Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

Glad you enjoyed Arun's transition to epic levels.

Now, it's Friday, and also time for another Interlude...

* * * * *

Chapter 509

INTERLUDE

Zev’vat looked up at the towering form of a glabrezu as he materialized in the portal chamber. The massive demon was several times his size, but it was the glabrezu who backed off, inclining its head ever so slightly in what passed for a bow, among its kind. It might have put up more bluster, had Zev’vat not been here because of a summons. Or if it had been a fool. For there were few here who did not know of Zev’vat, both what he was, and who he served.

The kelvezu spared little thought for the demon guardian, or the pair of hezrou that warded the heavy iron doors that led out into the main corridor of the fortress. Graz’zt is wary, he thought, at the same time that his eyes fell over the poor condition of the place, stark even after all this time of exile. Memories of the Argent Palace were not likely to fade soon, not when juxtaposed against such a precipitous decline.

Lo, how the mighty have fallen, he thought with a inner chuckle. He did not bother to censor his thoughts, not even here. He was entirely conscious of his own precarious position within a precarious situation, even before the tumult of recent events had begun pushing things toward a cusp of change once more. But his current position with his current master had been won through judicious use of his intellect and candor, and changing that now would likely put him in more jeopardy.

His destination wasn’t far from the entry chamber. No place within the fortress was; it was small, crowded. As he made his way down the central hall, he passed a side passage from which disturbing screams issued. Someone was being tortured; he knew all too well that Graz’zt’s specialists in that art were quite proficient. Zev’vat had heard and seen far worse, however, so he put it aside as he reached his goal.

The heavy stone door swung open at his approach. He was expected, after all. The sole inhabitant of the chamber nodded at Zev’vat as he entered, but neither spoke until the door had swung ponderously shut behind the kelvezu.

Zev’vat did not bother with slavering obsequiousness or other false preliminaries. He and his patron knew each other well, and could forgo all of the petty games demons usually played with each other.

“Welcome,” Athux said. “Sit?”

Zev’vat took the indicated chair.

“My father is moving ahead with his plans. He has ordered Malad to gather the remnants of the Blood Legion, in advance of an all-out bid for power. We will not be returning to Azzagrat; our rivals expect such a play, and have prepared for it.”

“I see.” Interesting. I wonder if his Mightiness shared his precise target with you noble prince? Or if we’re all equally in the dark about the plans of the Lord of Shadows…

Athux fixed him with an intent look. “You’re wondering if I myself have been trusted with the knowledge of Graz’zt’s ultimate objective. You can ease your curiosity; I have not. Graz’zt mistrusts me, as he mistrusts everyone and everything around him. Given his current position, he would be a fool to do anything else.”

“And yet, the ultimate fate of many revolves around his decision,” Zev’vat said.

Athux leaned back, smiling a perfect smile; it was hard not to be drawn in by the cambion’s incredible presence. “I have my suspicions, of course. But father is playing the cards very close to his chest. And, naturally, he has already set plans into motion, setting a web within a web. He is mad, his ego under test by the strains of recent events. But he is no less cunning for that.”

“I assume that I am here to be a string in one of those webs?”

“You assume correctly. Father is intent upon minimizing several variant factors that could spoil the careful alignment of his plans. In particular, there are several primes with a potential for great disruption.”

Zev’vat’s thoughts flashed back over the screams of the tortured man he’d heard in the hall.

Athux nodded. “For your own sake, you might want to avoid walking down that path just yet,” he said. “That is a complicated matter. Suffice it to say, these primes are your concern.”

“On Faerûn,” Zev’vat said.

“You know, then.”

Zev’vat snorted. “I know what everyone in service to Him knows, about them. I’d wondered, to be honest, why he hasn’t moved against them before.”

“As always, the matter is complicated.”

“Well, he certainly has had a lot on his mind.”

“Focus on the matter at hand. Permanent destruction is likely beyond your means, but in any case they must be distracted from intervention when my father reveals his hand. They are scattered at the moment, which may give you an opportunity.”

“What sort of time scale do I have to work with?”

“The critical time will fall between one hundred ten and one hundred forty local hours from this meeting. With the time conversion…”

“Just under five days, on Abeir-Toril. Not much time.”

“You have completed more challenging tasks in less.”

“It’s been quite a while since I last visited the Forgotten Realms. I do not have any active contacts there, but I may be able to tug a few threads, call in a few favors.”

Athux nodded again; he was well acquainted with Zev’vat’s connections, and his not inconsiderable personal talents. “We are not without resources there, but obviously this matter must be approached with discretion, at least until it is too late for secrecy to be of avail to our cause. Obviously direct involvement is inadvisable. I suppose I do not have to tell you not to underestimate these particular primes.”

Zev’vat let out a dry chuckle. “Not after what happened to the last Abyssal lord who underestimated them.”

The statement was bold even for the outspoken kelvezu, and for a moment an awkward silence hung between them. There was nothing more that had to be said, so Athux subtly signaled the end of the interview, and the kelvezu left without even a bow of respect. Patron and client, prince and vassal, lord and servant. Their relationship had been long and fruitful, and always difficult to classify. But Zev’vat was close enough to Athux to know that Graz’zt’s scion had his own plans at work, and that his own role in this drama was very likely to be much more significant than a mere distraction.

It was going to be an interesting period of days ahead.

As he departed, he passed once again the corridor with the screams of the torturee still audible. His suspicion of the identity of the poor sod had been confirmed by what he’d just learned. Zev’vat didn’t have to venture further to know that the cries he could hear through the stone door at the end of the corridor belonged to a man experiencing the true depths of physical and mental suffering.

Zev’vat shrugged and headed for the portal chamber. He had his assignment. The friends of Graz’zt’s prisoner would join him in his misfortune, soon enough.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Lazybones, this state of Graz'zt's...is it all due to Delem or has something occured that you have not yet let us know? Whoever this Zev'vat fellow is, he will have his hands full against a company of chosen...

PS: Benzan is one poor son of a demon...

 

[Lazybones]

Lazybones, this state of Graz'zt's...is it all due to Delem or has something occured that you have not yet let us know? Whoever this Zev'vat fellow is, he will have his hands full against a company of chosen...

I've been fairly nebulous on this deliberately; all will be explained in time.

This week we find out what another Traveler's been up to.

* * * * *

Chapter 510

The common room of The Cutter’s Folly was an amalgam of every tavern cliché on any of a thousand worlds, from the stink of sweat and spilled beer, to the raucous laughter and boisterous jeers of its diverse inhabitants, to the steely faced bartender and the pinchable wenches who ran a steady circuit between the kitchen, the bar, and the forty tables scattered across the wide open area. The place only had a single story, but there was a hall subtly situated in the back corner that offered access to additional rooms to patrons who were willing to pay for a bit of extra privacy.

The clientele of the Folly was a mixed lot, even by Sigil standards. They tended to fall into the middle of the spectrum; the worst fiends and the purest celestials usually preferred to gravitate toward their own establishments, both for the services that catered to their particular needs and for the need to avoid confrontations. Sigil was a place that had a reputation for being rough, but the city was officially Neutral, and open conflict drew the attention of the Lady.

That certainly did not mean that the Folly was a “soft” tavern by any means. A number of the stains that had all but obliterated the original color of the hardwood floor were more than just liquor, and most of the furniture had the look of having been repaired more than once. A pair of hulking ogrillons in mithral shirts provided obvious muscle to discourage trouble, and the bartender hung a blast crossbow in obvious view over the bar, but even so only a fool came to the Folly if he, she, or it couldn’t handle themselves.

Thus when the swinging doors parted to reveal a newcomer, a face not familiar to the bar’s regulars, most quickly returned to their own concerns. The newcomer was a human woman, quite comely in outward appearance, clad in a light-colored tunic and breeches with a pale cloak trailing down across her shoulders and down her back. A few gazes lingered upon the woman, either out of lascivious curiosity or because of the veritable trove of magical auras about her person. But one look at her eyes was enough to encourage even those to return their focus to their beverages or their companions.

She walked boldly into the center of the common room, and just stood there. A few conversations at the tables around her quieted as their attention returned to her, but while her stare was challenging, she said nothing, just scanning the faces.

Finally, she crossed over to the bar. The bartender, a bariur of considerable age, nodded at her. “What’ll it be?”

She replied in a voice designed to carry clearly across the room. “I want Barrat Ghur.”

A number of looks were spread across the room, behind the woman’s back. The bartender betrayed his reaction just for a moment, then he lowered his eyes to the bar, running a dirty rag across the polished surface. “Lord Ghur no longer frequents this establishment, ma’am. Perhaps a glass of Aelendur firewine?”

A rumbling behind her alerted the woman. She turned to see a mountain of a man step forward, his bulk all but blocking out her view of the room behind him. He looked to be some sort of combination of a minotaur, ogre, and fiend all in one, with the least appealing features of each. He stood a little under seven feet tall, only a bit more than a foot taller than the woman, but he had to be almost that much again wide. His shoulders were broad enough to serve as a table for four men, and each of his arms were thicker around than the woman’s entire body.

“No trouble in here,” the bartender said. “Take it outside.”

The hulk ignored him. “You look puny, human woman,” he growled. “Why you want Ghur? Oogok show you plenty good time.”

The woman’s lips tightened in disgust. “I’d sooner smear myself in goristo feces,” she said. “As it is, I can barely stand the stench of being in the same room with you. Go away.” Dismissing him with a wave, she started to turn back to the bar.

Oogok snarled and reached for her with a meaty fist. But the woman spun smoothly, a red glow erupting around her hand as she reached out and splayed her palm across the massive expanse of the hulk’s chest. A fierce red glow spread outward from that point of touch, seeping into the body of the fierce monstrosity. Oogok’s eyes widened and he staggered back, his upper body quivering as an ugly mewling issued from his mouth. The woman maintained her touch until the red glow had faded. A spray of bright crimson blood fountained from the hulk’s mouth, pouring down his chest, leaving little flecks upon the otherwise pristine cloak of the woman. He fell to his knees, staring up at her with eyes wide with terror as she looked down at him, a cold look in her eyes. Then she turned back to the bartender.

“I think I’ll pass,” she said, turning and walking past the cowering hulk toward the door. No one moved to stop her; in fact everyone in the room suddenly seemed quite intent upon doing something other than appearing to pay any attention to her. By the time that the doors swung shut in her wake, the din of conversation and activity had returned to its former level of intensity.

Oogok, kneeling in the center of the room in a puddle of his own blood and piss, finally toppled forward, coughing up gobs of gore from his shredded lungs.

Sighing, the bartender gestured for his bouncers to help him heave the crippled creature out onto the street.

* * * * *

Dana Ilgarten did not go far after leaving the Folly. Idly rubbing a fleck of blood on her cloak with a fingernail, she concentrated on the ring she wore on the third finger of her right hand.

Do you have him?

Yeah, I got him. Took off like a shot out the back way, just like you said. Hey, how’d that big bastard look when you harmed him? Always thought Oogok had it coming…

Focus on the matter at hand, Dana thought through the telepathic link.

Yeah, yeah. Okay, he’s going into the Hive. You want me to—what am I saying? Of course you do. Have I told you yet today that this plan is crazy?

Just do it, Dana thought, already walking briskly in that direction. Her sense of direction around Sigil was still a bit vague, and she thought she’d never get used to the way that the terrain ahead curved up, or the way that she could glimpse the far side of the torus through the wisps of cloud above. Sigil lay on the interior of a massive ring, existing in defiance of all of the physical laws of the world she knew.

If he goes deep into the Hive, we’ll lose the bastard, Dana thought. She hadn’t intended for that to get out through the link, but a moment later she heard the retort, Well, maybe that wouldn’t be… wait! He’s ducking into a warehouse… it’s just a few blocks from the main drag. I thought I saw a bruiser let him in, damn, the place looks like a fortress.

Dana came to an abrupt stop. Give me a fix on your location, and a relative direction and distance to the target.

There was a momentary pause. Dana… are you sure that’s a good idea? Remember the last time you tried that…

Just DO IT!

She felt a slight surge along the link. The rings had been damned expensive, and having the status power added to the telepathic bond had put a hefty premium on the devices. But they’d already proven their worth several times over even in the relatively short time she’d been here. The thought made her regret her harsh tone over the link. She was getting frustrated, but it made no sense to take it out upon her cohort.

Apology accepted, she heard, through the link. All right, it’s sixty paces coreward and fifteen rising arc from my position. Should put you right behind the door, or damned near it.

Thank you, LL.

Be careful; if there’s trouble I’ll try to get to you, but…

I know, she thought, then she spoke a word and vanished through a dimension door.

The bustle of the street was replaced by the dank interior of the warehouse. She was in a roughly square chamber thirty feet on a side, mostly empty save for some debris cluttered against the walls. Iron posts reinforced the ceiling, and the few murky windows tucked under that roof, thick with the accumulated muck of years, were both incredibly narrow and warded with thick iron bars. There were two other doors besides the one that led outside; presumably they led to other quarters of the building.

And standing directly in front of her, his back to her, was her quarry.

Her arrival had not gone unnoticed. Mocker Darr turned, his disfigured face twisting into a scowl as he saw her. Behind him, near the door, stood a pair of bugbears, clad in black chainmail that blended with the deep shadows of the room. The door itself was built like the portal of a vault, with a heavy iron wheel mechanism in its center that drove four thick bolts into the surrounding threshold.

Dana reached for the tiefling, but he was faster, his reflexes obviously supernaturally empowered as he leapt back several feet, between his goons.

“Put this berk in the dead-book!” Darr snarled, drawing two daggers with a flick of his wrists. Even in the bad light, greasy smears were visible along the lengths of the blades. The bugbears produced ugly jagged-edge shortswords that also probably were poisoned, and started menacingly forward.

Dana uttered a holy word.

As the echoes of the pure syllable faded off of the heavy iron plates that made up the walls of the place, the priestess of Selûne stepped forward to stand over Mocker Darr. She kicked the daggers out of his hands, and then knelt beside him. The tiefling lay quivering upon the ground; the bugbears were both unmoving, blood trailing in soft red currents from their ears. Dana took a few seconds to expertly search the tiefling, then looked down at him.

“I know you can hear me,” she said. “Your eyesight will return in a few moments, but you’re not going to be able to move for a rather longer than that. What happens after that… well, that’s up to you.”

Hey, are you going to let me in or what? came a voice in her mind.

Sorry, she thought, standing and stepping toward the door.

She hadn’t covered the first step when one of the room’s other doors burst open, and a chittering horde of mezzoloths poured into the room, screaming for her blood.

 

[Solarious]

See how much magical firepower makes things easier? Even 18'th in a 20'th level character makes for some serious hurting. Sure, it makes things less painful for the protagonists, but the added mass screaming by enemies in a harmonious chorus of agony more than makes up for it. Of course, it all evens out when the opposition has something like spell resistance, antimagic effects, or magical defences up. Then their fusteration levels and hoplessness levels are just sweeeeet.

 

[Lazybones]

Short one today, but naturally a cliffhanger:

* * * * *

Chapter 511

They were on her in seconds. Dana regretted not having a second holy word handy; she’d been relying heavily upon divinations since arriving here, and two greater scryings per day had proven more necessary even than the devastating power of the former spell.

She dodged back as the first rank of insectoid fiends rushed at her. Pain blossomed along her side as one grazed her with one of the tines from its trident. The weapon was barbed, designed to cause particularly vicious wounds, but despite her apparent vulnerability, the priestess was warded with a number of potent magical protections. The second mezzoloth found this out as it thrust its weapon at her chest, only to have the blow turned by the defensive auras projected by her moon bracers and ring of protection.

Dana! came the voice through the link.

Busy! she shot back, moving further back before the ‘loths could encircle her, leaping into the air as her winged boots carried her out of the reach of their tridents. Several of the fiends hurled their weapons at her, but none scored a hit as she twisted nimbly in mid-air out of their streaking paths. As she gained clearance over them—it looked like there were about a dozen!—she caught sight of a shadowy figure that remained in the doorway, fixing her with a stare infused with a tangible malevolence.

That would be the boss, she thought, her suspicion confirmed an instant later as a crackling black beam—a ray of enervation—shot out from the creature and stabbed into her gut. She felt the icy touch of the beam spread through her body, although her life energy was strong enough to mostly resist the fell power of the necromantic magic.

The mezzoloths could not reach her as she lifted almost to the ceiling fifteen feet above. But the fiends had magical power, and before she could venture her next course she could feel surges of energy from them, seeking to disrupt her magic. Her own spells were of far greater potency than the power commanded by these lesser fiends, but her boots were not, and she realized her error even as a dispel took hold, and she plummeted straight down into the knot of waiting fiends.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, another of the ‘loths conjured up a cloudkill that spilled out over the chamber floor, forming a plume of sick green vapors that swallowed her up as she fell.

 

[Solarious]

Ah, nothing like a swarm of spell-like ability users. Even if they do just a little damage, repeated use will wear you down. And I hate spells like eneveration. Which is why I always make protection from such effects a priority, even if it has to be a Scarab of Protection. Those turn into dust after 12 and have irritating SR against helpful spells, but they can save your rear end at least 12 times too.

Well, Dana seems to be in a pickle of sorts. Cloudkill, bunch of mezzoloths, boss with spellcasting, or spell-using via UMD at least. But she's high level enough to survive a little Con damage, and she should have lots of nastiness left... not to mention a planar cohort waiting outside. She's no idiot, and can find a way to make it through this pickle. Although we can all agree that she'll come out of it a little more... well preserved.

I wonder what will happen to Cal and his personal trial? It should be quite nasty! I'm looking forward to it. I tremble at the thought of it!

 

[Lazybones]

I wonder what will happen to Cal and his personal trial? It should be quite nasty! I'm looking forward to it. I tremble at the thought of it!

Heh, I initially was just going to skip Cal, and just say that he spent a boring tenday doing spell research, but I kept getting nasty ideas...

But for now, Dana's got her own nastiness to get through:

* * * * *

Chapter 512

Dana! I’ll get you out of there… I’ll break the icon …

Dana coughed as the acrid fumes of the cloudkill burned her lungs, dodging madly as the mezzoloths swarmed upon her, stabbing at her with their tridents. Already several gashes covered her arms and legs, but thus far she’d avoided a serious injury. There was no way that that could continue, though, she knew, but even so she sent a strong response back through the link.

NO! If we lose Darr, we may never find Barrat Ghur!

She could feel the frustration that came back through the link, but her cohort respected her will, did not sunder the small icon that she’d given to him, prepared with a refuge spell as a last-ditch escape mechanism.

The cloudkill did not hinder the ‘loths in the slightest, as they were immune to toxins. But it did at least grant her some cover, obscuring her from the yugoloth leader and from those of the mezzoloths that weren’t right upon her, stabbing with their tridents. Casting defensively, she drew down a flame strike that slammed down into their ranks. The ‘loths were heavily resistant to fire, but the divine energies in the blast ripped through their spell resistance and into their corrupt bodies. Several of the mezzoloths were incinerated by the power of the spell, and the flames tore into the rank of attackers in front of her, drawing chittering cries of pain as the blast seared them from behind.

“Don’t like that, do you?” she cried. Driven to fury, the ring of attackers thrust at her with renewed vigor, but in the confusion of smoke and swirling vapors only one attack hit, opening another shallow gash across her bicep. A few of the ‘loths tried to return the favor she’d offered with her spell to summon balls of fire that they hurled at her, the fist-sized gobs of flame streaking brightly through the fog to splash across her cloak. But Dana had taken the precaution of protecting herself against several types of elemental energy before she’d stepped foot inside the Cutter’s Folly, and the little blasts of flame inflicted no harm upon her.

She took advantage of the disruption caused by her spell to infuse herself with divine power. That cost her another pair of gashes, but they were offset by the surge of vitality that flowed into her through the spell.

She drew out her adamantine nunchaku, and stared out at the ring of glowing red eyes that surrounded her out in the fog. The toxin was starting to affect her, but her fortitude was such that she could ignore its effects, at least for a few moments. The cloudkill had spread to fill the entire chamber, the vapors rising up to the rafters above, so there was no easy escape, save for transporting herself out of here. But to do that would be to yield Mocker Darr, and her best chance of finding Benzan.

That, she would not do.

“Let’s dance then, you fiendish bastards,” she snarled, snapping out the nunchaku, crushing the skull of the nearest mezzoloth with a powerful blow of the adamantine weapon. Another came forward to take its place, its body blackened from Dana’s flame strike.

A massive clang filled the room, the sound only slightly muted by the cloying toxic fog. Dana didn’t turn, but a few of the mezzoloths glanced in the direction of the door, built to withstand a siege.

Dana grimaced and fought on. The mezzoloths were starting to score more hits, now, with her flanked and slowly weakening from the cloudkill. A few more hurled dispels at her, trying to bring down her defensive wards, but their efforts were futile against the power of her magic.

The clanging noise continued, growing in intensity.

A dark shadow materialized out of the fog, taller and leaner than the bulbous mezzoloths. Dana did not see it immediately, but she felt the touch of a spell, as a cold voice sounded in her mind.

Lay down your arms, and cease this foolish struggle, and we can talk, it said. We can provide you with the information you seek…

For the barest instant, she hesitated. But finally, in reply, she laughed. “Nice try, fiend! Your feeble suggestion is of no avail against me!”

The ultroloth, however, merely lifted a black hand, drawing upon the power of its magic once more. Dana, alerted to its threat by its initial attack, immediately hurled another flame strike that descended upon it in a twisting blaze of raging fire. The ‘loth withstood the blast—although several mezzoloths around it were incinerated—but it took the hint, withdrawing back into the mists.

But a moment later, pain exploded through her back. A mezzoloth had waited for her attention to shift away, and took advantage of her casting to drive its trident forward, impaling the jagged spines solidly into her back. She staggered forward and fell to her knees, the insectoid fiends surging forward to finish her.

 

[Richard Rawen]

Good stuff, I'm looking forward to how all the varied strings get pulled together!

Thanks again LB!

Blessings,
Richard
M < > <

 

[Lazybones]

Glad I could be of service...

* * * * *

Chapter 513

Benzan... I’m sorry, Dana thought, as the mezzoloth behind her continued to tear at her back, while the others stabbed at her face and upper body from ahead and to her sides with their tridents.

A last massive clang sounded, followed by a terrible noise of creaking metal that culminated in a loud resounding crash. The mezzoloths turned as the poisonous cloud shifted and swirled from the disruption. A dark form streaked forward out of the mist, massive, nebulous as it caromed into the mezzoloth standing behind Dana. The insectoid fiend simply vanished, borne off into the fog with the newcomer.

The mezzoloths, surprised by the sudden development, hesitated for just an instant. That respite was enough to give Dana the opportunity to summon a heal spell, fully restoring herself, burning away the toxic effects of the cloudkill. Too late, the mezzoloths surged at her again, but even as they stabbed at her she leapt up, spinning around in a wide arc, her nunchaku laying about in a deadly barrage of powerful blows. Fortified by her divine power, each impact sundered chitinous exoskeletons and segmented limbs. More mezzoloths staggered forward to fill the gaps as she killed, but all bore the marks of her flame strikes, and it was clear that the fiendish surge was abating.

The hulking newcomer returned, catching the fiends from behind. He was big, standing nearly eight feet tall, covered in fur that seemed a pale gray in the weak light and swirling vapors. He snarled as two of the mezzoloths turned on it, lashing out with powerful claws that delivered crushing blows against their alien bodies. The first twisted and chattered madly as the creature snared it and dragged it up to his powerful jaws, and its struggles abruptly ended as they closed upon its head in a nasty crunch. The second one tried a single feeble stab of its trident, but when that failed to even scratch it, it turned and tried to retreat.

It didn’t get very far.

Dana was left facing five of the yugoloths, but her violent attacks were quickly driving down that number. The ultroloth had not reappeared, and the fiends seemed to come to the belated realization that this fight was not going to end in their favor. Once the rout began it ended quickly, with the fiends drawing upon the power and teleporting away. Or at least most did; Dana caught another from behind as it tried to draw upon its power, smashing its back with two powerful blows and then snapping her weapon down upon its neck as it fell.

That’s the last of them, her cohort said. Are you all right?

“Get Darr,” she said aloud, calling upon a dispel magic that cleared away the toxic cloud. As the room came back into focus, she could see the battered-down iron door, as well as the iron fence-post that her cohort had used as an improvised battering ram.

As the cloud dissipated, she could also clearly see him. He was an impressive humanoid with animalistic features, covered in fur and a loose-fitting toga that was ruined with yugoloth blood and stains from its exposure to the cloudkill. His long limbs ended in sharp talons, and his face was clearly feline, with dark blue eyes that fixed Dana intently. His jaws did not look to be suited to speech, but when he spoke it was without accent or any apparent difficulty.

“Bah,” he said, spitting out a mouthful of gore. “I’m not going to get that taste out of my mouth for a month.”

“You’ll get over it, LL,” she said, looking around the room. She quickly searched the landscape of corpses to confirm that the yugoloth leader was not among them. There were sixteen dead mezzoloths scattered around the room, many with their black carapaces scorched with divine fire. But her interest lay elsewhere, as she turned to Mocker Durr.

The tiefling’s features were green, but he still breathed, his breath rattling in his throat as he fought to draw air into his poison-ravaged lungs. His left hand was outstretched, trembling as he tried to close his fingers on the grip of a dagger, but the paralyzing effects of Dana’s holy word still held him. She checked him quickly, to make sure that he wasn’t in danger of dying from the poison in his system. Thus satisfied, she crouched over him on the balls of her feet, where he could see her clearly. The lion-man came over to loom threatening behind her, sending an obvious message.

“Now, Darr. It’s time for you and I to have that little talk.”

 

[Solarious]

Heh, I initially was just going to skip Cal, and just say that he spent a boring tenday doing spell research, but I kept getting nasty ideas...

Mwahahahaha!

Now, we return to Dana kicking infernal butt, taking names, and making the term 'hell' a reality.