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Message: <blockquote data-quote="gfunk" data-source="post: 2323230" data-attributes="member: 1813">RED DAWN It was truly glorious . . . and terrible to behold. Not since the great flight of dragons during the Year of the Worm, had so many wyrms been seen over the Dalelands. Indeed, the sky was crimson as the gargantuan beasts sailed over the ruins of Suzail. As the ragtag band of Cormyrian Purple Dragons and War Wizards watched the flight with trepidation, they were careful to remain hidden to shield themselves from the prompt incineration that would assuredly follow their detection.  Nearly a year had passed since the great Githyanki invasion and subsequent conquest of Cormyr and Sembia. It was not uncommon to see the Githyanki’s astral warships flying side-by-side with their allies, since they enjoyed a pact with red dragons. However, two particular facts made this occurrence decidedly extraordinary – one, dragons typically flew alone or, at most, in pairs; and two, there was not a single astral skiff in sight.     --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Raising the Scepter of Ephelomon aloft, Amal goaded his servants further north for the greater glory of Bane. A symbol of the covenant between the Lich Queen Vlaakith of the Githyanki and Tiamat’s most powerful consort Ephelomon, the scepter was an artifact of extreme power. Amal smiled as he had taken it from the dust of Vlaakith’s desiccated corpse deep within the bowels of Tunarath, the dead god that housed the Githyanki nation in the Astral Plane. However, convincing Entropy to let him take the Scepter proved to be a bit of a chore . . . that is, until the Alienist discovered the necromantic joys of the Crown of Corruption. Another of Vlaakith’s most powerful possessions, Entropy had used it to turn Noir into an undead T’lak’ith and Hor’ahun into a liquefied pile of goo that she could later use to power her own arcane spells. Upon their return to the Prime, Amal and Entropy had gone their separate ways. She inexplicably returned to Tilverton mumbling insanely about some new alien cult, whereas he had wasted no time in assembling his army.     First, Amal had gated in a half-fiend wyrm directly from the 1st of the Nine Hells. Bound by power of the Scepter, the dragon had little choice but to acquiesce to the Dreadmaster’s very whim. Their flight had taken them over all the major cities of Cormyr – Suzail, Tilverton, Arabel, Marsember, Thunderstone – where Amal’s army multiplied at every location. Drawn by the beacon of Ephelomon and the promise of destruction and pillage, the dragons joined Amal’s ranks with relish. The Githyanki, with their most powerful allies defecting and their lich queen slain, could do little but watch the mass exodus move inexorably northward.      --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Similarly, the Zhentarim could do little but watch in awe and horror as a crimson cloud of death encircled Zhentil Keep. Too soon after their humiliating defeat in Yulash to the Red Plumes of Hillsfar, they were ill-equipped to stop such an overwhelming force. The few mages, soldiers, and Banites who tried to interfere were swiftly crushed.  Directing his minions to swarm the outside of the Temple, Amal dismounted and walked into the foyer. Predictably, the area was clear with nary an acolyte in sight. This would be a fight to the death to determine the High Impreceptor of Bane.      The Black Hand would tolerate no interference from non-believers, heretics, or from lesser clergy. Striding into the magnificently appointed sanctum with massive ivory pillars flanking both sides, Amal saw his challenger rise from his throne in turn – Fzoul Chembryl, High Priest of Bane. “Do you think your Scepter gives you authority here, Amal? I have power amassed from years of tyranny in Bane’s name. Even Manshoon and the Zhentilar acknowledge my authority, who are you to challenge me?” Amal sneered at the Chembryl’s bluster, “It is quite simple, Fzoul. My power has exceeded yours. While you have nearly lost Zhentil Keep through your gross ineptitude *I* have slowly been gaining strength and recruiting allies. What will happen today cannot be attributed to my Scepter, but instead a culmination of my inevitable ascent as the most powerful priest of the Dreadlord in Toril.”     "We shall see . . .” Simultaneously, both priests began casting feverishly but Chembryl finished first. A crackling bolt of negative energy burst from his outstretched hands as it sped towards Amal. Instead of striking him, the beam instead was negated by Amal’s rod of absorption.  Similarly, Amal’s spell of domination had no effect on the Dreadlord as Bane had imbued his Chosen with a powerful mind blank effect. Trying a different tactic, Fzoul used Bane’s divine power to increase his height twofold. With his improved combat prowess, strength, and durability he charged with his heavy mace. Sill attempting to end the duel quickly, Amal’s attempt to implode the Impreceptor was shrugged off as he was smashed with a mace the size of a giant’s head sending him careening into a pillar.     Composing himself quickly, Amal calmly stepped back and tossed a heightened destruction at Chembryl, a tactic that had brought down so many powerful Githyanki. His foe’s body glowed emerald green as the divine power of the spell tried to consume the Impreceptor in unholy fire. Though it inflicted appreciable injury, it failed in its primary task.  Another trio of mace swipes all solidly connected into Amal as his body was thrown around like a rag doll. Standing up on one knee, suffering undoubtedly from numerous internal injuries, Amal had to smile inwardly at the tenacity of Fzoul. Indeed, he should have realized that in his desperation melee combat would certainly have been a final tactic to turn the table. Although he could heal himself, it would simply put him on the defensive – an unacceptable tactical concession. Instead he used his trump card, given to him by Entropy. With a command word, the ring on his finger flashed and a burst of magic surrounded Fzoul. As the weave bent, then broke following the disjunction, the Impreceptor was left with nothing. All his spells were torn away, many of his powerful magical items rendered non-functional, and even his vaunted powers as Chosen temporarily suppressed. Though Bane himself would certainly frown on it, allies were necessary to prevent his own demise. “To me, death tyrants!! Protect your master at all costs!!” Suddenly, five bloated sacks of rotting flesh appeared in the chamber. Their central eyes clouded over and some of their eyestalks hanging limply, they were nevertheless potent in their own right. Ray after ray was fired at Amal, though he ignored most of their effects due to his powerful abjurations, the cumulative damage left him clinging to life by a thread. He could not believe this unfaithfulness on the part of the Chosen. NO ONE, and most assuredly not these zombie beholders should participate in such a sacred ritual of ascension. Otherwise, Amal would have seen to it that the interior of the temple become a raging inferno. Since one sacrosanct tenet had been broken, could another? Amal had to chance it. “Dreadlord, I have slain two of the most powerful tyrants in the multiverse in your name and usurped their power. Vlaakith the Lich Queen and Desayeus the Mad Titan were both crushed. If it pleases you, grant me the title of Impreceptor and annihilate this pretender!” A booming voice reverberated through the chamber, “SO BE IT . . . IMPRECEPTOR. DO NOT FAIL ME AS YOUR PREDECSSOR HAS DONE.”     “Noooooooooooooooo!!!” The smell of charred flesh filled the chamber as Fzoul Chembryl’s skin began to smoke. His eyeballs bulged as his flesh began to quiver and his blood reached boiling temperatures. Within seconds, his body could no longer contain the pressure and it exploded in a cornucopia of gore. His former servants, the death tyrants, disappeared – their pact with their former master void.     ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------     Her trip to Tilverton was cut short by a sending from Myaruk. Really, there was nothing to see. As far as Entropy could tell, the budding Alienist cult had been wiped out by a band of adventurers. Inexplicably, the lord high mayor appeared to have died in the ruckus and was replaced with a warrior called “Bane.” While she had been distracted in the Silver Void, events in Cauldron had accelerated according to Myaruk. Perhaps the Cagewrights had finally succeeded in opening their gate? If so, it would prove an interesting planar phenomenon to study so that her own gate to the Far Realms could at long last be flung open.     Entropy eagerly teleported to her Undying Temple.</blockquote>

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