The Most High Ceoptra takes her opportunity against Barnaby in his weakened state. She strikes out with her unholy knife, and Barnaby Daryngton breathes his last. All of this takes place on the other side of the platform, so the rest of the party can only hear the squelch of flesh and bone as the swashbuckler scuffles a final time.
Krask fires off several more arrows, taking down the final cloud giant. This leaves the lamia as the only remaining combatant. She laughs, suddenly choking on the acid cloud that Fyn created around her. Although it blocks her from sight, it gives Fobias a chance to drink a potion. Fyn rushes over to where Barnaby dropped down to, realizing that the halfling is likely dead.
Trace positions himself near the platform as Ceoptra emerges from the cloud. She sends a storm of ghostly spirits at the paladin, catching him and Fyn in the torrent of physical damage. Some ghosts continue to swirl around her in an attempt to protect her from arrows. Fortunately for Krask, his aim is true!
As the tide turns, Fobias and Fyn advance on the lamia. One cone of cold later, she is surrounded by Trace and Fobias who attempt to strike at her vulnerable midsection. That’s when Krask sees his opportunity, sending a final, lethal arrow into the Most Dead Ceoptra.
Immediately the party rushes to Barnaby’s side and learn that it’s too late. They can’t possibly continue without him, however, so they barricade themselves in the room to rest. Fobias prepares the ritual to try and reincarnate their friend.
Once again, Barnaby’s soul finds himself in Pharasma’s Boneyard, walking along the endless path to his fate. A carriage pulls up behind him and Adriella steps out. They talk about Moniker and Barnaby’s purpose in life. Does he have any remaining business? Barnaby laments about the party and Karzoug, knowing that they’re up for a difficult task without his blade. Adriella reaches out her hand and we wait to see if Barnaby takes it…
The ritual is interrupted by a knock at the door. Cautiously, the party opens it to find a heavily robed figure. They are masked and adorned with odd bits of accoutrements as they introduce themselves as a Denizen of Leng.
Immediately the party is put on edge. Who is going around the Pinnacle of Avarice knocking on doors? Both sides show their Sihedron rings and medallions as they both play Karzoug chicken. They both have no idea who is telling the truth about who they are.
Eventually, the Denizen drops their appearance, instead revealing themselves to be a beautifully pale woman. She is El-Hadeem, a changeling who has been researching the plane of Leng amidst other Denizens of Leng. She doesn’t understand the true purpose for the device they are working on, but her goal is to heed her Calling and learn more about her past and parentage.
Once the party realizes that El-Hadeem isn’t really in league with Karzoug, they welcome her into the fold. They have similar aspirations; if Karzoug is in Leng as they expect, then their destination is the same. But first, they need to investigate this golden sphere further.
Fyn and Trace step up to the platform above the orb and instantly feel vertigo and experience double-vision. Everything is cloudy except for the fire around the sphere and Trace’s weapon; these are crystal clear. They look down and can see into the sphere, which seems to be opening up into a different plane. They see a stone platform, fire, and what might be a throne. Everything is cloudy.
Vision in the Sphere
You look down at this huge golden sphere, wreathed in flames, and it’s cloudy. As you look, however, these swirling, folding clouds begin to part, much like the Palantir from Lord of the Rings.
Peering through, you see a dark alley. Even in the dim light, it’s clear that the alley isn’t dingy or dirty like you might expect; the surrounding opulence glitters as the pale moonlight splashes across small pools of standing water.
A robed figure decked out in jewels walks quickly around the corner, cloak flapping with the speed of his movement. Karzoug stops at a door and we briefly hear the jingling of keys before he sighs and flicks his wrist. Click. The lock opens and he pushes through the door. We hear it lock behind him.
Several winding staircases later, and Karzoug arrives at another door. He opens this one wordlessly, stepping down into a dark room. Flick. Flames erupt from the torches that line the walls of a cramped chamber. We see stacks of books, crystals, alchemy equipment.
Flick. All of the clutter suddenly transforms into countless lit candles. With his face illuminated by the fluttering candlelight, Karzoug closes his eyes.
He mutters in Thassilonian:
A sötétség gömbjére a leng lakói megmutatják magukat nekem. Adja meg nekem a hatalmát!
Lavender energy erupts from his fingertips, traveling in front of him to form a bright circle. He continues chanting:
Töltsön meg az ókori tudással, amelyet az ókorok elfelejtettek ala Leng!
The energy pulses before melting away, and another figure steps through. They are wearing wraps of cloth around their head, much like a turban, and a long strip covering their mouth. Several ribbons of fabric hang from their upper torso, threatening to catch fire from the candles.
Their slender hands end in pointed fingers and we can just make out what seems to be a tentacle peeking out from under the mask.Karzoug smiles.
“At last. We meet.”
Blackout.
“Apprentice Karzoug! We must go! The celebration for Runelord Haphrama’s 206th year is about to begin!”
The affluence of the grand chamber we find ourselves in is staggering. Marble, Gold, Jewels – everything is adorned in wealth beyond the dreams of avarice.
A woman dressed in matching finery peeks through the doorway, speaking towards a seated Karzoug. Once again, his eyes are closed, as if meditating. He is older now, probably close to 70 based on his gaunt face and streaks of gray hair braided into his braid.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The woman nods, closing the door.
Karzoug opens his eyes, glancing around the room and seeing he is alone.
“But HE will.”
We see Karzoug stand up, grab a stone off a nerby table, slip it into a side pouch, and walk briskly out the room into a long corridor. His footsteps echo across the marble walls. Clack clack clack clack.
Eventually he approaches a magnificent set of mahogany double doors, emblazoned with the Thassilonian symbol of Greed. Two guards holding glaives cross them in front of the door.
“Runelord Haphrama is not seeing visitors ahead of the feast, Apprentice Karzoug. You should join your peers.”
Karzoug stops short of the door. “My apologies. The Runelord summoned me here directly to give him the Eye of the Empire.” Karzoug reaches into his side pouch, producing a vibrant salmon-colored gem the size of a ostrich egg.
The guards’ eyes grow wide with wonder as they see it.
“I’m sorry Apprentice, the Runelord didn’t mention this and we have strict orders not to interrupt him.”
Karzoug smiles and places his other hand behind his back. “It’s the centerpiece of the celebration, you wouldn’t want to be the cause of ruining the perfectly tailored decor of Runelord Haphrama’s 206th year, would you?” His words are laced with charisma, enhanced by a Honeyed Tongue spell.
The guards look at each other and relax.
“Of course. Make it quick.”
Karzoug smiles as he steps through the doors. As they close, his smile fades and he chunks the worthless stone into a nearby planter.
The room is exactly what you would expect of that of a Runelord. Fashionable linens, silks, gold trimmings – the room oozes with wealth and splendor. In the middle of the room stands a twelve-foot tall mirror, its outer frame showcasing exploits of Thassilonian Runelords over history.
A long glaive rests in a notch on the side of the mirror. Karzoug steps further into the room. It appears to be empty. He checks behind the armoires and behind the couches adorned with draconic leather.
Finally, he stands in front of the mirror. Even dwarfed by the size of the reflective surface, Karzoug looks powerful and confident. He smiles again, adjusting a ruby clasp around his neck. He motions to turn away before whipping back towards the mirror, thrusting a knife forwards with dazzling speed. Thousands of shards tumble down as the mirror breaks, showering the ground in shattered fragments. But that’s not the only thing that falls.
Out of the mirror falls a man wearing robes so white they could blind you if you stare at them too long. There are massive gemstone rings on every finger, and his black hair flows neatly across his shoulders.
The man is thrust from the mirror to his knees and he vomits immediately. On all fours, he looks up at Karzoug with his angled nose and sharp eyes. Eyes that reflect fear.
“I knew this day would come, Karzoug.” He coughs, spitting up phlegm. “You have been toying with magics beyond your station. I should have known better all those years ago that you were too dangerous, too skilled. Your thirst for knowledge will never be quenched.”
“Quiet, Haphrama. Unlike your surroundings, your words lost value long ago.”
Haphrama chuckles faintly. “First me, and then what? What will be left for you to take? Look around Karzoug. Runelords have everything they could ever need. Every desire, fulfilled. We are at the Pinnacle of Avarice. There is nothing beyond this.”
“And that is where you are wrong. You are complacent and content. If I didn’t know any better, I would have believed you to be the Runelord of Sloth.”
Haphrama’s weak smile fades. His eyes begin to water.
“Make it quick. Please.”
“Yes Master.”
Karzoug plunges the knife into the back of Haphrama, whose blood pours over the marble floors. The ex-Runelord’s body collapses completely as Karzoug let’s the knife fall. With a flick of his wrist, Karzoug expunges the blood from his robes. He looks down at the mirror fragments, piecing together his reflection and turning to make sure his robes are completely free of blood. He nods in satisfaction and grabs the glaive from the now-empty mirror frame.
Karzoug steps over Haphrama’s lifeless body towards the double doors, and opens them. The guards look at him. “Is the Runelord ready?”
Karzoug smiles. “He is. Let’s party.” The glaive ignites in flame as he walks down the hall.
We see a hand grasp the lacy-gloved hand of Adriella as Barnaby pulls himself into the carriage. The door closes and the carriage rolls off into the distance.
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