“Bah!” Pavel snapped. “He’s just asleep. Patented dwarven wrestlin’ move. He’ll come around in a few minutes. What’s the word baldy?” he shouted at V’juss.
“Twenty-four seconds,” the hobgoblin said quietly. Stunned silence and gasps of disbelief came from the crowd.
“I guess that makes me the winner,” Pavel said, standing over B’kruss. The large hobgoblin stood slowly and glared at the dwarf for a moment before turning on his heel and stalking away.

EVERYONE WHO’S ANYONE

At dawn on the seventh day of the League’s visit to Starmantle, the members were wakened by a tremendous din. Trumpets sounded across the city, every drum, horn and bell in every place of worship called out to announce that the Day of Great Rejoicing had arrived. The streets thronged with happy, smiling faces, the locals cheered and rejoiced, babies were held aloft and patriotic songs about the divine mercy of Embuirhan were sung at every corner.

As the day wore on, the group made their preparations for the evening’s festivities. Hawk and Havok both donned noble raiment, with their armor worn beneath. Hawk even deigned to leave his ancestral weapon in one of the vaults in the Deluxury, but his shield he tucked inside a magical glove he had purchased for just that purpose. As for Havok, he was not altogether unarmed either. The warlock had managed to procure a small, flesh-colored pouch that molded itself perfectly to the skin of his abdomen. Inside, he secreted several of his more useful wands and scrolls. Storm, still using her dweomered headpiece to appear as a beautiful elf maid, purchased a glamorous dress cut to flatter her own natural assets.

For his part, Faust didn’t bother dressing up. Despite his four-hundred plus years in existence, he still did not understand mortal propensities for outward accoutrements. He simply put on his usual non-descript clothing, and the various magical baubles he wore as jewelry. At the other extreme was Pavel. The dwarf polished his armor as best he could, and then purchased a royal ensemble, complete with a flowing, ermine-trimmed purple robe and a gold circlet. This contrasted with his personal hygiene, which amounted to picking most of the food out of his beard, and slicking his hair down with bacon grease. Reluctantly, he stowed his axes in a locked trunk.

Grubber spent the day working with Furtopia, practically until the time the royal carriage was to pick him up for the gala. The pair had discovered that much of the disease being spread among the shanties was the result of both rat and mosquito vectors. The priest was determined to come up with a solution. He too did not bother with finery, instead donning his armor and his simple holy symbol, though he also left his weapon at the Ogre’s Hideout.

Two hours before sunset, the carriage, almost shocking in its decadence, arrived at the Ogre’s Hideout. The vehicle was gold-plated, and of incredible size. Its interior was sumptuous, with leather seats padded with down and gold lanterns burning pleasantly-scented oil. A tray contained several crystal decanters of wine and silver salvers of sweet-meats. It was pulled by four trolls, each dressed in ill-fitting suits designed to call out their hideous countenances all the more. The carriage was driven by a lanky, wide-mouthed man with black robes and a tall, black top hat. A sizeable crowd of hobgoblins gathered outside the inn as Faust, Grubber and Pavel boarded.
“See ya around, losers!” Pavel jeered at the goblinoids, though he noticed a second coach arriving behind theirs, with B’kruss and V’juss getting inside. The hobgoblin captain shot a look of pure hatred at the dwarf. Pavel saluted him in kind with a gesture that would make even a dwarven miner blush. From the Ogre’s Hideout, the carriage traveled to the Deluxury to pick up Havok and his party, and then on to the palace.

The red stone wall that surrounded Embuirhan’s palace supported dozens of statues…all which were of the Prince. The grounds featured many gardens set with beautiful orchids, monkey-puzzle trees and small waterfalls and ponds. The palace itself was a fanciful hodgepodge of various styles, with a large central core. Beyond the gates, the carriage followed a steep, rising path, flanked by polished skeletons in gibbets. The path wound up the rocky promontory to the main hall, where the guests were asked to decoach, and then led to a verdant terrace overlooking a two-hundred foot drop to the Dragon Reach.

A dozen or more guests were already present on the lawn, milling about in small groups and talking quietly. It was Giovanni that first noticed the one glaring difference between the other invitees and themselves…each bore an expensively wrapped gift!
“Did Loratio say anything to you about gifts?” the warlock asked Hawk.
“Not a word, but perhaps he expected we would know the proper protocol.”
“So what do we do?” Faust asked. “I would hate to start off the evening by offending our host.”
“The ledger,” Giovanni replied, looking thoughtful.
“What??” Faust looked stunned. “Are you serious? Why would you want to turn that over to him?”
The ledger which the warlock spoke of had been among a small cache of valuables they had discovered in the lair of the Ebon Aspect. At first it had seemed to be simply an outdated list of goods stored by the cell. However, upon further examination, Giovanni had discovered a secret page, concealed by magic. On it had been written an exhaustive list of every member of the Ebon Triad in Faerun, including their numerous allies, and the locations in which these individuals lived. It contained some familiar names: Theldrick, Prendergast, The Faceless One, and Ilthane. Its value was immeasurable.
“We know of the Prince’s hatred of the Ebon Triad,” Giovanni replied. “Don’t you think he would be extraordinarily pleased to have a list of his enemies at his fingertips? Besides, you already committed the list to memory.”
“I’m not sure about this,” the psion said doubtfully. “We can’t be positive that Embuirhan is not secretly an agent of the Triad.”
“If that’s true,” Giovanni countered, “then this might be all we need to flush him out into the open. We win either way.”
The others could not deny the logic of Giovanni’s argument, and it was agreed that they would present the ledger as their gift.

It was after this that the group began to take full notice of the other attendees. A few quiet questions of the circulating waiters gained them the names of all the guests. B’kruss and V’juss they already knew. The hobgoblins were speaking quietly with a rather handsome half-orc whom they were told was Mariss Quemp, a one-time mercenary leader-turned aristocrat. B’kruss cast several pointed looks in the direction of the League, and Quemp nodded with interest.
An almost impossibly fat dwarf, with a rosy red nose and piggy eyes, stood near the appetizer table. He was called Hoff, and was captain of a rather notorious group of pirates and brigands.
Two human men sipped wine and laughed good-naturedly. One was iron-haired, and weather-beaten, with a hook instead of a right hand. This was Lord Malaven Kiraven, a captain of Starmantle’s border patrol. The other was dark-skinned with a small goatee. He was Captain Vulras, the commander of a squad of rangers who patrolled the southern wilderness for orcs and other raiders.
An exotic and mysterious woman sat alone near the edge of the terrace. She appeared to be in her late fifties with a thin face that had aged well. She wore her shocking red hair in braids woven around an elaborate headdress. Her clothes were rich and royal, and she wore and excessive amount of jewelry. Giovanni was interested to learn that she was, in fact, Merchantmaster Mahuudril, leader of the Red Blades Merchant Consortium.
A rather strange looking duo stood out and apart from the other groups. The first was a wide-faced man in his late fifties. He had rosy cheeks and a pair of wire spectacles, and he was dressed in a clashing riot of flamboyant clothing and a strange, pointed hat. His companion was a quaggoth, though far from the animalistic barbarian typical of his kind. He wore gentleman’s garb and possessed a cultured demeanor. Grubber recognized him instantly. He was none-other than Shag Solomon, once a member of the side-show at Daggerford’s Emporium. How odd to find him here, of all places. The human was named Professor Montague Marat, a man the waiter said had provided Embuirhan with all of his palace staff.
A halfling woman, slightly overweight and a little nervous looking sat chatting with a male gnome, who was extraordinarily long-nosed with a magnificent handlebar moustache. These were Miszen Mitchwillow, a well-respected merchant, and Toris, a visiting noble from one of the other city-states along the Dragon Coast.
The waiter was just about to point out the final two party-guests, when Faust stopped him.
“Don’t bother,” the psion said. “I believe we’ve already been introduced.”

Immediately, Giovanni’s armor began shouting inside his head. “He’s undead master! Beware!” The warlock looked in the direction Faust was already walking towards, and found himself so stunned he had to remind himself to breathe. The man clothed in rather outdated noble garb was Moreto, the true ghoul Faust had released from Icosiol’s tomb. He turned as the élan approached, and a quizzical look appeared on his face. This turned to surprise as he looked past Faust towards his companions.
“Well, well,” the ghoul laughed, “I should have known my little diversion wouldn’t hold you lot for very long! See here,” he elbowed his companion, “these are the ones I was telling you about!”
The pale human next to him, dressed completely in black, turned around. This time it was Grubber who gasped.
“You!” the goliath shouted, taking several involuntary steps forward.
Slowly, a smile spread over the gaunt man’s face. “It’s been a long time,” he said in a mournful voice. “I never thought to see you again, least of all in these surroundings. But tell me, where are your friends? I do not recognize your current traveling companions.”
“While I recognize yours, Filge!” Grubber spat. “I see you have not mended your ways, as you promised!”
The necromancer laughed, “I am hardly the person you remember. My grave-robbing days are long past.” It was at this point that Grubber noticed the symbol hanging from a silver chain around Filge’s neck…the mark of the Liche-lord Velsharoon!
“Perhaps you do not recognize me,” Faust said to Moreto. “When last we met I seemed no more than a dragonet familiar.”
“It was you…” Moreto said in astonishment.
“Yes,” Faust nodded, “but you need not worry about repercussions from the inquisitor whom I traveled with. He recently met an untimely end at the hands of an Ebon Triad abomination.”
“Ah,” Moreto smiled. “More’s the pity.”
“Alas, I cannot say the same for him,” Faust hooked a finger at Hawk, who had approached the group.
“Well, I owe you all my gratitude for my freedom,” the ghoul said amiably.
“And I as well,” Filge said, “at least to the goliath.”
“What strange coincidence brings you here?” Faust asked quickly before any hasty actions could be taken by his comrades.
“After I left you,” Moreto replied, “I made my way to Waterdeep. There I met my dear Mr. Filge. As it turns out, he and I have similar research interests. Our pursuit of our studies has led us here to Starmantle.”
At that moment, Giovanni began reciting the opening verses from the Apostolic Scrolls. When he’d finished he asked, “Would your interests have anything to do with that? If so, then we have something in common.”
Moreto smiled coldly, his pointed teeth dimpling his lower lip. “Our interests may be the same, but I am certain that our goals are not.”
Hawk and Grubber automatically reached for weapons they were not carrying, but Faust quickly stepped between them. “Our paths will cross again.”
“I’m counting on it,” Moreto said quietly.

At that moment, trumpets sounded from the entrance to the palace. As one, the guests turned. There in the doorway stood a handsome man in his early forties. He wore his hair loose and just off his shoulders, and he was dressed at the cutting edge of style. On his left stood a sinister little man who was only two-and-a-half feet high. He clutched a mummified raven to his chest and looked around nervously. He wore crimson leather and a strange three-pointed, but floppy hat wrapped in black and white ribbons and studded with gems. To the Prince’s right was a woman who was a strange combination of the beautiful and the grotesque. Her piercing blue eyes matched those of Embuirhan, but her face was misaligned, with the right half about half an inch above the left, giving her nose an ugly twist and her mouth a perpetual upturned sneer. Her back was hunched, with a fine cloak attempting unsuccessfully to conceal it.
“My lords, ladies and other honored guests!” the little man cried. “I am the Ominous Fabler. Prince Embuirhan bids you welcome, and I trust you will enjoy the hospitality of his humble home!” He looked around, leered at some of the guests, then flapped his free arm and lifted the mummified raven up on his shoulder. Using the dead bird as a ventriloquist’s dummy, he chirped out in a raspy voice, “You may now present your gifts to honor the Prince!” He then stepped back, giggling quietly as the attendees reached into folds in their cloaks and pockets.

One by one each guest came forward to bow before Embuirhan and present their offering, ranging from jewelry to bottles or rare wine, to exotic caged animals. In the case of Mahuudril, it was a horse that flew onto the lawn on smoking hooves, with fiery eyes and flames blowing from its nostrils. Last came the League, led by Giovanni.
“My Lord Prince,” the warlock said, bowing low, “allow me to introduce Impotent Rage, champions of the Games of Waterdeep! During our brief stay in your city, we recently uncovered a previously undiscovered lair of the hated Ebon Triad, and there we came upon a fabulous prize!” He produced the ledger, placing it in Embuirhan’s hands. The Prince scanned the pages with curiosity until he came to the list. Then his eyes went wide, and he snapped his gaze up to Giovanni.
“Can you prove the veracity of this?” he demanded.
“We can tell you exactly where the cell is located,” Giovanni replied, “as well as the lair of the black dragon Ilthane, who, as you can see, aided the cult in Starmantle.”
“I will indeed verify this,” Embuirhan nodded, “and if your story is true, then this is indeed a priceless gift. I am well pleased!”
The other guests politely applauded, but the looks on many faces revealed anything but well wishes.

The Prince then proceeded across the lawn, and behind him came a strange menagerie of freaks who acted as palace servants. There were fat ladies, pin heads, men without legs, women without eyes, and all manner of deformity on display. Grubber recognized all of them as former side-show attractions from Daggerford’s Emporium. He, Giovanni and Storm also noted something else. Each of them had the ability to see creatures cloaked by invisibility, and so it was that they saw the quartet of Blessed Angels that silently flanked Embuirhan.

Immediately after the gift-giving, servants appeared with padded chairs for each guest. The fool then stepped forward and winded a strange horn. “My masters! We beg you to enjoy our little tale…’tis a small thing I penned myself. A tale of menace, revenge, lust and death which I have called ‘The Harlequinade Mortificatio.’” The fool moved back, and as he did so, the servants arranged a small stage with a backdrop of a town street at night. A wooden moon wafted over the scene, and suddenly a host of animated skeletons dressed as clowns marched on stage.
‘Master, they’re undead too!’ Giovanni’s armor spoke into his mind. ‘You needn’t point out the incredibly obvious,’ the warlock snapped. ‘The merely obvious will do.’

The play was performed in silence, apart from some guests applauding as the skeletal clowns performed particularly ridiculous stunts, such as drinking wine. It soon became obvious that the entire plot recounted how each of the skeletons was acting out its own death, always by suspicious circumstances that were not quite accidents. Throughout the play, which lasted the better part of an hour, servants fluttered about with wine and trays of lightly roasted almond biscuits of exquisite taste. Hawk barely concealed his utter disgust at the whole affair. That the Prince and his toadies were completely debauched was without question. The civilar felt soiled just sitting among them. At the play’s end, the curious actors bowed and everyone (except Hawk) applauded. The Ominous Fabler appeared again, this time dressed as a scarecrow on stilts and with a hare’s skull where his head should have been. He led the guests across the grounds to the next event, singing a song about boiling sparrows as he went.

Eventually the guests arrived at the charmingly named Balcony of Expectorance, a wide deck jutting from the cliffside about twenty feet down from the palace. It was sheltered from the wind and the view of the Dragon Reach coastline was even more magnificent than that from the Vertiginous Terrace.

The fool trundled up onto the balcony railing, somehow managing to balance there on stilts as he addressed the party-goers. “And now, welcome to the Balcony of Expectorance, my friends, and the Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians!” Two deformed servants marched out, carrying between them a large rack of repeating crossbows. Another group of servants wheeled out a number of cages filled with brightly colored red birds…corollaxes. “Please select your weapon,” the Fabler continued, “and make ready to…” Prince Embuirhan cut him off with a dismissive slap as he stepped forward. The fool teetered, but managed to catch his balance and clambered down from the ledge as the Prince selected a magnificent looking crossbow and said, “I’m feeling particularly lucky today. If anyone can bring down more than me, I’ll give the lucky soul a thousand gold coins.”

As the Prince readied his weapon, the Fabler released ten of the birds, which immediately scattered and began flashing sprays of color as they wheeled in the air. With uncanny accuracy, Embuirhan brought down three of the birds which his first volley, reloaded, and then took down three more.
“Six!” he cried jubilantly. “Now, who’s next for the challenge?”
One by one the other guests took their turns, several of them killing a few corollaxes, but none coming close to the Prince’s total. When the League’s turn arrived, Pavel shot first, but the surly dwarf only managed to slay one bird. It was obvious he was more comfortable with an axe in his hands than a crossbow. B’kruss sneered at him as he stepped away from the balcony, to which the dwarf replied with several loud oinks and squeals. B’kruss’ eyes narrowed dangerously.
Faust also hit one corollaxe, but failed to kill it. Storm had better luck, slaying two. Giovanni also killed two, and then wounded a third. When that one refused to fall, the warlock cursed, “Damn bird!” and reflexively fired off a thin beam of eldritch energy, which also missed.
“Not fair,” the Prince said in a chiding voice, but smiled nonetheless. Grubber refused to attempt the sport, earning him a scowl from Embuirhan, leaving Hawk to go last. The civilar put on an amazing display, practically blowing four birds apart with his powerful shots. Alas, it was not enough.
“Well done!” Embuirhan applauded. “Perhaps another sport will be better suited to you!”

Throughout the shoot, the servants passed roasted corollaxe glazed in honey and mulled spice wine amongst the guests. Again, Grubber abstained. After the slaughter, the Fabler led the party back into the house, through a maze of doors and halls, and eventually down into the extensive basements. He did so by walking on his hands the entire trip, finally leading the group into one of the Prince’s underground miniature arenas. The guests were directed to sit on the curved benches surrounding the sunken fighting pit (which contained two four-foot square bird cages swathed in dark silks) while the Fabler explained the nature of the event. The misshapen gnome retrieved a small oak box from a locked chest and opened it, withdrawing a pair of silver rings.
“And now, we come to some lively sports and baiting, my friends! These rings are ensorcelled with magic such that those who wear them can direct the actions and movements of one who has been…specially prepared as a receiver.” He hobbled over to the Prince and handed one of the rings to him.
“The Prince would like to challenge one of you to an honest fight, utilizing what lives at the other end of these rings as proxies. Are there any of you brave enough to meet the Prince’s champion on the field of battle?”
None of the other guests immediately rose to the occasion, so it was Giovanni who first raised his hand to volunteer.

The warlock placed the ring on his finger, and was immediately overwhelmed with a disorienting sensation of seeing, feeling, and hearing through the body of some creature mentally linked through it. Just then, the Fabler pulled a silk cord, releasing a dozen yowling, hissing feral cats into the arena. The frightened animals immediately began racing around in circles, fighting among themselves. The Fabler then raised his voice over the cacophony. “If you can create more ornaments than the prince, and if you can survive his champion’s wrath, you’ll win a most fabulous prize indeed.” With that, he pulled a second cord, and the cages in the pit below opened, revealing two cockatrices…strange, rooster-like creatures with the power to turn other living things to stone with their touch.

Immediately, Giovanni saw the Prince raise his hand, and one of the cockatrices darted towards a nearby cat, pecking at it with its vicious beak. Instantly, the cat went rigid, petrified into a very life-like stone statue. Giovanni now grasped the nature of the game, and commanded his own cockatrice into action. During the fight, dishes of eggs were served…boiled ones of unusual size, eggs scrambled with fine meats, and even a strange cocktail of egg mixed with rum. In the end, Giovanni managed to turn five cats to stone, while Embuirhan only took four. The remaining three were killed outright. Then, the Prince launched his cockatrice at Giovanni’s and a furious struggle ensued. The creatures were immune to their own petrifying touch, but not to their sharp beaks. Blood flew as the little monsters ripped and tore at each other, but finally it was Embuirhan’s champion that still stood, Giovanni’s challenger’s throat gripped in its maw.
“Another valiant effort,” the Prince said good-naturedly. “Better luck next time.”


The Fabler led the guests back upstairs and out into a long, narrow garden on the north side of the palace. By this time, twilight had fallen, and the garden had been lit by numerous differently-colored flames inside skulls hanging from delicate silver and golden chains. A mound of differently colored human skulls had been arranged at one end of the garden. As the group filed out onto the lawn, Faust spoke softly to B’kruss.
“I just wanted to thank you again, my friend, for giving Pavel the opportunity to best you in that little contest. It’s simply done wonders for his self-esteem!”
“Enough!” the hobgoblin roared, whirling around in a rage. “My Lord Prince!” he bellowed. “This dwarf has insulted my honor again, and again! I demand satisfaction!”
Embuirhan looked around with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.
“What is it you request?” he asked.
“A duel!” B’kruss shouted.
“You have been challenged master dwarf,” the Prince said, turning to Pavel. “How do you reply?”
“Bring it on!” Pavel growled.
“Very well,” the Prince said. “The challenge has been made and accepted. As the challenged, Master Pavel has the right to name the nature of the duel.”
“Dwarven axes,” Pavel said softly, without the slightest hesitation.

Two servants quickly brought out silk-lined boxes with a gleaming axe in each, taking one to each of the duelers.
“I hope their ain’t no hard feelin’s for me pinnin’ that whore of a wife of yers!” Pavel grinned. B’kruss roared, leaping forward with his axe. The hobgoblin hooked the head of the axe beneath the haft of Pavel’s, and attempted to wrench the dwarf’s weapon from his hands. Pavel twisted his own weapon, ripping B’kruss’ axe free instead, and dropping it to the ground at his feet. Still smiling, Pavel reached down and picked the weapon up, dodging a clumsy punch from the hobgoblin as he did so. Now Pavel stood before the unarmed mercenary, an axe gripped in each hand. B’kruss lunged, seizing the dwarf in a bear-hug, and almost lifting him from his feet. Pavel grunted and flexed his arms mightily, tearing loose B’kruss’ grip. As the hobgoblin staggered back, Pavel swung both axes, opening up ragged cuts in B’kruss’ leg and shoulder. B’kruss lunged again, once more grappling with the dwarf, but Pavel was too strong, and too angry to be held for long. Breaking the hobgoblin’s grip once more, he struck four more times, leaving small streams of blood pouring from multiple deep wounds. B’kruss staggered back, pulling a flask from his belt and upending it. Several of his wounds began to heal, but before they could mend completely, Pavel was upon him again, slashing like a dervish. In desperation, B’kruss attempted to tackle Pavel one last time, but the dwarf was having none of it, spinning around and swinging low, he took the hobgoblin’s legs out from under him. B’kruss crashed to the ground, unconscious and barely breathing. The other guests, who had been cheering throughout the battle, now went deathly silent. Pavel gripped B’kruss’ hair, lifting his head from the ground, and then looked questioningly at Embuirhan. Slowly and deliberately, the Prince stuck out his hand, curling all his fingers into a fist save for is thumb, which he pointed down. Pavel nodded and decapitated B’kruss.
“To the victor goes the spoils,” Embuirhan said, turning away from the gory spectacle and walking towards the pile of skulls. V’juss stared dumbfounded, and horror-struck at what had occurred, before he too turned away. Giovanni and Faust nodded in congratulations to the dwarf, but Hawk, Grubber and Storm looked stricken, and said nothing.

“And now my beautiful friends,” the Fabler’s voice interrupted the tableau, drawing everyone’s attention to him, “we come to the final game of the evening. I present to my wonderful Prince an unfortunate criminal named Jack.” He handed the Prince a human skull that had been painted black. “And to the rest of you, I present these delicate treasures!” The Fabler indicated the stack of differently colored skulls. “The prince shall throw Jack to the far end of the garden, and the rest of you shall toss a chap of your own. The thrower who comes closest to Jack shall be declared the winner!”

The Prince made his throw, Jack’s skull landing about fifty feet away. One-by-one each guest made their own throw…all save Hawk. The civilar had retreated to the opposite end of the garden, lost in his thoughts. Ultimately, it was the gnome Toris who won the match, earning himself a necklace with a small silver skull with ruby eyes. Throughout the sport, the servants passed around gingerbread men without heads. As the game ended, the sun sank below the horizon.

The peal of an unseen gong sounded the call for dinner. The Fabler led the guests back into the palace, and then to the Great Banqueting Hall. A massive, cylindrical chamber rose through the heart of the palace. A tremendous round table of polished mahogany dominated the room, the walls of which were decked with portraits and landscapes of great quality. A large number of these featured Embuirhan himself, although the enigmatic Lashonna, a silver-haired, pale, remarkably beautiful woman, dominated one prominently placed portrait near Embuirhan’s place at the table. A vast stained glass dome depicting what appeared to be angels at play (but on closer inspection show the ‘angels’ to be erinyes devils, whose ‘play’ was something one would not normally associate with angels) arched gracefully above, its perimeter decorated by a ring of severed heads mounted on iron spikes some twenty feet above the polished marble floor.

The guests were seated, with Hawk and Giovanni on either side of the Prince. Pavel was placed between Hoff and V’juss, ironically, while Storm sat between Giovanni and Mariss Quemp. Grubber sat between Shag Solomon and Professor Montague, and Faust was between Filge and Moreto. One seat, directly opposite Embuirhan, was left empty. As Pavel took his seat, he nodded to the fat dwarf seated to his right.
“Humph!” the dwarf snorted.
“’Zat so?” Pavel asked, a tone of warning in his voice. “You got a problem, bub? You saw what happened to the last guy who got uppity with me.”
“You don’t seem like any gold dwarf I’ve ever met,” Hoff said with disdain.
“I ain’t,” Pavel said. “Fact is, I plan on guttin’ every one’o my clansmen first chance I get. What about you? What’s yer story?”
“I’m captain of the One Armed Bandits mercenary company,” Hoff replied stiffly.
“Oh yeah?” said Pavel. “I’m a merc myself…freelance stuff mostly.”
“You’re common is what you are,” Hoff sneered, “and obviously out of your depth here.”
Pavel scowled in silence. Much as he would like, two duels in one night might be pushing it.

Mariss Quemp positively beamed at Storm when she sat next to him, though his eyes were obviously looking somewhat south of her face.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced my lady,” he said standing and kissing her hand.
“I’m Aurora,” the sorceress replied coolly.
“And I am Lord Quemp…but you may call me Mariss. All of my closest friends do.”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Quemp,” Storm retorted, a tad sharply.
Quemp’s smile faltered for a moment, but was quickly replaced. “Surely you must be a noble yourself,” he said. “What House do you hail from?”
“House Vito,” she said, nodding towards Giovanni, “and he is my master.” Quemp snapped a look at the warlock, and then slowly released Storm’s hand.
“I see,” he said coldly, then sat and turned his back to her, giving his attention to Mahuudril instead.

“Solomon tells me you’re from Daggerford?” Professor Montague asked as Grubber sat down.
“Not originally,” the goliath rumbled, “but I called it home for a time.”
“Me too, me too!” The old man laughed. “You’re familiar with the Emporium? Well, it was I who established it before selling out to Zalamandra. When I had heard about its near destruction by a dragon recently, I made it a point to invite the performers and staff here to Starmantle. The Prince has taken quite a shine to them.”
“I see,” Grubber said flatly. “That was very…thoughtful of you.” Apparently, Shag Solomon did not agree. The quaggoth had a very sour look on his furred face as he puffed on his pipe.
“Quite!” Montague said. “I would love to speak more with you about the old days. Perhaps you would agree to be my guest at the Deluxury for the week?”
“I…” Grubber stammered, at a loss for words.
“Excellent!” Montague said, shaking his hand vigorously. “It’s settled then!”

At that moment, Embuirhan abruptly stood, and all of the guests followed suit. A dazzling beautiful elven woman entered the hall. Her skin was like pale alabaster, and her long silver hair was set back with a tiara of black diamonds. Everyone in the room could feel her gaze settle upon each of them in turn.
“Lashonna,” Embuirhan said smiling, “welcome!” Lashonna nodded, but said nothing, sliding gracefully into the empty seat. As one, the rest of the party resumed their seats.
‘Master!’ It was Giovanni’s armor again.
‘What is it now?’ the warlock asked irritably, sure that the coat was going to warn him about the severed heads on their pikes, which he already noticed moved their eyes, watching those below them.
‘The woman…’ the armor replied, and Giovanni instinctively knew it meant Lashonna. “She’s not alive!’

Embuirhan remained standing, and silence fell upon the banquet hall.
“My dear friends,” he began, and as he did, the decapitated heads above echoed the word ‘friends’ in a ghoulish tone. “I bid you enjoy this feast, eat and drink your fill in my humble abode.”
“Humble!” said the heads. The Prince clapped his hands once. An instant later, the great doors to the kitchen swung open and a trio of manticores entered to the sonorous hoorahs of the heads. Yet these were no wild monsters…the fire was gone from their eyes, and their wings had been cruelly severed. Even the once ferocious barbs of their long tails had been surgically removed. Each manticore carried great platters on its back, and a host of distorted servants trailed behind them, eager to begin serving food. Each guest was given a small covered silver goblet. Once all had been served, the Fabler stood.
“One of the founders of Starmantle was a desperate pilgrim,” he intoned, “who washed up on the harbor shore. He had not eaten for many weeks, and he fell upon the moors to die. As he did he saw a worm emerge from the ground, and he realized the worm was a gift from the gods that he should live…and so he devoured it. Along the Dragon Coast it has always been the tradition to start a feast with such a celebration of thanks!”
The servants then removed the lids from the goblets, revealing in each a fat, writhing, greasy worm, its glistening flesh a nasty shade of green. Pavel immediately picked up the worm between two fingers and sniffed it curiously. He shrugged, and then popped it in his mouth, chewing noisily. Faust recognized the worm as just a harmless green scrubgrub, and he too consumed it quickly. One by one, the other guests followed suit…all except Grubber. Hawk noticed the dark look the Prince shot the goliath, and when Embuirhan leaned over to whisper in the ear of one of the servants, the civilar knew it didn’t bode well.

For the second course, a single manticore entered the hall. It carried an enormous pie on a silver dish of great size strapped to its back. Pastry beaks of birds covered the pie, and as everyone looked on, the crust was opened and twenty-four black birds emerged, and flew around the room in terror. The guest partook of the pie with a bit more enthusiasm than the appetizer, finding the crust made of sugar and almonds, and tasting surprisingly good. Servants then brought in huge tureens of vegetables, along with plentiful supplies of a locally produced spiced white wine called Dragon Coast Resinwint, which was particularly potent.
Once again, Grubber did not eat nor drink. Embuirhan’s gaze grew even darker. Faust and Pavel fumbled with the dozen utensils arrayed by their plates, using them at random, earning them irritated glances from the Prince as well. Hawk cleared his throat, trying, and failing to attract their attention, as he picked up the proper fork for the dish. Giovanni and Storm were quicker on the uptake and mimicked his every move.

The Fabler announced the third course as a concoction of the Prince’s own…delectable tojbasarrirge for all! This turned out to be a curious dish involving an entire tojanida, stuffed with numerous gritty basilisk steaks, which were in turn stuffed with tangy arrowhawk breasts, which were finally in turn stuffed with an entire boned stirge with three olives impaled on its proboscis. It was brought out on a huge platter slung between two manticores, upon which rested a great tojanida shell, halved and filed with a descending mass of meat.
Unfortunately, it was disgustingly foul. Most of the guests could not mask their distaste of the vile concoction, with Faust going so far as to spit his first bite back onto his plate with a curse. Only Giovanni and Havok, somewhat accustomed to the rules of court, managed to maintain impassive looks on their faces as they struggled to choke down the rancid meat. Grubber ate none.
Abruptly, Embuirhan slammed one fist on the table, staring daggers at the goliath.
“Do you find my table distasteful?” he demanded.
“Not at all my lord,” Grubber replied, his eyes going wide. “I am simply in the midst of a fast, as required by my faith.”
“Then you have no reason to remain here further!” Embuirhan shouted. “Guards!” In an instant, a dozen armed soldiers appeared, man-handling Grubber from his seat and hustling him out of the hall.
“Nighty-night,” the heads intoned. The rest of the hall was silent. The Prince stared at the mountain of meat, then ordered the servants to clear it away. As he resumed his seat, Giovanni and Storm noted something very disturbing…the four Blessed Angels were gone.

As the fourth course began, huge covered tureens were brought out. Within shuddered a strange purple jelly. The Fabler observed that purple worms were a notorious menace in certain areas of the world, and their propensity for eating everything that moved was known to adventurers far and wide. He went on to say that the tribesmen of old learned a way to cook the poisonous tail sections of the worms so that the poison was neutralized, but the recipe had to be precise in its preparation. As the bowls of purple glop were placed before each guest, the Fabler wondered aloud if any present were brave enough to taste the dish before the Prince put his health at risk.
Faust stood. “I will dare this for you, my Prince!” The psion dipped a large spoon into the concoction and slurped it down his throat. It was quite tasty, though for a brief moment, Faust felt his stomach burning, and his throat close, but the sensation quickly passed. He saw Embuirhan looking at him intently.
“Delicious!” the élan said, smiling through purple stained teeth.

Finally, as the last bowls of purple worm aspic were cleared, the smell of cloves, honey and cinnamon wafted through as a single manticore entered with a nearly eight-foot tall cake. The cake itself was shaped like a ziggurat, but crowned with a marzipan figure of Embuirhan surrounded by light and with angel’s wings. Everyone applauded loudly as the cake was levered onto the table, but as they did, the cake began to fall apart. Large rents appeared on the side, and the marzipan Prince began to list. Suddenly, the figure toppled, sliding down the side of the cake in avalanche of delectable frosting and struck the table hard enough that its head snapped off and rolled across the table to land in Faust’s lap. A few stifled chuckles and giggles came from the assembled. The hate in Embuirhan’s eyes was palpable, but just as he was about to order the execution of his entire cooking staff, the Fabler stepped in, observing that “the cake is not made of stone and iron, and I’ll eat it if no one else will!” The joke went over well, and the mood was broken as the guests laughed along with him. Everyone settled in to the dessert, chatting amiably…all except Embuirhan, who sat in brooding silence.

With the conclusion of the great feast, the Fabler called for the traditional Dance of the Dead, which closed all important ceremonies in Starmantle. The help began clearing the table as the fool led the guests into the palace ballroom. There, the skeletal performers from the Harlequinade Mortificatio, now dressed as the dead founding fathers of Starmantle, performed the bizarre ritual. The guests joined in, whirling about the dance floor, constantly changing partners. Embuirhan sat in silence upon his throne, merely watching the festivities.

Faust made a beeline for Lashonna as the dance began.
“May I have the honor of the first dance my lady?” He asked, extending his hand. The sorceress smiled and curtsied, accepting his offer.
“My friends and I have been anxious to make your acquaintance,” the psion said quietly as he led, rather clumsily. “You are a hard woman to track down.” Lashonna said nothing, merely continuing to smile slightly. “Do you know a man named Balakarde?” Faust finally blurted out bluntly.
“Save your questions for later, my curious friend,” Lashonna whispered in a silky voice. “There are too many ears in this place. You and your friends will come to Mistwall Manor at midnight, two nights hence, and all will be made clear.” Faust nodded, and bowed out as the next dancer, Giovanni, took his place.

“My lady,” he said as he spun her about with considerably more grace than his cohort.
“I have already told your friend to save your queries for now,” she replied, mildly annoyed.
“Yes,” the warlock persisted, “but I must tell you that I saw the Blessed Angels depart after our colleague was escorted out. Can you intervene on his behalf?”
“It’s already too late,” she replied.


Grubber walked in silence down the Toil Road, making his way back towards the Deluxury. He was consumed with guilt, afraid that his actions might have jeopardized the safety of his friends and their mission. So preoccupied was he, that at first he failed to notice the uncharacteristic silence of the usually busy highway. Despite the festivities still going strong throughout the city, there was not another living soul within three blocks. The goliath skin began to prickle with unease, and a soft gust of wind washed over him. Suddenly, four crimson-haired women appeared around him, seemingly from thin air. Large, black-feathered wings sprouted from their backs, and they were clad all in black, spiked leather. Crossbows hung at their sides, and each gripped a long sword in one hand. Blessed Angels.

“You should be careful whom you offend in the future, mortal,” one of them intoned, “assuming, of course, that you have one.”
Abruptly, all four of them raised their free hands, and a greasy, black miasma surrounded Grubber on all sides, washing over him like an oil slick. He felt waves of nausea churn through his guts as his skin seemed to burn like acid fire. Desperately, he counter-attacked, conjuring a Shard Storm, which tore through the infernal guardians. They shrieked in anger and pain, but as the goliath stumbled away from them, they struck at him with their blades, opening several gaping, bloody wounds. As one, they closed with him, speaking in their dark tongue, summoning black energy to surround their swords. Again they struck, and Grubber felt darkness enveloping him. But then, just as he felt the pull of the void, the Contingency he had put in effect upon first entering this accursed city took effect, and a blast of powerful healing magic coursed through his battered body. As his strength returned, Grubber took a step back, and then spoke a single Word, whisking him from the midst of the Blessed Angels, to the safety of the Church of Blessed Deliverance.


Embuirhan rose from his throne and moved to leave, applauded by his guests as he went. Giovanni’s enhanced vision showed him that the Prince’s four bodyguards had returned as he left the room. It was over then.

The guests were escorted back to their carriages, and returned to their domiciles. Pavel and Faust were let off at the Ogre’s Hideout just as V’juss entered the inn. When the pair followed, they eyes of every hobgoblin in the common room fell upon them.
“That’s right,” Pavel growled. “Take a good look, boys. I’m the one that killed yer honcho. Just ask his lap dog over there. Now, if any of ya knows what’s good fer ya, you’ll haul yer sorry arses out of here tonight. If I lay eyes on a single one of ya tomorrow, you’ll be joinin’ B’kruss.” The dwarf turned and stomped up the stairs towards B’kruss’ private suite.
“Yeah!” Faust said to the silent crowd as he followed his companion.

No sooner had Giovanni stepped into his room at the Deluxury, than he heard a familiar voice inside his head.
‘This is Grubber. Angels attacked. Alive and well. Hidden by Helm. Bring gear.’
Giovanni recognized the Sending for what it was, and replied in kind, ‘Glad you are alive. Your decision was unwise. Will deliver your gear to Rhorsk in morning.’ Assuming the Blessed Angels don’t find you first, he added silently to himself.


Two days passed, and life returned to what passed for normal in Starmantle, now that the celebration was over. At midnight on that second evening, a black carriage pulled up before the Deluxury. It was driven by a tall, gaunt half-orc, who walked with a limp. All the members of the League, save Grubber, climbed aboard the coach, and were taken with haste to Mistwall Manor. They disembarked, and where escorted through a luxurious courtyard of fountains and topiaries, into a front parlor, and then up a spiraling marble staircase to a private study and reading room.

The walls of the spacious, tastefully decorated study were filled with shelves of leather-bound tomes on a wide variety of topics. A large desk sat against the far wall, its surface empty save for a stack of tattered pieces of yellowed paper. The carpet was a deep shade of crimson, and arrayed on it in a semicircle before the desk were several high-backed chairs fitted with velvet cushions. Lashonna waited here, wrapped in a gold-trimmed gown of the very latest fashion, and cut to accentuate her near perfect figure. A delighted smile danced upon her scarlet lips as she dismissed her manservant.
“You won’t be needed any longer Kelgorn. I’m sure I’ll be quite well attended to, with such pleasing guests to keep me company. Good night.” The half-orc withdrew with a stiff bow as Lashonna gestured to the chairs before the desk.
“I apologize again for the late hour,” Lashonna said, seating herself behind the desk, “but I assure you that what I have to tell you will make the loss of your beauty sleep worthwhile.” She slid the tattered pages on the desk towards Faust.
“Balakarde’s journal,” she said, “or what’s left of it, in any event. You’ll see he’s quite mad. Obsessed, the poor dear, and with worms no less. Tiresome. But please, look it over, and then we can talk.”

Hawk took the papers and read them aloud to his companions.
“’It is as I suspected. The ancient undead dragon Dragotha is the herald of Kyuss. He was granted his unlife by the Wormgod well over fifteen centuries ago, after he found the monolith in Kuluth-Mar and brought it to his lair in Skull Gorge. When Dragotha was slain by Tiamat, Kyuss repaid him with the gift of undeath, and in so doing bound him eternally to his will.
The Rite they performed obscured Dragotha’s phylactery from thought, history and sight…as if it never existed at all. But the Order of the Storm were no fools. They suspected Kyuss would one day rise again, that his worms would learn to walk once more.
Dragotha’s presence in the world has been quiet for the last several ages. The loss of his phylactery fifteen-hundred years ago left him a coward. Yet my research proves he stirs from his long sleep, that he now intends to waken Kyuss after all this time. Why now? What has changed? I fear that a journey to Skull Gorge to confront the dracolich is my only remaining option.’”

“It seems obvious,” Lashonna said once Hawk had finished, “that Dragotha intends to release Kyuss from his prison, and in so doing, usher in the Age of Worms. The solution seems obvious. A king without his commander is powerless. It’s taken Dragotha nearly fifteen-hundred years to reach this point. Remove him now, and it will certainly be centuries before anything has a chance to release the Wormgod again.
Of course, one cannot simply waltz into a lich’s lair, kill him, and be done with it. Dragotha may not know where his phylactery is, but that doesn’t mean it’s useless to him. Destroying him before you destroy his phylactery is as good as finding it and handing it over to him.
So your first order of business should be to find his phylactery and destroy it. And that’s where it gets complicated. I have no idea where it may be hidden. Obviously, neither does Dragotha, and that’s a good thing. Certainly, his doubt to its location is the main reason he hasn’t tried to simply destroy himself as a desperate way to discover its location.
Balakarde left for Skull Gorge, against my advice, intending to learn more about Dragotha. He never returned, but at least he had the foresight to leave his journal fragments with me. His journal and his disappearance have become something of a minor obsession of mine, I must confess. I’ve spent the last sixteen years, on and off, studying the lore of Kyuss, of Dragotha, and associated matters. And while I haven’t managed to determine where Dragotha’s phylactery is hidden, I do believe I know where that information might be found.
As Balakarde mentions in his journal, the Age of Worms and Kyuss’ resurrection were stopped fifteen centuries ago by the Order of the Storm. Historians believe that the Order died out not long after this victory, hunted down and destroyed by the last surviving members of the cult of Kyuss. These records are incorrect. The Order instead retreated to their stronghold on a remote island in the Shining Sea called Tilagos.
On this island there is a library of sorts, a repository of the Order’s lore. It has been sought for centuries by wizards, scholars, and explorers, for it is said to be filled with hundreds of years of history, memories, dreams, and of course secrets. Secrets are so valuable, aren’t they, my darlings? Seems the longer they are kept, the more they’re worth. If a written account of the secret of what happened to Dragotha’s phylactery exists, it must certainly be there.
Of course, there are complications…there always are, right? Before they built this library, the Order of the Storm drove a lasting bargain with primal elemental forces. They sacrificed their lives to whisk the island’s interior off the Material Plane. In its place is a barren rock surrounded by an ever-raging storm of such intensity that ships that approach within ten miles are invariably lost. The island itself appears on no maps, but the stories hint that the druids left a way for those in need to reach their secrets while at the same time warding the place away from the prying eyes of Kyuss’ undead fanatics.
Worse, I’m afraid others have learned this as well, in part as an unfortunate result of my own research. I have a fair amount of competition in the arena of gathering and keeping secrets, and invariably word gets out that I’ve made a discovery. My enemies are always quick to nip at my heels. I speak in particular of a simpering dog of a man named Heskin, who once served me. I’m afraid Heskin has been wooed from my side with promises of wealth and power, and has taken word of this discovery to a disreputable man indeed, a powerful priest of Velsharoon named Darl Quethos.”

“Why can’t you go to Tilagos yourself?” Giovanni asked as she paused.
“I have reasons of my own,” she replied. “Any allies that I have simply wouldn’t be of any help against the type of things that might be faced there. To tell the truth, I can’t think of anyone other than your group that could have a chance against Dragotha. Now, would you like to have a peek at Heskin and his new friends?” She produced a small lock of hair tied with a gold wire on a fine gold chain. She then produced a scroll, and began to chant a litany of arcane words. A tumultuous scene faded into view in the middle of the room for all to observe, along with the howling sound of an oceanic tempest. The image cleared to show a deathly pale man lashed to a ship’s mast with several coils of rope. Although details beyond a ten-foot radius around Heskin were hazy and unclear, it was obvious that the ship was caught in a tremendous storm…the decks were awash in foamy water as both waves and driving sheets of rain tormented the terrified man. Sounds of gruff sailors shouting commands and curses in Orc could be heard under the raging tumult of the storm, and now and then, frantic orc sailors moved quickly into view, and then back into obscurity as they busied themselves at securing the ship. At one point, two lithe, cloaked figures dropped to the deck from the rigging on either side of Heskin. They were identically dressed in tightly wrapped silken scarves, and small devilish horns sprouted from their heads. The cloaked figures spared condescending glances at Heskin, their eyes glowing faintly with infernal fire before they moved out of sight towards the ship’s unseen bow. Soon thereafter, a blazing red-skinned humanoid with an immense, bulging frame strode almost casually through the scene. The rain sizzled into steam as it struck his burning skin. As he reached Heskin, he looked down at the man, and then looked toward the bow, crying out, “Darl! It looks like your pet might be taking on water!” With that, the creature exploded into a tremendous belly laugh. A few moments later, another two figures stepped into view. The smaller of the two was a shifty-eyed humanoid bird who wore a hooded cloak and carried a repeating crossbow. The other was a towering man clothed in flowing blue robes. His cowl protected his face from the wind and his hands were obscured by long, rain-soaked sleeves. He squatted before Heskin and spoke to him in a low voice, “Only a few hours more, Heskin, and we shall see if you live or die.”
Suddenly, the blue-robed man’s head whipped around to look directly into the scrying sensor. His face was pale but commanding, and twisted into a snarl as he stood. “It seems we have guests, my friends,” he said. “Perhaps allies of this cur?” He turned back to the bound man, and as he did he pulled back his left sleeve, revealing a rotten, black-nailed appendage that seemed to writhe and twitch with its own life. “We can’t have your friends watching us, so it seems your journey comes to an early end, Heskin!” The putrid hand unfurled and reached out to caress Heskin’s brow. Heskin shrieked in mortal pain as the fingertip froze the skin it touched into an angry black scar. The blue-robed man then made a fist and uttered a single unintelligible word. As he spoke it, Heskin’s eyes bulged, the cords in his neck throbbed, and he slumped against his bonds, dead. The scrying link was broken, and the image faded from view.

Lashonna returned to her seat, visibly shaken. “The Hand of Velsharoon,” she murmured.
“Where is Tilagos?” Hawk asked into the silence.
“It is in the northern reaches of the Shining Sea,” Lashonna replied, regaining her composure. “It doesn’t appear on most maps, but I happen to have some that give its location.”
“We appreciate your help in this,” Hawk said with finality. “We will leave as soon as possible.” With that, he turned to go.
“Just one more thing,” Giovanni said to Lashonna. “We know you are undead.”
Lashonna looked at him with piercing eyes.
“What I am shouldn’t matter,” she said levelly. “I’ve spent years getting where I am, and I’m not about to see all that washed away by Dragotha, and neither should you. Take care of Dragotha and if you still feel that I can’t be trusted, you know where to find me.”
Giovanni nodded.
“I would leave town quickly,” Lashonna concluded, “and take your goliath friend with you. I can only insure his safety for so long.”