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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 2034112" data-attributes="member: 143">As Neverwinter Knight has already commented, this plot development is explained in the modules; for now I'll just say that it's not an "authorized" attack. As we'll see in this update, the head assassin isn't really "all there," if you know what I mean. * * * * * Chapter 326The fireball lasted only an instant, but in that explosion of fire the Grand Library of the Cusp of Sunrise was transformed.  Fine furnishings were blackened as the flames overturned small tables and turned expensively trimmed chairs into ash.  Tapestries and paintings were likewise charred, along with thousands of gold pieces worth of books, décor, and statuary.  The focal point of the spell had been the head of the steps that led into the foyer, at the feet of Zachary Aslaxin.  The nobleman had been blasted roughly back into the adjoining entry, while those around had likewise been killed or seriously wounded.  Keygan Ghelve lay crumpled against the base of a bookcase, his skull showing white where his flesh had been blasted away by the blast, while Tygot Mispas was just a blackened lump a few feet away.  Kristof Jurgensen and Skie Aldersun were both down, either dead or well on their way, and everyone else within the radius of the blast had been seriously injured.  Jeyna Urikas, her fine robe an utter ruin, her hair burned half away from the charred flesh of her skull, looked around bewildered at the destruction that had been a gathering of vital people just a few seconds before.  But her indecision lasted only a moment.  Invoking the full power of Helm that she commanded, she unleashed a mass cure critical wounds spell that poured life back into the battered survivors of the fiery blast.  But even that potent spell could not help Ghelve, Mispas, and Jurgensen. Even as Jenya countered the destructive power of the fireball with her magic, it became clear that the magical attack was just the opening round in an all-out assault upon the gathering.  Arun had draw his holy sword at Dannel’s first warning, and even as the explosion of flame erupted throughout the room he was charging toward the origin point of the spell—oddly, it looked as though it had begun a good eight or nine feet above the tiled marble floor.  But before he could reach the invisible spellcaster, he grunted as something hard slammed into his side.  He turned as a foe materialized there, his invisibility disrupted by his attack.  The enemy was a grim, feral-looking dwarf, coming barely to Arun’s shoulder.  The dwarf was clad in light armor, chain links over black leathers, and the skin visible under the black half-helm he wore was bluish in color, clashing with wide eyes that were an opaque milky-white.  He carried a battle-axe in both hands, and even as Arun shifted to face him he lifted the weapon to strike again. “Derro!” Arun hissed, recognizing the race of their adversaries.  The derro were well-known to the gold dwarves, members of an insane, degenerate subrace of dwarvenkind that subsisted deep within the bowels of the Underdark.  This one was clearly a veteran warrior, hurling himself at the paladin in a furious rage.  Hodge moved to assist his friend, but quickly came under attack from a second derro, who appeared in the wake of a crippling assault that dug deep into the miner-turned-defender’s armored thigh.  Beorna had likewise drawn her holy sword, its brilliance fighting through the haze of smoke that lingered in the aftermath of the fireball.  But she did not immediately rush to the attack; instead, she drew upon the power of Helm, casting an invisibility purge to reveal their enemies to them.  Two more derro warriors appeared, one in the midst of raising his axe to strike down Aeberrin Vanderboren.  The couple had been on the edges of the gathering and had avoided the worst of the fireball, but even though the noblewoman was nearly double the derro’s height, she had no defense against his deadly axe.  But even as the creature gibbered an eager cry for blood, her husband Permiach darted between them, knocking her backward out of the deadly path of the axe.  He paid for his sacrifice, however, as the blade cut deeply into his side, knocking him prone in a mess of blood that poured from his side in a deadly cascade.  Aeberrin screamed, but before the derro could press his advantage the flame-blackened form of Omar Tiskensen appeared through the haze.  The priest of Tempus held his greatsword high above his head, screaming an invocation to his patron as he smote the skittering dwarfkin.  The blow would have cloven a cow in twain, but the derro was far tougher than he looked, rolling with the force of the stroke and coming around into a ready stance, prepared to counter.  The last warrior had rushed toward Ankhin Taskerhill, whose eyes widened in terror at the rapid approach of the diminutive warrior.  But before the derro could reach its prey, Meerthan Eliothorn stepped to the nobleman’s side.  The half-elf was accompanied by Maavu Arlintal, who held the stricken form of Skie Aldersun in his arms.  Maavu held onto Meerthan’s shoulder as the half-elf touched the noble lord, speaking a word of magic.  Reality shifted around them, and all four of them vanished from the chamber. The derro warrior snarled, and looked around for other prey.Beorna’s spell had revealed one other enemy, the one that each of the heroes had looked for since Dannel had shouted his warning.  That last was the derro sorcerer who had hurled the fireball, and whose spells had both transported the warriors here and bolstered their fighting ability.  He was flying above the chamber floor, continuing to ascend in a slow spiral, and as he became visible he cackled madly.  His white hair and beard jutting out from his blue-tinged skin in a disordered riot, and he held a long ivory rod in one hand, sweeping it over the battleground below as if willing his enemies to cease annoying him by dropping dead on the instant. The sorcerer’s eyes fixed on Tiskensen as the cleric and his derro adversary hacked at each other.  “Priest of War God!” the sorcerer screeched, his voice as painful as fingernails being drawn across a slate.  “Your master calls you to him!”  Lifting the rod above his head in benediction with his left hand, he extended a stubby finger from his right at the cleric, and blasted him with a thin green ray of bright energy. Omar Tiskensen had just enough time to look up before the ray disintegrated him. The sound of his empty armor striking the hard floor sounded unnaturally loud in the cavernous interior of the chamber.</blockquote>

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