LORDS OF OBLIVION
“So that’s the place?” Tilly mused.
“It fits Skiriol’s description,” Grimm rumbled. The Bright Axes were gathered in an open pedestrian square on Obsidian Avenue, about a block away from the manor of Thifirane Rhiavadi. The lavish estate was two stories, and its walls had been built from the native volcanic stone. Four squat towers were spaced evenly about the main building, three with pointed spire caps, and the fourth with a domed observatory made of alabaster and glass. A large portico fronted the main avenue, supported by four marble pillars carved to resemble dragons. All of the windows were of heavy, frosted glass, in sturdy copper frames. It was opulent, but to the trained eye, also easily defensible.
“So what’s the plan?” Grimm asked his companions. It was early evening, and the avenue and square were not crowded. Although the adventurers were not exactly inconspicuous, the locals were used to seeing them here in the high rent district since they had been offered membership at the Cusp of Sunrise.
“I don’t feel like knockin’ on the front door and playin’ nice,” Rusty growled. “We know they’re up to somethin’ in there. I say we rush the place!”
Kiko, not usually one to interfere in inter-party negotiations, felt that it was his duty to speak now. “While I agree in principle that Lady Thifirane keeps dubious house guests, the last time I checked, that was not against the law. On the other hand, breaking and entering is. In addition, I do believe the local constabulary would frown upon one of the nobility being summarily executed in her own home without benefit of due process.” Rusty scowled at the monk. “Well, what’s yer plan, baldy?”
Ignoring the jibe, Kiko shrugged slightly. “I believe we should test the waters. We should go to the door like civilized citizens, and request an audience with the Lady. Let the actions of her household then dictate further action.”
“Bah!” Rusty said dismissively.
“Perhaps I can offer another option.” This from Dalthon. The aasimar had reserved comment up to this point, but the evening was wearing on, and the arguing was pointless. All eyes turned to him expectantly. “Well,” he continued, clearing his throat, “I suggest we infiltrate the premises with magic…unobtrusive magic. Once inside, we can have a look around discreetly, without drawing undue attention to ourselves. With any luck, we can discover the nature of this gathering and obtain hard evidence of wrongdoing.”
Rusty stared for a moment, and then shrugged. “As long as we’re inside, I don’t care how we get there,” the dwarf said.
“And as long as we do things by the book once we’re inside as well,” Kiko retorted.
“It’s settled then,” Dalthon hurriedly interjected before another argument could begin. “Grimm, you’ll go with me, then Kiko with Tilly, and last, Rusty with Gunther.”
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Discreetly, and in pairs, the Bright axes ducked into a nearby alley, then with the magical abilities of Dalthon, Kiko and Gunther, they stepped briefly between dimensions, to appear within the observatory atop House Rhiavadi. Cautiously, and as quietly as men in armor were capable of, they descended to the second floor, finding themselves in a small gallery outside the tower foyer. Tilly and Kiko silently crossed to a set of doors leading into the main house, but as soon as they were within a few feet of them, the doors opened of their own accord. Kiko cursed as he saw a halfling dressed in house livery in the parlor beyond. The man looked up, but did not seem surprised or nonplussed to see the band of armed adventurers. Nevertheless, Kiko didn’t intend to give him a chance to raise an alarm. In two long strides, he reached the butler, and nimbly stepped behind him, twining his arms through those of the halfling's all in one swift move. Tilly was right behind the monk, and he winced as he drew back his small fist to strike, “Sorry, brother,” he said to his kinsman, “I’ll owe you a drink next time I see you.” The rogue punched the servant squarely in the jaw, but instead of collapsing as expected, the halfling seemed to fold in on himself, transforming into a mound of muddy, wet snow. “What in the Abyss?” Tilly cried, his jaw dropping open.
“Ah…I’ve heard of this!” Gunther said as he stepped into the room. “It’s a simulacrum…a magical construct. You have to have a live model to create one though. I wonder where the original is?”
“Shhh...” Kiko said, holding up one hand for silence. “Do you hear that?”
From beyond a set of doors on the far side of the parlor came the sound of harpsichord music, and several voices. Kiko approached the doors, careful to stay back several feet lest they too were rigged to magically open. His companions gathered around behind him. The voices did not seem raised in alarm, so it seemed their small struggle here had gone unnoticed. Abruptly, one voice rose above the general babble. It was a woman’s voice: “More than five centuries ago, the demodands sent a few of their kind to our reality. Disguised as humans, they mated with humans and other denizens of this plane. Most of their spawn were stillborn, but a few survived. They mated and produced the next generation with demodand blood. As the generations passed, all obvious traces of their demodand ancestry faded away. Today, we recognize this sacred lineage by an invisible birthmark: the sign of Carceri! We call these honored descendants ‘the Shackleborn,’ and their sacrifice is key to unlocking a portal to Othrys, the first layer of Carceri. Here, demodands and countless other fiends have languished for near-eternity. In Cauldron, we have found more Shackleborn than anywhere else in the Realms, and in Cauldron, we have the perfect conditions for the Ritual of Planar Junction. For the past five years, the Cagewrights have labored in secret to build thirteen soulcages to drain the life energy from the Shackleborn. These soulcages hang from an artifact called the Tree of Shackled Souls-the device that gathers the life energy needed to unlock the prison doors of Carceri. All of the preparations are now complete. The Shackleborn are safely in our hands and ready to give their lives to change the world forever. All that remains is the ritual itself, and it is already underway. Once the ritual is complete, Cauldron won’t be the same quiet little burg it is today. It will be the unholy font from which darkness gushes forth, a roiling pit filled with doom and despair for our enemies. Almost immediately, fiendish armies will sweep across the land and lay waste to surrounding territories, enslaving the weak, and carving out new dominions. Naturally, we expect resistance on all sides, and that’s where you come in.”
A second, deeper voice spoke up: “All eyes will be on Cauldron. We’ll have their worst fears to toy with.”
“Precisely,” came the woman’s voice again. “As kings raise armies to confront the legions of Carceri, your slavers, merchants, spies and assassins will methodically search for weaknesses from within, soften their resolve, and convince them that their only true choices are to yield or die!”
As the babble of different voices rose again after the stirring speech, Rusty turned a cynical eye towards Kiko. “I think that’d count as evidence,” the priest smirked, and then he hefted his axe, lowered his shoulder and charged through the doors. “It’s clobberin’ time!”
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Beyond the doors was a grand ballroom, the floor of which consisted of black, lavender and ivory tiles that spiraled towards the room’s center. Directly above the spiral’s core, hung a dazzling crystal chandelier lit by magical flames. A tapestry hung on one wall with a dark symbol stitched into it. The symbol resembled an eye impaled on an upward pointing arrow. Beneath the tapestry stood a table covered with a magnificent arrangement of crystal wine goblets, each filled with some sweet vintage. A semicircle of seven black chairs faced the tapestry and the table of goblets. Standing before the tapestry was woman in her middle years, wearing an elegant, yet elaborate black gown decorated with arcane glyphs stitched in silver thread. A bizarre hairpiece held her golden-brown hair up above her neckline and around her neck hung a pendant shaped like a tiny, silver cage. More disturbing than her attire, was the third eyeball staring out from the center of her forehead. Nearby the woman, stood a tall humanoid construct, seemingly crafted out of pieces of plate armor. This was Thifirane Rhiavadi, a full-fledged member of the Cagewrights, and she was attended by her personal shield guardian, a gift from that same organization.
Seated in the first chair was a snowy-haired, snowy-bearded dwarf, wearing a black leather half-mask with a translucent black gem set into the eyehole. His good eye was a crisp blue, like a frozen lake, and his complexion was pale. The teeth which filled his smiling mouth were all gold. He was dressed in studded leather armor, and had a waraxe slung across his back. This worthy was known as Adrick Garthun, an unscrupulous dwarven merchant who had recently made a name for himself selling gold and silver to the Last Laugh so that they could mint their own coins. He had agreed to attend Thifirane’s meeting because he had been promised exclusive mining rights to the mountains around Cauldron once the new regime was in place. Flanking him were two dour looking dwarves, Daxavalt and Kerg, dressed in full plate armor and brandishing heavy crossbows, with large urgroshes behind their shoulders.
The second seat was occupied by a sensationally handsome man with short black hair and creepy yellow eyes. He wore spiked full plate armor, and carried a shield adorned with the symbol of the mad god Cyric. Hanging at his side was a black mace with a black, skull-shaped head. Khyron Bonesworn was the leader of a band of adventurers called the Necrocants. His personal aspirations stopped at nothing less than ruling the Turmish. Next to the priest was a gaunt figure with long, white hair and clad in black robes. Melagorn Thureq was a fellow Necrocant of Khyron’s.
In the fourth chair was a half-elven woman with long, black hair with a silvery white stripe running through it. She currently called herself Mhad, and she had lived for 330 years thus far, although “lived” was a relative term, considering she was a vampire. Her alabaster-white visage was a twisted mask of contempt, and her eyes burned crimson. She wore an elegant but tattered black gown and silvery gray bracers studded with red bloodstones. Mhad had agreed to attend the meeting because the Cagewrights had offered to assist her in the removal of a particularly onerous group of monks known as the Order of the Silver Dream that had tried and failed to destroy her several times over the past 200 years. A voluminous, black cloak swirled about her, though there was no perceptible wind in the room. This was Mhad’s traveling companion, a dread wraith called Hate.
To her right, sat a corpulent swine of a creature, who seemed fat in all the wrong places. This was the self-proclaimed “Lord” Vervil Ashmantle, a tiefling, not to mention a notorious slaver, who traced his abyssal ancestry back to a nalfeshnees demon. His plan was to legitimize and rule the local slave trade, and the only way that could happen was by allying with the Cagewrights and their fiendish masters. His bloodshot eyes were sunken deep into the folds of his face, and his lower jaw sported a pair of stumpy, four-inch yellow tusks. He wore a gold ring on one tusk, and a black platinum ring scribed with silver runes on the other. His bloated body was hidden beneath elegant purple robes threaded with gems. Standing alertly behind his chair were a pair of emaciated, demonic beings with long horns protruding from the back of their skulls…babaus!
The second from the last seat held a dour, young woman, barely five feet tall, with a slender build and short, curly red hair. In reality, Velior Thazo was no woman at all. He merely chose to assume this guise to hide his true, fiendish nature. As a Jester, one of the Last Laugh’s five guild masters, and personal leader of the assassination division, he heeded Thifirane’s summons as a gesture of good will between his organization and what he perceived as the wave of the future.
Last was a large, ogre-like monstrosity, with purple skin and a pair of ivory horns. Zarn Kyass, the “Blue Duke,” dealt in ogre and half-orc mercenaries. He had already provided several of his finest men to the current powers-that-be in Cauldron at a generous discount, and he planned on providing countless more. His fervent wish was to be made general, or archduke once the Cagewrights’ plans for Cauldron came to fruition, and the fiends of Carceri were unleashed upon the land.
In was into this cozy little enclave that the Bright Axes burst unceremoniously, not knowing, and not particularly caring, who they were dealing with. Their only thought was to bring the conspirators to justice, either by the court or by the sword, or die trying. No sooner had Rusty entered, than Adrick’s henchmen sprung into action. They were well trained, and always on the alert for trouble. In an instant, they had fired their crossbows at the charging priest, dropped them, and unholstered their urgroshes. However, just before Rusty engaged the two warriors, Dalthon stepped to the open door, and seeing the tightly packed group, unleashed a ball of fire into the center of the ballroom. The flames engulfed most of the assemblage, though most of them managed to duck for cover at the last minute. The one exception was Melagorn. The necromancer never knew what hit him, and his smoldering corpse hit the floor before Kyron’s stunned eyes.
Rusty bowled into Daxavalt and Kerg, forcing them backwards in his mad rush, while Tilly somersaulted around the skirmishing dwarves, coming to his feet directly behind Kerg. Before the mercenary could react, the little rogue seized his beard, jerking his head back, and cleanly sliced his throat. Adrick couldn’t believe this. Though not naïve enough to ever feel totally safe, he had thought this particular meeting to be an exception, and now some insane band of do-gooders had come out of nowhere and where mopping the floor with his allies. The dwarf was trying to decide if discretion was going to be the better part of valor in this fight, and was slowly inching his way towards the door, when suddenly a massive, spiked chain whipped through the doorway, slicing deep into his thigh. As Adrick quickly back-pedaled, a large, surly half-ogre lumbered into the room, and in one fell swoop, liberated Daxavalt’s head from his body.
Zarn Kyass could see the writing on the wall as well, but he would be damned if he would be a casualty of this debacle. Using his innate magic to render himself invisible, he quickly moved to protect Thifirane. Then, while most of the intruders were still bunched near the doors, he unleashed a blast of freezing cold at them, catching the majority of them in its path. “Nicely done,” Thifirane whispered from behind him, and then he heard her begin her own spell casting, calling upon a dweomer that would hasten the movements and attacks of all their allies.
“Don’t just stand there, you idiots!” Vervil howled in Abyssal at his babau thralls, “Kill them!” One of the demons vanished in the blink of an eye, only to instantly reappear right next to Dalthon, claws and fangs bared to rend the sorcerer limb from limb. “Not so fast, ye beastie!” Rusty roared, seeing the aasimar’s imminent danger. The priest quickly uttered a prayer to Mystra, and then blasted the babau with a beam of pure, searing light. The demon vanished in a puff of smoke and brimstone.
Mouthing a silent thank you to his companion, Dalthon added to the general chaos by unleashing a second fireball. This time, their opponents were not close enough together to catch more than one, but that one just happened to by the priest of Cyric. Khyron howled in pain as his already blistered skin began to char. He called upon his dark god to grant him healing power, and began to mend some of his terrible wounds.
Kiko saw the one-eyed dwarf trying to make his escape, and he took three running steps, then launched himself into a flying kick to Adrick’s head. As he landed, he was momentarily taken aback to see the slight, red haired woman suddenly change forms into a bat-winged humanoid with claws, fangs, short horns and smoldering orange eyes. Recovering quickly, the monk dropped to the ground, then swung his leg in a circle kick, sweeping the half-fiend’s legs out from under him.
Grimm continued to wade through the fray, headed straight for the ogre mage, who was now visible again after his magical attack. Four lightning fast strikes with a spiked chain later, and Zarn Kyass lay unmoving at Thifirane’s feet, though Grimm could readily see that the creature’s wounds were already starting heal. As the half-ogre drew back his weapon to deliver a coup-de-grace, he found himself suddenly entwined and wrapped up by, of all things, the cloak that the half-elven woman was wearing. It seemed to have a life of its own, and as it twisted around him, Grimm could feel it starting to suck his own life away.
Velior quickly rolled over from his prone position, and glared hatred at the monk standing above him. “Do you think me so easily defeated human?” he spat. Then, speaking in a guttural language, he called upon his demonic heritage to unleash a hammer blow of chaotic energy that sent Kiko reeling away from him.
“This has gone far enough,” Thifirane hissed. “How dare you people enter my home and attack my guests!” Her hands began moving in a blur of arcane gestures, and then from the tiled floor sprang a forest of writhing, black tentacles…an all too familiar sight to the Bright Axes. One by one, the heroes were snatched, and grappled by the rubbery appendages. Only Grimm managed to evade the initial assault. Kiko twisted and whirled like a dervish, until he was able to squirm free from his captor. Seeing the half-fiend trying to get to his feet, the monk leaped upon him, raining a barrage of fists and elbows down.
Gunther felt the life being squeezed out of him. Worse yet, he could see that Rusty wasn’t faring much better. What an ignominious way for a legendary, dwarven hero to meet his end! Unable to bear the thought, the sycophant summoned all his will to cast one desperate spell. Once again, he stepped between dimensions, slipping out of the deadly coils of the tentacle, and appearing just beyond the parlor doorway.
Grimm flailed madly at the living cloak, trying to wrench it off him. Finally able to free his chain arm, he swung at the undead thing over and over, driving it back further with each hit. Finally, though the creature existed partly in the real world, and partly in the ethereal, the planar champion’s weapon shredded the thing's corporeal form and sent it wailing back to its shadowy domain. Just as the half-ogre breathed a sigh of relief, he was snagged from behind by one of the waving tentacles.
Thifirane was not about to let this opportunity go to waste. She had most of the interlopers trapped, and now she was going to seal their fate. Casting again, she created an impenetrable wall of magical force that split the room in half, separating half of the Bright Axes from their companions.
Vervil saw his opportunity as well. Recognizing Thifirane’s spell, the tiefling quickly rendered himself invisible, then darted to the far side of the room. Using the wall of force as a backsplash, he centered his own fireball in the midst of the entangled adventurers, relishing their cries of anguish as their own skin began to burn.
Gunther knew he had to do something, and now. Rusty couldn’t take much more. Thinking quickly, he snapped his fingers and shouted the words to the dispelling charm he’d memorized. In a flash, the entire nest of tentacles vanished, freeing his newfound companions, and most importantly, Rusty.
Vervil barely had time to savor his brief contribution before the newly freed half-ogre bore down on him. “Eep!” the tiefling shrieked as the last thing he saw in this life, a whistling length of spiked chain, came down between his eyes. Grimm turned back towards the main combat, but ran face first into the wall of force. As he rebounded backwards, he was stunned by the sudden appearance of the second babau. The demon appeared out of thin air, right over the half-ogre’s head. It began slashing and tearing at Grimm’s flesh like a wild cat. With one massive hand, the planar champion seized the fiend, hauling it bodily into the air, and then slamming it against the force wall. Taking one step back, Grimm snapped his chain out, stabbing its point right thru the babau’s skull. A shout of rage from behind warned him a fraction of a second before Khyron’s mace would have splattered his own skull. Whirling around, the half-ogre caught the Cyricist right across the abdomen with a backhanded strike. A loud “whuff” came from Khyron’s throat as his breath was driven out of him, and he hit his knees hard on the floor.
“My, but you’re a dangerous one, aren’t you,” Thifirane taunted as Grimm stood over his handiwork. “Too dangerous to have lumbering around, as a matter of fact.” Tossing out another incantation, she conjured an invisible cage of force this time, imprisoning Grimm inside. “Mhad!” Thifirane shouted, turning to the vampire, who up to this point, had remained seated, unperturbed, coldly observing the entire melee. “You should go now! Our business is concluded here, but we will meet again.” The vampire nodded slightly, then rising slowly, and regally, she turned and stepped into a nearby shadow, vanishing from sight.
“Get off!” Velior shrieked, heaving Kiko from him, and then surging to his feet. The half-fiend unfolded his wings, and leaped into the air, lunging towards the stumbling monk, but just as he did so, three rays of scorching fire intercepted him, blasting him to the ground. Dalthon nodded at Kiko’s gratitude, and turned away from the smoking corpse. It was then that Kiko noticed the priest of Cyric bolting for a side door. The badly wounded man was trying to escape! The monk was after him in a flash, but Khyron had just enough of a head start. Bursting into a guest bedroom, he dove head first through a window, plummeting towards the ground below. Alas, the priest had miscalculated the extent of his own injuries, and the distance to the ground. When Kiko looked out the window, he saw the man’s broken body lying on the flagstones below.
Thifirane knew that the battle had ended. It was time to cut her losses. She placed one hand upon her shield guardian, and the other on the unconscious form of Zarn Kyass. Uttering one last spell, she invoked her teleportation spell, vowing silently that Vhalantru would help her to avenge this insult….
