15 Desnus, 4718 - 12 Sarenith, 4718 - The Die is Cast
No sooner had Dessiter departed than the air in the great grotto rippled again. Tiadora, dressed all in flowing white, appeared before the Knot. Above and behind her, clad in full battle regalia, hovered the deadly beautiful erinyes devils know as the Nine Sisters.
“My lords and ladies,” Tiadora bowed with a smile,“news has reached your master of your great victory. The king of Talingarde is dead by your hand. Well done. Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, high priest of Asmodeus in Talingarde, bids me give thee a message. He asks you to accompany me to the Agathium so that he may congratulate you in person and bestow upon you great reward and high honors. Are you ready? Let us depart with all haste.”
“We are honored by the cardinal’s offer,” Tardaesha replied calmly, “but we came here in search of the horde of the dragon Chargammon. If Sir Richard was able to find it so easily, then Princess Bellinda can too. We need to make sure it is secure before we depart.”
Tiadora’s eyes narrowed.
“Why do you refuse this honor? Does fear so fill you that you cannot even face Thorn? Tell me, my lords, what have you done that makes you so ashamed to even speak with our master?”
“I think you’re making more out of this than it is,” Tardaesha remained calm. “We simply seek to keep potential weapons out of the hands of Thorn’s enemies.”
Tiadora threw back her head and began to laugh. Then she did something truly unusual. She dropped her human facade and stood revealed in all of her infernal glory. Twin tentacles stretched from the crown of her head, while her lower body bloomed in a gown of writhing tendrils.
“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Tell me why you will not come before Thorn. Is there a message you would have me deliver?”
“Our contract is with Thorn,” Kelvin said coldy. “We are not yours to command.”
“If it were up to me I would have let you rot in that prison so long ago,” Tiadora spat. “You were too weak to avoid capture and now, once more, you are too weak to resist being dragged before your rightful lord to face his judgment and condemnation. Pathetic. Seize them my sisters!”
Tiadora raised one hand, and huge black tentacles erupted from the floor of the cavern and wrapped Lemmy and Kelvin in their grip. A moment later, all nine of the Sisters opened fire on Kelvin at Tiadora’s direction. She was well aware of who the biggest threat was. The flaming arrows struck true, and Kelvin screamed in agony.
“Jeratheon!” Tardaesha commanded. “Roast them!”
The dragon growled and whipped his head towards the devils. His jaws yawned wide as he spewed acid across them. He then lashed out and snapped his teeth down on the leg of one Sister who flew too close. Grumblejack took wing and soared towards Tiadora, who hovered above the fray. His huge greatsword cleaved the air and slashed through several of the tentacles that trailed below her. Tardaesha joined the ogre, and Tiadora was forced to retreat before their combined assault. Unfortunately, she backed right into Katarina, who ghosted out of the shadows behind her and thrust her dagger into the spine of the devil.
While Tiadora was distracted, Kelvin managed to teleport himself free of the clutching black tentacles. No sooner had he secured his escape, than he hurled a ball of coruscating electricity at Tiadora and several of the Sisters. Tiadora thrust out one hand as the energy flowed over her, and a ring that she wore gathered it around her into a protective aura of lightning. It didn’t stop Grumblejack from hitting her again, though the big ogre paid for it when the energy sizzled back up his sword and coursed through him, causing every hair to stand on end. Tiadora reeled back and Katarina drove the dagger into her again. That time, Tiadora crumpled. She fell to the ground and as her body began to dissolve, she whispered a single word.
“Free...,”
Jeratheon tore through the Nine Sisters like a rabid hound through a warren of rabbits. Bits and pieces flew through the air as he dismembered them. Kelvin tidied up the survivors with a second lightning ball, and just like that, the great grotto was silent once again. At some point during the melee, Sir Richard’s remaining knights had fled. The Knot resolved to complete the mission for which they’d returned to Chargammon’s island, and began searching for the dragon’s hoard. Beneath the waters of the pool they found a large boulder, which Jeratheon shoved aside. Behind it was a vast, hidden vault, but it was utterly empty. A tunnel led from the submerged pool, but it emptied out into the open sea, and the currents there prevented the vampires from going any further. The companions were left with little choice but to cut their losses and return home...wherever that was...
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As it happened, “home” turned out to be a temporary reprieve in the abode of Baroness Vanya. She was only too happy to entertain her newfound patrons, and proved to be a very gracious hostess. She even provided space in her cellar for Dakota, Kelvin and Tardaesha to place their coffins, no questions asked. As the vampires slept, Lemmy was tasked with standing guard over them, just as a precaution. A good one, as it turned out.
Lemmy was amusing himself with coming up with new “improvements” to his hard lemonade recipe when the acrid smell of sulfur suddenly filled his nostrils. He looked up from his scribbling to discover he was surrounded by a half-dozen decidedly unfriendly-looking individuals. From the tips of their lashing tails to the serrated features of their fang-filled visages, the fiery-eyed sentinels bristled with barbs.
“Cardinal Thorn sends his regards,” one of them croaked in the infernal tongue of Hell.
Two of them seized Lemmy and hugged him close to them, impaling him on their spiked flesh. A grinding sound from behind caused several more to whirl in time to see Tardaesha emerge from her coffin. They leaped upon her and bore her to the ground beneath them. Then came a loud explosion as Lemmy blasted his way free of his assailants, sending shards of metal flying in all directions and riding the wave to safety.
In another room down the hall, Katarina had woken instantly when she heard the sounds of combat nearby. She crept stealthily from her chamber towards the commotion, and arrived just in time to see Tardaesha deliver a punishing blow to one of the devils, sending it careening towards her. Kat’s dagger was already in her hand, and she made to plunge it into the oncoming fiend, but at the last second, the creature pivoted and dodged quickly aside, as if some sixth sense had warned it about her presence. Kat and her sister were both left with wicked puncture wounds from the innumerable barbs on the devil’s thick hide.
Grumblejack was the next to arrive, and Dakota rose from her own coffin a moment later. The small room became a whirling maelstrom of chaos. Dakota loosed her arrows at any and every fiend she could see, while Grumblejack and Tardaesha layed about them with their blades, only by sheer skill and luck managing to avoid taking the heads off their own allies. The barbed devils flipped and tumbled nimbly about the chamber, hurling rays of scorching flames at every opportunity. Lemmy took two of these full on and collapsed into a smoldering heap on the floor. One by one, the Knot began to pick off the fiends. Grumblejack impaled one to a wall, while Tardaesha skewered another. Dakota dispatched a third, making its spiky hide even more barbed with a a half-dozen arrows. Kat harried the remaining creatures with hit-and-run assaults from the shadows until they were too weak from blood loss to dodge Grumblejack and Tardaesha. The last of them finally went down, and Kat went quickly to Lemmy’s side. He still lived, barely. If anything was clear to the companions at that point, it was that they no longer enjoyed the patronage of Cardinal Thorn, but instead had earned his undying enmity.
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The following evening, with a plume of brimstone, Dessiter reappeared in the midst of the Nessian Knot, dressed as always in a black suit. He bowed low before them.
“Great and powerful masters,” he began, “I am commanded to take you forthwith to an audience with my great master the Marquis of the Fourth Misery, Member of Asmodeus' Sixth Praetorian Legion, Gatekeeper of the Eleventh Infernal Portal, Emissary to this reality, the pit fiend Naburus. My master can be somewhat impatient so it is best not to keep him waiting, O great lords. Will you accept this singular honor?”
“Will this solve the riddle of ending our pact with Thorn?” Tardaesha asked.
“It is critical that you visit my lord and master, Naburus, as soon as possible,” Dessiter explained. “For it is through Naburus that you can be released from the Pact of Thorns without incurring the dreadful penalty should you break that contract. O dread lords, I beg of thee do not consign thyself to the conflagration of my master's wrath. Come with me and stand before mighty Naburus.”
“And what might we expect when meeting your master?” Kelvin asked with only a slight trace of suspicion.
“You are most prudent, dread lords, for it is no small matter to stand in the presence of the aristocracy of the Hells,” Dessiter nodded. “First, never address Naburus by his given name. Instead always address him as ‘great one' or ‘mighty one'. Equally be careful to not address him as your master. If you announce Naburus as your master then your master he will become. And though we all serve the same purpose I can sense that you are not yet ready to bow before this emissary of our true master – the first tyrant, He Who's Will Commands All. Be not deceived. For some it is a grave and dangerous thing to appear before so powerful an emissary of the Dark Lord. But also be not afraid. There is no danger to thee, my lords. For you are all true and faithful servants of Asmodeus. Surely there is nothing that you have done to earn the wrath of hell. Surely thou art above reproach.”
“Of course,” Taradaesha smiled grimly. “It seems we have few other options available.”
“Or none,” Dakota added.
“Lead the way,” Tardaesha said.
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The abrupt transition from the prime material plane to the domain of Naburus was disorienting, to say the least. They found themselves in a great cavern and at its center blazed a column of hellfire screaming and writhing as if alive. Otherwise all was darkness. The creature that stood within the column was a dreadful wonder to behold. He was a pinnacle of devil-kind, bigger than an ogre with great wings of shadow and flame. His great bulk did not seem entirely solid, as if he was living shadow breathed with fiery life. Behind him skulked a pair of fiends with frozen, multifaceted eyes that coldly judged all who stood before their towering, insectile forms.
“Who dares invade my sanctum? What mortal dares approach so close to the fires of hell?”
When Naburus spoke, the air of authority about his voice was palpable. His voice was deep and thundered with an inhuman echo. His every word seethed with ancient and implacable hate. He spoke like the voice of doom and the members of the Nessian Knot, hearing his dread pronouncements, shuddered and despaired. He seemed at first like some fearsome monster, but one look in his eyes revealed him to be something all together worse – a genius intellect given the full might and authority of Hell. Naburus was the very essence of evil made manifest upon the prime material.
Dessiter was quick to play his part bowing before the fiend.
“O great and immortal Marquis of the Fourth Misery, it is I Dessiter of the Phistophilus who brings these mortals before you. They come because they would do the will of our master, but they are unjustly bound by a contract much abused by their former superior the so-called Cardinal Adrastus Thorn. They seek justice and relief from the compact. They seek the freedom to do what must be done to remake Talingarde into a dominion where once more our master's name is held in rightful reverence.”
The pit fiend sneered at the mortals.
“Is this so? Do you cower behind this fawning mouthpiece? Come forward and speak your case. I, Naburus, will hear your words. But know this. What is said in my court is heard not just by me, but by the First Among the Fallen himself. Choose your words carefully mortals, lest you suffer for them eternally.”
Clearing his throat carefully, Kelvin stepped forward.
“O Great One,” he bowed low, “I am Kelvin Dannister and I come to you with my fellows and family to beg your assistance. I humbly ask that you hear our deeds so that you might judge us worthy.”
And with that, the wizard launched into a telling of all the events that had transpired from their imprisonment in Branderscar, to their slaying of the King, embellishing the events in dramatic fashion, and leaving out no detail. After this had gone on for some time, Naburus raised one massive fist.
“Enough! Impressive. Clearly you have greatly served the cause of Hell. Be this as it may, a contract signed before the Master of All Contracts is not lightly thrown aside. Dessiter, have you reviewed the Pact of Thorns?”
“Intensely, O undying harbinger of despair,” Dessiter bowed.
“ And is there a way for these servants of Hell to be rid of their commanded loyalty to Thorn?” Naburus asked.
“Yes, O lord of lash and longing,” Dessiter effused. “There is a way that abides by the letter of the law. The fourth paragraph of the compact reads, ‘The Second Loyalty is to their master – He who is called the Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, High Priest of Asmodeus in Talingarde.' The wording is quite specific. The loyalty only persists as long as Cardinal Adrastus Thorn bears the title ‘High Priest of Asmodeus in Talingarde'. If he were ever to be stripped of that title, he would no longer be granted the protection of the contract and no longer be due any special consideration. He would be simply a man amongst men.”
“I see,” Naburus stroked his chin. “Remind me, Dessiter, who granted to Cardinal Adrastus Thorn the title of High Priest of Asmodeus in Talingarde?”
“Why...you did, O my most immolating master,” Dessiter bowed again.
“True,” mused the pit fiend. “So with a word I could remove the title of High Priest from Adrastus and bestow it upon another?”
“Your grasp of the finer points of the law remains as impressive as always, O great guardian of the guillotine gate,” replied Dessiter.
“How could I do this?” Naburus mused. “Though I have not been entirely satisfied with the Cardinal as of late, I have had none formally petition me for the position. I would hate in this critical moment in Talingarde's history to see so important a post remain unfilled.”
“It is a dilemma, O most calamitous conqueror,” Dessiter nodded as he quirked an eyebrow at the assembled Knot.
“Ahem,” Kelvin cleared his throat. “Great One, I would like to humbly submit my person for your consideration for this most honored position.”
“Yes?” said Naburus skeptically. “And what makes you think yourself worthy?”
Before Kelvin could answer, Tardaesha stepped up beside him.
“I would also offer my services,” she bowed. “As a loyal, unholy warrior of our most Dread Master, I would venture to say that I am more qualified for the position than my talented, but less spiritual brother.”
Kelvin glared at her. Tardaesha answered with a knowing smile.
“Silence!” Naburus shouted, his voice shattering the darkness. “Silence, you sub-creatures and listen now to the words of Naburus, Marquis of the Fourth Misery. When I first came to this mortal plane, I listened for even one true prayer to the master of Hell. Finally I heard one crying in the darkness. A dying fallen priest screamed out for vengeance and life. I gave it to him. I made him into what he has become. And how has he repaid this great gift? With disloyalty and incompetence. Now I renounce him. I strip him of the title of High Priest and award it to another. You, Tardaesha of House Dannister, I name as the High Priestess of Asmodeus in Talingarde for the rest of thy life. Remember the fate of your predecessor as you execute this sacred office. Further, I charge you to destroy Adrastus Thorn. Go now and see that my will is done!”
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Dessiter transported the Knot back to Ghastenhall without further adieu.
“Well done indeed, my infernal lords,” he grinned and bowed deeply. “I am happy to have been your humble servant in these tedious legal matters. Now, if there’s nothing else...?”
“Naburus said we should destroy Thorn,” Tardaesha laid a hand on the devil’s shoulder. “He’s a lich. He cannot be destroyed without first destroying his phylactery. Do you have any insight there?”
“Sorry, no,” Dessiter said.
He turned and vanished in a puff of yellow smoke. When the haze had cleared, a small book lay on the ground where he’d last stood. Tardaesha bent to pick it up and then began paging through it.
“It’s a journal,” she said at length. “Belonging to Cardinal Samuel Havelyn.”
“Thorn,” Kelvin said.
“He talks about a great cairn linnorm named Nythoggr. He says, and I quote, ‘Personally, I could imagine no more secure a storage place than planting an item in the linnorm's horde. Of course, retrieving it would immensely dangerous.”
“How convenient,” Kelvin snorted.
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Having officially severed ties to Thorn, the companions decided it was time to be rid of all associations with their former master. To that end, each of them removed the circlets he’d given them when they’d first met, the ones that allowed them to mask their appearance, and smashed them to pieces. Kelvin had long ago discerned that the circlets were likely how Thorn had been keeping tabs on them, so that was one more problem solved.
The Knot passed the time in Ghastenhall, planning their next move. During the interlude, Kelvin finally read the Liber Darian. The holy text contained a complete lineage of House Darius, but more importantly, it explicitly laid out that the Princess Bellinda was in fact the daughter of Antharia Regina, the silver dragon elder wyrm. It also mentioned that Argossarian the Silver, the dragon the Knot slew at the Horn of Abaddon, was the half-brother of Bellinda.
Tardaesha took advantage of their prolonged stay to pay a visit to Prince Gaius, the vampire lord of Ghastenhall’s underworld and her undead sire. She asked to receive formal sanctuary among his court, should circumstances require it. He agreed, but took from her a vow to leave Ghastenhall untouched in the coming conflict. The city was his. Tardaesha agreed. She also asked, on Roger’s behalf, if the Prince had any further information on where they might find the Onyx Chalice, the artifact that would help transform the anti-paladin into a liche. He told her of a rumor he knew regarding an ancient tomb of a defunct Taldan family, the Adella clan. It supposedly lay somewhere along the southeastern shore of Talingarde, built there due to the family being exiled from Taldor for some sort of scandal or another. Tardaesha thanked the Prince who, as a sign of his good will towards the Nessian Knot and it’s new Cardinal, gave to her one of his spawn to assist her with her endeavors, a wizard by the name of Hugo Drax.
