Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Krafus]

Awright, more fighting! However, considering the probable levels of the party's foes, I doubt that fireball will be enough to sway the odds in the party's favor.

 

[Lazybones]

I was wondering whether she picked up Practiced Spellcaster together with the additions to her spell book. Any Mystic Theurge should have that feat.

Source? I'm not familiar with that feat.

* * * * *

Chapter 306

Zenna’s fireball erupted in a blazing maelstrom of flames, enveloping the tapestry behind Thifirane Rhiavati, exploding the slender crystal goblets atop the table, and searing the gathered assortment of villains. Even as the blast cleared, Beorna stepped aside, allowing the others to launch their own readied attacks. Dannel took aim and let fly an arrow that sliced across the room, between the white-skinned woman in black and the robed magus beside him, finally slamming into Thifirane’s shoulder. The noblewoman hissed in pain, but before she could conjure a spell of defense, a small dart glanced painfully off her temple, its razored point cutting a deep swath to the skull beneath.

The combination of the fireball, along with Dannel’s arrow and the sneak attack from Mole’s crossbow, should have killed her. But Thifirane was rarely caught completely unprepared, and as her shield guardian started moving in response to the threat to her, cracks were evident on its shoulder and head where its mistress had taken hits. Through the eldritch magic that linked the wizard and the construct, the guardian had absorbed some of the damage threatening her.

Still, Thifirane had not survived as long as she had through hesitation. Even as the dwarven warriors charged into the room, and her “allies” leapt out of their chairs to defend themselves, she spoke a word of magic and teleported away.

As Beorna stepped forward and to the side to give her friends access to the room, a babau demon, thrown backward by the sudden opening of the doors, screeched and threw itself at her, its claws tearing at her armored body. Grimacing as the foul thing tried in vain to find a gap in her adamantine armor, the templar lifted her sword, and with both hands drove it through the demon. The babau shrieked as the holy blade transfixed it, and as Beorna placed a huge boot upon its chest, pushing it off her sword, it collapsed in a noisome, disgusting heap.

Arun and Hodge had already entered the room, seeking out other foes. A pair of dwarves flanking another nearby set of double doors to the immediate left rushed forward to meet Arun, holding dwarven urgoshes, odd mergings of axe and spear that they handled with easy familiarity. Arun did not hesitate, driving his sword deep into the first guard’s shoulder with the momentum of his charge behind the stroke. The warrior grunted, but they were dwarven veterans, and no single attack was likely to fell these combatants.

Hodge’s axe blazed into flames as he entered the room, looking for a ripe target to smite. Before he could start toward the table, however, a second babau to the right of the doors leapt at him, swiping a claw across his face. The dwarf’s instincts saved him from anything more than a few slight gashes across his forehead, and he countered with a powerful two-handed sweep that dug deep into the creature’s side. Forewarned of the presence of fiends, Zenna had aligned his axe, and the blow clearly had a telling effect upon the monster. But Hodge saw with alarm that when he drew his weapon back, some of the reddish, caustic ooze that covered the creature had splattered on the blade and its supporting shaft, persisting even through the nimbus of fire that surrounded the head of the weapon. But the axe as the only weapon he had that could harm it, and unfortunately the babau didn’t give him much of a chance to consider alternatives as it leapt at him in an all-out attack, clawing and biting with a violent fury.

Meanwhile, the mephits that Zenna had summoned hovered above the melee, causing trouble with their spell-like abilities, or diving down to unleash their breath weapons onto particular defenders. One called into being a small rainstorm of boiling-hot water that filled the area around the table. But all of those gathered here were tough, experienced combatants, and at best those attacks were mere distractions.

The companions had dealt considerable damage in the first seconds of the fray, but now the evil veterans attending the unholy gathering began to recover and take action. Khyron Bloodsworn, the grim priest of Loviatar, kicked away his chair as he stood, drawing out a black steel mace and calling upon his patron. Beside him the gaunt necromancer Melagorn Thireq began to cast a spell, but even as the first arcane syllable passed his lips an arrow from the anteroom stabbed into his thigh. The evil half-elf cursed—or rather tried to, for no sound escaped his silent lips. The area around him was draped in magical silence.

Fario and Fellian, still in the antechamber, had made their presence known.

The vampiress Mhad needed no words to draw upon her dark powers. But despite her considerable power, born of centuries of violence and blood, she had no passion for a sudden battle against unknown foes in an unfamiliar setting. While her “allies” fought around her, she lifted up into the air above the table. Her cloak, a black thing of utter night, fluttered around her, although there was no breeze in this place to explain its movements. The fireball hadn’t hurt her, not severely at least, and her natural healing ability would soon ease those wounds. But she recognized the servants of good gods among their foes, and the presence of at least two holy blades, and those did give her pause.

She flitted up to the rafters, high above the chamber floor, almost casually smiting a mephit who had the misfortune of getting too close. Once near the ceiling, she dissolved into a gaseous mist, and vanished through a crack into the night outside.

The tiefling Vervil Ashmantle was likewise not a brazen hero, but nor was he above killing a foe from the shadows. He retreated from the table until outside of the radius of the silence spell—at the very edge of the chamber—and then cloaked himself within a protective bubble of greater invisibility.

The dwarf slaver Adrick Garthwin darted nimbly from the table, joining his two guards in their attacks upon Arun. The paladin, surrounded, held his ground, fighting through a sudden stabbing pain as Adrick’s waraxe crushed into his hip, denting the mithral plates from the force of their impact. Before he could counter, Thifirane’s shield guardian stepped forward, the floor shaking with the ponderous force of its coming. As it approached, a halo of blue flames appeared around its body, enveloping it with a chill that could be felt ten paces away. Arun was the closest enemy, and it reached over the dwarves that surrounded him, delivering a punishing blow that the paladin simply absorbed, refusing to give ground.

Velior Thero of the Last Laugh was no mere sneak thief; around his neck hung the blood-red sigil of the violent god Talos. Unable to cast spells through the silence, he lifted his magical morningstar, stepping forward to face Beorna alongside Bonesworn. The templar met the two fell clerics in a silent exchange of blows, the enlarged templar looming a head over the smaller men. Bonesworn’s unholy mace crushed Beorna’s leg painfully, a bone crunching under the impact, while Thero’s morningstar was turned by the holy aura of her shield of faith. But Beorna was heavily reinforced with magical augmentations, and two evil clerics could not likewise call upon their gods under the effects of the silence spell.

The last seat at the table was occupied by the hulking form of the ogre mage Zarn Kyass. As the huge, blue-skinned brute rose it hurled the table away in a silent cascade of broken glass and smoldering wood, unlimbering a massive two-handed sword. Stepping forward, it brought the blade down in a powerful arc that tore into Hodge’s torso. The dwarf’s magical armor held, but the ogre’s sword nevertheless came away slick with Hodge’s blood. The babau tried to take advantage of the distraction as it tore mercilessly at Hodge, but the dwarf had chosen his ground, and he simply ignored the tearing claws, the bite that snagged on his arm and bit down painfully before he could tear the limb free. He knew all too well that the ogre had the strength to bring him down; armor or no, he couldn’t take many more hits from that massive sword. His mouth moved in a string of silent curses as he drove the babau back with the halt of his axe, driving the blade down into its body before it could surge back to the attack. The demon staggered, a foot-long gash oozing ichor from its chest, and collapsed.

Unfortunately, as he turned to face the ogre, the babau’s last act of vengeance came to fruition as its acidic ooze ate through the haft of the axe, and its heavy steel head snapped off and fell to the floor.

Arun judged the shield guardian the greater threat, and unleashed a full series of attacks upon it. The construct, forged of steel and stone, was a durable creation, but Arun smashed into it with crushing force, his strength and speed augmented by magic, his sword knocking huge chunks of its frame off its body. It had already been weakened by the damage it had absorbed on Thifirane’s behalf, and as Arun’s sword slammed into it for a third time, it collapsed backward into a pile of debris. The paladin’s blows had not been without a cost; the biting chill of its fire shield had penetrated his body with each attack, and he’d left himself open to the three dwarves facing him. They rained blows down upon him, and even his tough armor could not absorb all of them. Finally Adrick clipped him with another swing that glanced off of his helmet, mere inches away from caving in his skull, and he staggered back, half-blinded by blood flowing from a nasty cut on his forehead.

But Arun was not alone. A wave of energy swept through the room, slowing the various adversaries that still stood. The more disciplined among them resisted Zenna’s potent spell, but the dwarves, even with their innate resistance to magic, were experts at fighting, not battles of will. Their sudden slowing gave Arun an opening, and he opened the throat of one fighter with a powerful stroke, immediately twisting and driving his sword deep into the slaver Gorthwin’s body with the same momentum. The evil dwarf grimaced, and fear shone in his eyes as he realized the true nature of the foe he battled.

The necromancer Thureq spat blood as he yanked Fario’s arrow from his shoulder, looking for a place to toss the silenced weapon so that he could escape its radius and regain the power of his magic. Despite the intervening combatants, and the chaos of battle that filled the room, an arrow found its way unerringly through the chamber, guided by the instinctive power that fueled Dannel’s craft as an arcane archer. The half-elf’s eyes widened in disbelief moments before the missile buried itself to the feathers in his chest, and the evil spellcaster fell, still not entirely sure of what had happened.

The center of the chamber was dominated by the raging struggle between good and evil, as Beorna of Helm battled the evil clerics of Loviatar and Talos. The holy templar, infused with the divine power of Helm, and bolstered with various other magics, shrugged off powerful blows and in turn unleashed a storm of death upon her adversaries. Her initial target was Bloodsworn, and with two powerful swings clove through his plate armor, decorated with grim fetishes honoring his warped deity. Realizing he was outmatched, the priest snarled and raised his unholy mace for a final blow... only to lose it, along with most of his arm, as Beorna swept her sword across in a final bloody arc.

She turned toward Velior Thero, but the Last Laugh guildmaster was already running.

The mighty ogre slammed his sword into Hodge, driving the dwarf to his knees. Once more, expecting combat in close quarters, the dwarf had not brought his spear, so he could only draw his dagger, a pathetic weapon against the seven-foot blade wielded by his adversary. But Hodge was not alone, and his companions were quick to come to his aid. A twirl of black cloth darting across the floor announced Mole’s arrival, tumbling between the ogre’s legs into a ready stance behind it. Fario and Fellian were close behind, Fario moving ahead to face the giant while Fellian tended to Hodge’s grievous wounds.

Zarn Kyass was a canny adversary, though, and rather than waiting for his enemies to tear him to pieces with sneak attacks, he lifted straight up into the air, rising some fifteen feet to brush the ceiling before unleashing a cone of cold directly on top of them.

Mole and Fario were both fast enough to dodge out of the full force of the blast, but Fellian and Hodge were enveloped by the cone. Fellian staggered back against the wall, his body rimed with frost, while Hodge went down, unmoving, his skin drained of all color by the icy touch of the potent spell.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Fario abruptly staggered, clutching his chest, and as his expression deepened into a look of horror his body shifted and collapsed into a tiny pile of red fur. Where the half-elf had been standing, now only a little red rat remained, squeaking in alarm.

But the fight had gone out of the defenders, whose main goal was now escape. Gorthin abandoned his remaining henchman and ran for the nearest exit, letting the dwarf fighter’s sacrifice buy him a few seconds. Unfortunately for him his flight drew the attention of the remaining mephits; the fire mephit cackled as it fired a scorching ray that sprayed across his back. That wasn’t enough to bring him down, but Dannel was also tracking his progress, and even as the dwarf’s fingertips touched the door an arrow sank into his hip. He managed to get the portal open before a second shaft buried itself in his back, and when he fell forward into the next room, he didn’t get up. They found him there later, dead.

Velior Thero likewise disengaged, although Beorna’s long reach let her clip him on the shoulder as he fled. Despite his wounds, he was still more agile than she, and with the hovering ogre mage remaining a serious threat, he was able to make it to one of the exits and slip away. Vervil Ashmantle departed in his wake, still cloaked in invisibility, and he didn’t drop that protective shield until he was well out of Cauldron.

Zarn Kyass, the ogre mage, was not a coward, but nor was he one to remain to the last in a losing battle. If he had any lingering doubts, they were dispelled as Zenna appeared in the doorway to fire a pair of searing rays into him. Only one of the rays got through his spell resistance, but it was enough to convince him of the prudence of retreat. One of Zenna’s mephits drew near enough to unleash a cone of hot magma onto him, but the ogre mage ignored the feeble attack. Kyass drove his huge sword through the ceiling, opening a jagged gash that revealed the black night sky beyond. The gap was far too small for him, but as the companions watched the mighty ogre’s body dissolved into a cloud of mist, vanishing through the crack into the darkness.

Arun felled his last remaining dwarven foe and ran over to Hodge. Fellian stood over him, pouring the contents of a healing potion down his throat. The dwarf stirred, faintly, and the paladin let out a sigh of relief—audible, now, as Fellian’s spell of silence lapsed.

“That was... intense,” Mole said, petting the rat that squirmed in her grasp.

 

[Solirion]

Source? I'm not familiar with that feat.

Practiced Spellcaster: When determining caster level for one of your spellcasting classes, you can add a bonus of up to +4. The amount of the bonus depends on the number of nonspellcasting class levels you have; you can add +1 for each nonspellcasting class level up to the limit of +4.

The feat is meant to make multi-class spell casters more feasible by compensating the loss in caster levels. A Mystic Theurge can take it twice, once for arcane and once for divine spells.

I thought the increase in general effectivity that comes with the feat could be tweaked into a nice piece of character development for Zenna.

 

[Broccli_Head]

Again?

Someone really needs to ,learn dimensional anchor !

too many pesky spellcasters are getting away.

 

[wolff96]

The feat is meant to make multi-class spell casters more feasible by compensating the loss in caster levels. A Mystic Theurge can take it twice, once for arcane and once for divine spells.

I guess you and I read that feat completely differently.

"The amount of the bonus depends on the number of nonspellcasting class levels you have; you can add +1 for each nonspellcasting class level up to the limit of +4."

Zenna is a wizard/cleric/mystic theurge. ALL of her levels are in spellcasting classes. I could see it if she was a fighter/wizard/eldritch knight or something, but you would honestly allow a +4 to spellcasting levels based on this feat? What non-spellcasting class levels does she have? It doesn't say "levels in other classes" or something similar... it specifically calls for nonspellcasting class levels.

Besides, that's one of the few drawbacks that a Mystic Theurge has. Heck, they can already get ninth-level spells in one class and seventh level in the other... do they really need more of a boost?

/end hijack

---------------------------

LB, haven't posted in a while... Work won't let us post to ENWorld anymore either. Heh.

Just wanted to say that I'm still reading and still loving the stories! And I still prefer the dwarves. Heh.

 

[Lazybones]

RE Practiced Spellcaster: I don't have any context here (I don't own CD), but just reading what Solirion posted, I think I'd have to agree with wolff's point. It does pretty clearly state that the other classes have to be non-spellcasting. Of course, few of the basic classes are truly non-spellcasting (barbarian, fighter, monk, rogue)... I wonder how it treats low-level rangers and paladins?

Broc: yes, but if the bad guys couldn't get away, then they couldn't come back to torment the heroes when they least expect it!

wolff: glad to see you're still reading, and thanks for the clarification and feedback.

* * * * *

Chapter 307

“We got lucky,” Dannel said, later, in the relative security of the Temple of Helm. “We should not underestimate the foes we faced, simply because we overcame them so easily. Without the advantage of surprise and magical preparation, events would have gone quite differently.”

“Easily?” Hodge said. He held a cup of steaming hot tea—liberally “seasoned” with alcohol—in hands that still shook, hours after he’d been hit with the ogre’s cone of cold.

“Several got away,” Fario said. The restored half-elf shot a look at Mole, who’d seemed a bit disappointed earlier when they’d dispelled the polymorph spell that had transformed him into what she’d referred to as, “a cute furry rat.” Mole was now seated on the floor on a small carpet, examining the various magical items they’d taken off of the villains they’d slain at House Rhiavati.

“I think that white-skinned woman was some sort of undead,” Zenna said, looking up from the spellbook she was reading. Since their return, she’d been buried in the book they’d found in the personal possessions of the necromancer Melagorn Thureq. “And Thero got away as well, along with that tiefling sorcerer who made a mouse of our friend here.”

Fario grimaced, but Fellian clasped him on the shoulder as the others laughed. It was healing, in a way, to be able to laugh in the aftermath of such carnage. And in the face of what they now knew.

“Velior Thero won’t find easy sanctuary,” Dannel said. “As long as Jil is in our custody, and under your sway, she’ll reveal the whole network maintained by the Last Laugh to us.”

“A good point, elf,” Beorna said. “Her knowledge should allow us to crush that nest of thieves once and for all.”

“I am more concerned with the wizard’s speech,” Arun said. Mole had shared all of the details she’d remembered from Rhiavati’s address to the gathered villains, and the grim outline of the Cagewright’s plans had left all of them shaken.

“Damn it, we’re in the same position we’ve always been,” Zenna said, slamming her fist down on the arm of her chair. “Always a step behind, always in the dark. We know what they want to do, but not how... or where, or when, except that it will be ‘soon’. Who are the Shackleborn? Where is this ‘Tree of Shackled Souls’? And what is this ‘key’ that they need to complete the ritual? How in the hells can we stop them, if we don’t even know where to find them?”

“We will find a way,” Arun said. “We’re clearly facing long odds, but we’ve won a victory tonight, and though our adversaries are powerful, we are not without resources of our own.”

“Well said,” Beorna said, coming to stand beside him. “We will finish this.”

“Face it, Zenna,” Dannel said, a hint of his old spark shining in his eyes as he looked at her. “You just can’t argue with a dwarf.”

“Let alone two of them!” Mole added.

“It’s been a long night,” Beorna said, looking at Fellian, who was already half-asleep, leaning back on the couch beside Fario. “Morning will be here in just a few hours, and maybe the situation will be clearer in the light of the day. This place is safe, if anyplace in Cauldron can truly be considered such.”

They filtered out toward their rooms. Even Fario and Fellian were too exhausted to do anything but accept the guest quarters offered by the acolyte of Helm. The rectory was nearly full now, with some of the new “recruits” even sleeping in the lofts above the stables, but there wasn’t one among them who wouldn’t have been willing to sleep out under the open sky, if one of the Heroes of Cauldron needed a soft bed in a private room.

Zenna didn’t feel like a hero; she just felt tired. Belatedly she realized that she and Dannel were the only ones left in the room. The elf was watching her, something unfathomable in his eyes.

“You should get some rest,” he finally said, after a long and awkward silence.

“I will,” she said. Her eyes were on the book in her lap, but she did not see the glyphs inscribed therein as she slowly turned the page.

“Zenna...”

Her hand froze in the middle of a page. “Please,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Not now; I can’t handle it, not now, on top of everything that’s happening.”

He stood there a moment longer, but she did not look up from the book. It was as if she was frozen there, a statue enfolded in soft dark cloth. Finally, he turned and left the room.

Zenna’s body shook, and there, on the page, a single tear fell onto a magical glyph, blurring its outline.

That night, the companions slept the sleep of utter physical and emotional exhaustion. Morning came all too swiftly, however, and the adventurers were still bleary-eyed as they gathered for a late breakfast. The rectory was quiet, with most of the temple staff already out and engaged in the activities of the day. But the needs of the companions was not unanticipated; even as they continued to straggle from their beds into the common room several of the new recruits brought in trays laden with sweet breads, sausages, various fresh fruits, and pitchers of fresh-squeezed juices. Hodge immediately intercepted one of the trays, directing it to the table in front of him, not even bothering with an individual plate as he started stuffing foodstuffs into his mouth. Zenna, rubbing her temples at the headache that had resided there since awakening that morning, skipped the food entirely and poured herself a large mug of the black, strong-brewed coffee that was the common morning beverage here in the south. Even after almost a year, she was more used to the teas that were drunk in the north, but there was something to be said for the bitter black liquid when one was trying to wake up from an insufficient sleep.

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff straight,” Mole said, adding a fairly considerable dollop of honey to her own, smaller cup.

Once they’d served the meal, the young recruits left them to their privacy. For several minutes they just ate in relative quiet, restoring the strength that had been burned in a long night of battles and tense confrontations. Finally, Fario stood.

“We must go; Meerthan will be greatly concerned, and we’d better update him on what’s happened.”

“I thought you guys had that mind-link thing,” Mole said, gesturing with a cinnamon twist, her mouth full of berries.

“The link did not survive our deaths,” Fellian explained, likewise pulling himself away from the table with an obvious effort. “The note Jenya sent last night will let him know we live, but we have to discuss what happened at House Rhiavati.”

There it was; with the spoken reminder of last night’s events, the illusion of peace that they’d let linger over their repast evaporated. Arun let the pastry he’d been about to bite into fall back to his plate; only Hodge kept eating, continuing his decimation of the platter of sausages.

“I suppose we’d better...” Dannel began, but he was interrupted as the door opened, and Jenya Urikas stepped into the room.

The look on the cleric’s face was immediate evidence of trouble. “What’s wrong?” Beorna asked, her hand stealing to the hilts of the swords propped up against the bench beside her.

The High Priestess of Helm took a deep breath to steady herself, before shattering their day with another dire pronouncement.

“Lord Orbius Vhalantru is a beholder.”

 

[Solirion]

I guess you and I read that feat completely differently. "

I found the version of the feat published in the Complete Arcane, which is formulated more clearly ( and yes, they published the feat twice).

Practiced Spellcaster

Choose a spellcasting class that you possess. Your spells cast from that class are more powerful.

Prerequisite: Spellcraft 4 ranks.

Benefit: Your caster level for the chosen spellcasting class increases by 4. This benefit can't increase your caster level to higher than your Hit Dice. However, even if you can't benefit from the full bonus immediately, if you later gain Hit Dice in levels of nonspellcasting classes, you might be able to apply the rest of the bonus.

For example, a human 5th-level sorcerer/3rd-level fighter who selects this feat would increase his sorcerer caster level from 5th to 8th (since he has 8 Hit Dice). If he later gained a fighter level, he would gain the remainder of the bonus and his sorcerer caster level would become 9th (since he now has 9 Hit Dice).

A character with two or more spellcasting classes (such as a bard/sorcerer or a ranger/druid) must choose which class gains the feat's effect.

This feat does not affect your spells per day or spells known. It increases your caster level only, which would help you penetrate spell resistance and increase the duration and other effects of your spells.

Special: You may select this feat multiple times. Each time you choose it, you must apply it to a different spellcasting class. For instance, a 4th-level cleric/5th-level wizard who had selected this feat twice would cast cleric spells as an 8th-level caster and wizard spells as a 9th-level caster.

Since I own neither CD nor CA myself, my interpretation was based on my diligent reading of the lengthy discussions over in the rules forum. Fortunately the place I`m working at does not block websites.

End of hijack.

 

[Lazybones]

Since I own neither CD nor CA myself, my interpretation was based on my diligent reading of the lengthy discussions over in the rules forum.

Thanks; the last example seems to pretty clearly allow what you suggested.

Fortunately the place I`m working at does not block websites.

I envy you. However, I wouldn't be as far ahead in the story as I am if there was anything to do during my slow times other than read news sites and write story. Luckily frantic typing in Word looks and sounds like diligent work.

 

[Elemental]

“Lord Orbius Vhalantru is a beholder.”

With a name like that? Who would have suspected?

I'm really liking the balance of character and action here--and the sense of escalating dread as well.

 

[Lazybones]

With a name like that? Who would have suspected?

Yeah, shades of Otto Octavius...

* * * * *

Chapter 308

Orbious Vhalantru is a beholder...

The words echoed in Zenna’s mind, as the six heroes—bolstered by Fario and Fellian—once more made their way through the streets of Cauldron. She knew that they all had to be thinking the same as she, had to be recounting the grim stories and legends that surrounded that most terrible of aberrations, the dreaded Eye Tyrant.

All of them except for Beorna and Hodge had been there, when they first encountered the creature. It had been in the dark subterranean chambers of the Malachite Fortress, when they’d confronted the evil slaver Kazmojen in his lair. The beholder had appeared out of nowhere in the midst of that meeting, taking the child Terrem and departing with him without any clue as to its intentions. They’d already confirmed earlier that day that Terrem had again vanished quietly from the Last Laugh orphanage over a month ago. The companions had been absent then, making their way back to Cauldron via their circuitous road leading through Occipitus, and they’d been so preoccupied with the almost constant threat of danger and progression of deadly events since their return that none of them had thought to follow up on the child’s fate. Not that we could have done anything to help him, even if we’d known, Zenna thought, but it didn’t ease the sense of guilt that she felt hovering at the edges of her mind.

Was that child one of the Shackleborn? she thought, grim at the possibilities of the child’s fate. Like everything else they knew about the Cagewrights and their plans, the boy’s fate was nebulous and murky, leaving their imaginations tempted to fill in the gaps.

Now, as the afternoon deepened toward evening, and the sun made its way back down toward the western horizon, they were headed toward yet another confrontation, one that—they hoped—would add that piece to the puzzle that would finally allow them to discern the solution to the mysterious danger that faced the citizens of the volcano city. The plots of the Cagewrights... to plunge the entire region into an interplanar nightmare.

They had not spent the day idly, resting their tired bodies, making what preparations they could, seeking knowledge that could possibly aid them. They knew that their adversaries would be ready for them. After last night’s events, there could be little doubt that the companions were a dire threat to the plans of the Cagewrights. Oddly enough, the city seemed mostly oblivious to the most recent developments; unlike the dramatic events at the Temple of Kelemvor, the assault on the Last Laugh safehouse and House Rhiavati failed to create much of a stir in the city. Whether that was due to the simple incompetence of the Watch, or a deeper cover-up, none of them knew for sure. With the revelations they’d gained from Rhiavati’s speech, Jil’s charmed disclosures, and finally the secret of the nobleman Vhalantru, taken from the slain halfling Finch via Jenya’s speak with the dead spell, they now knew that the Cagewrights had insinuated their tendrils into almost every aspect of the city’s operations. It had been Vhalantru who had taken on more responsibilities as the Lord Mayor increasingly withdrew from public life, Vhalantru who had organized the hiring of the half-orc mercenaries who now dominated the Watch, Vhalantru who had been largely behind the increased taxes that had stirred such unrest in the city. Taxes that probably had financed much of the Cagewrights’ operations, Zenna thought.

Vhalantru, who held the ends of the chains that held the city shackled.

There was little they could do, few that they could confide in. Fario and Fellian reported what they’d learned to Meerthan Eliothlorn, who immediately began sending out word through his own network of contents in the city and elsewhere. The half-elves had returned to the Temple of Helm earlier that afternoon, ready to continue despite the trauma both had suffered, each dedicated to walking this road to its very end.

Jenya had approached the leaders of the other churches in the city; Kristof Jurgenson of Lathander, and Asfelkir Hranleurt of Tempus, and transmitted a message via sending to the superiors of her church in Almraiven. Arun had spoken to those who’d gathered under his banner at the Temple of Helm, to add their weight to those fighting for the survival of the city.

“I haven’t had the chance to get to know all of you well,” he told them. “The last few days have been a tumult, and the storm facing this city... our city, will likely grow darker before it eases. I believe that a decisive moment is approaching. If you would be true to the oaths you swore, you must ready yourselves. I do not know if I will be here when the test arrives, but you may be certain, my companions and I will be on the front lines of the struggle against the evil threatening Cauldron. Gather your equipment; steel yourselves against what may come. Listen to Jenya Urikas... if it comes to it, and I am not here, she will organize your efforts. Good luck, and may the light of Helm, Moradin, and all the other gods of good shine over all of you.”

Zenna remembered the cheers that had followed the dwarf’s words, remembered being surprised at how many men and women Arun had managed to attract to him, not by his oratory and promises, but through the simple clarity of his deeds. So much was happening, she felt as though the details were sliding away from her, out of her control. It was a terrifying sensation, especially for her, and not eased by the complex emotions tugging at her in a dozen conflicting directions at once. She’d become powerful; almost as powerful as her parents, she thought... but it had all come so quickly, in a way she found shelter in the constant rush of activity, the pressure of events that drew her from one frenzied confrontation to another. It saved her from having too much time to ponder the implications of everything that had happened to her.

And from the fact that despite all of her newfound power, all the crushing responsibilities laid upon her shoulders, she was still barely nineteen years old.

“Are you all right?” Mole asked quietly. Zenna hadn’t seen or heard her approach, but she was used to that, and had learned to avoid being startled at her friend’s sudden appearances.

“Yes... I mean, as well as can be expected, anyway,” she said, with a wry smile that was only a bit forced. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Mole nodded solemnly. “A very long way.”

Zenna cast her gaze down the long street, and the thin tide of people who went about their business, unaware of the destiny being shaped around them. “Well, you wanted an adventure...” she said. Turning her eyes back to the gnome, she said, quietly, “Are you sorry you came with me?”

“Are you kidding? I mean, come on... sure, we’ve had some tough times, vicious monsters, terrible evil, yadda yadda yadda... But we’re right on the front lines, Zenna! We’re involved in events that can literally can shape the very course of history, change the lives of thousands of people. Growing up, I kept hearing the stories told by my uncle, about what he and the others did, their travels, and I kept thinking, ‘What must it be like, to be like that? To be... important?’”

“We wouldn’t have gotten here without you.”

“Well, those bad guys just never think that a gnome can be a threat, so when they turn to face Arun or Beorna... ‘whap’!”

Zenna smiled; even though all the battles they’d been through had been full of blood and agony and fear, her dear friend had a way of evoking the triumph, the shared courage, and somehow, even the humor, in violent situations.

“Are we ready for this?” she said softly, not really seeking an answer. Mole, of course, heard her, and offered one.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m scared down to my toes. But we’re not alone... we’re with friends, people who we can trust with our lives. Right?”

Zenna looked down at her friend, and nodded.

“Besides,” the gnome continued, “Beholders aren’t that tough. I mean, sure, they got those nasty eyes, can turn you to dust, fog your mind, blast your flesh from your bones, loosen your bowels with terror...” She was talking a bit louder now, and Zenna looked around in concern, lest any passersby hear too much and grow curious. But the street near here was nearly deserted, with many of the homes and business shuttered and abandoned by folk who’d had enough of the troubles that cursed the city. Zenna finally realized the true target of Mole’s litany: Hodge, trudging a few paces ahead of them. The dwarf was muttering curses, too low to make out clearly, although the words, “crazy” and “gnomes” could just be distinguished.

Although she hadn’t seen it before, somehow she knew Vhalantru’s estate when she saw it. The structure was smaller than House Rhiavati and looked older, reminiscent of the architecture of some of the noble houses in the old Chondanthan style she’d seen in some of the cities of eastern Tethyr. The building was apparently of three stories, with a squat tower to one side and numerous narrow windows visible in the front. It was clearly kept up in good repair, but to Zenna’s eyes, knowing what she did about its inhabitant, the place seemed ominous.

They’d already decided on a strategy, and did not hesitate, creep about, cast spells, or do anything else suspicious that might have drawn attention to themselves. They’d already made what preparations they could, and none of them expected their arrival here to come as a surprise.

There were no obvious guards. The grounds around the manor house were quiet. The street behind them had grown strangely quiet, as if the city itself sensed that something was wrong, and wanted to avoid getting involved in the confrontation here.

“Let’s get this over with,” Beorna growled, striding up to the front door of the manor. The only barrier at the entrance of the grounds was a low iron fence with an unlocked gate that opened easily at the templar’s touch, creaking slightly. She tested the door, but it was locked. Beorna glanced back, but Mole was already coming forward. She gave the lock a quick look, proved it with a small wire for a few seconds, then shook her head.

“Fellian, you’re up,” Arun said. The half-elf came forward, Beorna stepping aside to make room for him on the already crowded porch. Fellian glanced around to make sure that there was no one nearby, then he struck his chime of opening. There was an audible click from the door, which Beorna swung open, one hand on the hilt of her sword.

The foyer beyond the door was empty, a long hall beyond running back through what looked like a good part of the house’s interior. They entered, wary of a trap, but the house seemed as quiescent as the street outside. As they entered, each drew weapons or readied spells. Zenna took the opportunity to shroud them all in a protective magic circle against evil, dribbling a tight circle of silver dust around herself as she cast the spell.

“You sure we got the right place,” Mole asked.

“I’m sure,” Arun said. “There’s evil here...”

They moved slowly into the house.

The interior of the manor was richly decorated. The walls were polished wood panel with decorative moldings, their simple grace punctuated by the occasional tapestry or oil painting featuring a bucolic natural scene. There were several exits to side rooms that appeared to be quiet and empty, but they were drawn to a wider space at the end of the hall, where a slender staircase ascended halfway up to the second level before splitting into two, flanking a wide balcony above. A subdued red carpet of plush fibers ran down the length of the hall.

Several statues were situated in niches along the length of the hall. The carvings were of exceptional quality, depicting adventuring types captured in a variety of poses. They included a dwarf warrior, holding a greatsword as if to strike, a woman spellcaster with a staff and sword, a lean, robed, muscular man shown in a fighting stance, and an armored gnome with a small morningstar, a look of surprise on his face. Mole was drawn to the last one, giving it an appraising look.

“Those are good... too good,” Dannel said.

“You don’t think...” Mole began.

“Petrification,” Zenna said. “Turned to stone, by the beholder’s magic.”

“Our boy’s got an interesting sense of humor,” Fellian said, but his expression was grim as they left the statues behind and continued down the hall.

Suddenly, Mole, a few paces in the lead, hissed a warning, gesturing back with a wave of her hand. Even as the companions shrank against the walls of the hall, taking cover behind the statues or in nearby doorways, a door near the stairs opened, unleashing a noise of raucous laughter from the area beyond. A half-orc mercenary stepped into view, clad in unkempt but functional chainmail armor. His attention was on the room behind him, rather than out into the hall.

“Shut yer yap, Mrak, I’ll get me money back later, an’ mebbe a slab o’ yer hide as well!”

The guard stepped into the hall, carrying his heavy but awkward double axe with him; a second stepped into the doorway just behind him. Mole, Dannel and the half-elves were just shadows, even in the sparse cover available in the hall, but there was no way that the dwarves could be missed by even an inattentive viewer. As the first guard looked down the wide corridor toward the entry, his eyes widened as he saw Beorna step out from behind a statue, her holy sword sliding from its sheath.

“Intruders!”