Coldeven 6, CY 593
86—The Lost Caverns of Tsojcanth
There once was a lass from Fontaine
And Iggwilv the witch was her name;
She brought Graz’zt forth
And she rode that black horse
But the get was senior to the dame!
Nearly a century ago, the Arch-mage Iggwilv subjugated the Marches of Perrenland, and ruled over them for nearly a decade, squeezing every drop of tribute she could from her unfortunate vassals. The legends still circulating about her say that she used the wealth to fund her ever-deepening involvement with demonology and dark summonings. That she had a run in with the demon prince Graz’zt, and that it ended her reign is accepted as fact. But as to the nature of their encounter, stories differ.
The most commonly held version contends that Iggwilv’s empire was built to appease her own vanity, and that her ever growing hubris led her into a confrontation she could not win—that Graz’zt stripped Iggwilv of her power and sent her scurrying into history, another in a long list of would-be tyrants who didn’t make the cut.
That’s the version they like the most in Perrenland.
But if you ask the sages of the Marklands, the ones who can feel the Old One’s hungry gaze upon them as they sleep, you’ll hear a different story. In their version, Iggwilv wasn’t looting the Perrenlands for vanity, she was building a nest. And Graz’zt was not her enemy, but rather her unwilling thrall. In that version, Iggwilv the Archmagi seduced a Prince of the Abyss to give birth to a demigod.
-----
Prisantha casts a legend lore on the relationship between Iggwilv and Iuz. She grimaces and reports, “The divination was brief; ‘some children never wean’.”
Heydricus winces at the imagery.
Lucius rolls his eyes. “Oh, that was helpful,” he says. “Good thing we have all this mumbo jumbo, otherwise we wouldn’t know who to kill.”
“I’ve discerned the location of an artifact known to have been kept within Iggwilv’s lair,” Dabus interrupts. “Daoud’s Wondrous Lanthorn is in the Prime Material plane, on Oerth, in the Yatil mountains, on the border of Ket and Perrenland, between the gorge of the Velverdyva River and the hills east of the town of Krestible, four hundred feet beneath the peak directly to the South of the tallest peak visible when gazing due east from Krestible’s town square, within the heart of a series of caverns called Tsojcanth.” Dabus looks at Lucius pointedly.
“We should teleport in, and see about this Iggwilv,” Prisantha says fiercely.
“I don’t think that is wise,” Heydricus says.
“Is this opposite day?” Gwendolyn asks.
“She is an archmage,” Heydricus continues, “and may have warded her demesne against such tactics.”
“If she still lives,” Hastur counters sagely. Everyone looks at him.
“Well, I could teleport us to Krestible,” Pris says. “And we could hike from there.”
“Before we go, I should introduce you to my sword,” Heydricus says.
“Yes, we’ve all seen your sword, Heydricus,” Jepso sniffs. “Unless you mean to make an allusion, in which case, I’ve a Greyhawk City adventuring band for you.”
“No, no, Crim, this is a new sword.”
“It looks just like your old one.”
“Ha! That’s because it is my old one.”
“Go on, Heydricus,” Dabus says. “Tell them.”
“Dabus has taught me some prayers.” Heydricus beams proudly.
“Congratulations,” Gwendolyn drawls. “If he can teach Crim some spells, I say we keep him.”
“Really, Gwendolyn” Jepso hisses. “You’ve been insufferable ever since you started wishing. I happen to have an extremely powerful mentor already, thank you very much.”
“At the Willip Community Wizard’s College?” Prisantha asks incredulously.
“No,” Jespo says. “Think higher.”
“You’ve been accepted to the Furyondian Academy!”
“No, no. Higher,” Jespo says smugly.
“There is no higher school, Jespo,” Prisantha bristles.
“Think, ‘Circle of Eight,’” Jespo says. “I’ve recently finished tutelage with none other than Nystul himself.”
“The Tenha expatriate?” Heydricus says.
“Yes, I mentioned you, of course. He’s very interested in our work here.”
“You’re lying,” Gwendolyn says.
“If I were lying, Fräs would hiss,” Jespo counters.
“Well, that’s true,” Dabus says. “Lies make her fur itch.”
Heydricus draws his sword heroically. “Liberators of Tenh, I’d like you to meet ‘Freedom’s Touch’!”
Dabus smiles and nods, the others stare blankly.
“It’s . . . wonderful, Heydricus,” Prisantha says encouragingly.
“I’ve enchanted it,” he says.
Gwendolyn looks at Fräs for confirmation. The cat purrs. “How?” she demands.
“Through dedication and prayer,” Heydricus states.
Dabus beams proudly.
“And we’re going to kill the sh-t out of the Boneheart,” the sword says, as it bursts into a cold, blue flame.
-----
People are growing sick all over the Flannaes. Old Timers mutter about how they’ve seen worse, as old timers will, but young timers don’t believe them. And it seems to most folks that the days have grown shorter—there’s just less time in the day to do all the things that you’re used to. Of course, the first activities to fall by the wayside are the daily celebrations and simple pleasures. There’s work to be done, work that must be done, and with all the folk turning up sick, there are less hands to do it with.
In the Marklands, a dark smudge appears on the Northern horizon, and does not move. Despite the best efforts of the Baroness Kalinstren to reassure her populace, refugees are leaving Crockport in droves. Butrain has responded by enacting an entrance tax at the gates of Chendl. Those with the silver can find what sanctuary Furyondy can offer. The poor will have to fend for themselves.
-----
Krestible would be an extremely quaint and charming mountain town, if it were quaint or charming. The dirty collection of ill-kept hovels require quite a bit of leaning against to keep them standing, judging by the efforts of the meager populace. The Liberators are greeted with suspicious glances, although the locals are scrupulously careful not to make eye contact. Propped against one of the larger buildings, next to its entrance, is a crudely painted sign that reads “In.”
The Liberators enter the building, and see that it is indeed an inn, although one completely devoid of patrons. Dabus moves toward the bar, and raps sharply on it with the hilt of his spear. After a moment, a bent old woman emerges, glowering at the Liberators.
“I suppose you’ll want a room, and some food.”
“You have understood it admirably, madam,” Dabus says, with a courtly bow.
She glares at him as if regarding the underside of a slab of meat left too long in the sun. “Adventurers,” she spits. “Well go on, why don’t you just beat me now and get it over with!”
Dabus opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks back over his shoulder at Heydricus.
“We don’t beat old women,” Heydricus says with conviction.
“Unless they’re witches,” Lucius clarifies.
“Or abyssal hags,” Jespo says.
Prisantha clicks her tongue. “You weren’t there for that fight!”
“Oh, I was so,” Jespo counters. “I remember it perfectly: the hag, the Pholtan and the darling orphan children.”
“No, no, that was while you were in Willip.”
“Was it?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“She’s right, Jespo,” Dabus says.
“You adventurers,” the old woman spits. “Just go where you please with your magic spells and take what you want. And what about the innocent? What about them that hain’t never hurt nobody?”
“We protect the innocent,” Dabus says soothingly.
“Do you now? Well where were you when we needed you?”
“We help those who’ve suffered, madam,” Dabus begins to glow.
The old woman seems not to notice the light spilling off the erstwhile cleric. She steps through a curtain and returns with a small boy in tow. “Look at what adventurers have done!” she cries. The boy’s face is a mass of bruises and swelling, two black, crusted scabs bookending his unusually large and docile eyes. “Can you help this boy, can you?” she demands bitterly, her point proven. “Can you give back what’s been took? Can you grow this boy new ears and a tongue?”
Dabus smiles. “As a matter of fact, I can.”
-----
“I dreamed you here,” the boy says frankly, immediately following Dabus’ regenerate spell.
“Manners!” the old woman screeches as she cuffs the child on his new ear. “A thousand pardons, good sir,” she smiles toward Dabus. “This boy is just stupid, he don’t mean no disrespect.”
“Thank you madam, perhaps you should leave us now.” Heydricus says.
“Of course the gentlefolk will be wantin’ their supper,” she bows clumsily and leaves the room.
Dabus kneels down and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You dreamed about me?”
“Yes,” the child says. “All the time. I dream many things. The man with the burning spear told me about you. And once, I dreamed my dog back to life, but only for a couple of days.” The boy makes a sad face. Dabus and Heydricus exchange glances.
“How would you like to come live with us?” Heydricus asks. “I understand your parents are dead, and that woman is no kin to you. I have a home for orphans like yourself.”
The boy smiles. “Yes, I know.”
Dabus and Heydricus exchange glances.
“Why did those men cut off your ears?” Jespo Crim asks.
“They said it was punishment for hearing too much. I heard them making plans to travel into the mountains, and find Tsojcanth. They found it too,” he adds softly. “She didn’t want them there, but I think she does want you to come. I think she wants to talk to you.”
