Frime Blount knelt, bowing his head in respect – and shame. “Lord Father, as you said, she is strong, m’lord. And so were her companions. I have failed. The tarrasque is lost, and Grugaro slain.” The half-orc cleric looked up at the lich, who was seated on an ornate iron throne. On each side of the room stood three iron skeletons – Sasog’s elite construct warriors. The room was pitch dark but for the soft red glow of the lich’s eyes, but that mattered not, as all present had darkvision.
He grew more worried as the silence dragged on, but finally, the lich chuckled, and spoke. “It is as I expected, then. Oh, we’ll deal with her, one way or the other. But unlike you foolish mortals, I know the value of patience and proper planning. You failed, and will not be granted lichdom. But now I have other tasks for you, Frime.
As for the tarrasque, you will be charged with its retrieval. Most likely they will simply slay it, in which case you must perform the true ressurection.
The form of a head was a waste of Grugaro’s talents. He will be fully animated as a ragelich, and trained as a warhulk. When the next war comes, he will not be so easily destroyed again.”
Frime rose. “And what of Osboj? It must still be in Settonton. It wandered off on its own, instead of supporting me in battle as it promised to. This made all the difference, since it could have dispelled her tricks.”
The lich replied “Such unreliability is to be expected of a servant of Erythnul, who is ever jealous of Nerull’s greatness. Leave it be. It is no ally, but perhaps it will yet solve some problems for us. Though I would rather control her, and I know exactly how to do it, given time. It would seem a waste to let such a tool as her die the final death.”
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Father Porter’s magic only confirmed what Haessellekh had found: Both the human and the half-orc appeared to be telling the truth.
“The man’s memory of the face may simply be hazier than he believes” the priest offered. “But I fear that a renegade doppelganger is loose in the city.”
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King Richards’ coronation ceremony was splendid, but the recent tragedies cast a gloom over the crowd. The six great heroes of the night – all once again among the living - were honored with applause, fanfare, and knighthoods. But no one seemed quite sure that the horrific attacks were over.
The next few weeks proved peaceful enough. Rumors of war with the orcs to the north arose on occasion, but in truth, the northern front was quiet. The tension in the city continued to fester since the riots, but no significant racial violence broke out. Ordinary crime continued, murder included, but that had long since become a routine part of city life.
Kurina and Zach left Bylan, called to the elven continent of Cellon to help deal with some kind of drow plot. At the elves’ request, full details were not shared with the rest of the group.
Haessellekh, Grandfather, and Yolo travelled to various other cities in Bylan, but checked in on Settonton regularly.
The murder rate continued to rise in Settonton, and other strange things seemed to be happening. Sometimes the king behaved irrationally, it was said.
One day, Haessellekh called Grandfather and Yolo back to the city. She had conducted her own investigation, with disturbing results. If there was a doppelganger murderer, one thing was for sure – he had powerful protection from divination spells. But as the clues mounted, her suspicions grew even darker. From her days in Sasog, she remembered talk of an incorporeal fiend who was immune to divinations, and could posess people at will, dispel magic with uncanny ease, corrupt the good, alter memories, and – or so it was said – kill with no hope of ressurection.
And now, she believed, this fiend was in the body of King Richards. The element of surprise was crucial, as were certain spells designed specifically to trap posessing fiends. It would be necessary to arrive suddenly or to arrange a meeting with the king without arousing the fiend’s suspicions, lest it flee to strike from another victim. The party chose to scry and teleport in.
The anti-fiend spell failed, and the incorporeal ooze-like form filled the king’s bedchamber. In an instant, Haesellekh’s pit fiend guise was gone, along with her other protective spells. The fiend reached forth tendrils, causing her to cry out in pain. The group knew they were in for the fight of their lives. Yet that knowledge, while frightening, was also familiar – the rush of real danger had not been this intense since facing that first kobold so many years ago …
HERE ENDS THE PARTING GIFTS ADVENTURE
