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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 2798600" data-attributes="member: 143">Chapter 515The chant sounded off of the thick stone walls of the vault, amplifying the sound and adding a sonorous echo reminiscent of a dirge.  Flickering flames atop a half-dozen candles set in sconces along the perimeter of the room dimly illuminated the six figures that were the source of the chant.  The dark forms, clad in body-concealing black robes with heavy cowls, were arranged in a circle around a rune-inscripted ring etched into the ancient stone blocks of the floor.  A dank mustiness filled the place, and lichens grew in the cracks of the walls, hinting that this subterranean vault was linked to the sewers that kept the city above clean and orderly.  The very place seemed suited to mysterious and secret activities, such as the ritual underway here. From deep in the shadows, Zev’vat observed the ritual.  His eyes hovered briefly over Grendalla, her back to him at her position at the “head” of the circle.  His lips tightened briefly in some unfathomable emotion.  It certainly wasn’t affection, despite the fact that the leader of this cult cell had welcomed him and gladly professed her loyalty to Graz’zt with the offering of her body.  Her depravity had been… well, after experiencing the dark orgies held within the Argent Palace, back before the Disaster, anything that these mere mortal followers could come up with seemed pathetic by comparison.  The chant intensified, and in response a green aura began to coalesce within the ritual.  Zev’vat watched closely.  The kelvezu had almost immediately gauged that Grendalla was not up to the task that he required of her.  Her little coven was weak and craven, scuttling around in the foul pits beneath this prosperous western city.  But to be truthful, the demon was forced to admit that he had few choices left with which to work.  Graz’zt’s followers had suffered along with the calamitous decline of their sponsor, and most of the once-potent cells had long since been overrun or turned by the demon lord’s powerful rivals.  A few had even fallen to non-demonic cults, absorbed by the followers of this Prime’s gods of evil.  Those that had remained loyal, like Grendalla’s little company, had been forced to lie low, crawling into the dark places under rocks where they could linger unseen. The chant broke up as a flare of silver energy passed through the circle and into the growing green nimbus within.  Screams erupted from the cultists as the silver fire intensified, binding them to the swelling disruption that now began to take on a distinct form, bridging the barrier between worlds. Zev’vat watched the final stages of the ritual intently.  It had been he who had modified the ceremony, drawing the power lacking in the cultists by using their very life forces as a power source.  Grendalla, of course, he had not informed of the consequence of the change, and she had trusted him, much to her misfortune. The ritual concluded, the silver light, green field, and cultists all snuffed out at the same moment.  The summoning circle had been broken, but the five individuals now standing within made no move to exit.  Zev’vat came forward, and addressed the leader. He was easily discernable.  His—if it was in fact a he—companions were all naked, the candlelight glistening off their hides, skin as black as the darkest night.  Their bodies were perfectly smooth, bearing no hair or obvious genitalia, no hint at all in fact as to their gender, if they even had such.  Each stood just over eight feet in height but was incredibly broad, almost like Faerûnian dwarves in the construction of their forms.  Their muscles suggested great strength, and no bit of flesh appeared to be wasted upon them.  Their faces were alien, noseless, with narrow slits for eyes and wide mouths that stretched across the full expanse of their faces.  Each of the four escorts bore a single weapon, a bar of black metal resembling a sword but without a cutting edge on either side, the whole nearly five feet long.  The leader was clad in a simple one-piece garment, a violet drape that covered his torso, fastened around his waist with a piece of thick brown rope.  He carried a gnarled staff of gray wood, carved with tiny symbols that seemed to shift slightly when the eye passed over them, creating new meaning.  He watched Zev’vat intently, waiting.  Neither he nor his escorts paid any heed to the corpses scattered around them. “I greet you, Shaman of the M’butu,” the kelvezu finally said, offering a short bow. The Shaman made a clicking sound that seemed to originate deep within his chest.  “We have come to the call.”  He looked around at his surroundings.  “This place is most unpleasant.”  His escorts were in fact shivering, although by the way they carried themselves, it seemed as though they would simply stand there and freeze to death before they admitted discomfort. “You need not remain long.  Once the service for which I have summoned you is complete, you may return to your world.”  The kelvezu did not mention the means for that return, given the death of those who had facilitated the initial transition, but the Shaman did not seem troubled by that detail. “We have come in service to the Six Fingered Man.  If we complete this service, our obligation to the Six Fingered Man is complete, per the terms of our bargain.”The kelvezu nodded.  “Agreed.”The Shaman’s mouth opened slightly in a nasty parody of a smile; a whole lot of jagged teeth the color of old bones were visible within.  “Speak then, what must be done.”</blockquote>

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