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Message: <blockquote data-quote="gfunk" data-source="post: 1331046" data-attributes="member: 1813">Session 57"The Search Continues" Yelling loudly in pain and surprise, Cronus was buffeted against the walls as their razor sharp protrusions began to split his flesh. Wounded seriously, he was eventually dumped into a chamber. Looking directly at his prone form were pair of T’lak’ith knights and Kr’y’izoth wizards waiting for him. The undead Githyanki were, of course, surprised as this mammoth catch was not exactly the type of prey they were expecting. Nevertheless, the mages sprang into action launching a pair of polar rays and crackling, black bolts of enervation at the Titan. All four effects simply fizzled in the face of Cronus’ awesome power. Before their foe could stand, the knights tried to weird him out, but again such petty magics failed to affect him. With hatred and loathing in his eyes, Cronus stood. He grimaced as the two knights sliced into his ankles with their silver greatswords. “Impudent insects, you will all be crushed under my heel!!” With a brief gesture, the Titan forced open three doorways to the Elemental Plane of Fire as three Salamander nobles emerged. Vaguely humanoid with snake-like trunks, the creatures carried large iron spears that blazed with heat.  Then, the gates of Baator were cast open as the room was consumed in hellish fire, between the Salamander’s fireballs and Cronus’ meteor swarm everyone was blanketed in flame. One of the T’lak’iths crumbled to dust while the remaining undead were brutally scorched. While the knight did his best to distract the Titan, his arcane comrades launched several greater dispel magics and managed to dismiss all but one of the Salamanders. Striding forward, Cronus raised his adamantine maul and ground one of the Kr’y’izoths into oblivion. In desperation, the T’lak’ith grasped the Titan’s leg, attempting to plane shift his enemy out of the Astral – it failed.  In the end, the outcome was inevitable. All the undead were annihilated. With a grunt of satisfaction, Cronus turned around and re-entered the passage. This time, he would not be thrown back. ------------------------------------------------- Thanks to the timely intervention of Amal’s disrupting weapon, the remaining trio of Kr’y’izoths were dispatched post-haste. As Entropy and Sidhe, the Balor, waited behind, Hor’ahun, Amal, and Noir flew into the library to begin the search for Vlaakith’s phylactery. While the Blackguard threw aside numerous books and scroll tubes in her investigations, Hor’ahun employed a detect magic spell.  Before any fruits could be gained from their labor, a huge gem in the ceiling began to bathe the library in a cascading light. The magical trap forced Amal, Hor’ahun, and Noir to recall their worst injuries as the trio recoiled in pain. Seeing the flashing black light, Entropy gestured to Sidhe, “Get in their and help those clowns search for the phylactery. I will wait for the Titan alone.” Unused to such insolence from mortals, the demon was compelled to obey. Its mighty wings unfurled as it launched itself through the portal and into the library. Sidhe’s hyperacute senses allowed him to scrutinize the chamber in mere seconds. Immediately, he spotted a small latch on the floor and, as he flew down towards it, the trap was re-activated. Hor’ahun and Noir both ran screaming out of the library, while Amal tried to stick it out, “Demon! Leave me be and cease your infernal searching!” Looking up at the light, the Dreadmaster could see that a sort of symbol dweomer had been placed upon it. Apparently a unique spell created by the Lich Queen, Amal cast a greater spell immunity to render himself immune to it. In the meantime, Sidhe utterly disregarded the Banite’s order and flipped open the latch, removing a small, adamantine box. His mighty muscles flexed as he tried to crush it in his hand, but it refused to yield. ------------------------------------------------- Bloodied and beaten, but with an unmistakable grin of satisfaction on his face, Cronus emerged once more from the passage that had attempted to consume him. Simultaneously, Sidhe returned with the adamantine box from the library. Placing it gingerly in front of the Titan, the Balor motioned towards it, “Open it up big boy, I think there’s a surprise inside.” Drawing his maul, Cronus flattened the diminutive container as small parchment scrolls were scattered throughout the room. Thinking quickly, Sidhe stepped into the whirlwind of paper and activated his flaming aura – easily immolating the phylactery. Their tasks completed, both Outsiders abruptly disappeared. Emerging from the library, Amal did not appear convinced, “I refuse to believe that such a powerful wizard could so easily be bested. I believe that the Warlord’s information was highly suspect to begin with – how in Acheron would that mere cannon fodder even know the location of the phylactery?” Nodding in agreement, Hor’ahun concurred, “Yes, I believe you are correct. Among the legends of my people stand many assassination attempts on the various incarnations of the Lich Queen, just as the Githyanki have tried to slay our Zerth Cenobite masters. These efforts were uniformly failures – a creature of Vlaakith’s intelligence always managed to supply many false phylacterys to draw her slayers into complacency.” “Obviously, the only way for us to know for sure is to divine the results of our actions. Amal, can you commune with Bane?” “Of course I can, though I have not prayed for that particular spell today. We must wait for a day before I am granted the privilege.” “No time. If you cannot do it, then I will do it myself.” Pausing to alter the Weave and open a channel between the Astral Plane and Acheron, Entropy closed her eyes and concentrated. Her mind drifted into a black void, suffused with floating cubes of metal. Some were only a few miles across, while the grandest were continent-sized. The Alienist’s psyche flew to the largest of them all, Scourgehold, the home of the Dreadlord himself. A voice filled her mind, consuming her thoughts with hatred and strife. “So you require information – very well, mortal, it amuses me to entertain your inquiries. Ask what you will.” ------------------------------------------------- “We should not have trusted them Kalmach.” Zetan’r’r paced the chambers of his throne room, his ornate banded mail scraping as he did so.  “My Lord, I have confidence in the wisdom of your judgment. Vlaakith has gone too far this time, she forced our hand and we had no choice. As the true ruler of the Silver Void and for the good of the race, you acted as you must.” Without responding to the warlock, the Githyanki continued his rhythmic movement. Just then, a green-skinned celestial teleported into his chambers, holding a large sack in her hands. From the bag emerged Amal, Noir, and Hor’ahun as Entropy resumed the form of a Pit Fiend. “I see that you have returned. Well, what news do you bring me? Has Vlaakith been destroyed?” Amal spoke first, “We have eliminated her material form, but she lives still. The phylactery you spoke of was a fake. How do you expect us to accomplish our mission, by Bane, when you give us such inferior intelligence?” Zetan’r’r frowned with displeasure, “Obviously I had thought that individuals of your talents and abilities would be capable of divining such a simple thing. I gave you the best information that I had available,” he sighed deeply, “so, in other words, you are telling me that you failed. Perhaps I have erred in my estimation of you.” Taking long strides to the Warlord, Entropy placed her enormous, intimidating face directly in front of his, “Are you suggesting that we are incompetent? I don’t think I like your tone.” The Warlord of the Silver Void returned her intense stare, unwavering and unafraid, “Beware of your threats Sorcerer. Even if you slay me, you will not leave the Astral Plane alive. My agents are numerous and powerful and you are depleted – they would make short work of you.” Noir quickly intervened between the two, “Now, now, I think there is enough blame for both sides. Despite our apparent “failure,” Vlaakith will not manifest again for days. Besides, with the aid of the Dreadlord we believe we know where her real phylactery lies. Shelter us for one day more, Warlord, and we will succeed.” “What choice do I have? Kalmach, show them to their quarters.” ------------------------------------------------- Amal had just removed his full plate armor as he knelt to do his evening prayers, when he heard his door opening. “Begone servant, and do not disturb me again upon pain of death!” A silky voice responded to him, “Ah, but my dear Dreadmaster, I did not come here to serve you unless you so desire. I have some useful information for you.” Turning around in surprise, Amal found Entropy approaching him, dressed in a slinky red nightgown which did much to accentuate her curvaceous, lithe body. However, his gaze never strayed far from a third eye on her forehead which seemed to twitch and animate of its own accord. “Bane revealed much to me, some of which I felt it necessary to share. However, there is one additional thing you should know. I did so want to talk to you in person, away from the ears of the common soldiers.” “Entropy, I am tired and cannot be interrupted during my evening ceremony, spit it out and begone!” “Oh, but . . . Amal, I’m afraid that I can’t give you the information so easily, it will cost you . . . ,” she began to gyrate seductively in his direction. Having his carnal desires typically satisfied by wenches or eager acolytes, Amal was unsure of how to proceed. He stood and approached the Alienist cautiously. Amid all the blood and carnage, he never noticed what an . . . alien beauty his traveling companion possessed. As Bane taught, knowledge was power and in this particular case it seemed as if he could give into his baser desires to gain both. Seizing Entropy by the back of her shoulder blades, the Dreadmaster drew her face to his as they kissed passionately. When he released her, Entropy gently grabbed the back of his head and turned it. Quietly, she whispered in his ear, “Fzoul wishes you dead dear Amal.” “WHAT!?” “You have grown too powerful, been too successful. Once you return triumphant from this mission, he seeks to slay you and put to rest any doubts about his status as Chosen of the Black Hand.” “After all those years of faithful service . . . I’ll kill the bastard with my bare hands! I will assume the leadership of the Church!!!” “Oh, but you will need help Amal. Fzoul is powerful and he has Manshoon and a legion of fanatical Zhentilars to support him.” The Dreadmaster smirked, “Come off it woman, you would never offer your services so cheaply. You must have an ulterior motive or you want something from me. Well? Let's hear it!” “How right you are, dear Amal. There is a thorn in my side, a bane to my existence. He must be slain and his corpse animated in service to the Revenancer. Yes, in return for my aid to your cause, you must help me eviscerate the noble Joachim Dethick.”</blockquote>

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