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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1971411" data-attributes="member: 143">Yeah, shades of Otto Octavius... <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f609.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=";)" title="Wink    ;)"  data-smilie="2"data-shortname=";)" />* * * * * Chapter 308Orbious 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!”</blockquote>

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