OUT OF THE FRYING PAN, INTO THE FIRE
Ash-gray clouds filled the cold, black skies of Thanatos, the Belly of Death, where daylight never intruded. An immense, melancholic moon hung over the vast tundra that comprised the 127th layer of the Abyss. Only a handful of cities crouched upon this barren landscape, havens for the mortal and immortal cultists who sought to emulate the life of their demonic patron. The River Styx passed near to one such bastion, the city of Lachrymosa. From there, the sprawling desert of bone meal known as Oblivion’s End, stretched hundreds of miles towards the interior of the plane to the palace of Orcus himself, Everlost.
Mandi had done her homework on Thanatos before they departed Iggwilv’s home. She knew, for instance, that the layer was closely attuned to the plane of negative energy, and would quickly drain the life-force of any living mortal who tarried there too long. In addition, the atmosphere was exceedingly thin, making even the mere act of breathing a struggle. She anticipated this, and instructed Daelric to beseech his patron, Shaundekal, for a prayer that the sorceress knew would attune her and her comrades to the harmful effects of the plane once they left the Sea Wyvern. And leave, they would have to, for they Styx did not pierce the plane’s interior. An overland passage of Oblivion’s End would not only be dangerous, but it would take weeks…time they could not afford to spare. So as soon as the Legion reached the port of Lachrymosa, Mandi immediately set about finding a detailed map of Everlost. She managed to procure one, but at a very steep price. With it, however, she was able to glean enough details of the castle-fortress to allow her to Teleport there with her companions.
They appeared in the middle of a large, bustling square, but unlike the more familiar markets of Tashluta and Calimport, this one teemed with all manner of undead and demon. Their arrival did not go unnoticed, and they were soon approached by a group of pale-skinned vampires.
“Visitors!” one of them said with a toothy smile. “Ve luff visitors!”
“What he say?” Cleaver axed, cocking his head.
“It’s Vampire Speak,” Mandi explained. “I can translate. He said they enjoy visitors…but I’m not certain in what context to take that.”
“Velcome to Efferlost,” the vampire continued. “Ve haff maps,” he opened one side of his cloak to display several rolled scrolls, “and amulets, to protect ze living from ze…unfortunate effects of our luffly home. You like? You buy?”
“How much?” Mandi asked.
“Ve only require a sampling uff…your life force!” the vamp replied cheerfully.
“No thanks,” Mandi said dryly. “We’ll find our own way.”
Glaring, the undead slunk away and disappeared back into the shadows from which they’d come.
“Orcus’s throne room is known as the Halls of the Risen Grave,” Mandi said, turning to Daelric. “Do you think you can find it?”
The priest looked at her as if she’d asked if he could lace his boots. Steepling his fingers, he began to pray, closing his eyes and turning in a circle until his index fingers slowly pointed down a main thoroughfare. The six companions set out, winding through the maze-like palace. Ultimately, they found themselves in a large courtyard outside a pair of rusted iron doors. The air in the place smelled strongly of vinegar. Two balors stood before the doors, and around their knees clamored a dozen veiled bodaks, who were busy keeping a long line of vampires, death giants and demons in order. The servants seemed to be checking names in a large book with thick, wet pages made of human skin. As the Legion arrived, one of the bodaks found something in the book that caused it to cry out in a bone-rattling shriek. It pointed at one of the vampires, and a blast of sunlight arched down from one of the tower spires above. An instant later, the line was one position shorter.
Unobtrusively, the Legionnaires joined the queue. When they finally reached the front, the balors looked at them quizzically.
“There’s not going to a problem here, is there?” one of them rumbled. “We’ve been here almost a week without a problem.”
“We’re not looking for trouble,” Mandi said, producing the letter from Iggwilv. “We’re here to see the Prince of Undeath on urgent business.”
The balor quickly scanned the letter before snickering and handing it back.
“Move along,” he said, pulling open the gate, which screeched and groaned in protest. On the other side was a short tunnel that lead to the center of the palace. The dome inside the vast throne room was made of the interior of a truly gargantuan skull, held up by curving pillars of bone that looked like ribs. At the center of the room loomed a pile of skulls, and atop that rested a throne of black stone inlaid with mithral. Seated there was the enormous demon prince himself, his eyes burning with a mix of curiosity and contempt as he watched the newcomers approach. Around him fluttered varrangoins and vampires clutching various papers, half a dozen specters whispering in his twitching ears, and three gaunt ghoul lords attempting to demonstrate some form of necromantic device for his amusement. Orcus waved a skull-tipped wand, and the undead courtiers retreated as if pushed violently away. Strange, black tendrils writhed from the black throne, all of them pointing at the only living mortals in the room. The demon prince waved them forward and coughed in a voice that sounded like thunder.
The Legionnaires began the long walk across the chamber, and as they drew near the throne, each of them felt as if a heavy, unseen weight was pushing down on them. When they were still sixty feet away, Marius abruptly sank to his knees, and then prostrated himself on the floor. Several yards further, Daelric succumbed as well. By the time they reached the base of the skull pile, only Mandi and Tower Cleaver remained standing. With a shaking hand, and beads of perspiration on her face, Mandi held out the letter.
“Greetings…Lord Orcus…,” she said in a strained voice. “We are…the Legion…I am called…Ozymandia. We come…bearing urgent…news…”
As Orcus plucked the letter from her hand, she too collapsed. Only Cleaver still stood, and effortlessly so. He looked back at his allies in confusion, shrugged, and then leaned casually against the skull pile.
Orcus took several minutes reading and rereading the letter. Finally, he let it drop to the floor and shrugged.
“What do you have to say on your behalf?” his voice boomed.
“Great Lord,” Sepoto said from his prostrate position, “we are honored to test our mettle against your arena, so that we might prove our worth and show you that we are both willing and capable to defeat our mutual enemy….the so-called Prince of Demons.”
Orcus shook his ram-like head and laughed, sending maggots tumbling from his fur onto the floor all around him. He pointed his skull-topped wand at the companions and said, “You think you are clever, but talk cannot stop Demogorgon’s armies. If you want my endless legions, you must defeat two of my personal guards and one of my favorite executioners with one of your own.”
He waved his wand and suddenly two female giants, both black-skinned and bald, appeared nearby, flanking a huge, disembodied head, which moved by slithering around on the sickly entrails that protruded from the stump of its neck.
“Choose your champion wisely,” Orcus intoned, “and prepare him in any manner that you see fit.”
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