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Before the first chapter of “The Fall”, we take a brief look at five characters who have already appeared in the previous parts, are now playing a role again and did not get an entry in the Dramatis Personae yet.

The dark elf  Dilae Tor'ana hails from Svartalfheim, the realm of the goddess Eilistraee on Nidavellir, the third layer of Ysgard. The bard and priestess of the Dark Maiden later moved to Sigil and joined the Free League. Dilae is one of the Chosen of the Ring Prophecy, namely the Dancer. She has the ability to hear the cosmic melody of the planes associated with certain places and to create illusions through her dance, making them come to life for a certain time span. Her group of Chosen includes the air genasi wizard Yelmalis, the half-orcish amazon Garush, the tiefling psion Tarik and the yuan-ti Sekhemkare.

Dilae is petite even for an elf and about 5' 3'' tall. She has charcoal gray skin, long, silver-white hair, and turquoise-blue eyes. When traveling or when at the Great Bazaar, she often wears practical, purple-colored clothing. In her role as a priestess of Eilistraee, though, she sometimes also dresses in silvery and white robes that reveal much of her beautiful body. She wears silver jewelry with moonstones and always displays the holy symbol of her goddess.

In general, Dilae makes a friendly, cheerful and often happy impression. Despite her remarkable appearance, she apparently does not particularly like being the center of attention and prefers to leave the leading role to others. The only exception is dancing. This seems to be the only situation in which she enjoys the attention of others. What really upsets her are injustice and the restriction of personal freedoms. Overall, she seems to be quite free-spirited and individualistic.

The tiefling Tarik comes from the Outlands, namely from the vedic realm of Tharpura. There he joined the Sign of One and later moved to Sigil, where he now works as a secretary for Factol Darius. He is a psion with a focus on precognition and object reading. Tarik is one of the Chosen of the Ring Prophecy, namely the Dreamer. He has the ability to enter the dreams of others or to send them messages via dreams. He can also contact the little-explored Plane of Dreams and even go there and influence it. His group of Chosen includes the air genasi wizard Yelmalis, the half-orcish amazon Garush, the dark elven Eilistraee cleric Dilae and the yuan-ti Sekhemkare.

The attractive young man is of medium height and has dark skin and jet-black hair. The only feature that outwardly indicates his tiefling heritage are his red eyes, which glow slightly in the dark. He is usually dressed in light robes made of either white-beige or colorful fabrics that match the vedic style of his homeland of Tharpura.

Tarik usually behaves calmly and quietly, almost inconspicuously. He comes across as very open-minded, friendly and helpful. Nevertheless, there is always that vague feeling in his presence that one always has around tieflings, no matter what their intentions are: a hunch that there is more, a fiery heritage that could surface at some point, and even if not in a destructive, so at least in an impulsive way.

Sekhemkare is a yuan-ti and hails from Sigil, but his ancestors lived in Smaragd, the realm of the yuan-ti god Merrshaulk in the Abyss. The warlock is a member of the Fated and one of the Chosen of the Ring Prophecy, namely the Caller. He has the ability to call soul shreds of powerful, ancient beings that did not reach their predestined destinations in the planes, but have been wandering aimlessly through the multiverse for centuries or millennia. He can temporarily connect to these shreds, allowing him to gain some of their knowledge, but also special abilities, such as teleportation or seeing through walls. His group of Chosen includes the air genasi wizard Yelmalis, the half-orcish amazon Garush, the dark elven Eilistraee cleric Dilae and the tiefling psion Tarik.

Sekhemkare is a so-called halfblood yuan-ti, which means he is of humanoid shape but also possesses many snake-like features: he has a snake's head with a long neck, green scales and, in addition to two arms and two legs, a snake tail. In yuan-ti society, this puts him above the almost human-like purebloods, but below the almost exclusively snake-like abominations, the highest caste. He is usually elegantly dressed, either in a suit with a green and gold waistcoat or in black, red and green robes.

Like many members of reptilian races, Sekhemkare is difficult to read for humanoids. Not only his completely different facial features and alien facial expressions contribute to this, but also the fact that yuan-ti differ from humanoids as much in their emotional life as in their appearance. Often, reptilians therefore appear either aggressive or haughty and dismissive to warm-blooded creatures. To what extent this really applies to Sekhemkare or is just a common misunderstanding can perhaps only be judged by the other members of his group.

Mallin is the current factol of the Mercykillers. The aasimar hails from Acheron, where he was born during a fight on the battlefield. His mother died when he was still a child, so he was on his own at an early age. As a youth, he was found by a group of Mercykiller paladins and accepted into the faction. Shortly thereafter, he became a paladin of Hoar. In Sigil, he quickly rose through the ranks of the Red Death and succeeded Factol Votohm after her passing. Mallin seems to be almost one with his armor. He is only seen without it on the Day of Pain or during his rare visits to the Great Gymnasium.

For an aasimar of human descent, Mallin is very tall. At 6' 6'', he towers over most humans. In addition to his height, he has very broad shoulders, enhanced even by his black armor, making him an impressive - and intimidating - sight. The only sign of his celestial heritage is the golden gleam of his eyes, a noticeable contrast to his overall appearance and the scars that run through his face. His hair is black with only a few gray strands, although he is well past fifty – or the comparable age for an aasimar. His true age is unknown, though.

Mallin is very direct, often brusque and harsh in tone and behavior. He runs his faction as well as the Prison in Sigil with an iron fist, but he is considered very correct and fair. Under his leadership, there was no illegal torture in the Prison - unlike under previous Mercykiller factols - nor did prisoners disappear from their cells under suspicious circumstances. Mallin is unyielding and often stubborn, but never arbitrary and he seems sincere in his pursuit of justice. He supports both Arwyl Swan's Son, an ambitious paladin of Torm, and the young Alisohn Nilesia.

Hashkar has been factol of the Fraternity of Order for 126 years, and since he fulfills his duties very competently, he could preside over the faction for quite a while due to the longevity of the dwarves. For some time now, a remarkable rumor about Hashkar has been circulating in Sigil: Supposedly, he is a petitioner, that is the manifested soul of someone who has already died and is now spending their afterlife in the Outer Planes. There is no proof of this, but there are some indications. For one thing, Hashkar is extremely fixated on a particular thing, in this case his research, much more so than even the most obsessed scholars and professors usually are. This is often a characteristic of petitioners, who focus on a very specific aspect of their plane in order to ultimately merge with it. On the other hand, Hashkar never leaves the city of Sigil. Petitioners also never leave their home plane, since death outside of it would lead to the destruction and loss of their soul. It is not known that Hashkar has ever left Sigil; he does not even visit the headquarters of the Guvners on Mechanus, which is extremely unusual for a factol. However, this theory is contradicted by the fact that Sigil actually has no petitioners. The Lady forbids Her worship, and neutral souls go to the Outlands, not to Sigil. So if Hashkar is indeed a petitioner of Sigil, he would possibly be the first one.

Hashkar is relatively small for a dwarf, his hair and long beard are snow-white. He is usually dressed in fine robes, preferably in shades of blue. He often seems absent-minded and preoccupied and those who do not know him may well mistake him for an ordinary scribe.

While Hashkar's appearance is rather unremarkable, his intellect is all the more exceptional. He seems to sponge up information, and his extraordinary knowledge in a wide range of disciplines has allowed him to quickly rise through the ranks of the faction. Hashkar spends almost all of his time either reading or teaching. He often gives lectures and readings, both to members of the faction and to the general public. However, even in private conversation, the old dwarf tends to give very long-winded responses. It seems to be difficult for Hashkar to understand that some people are looking for short and simple answers.

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Chapter Text

"He screamed, turned purple, and writhed on the floor for an hour after just one sip?

Okay, I'll give it a try."

Flishard Willowheels, a Sensate

First Market Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Erin sat on a chaise longue in her chambers with a glass of Cloudy Dream . The drink was made from almond milk, white pumpkin syrup and rum, sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg, and garnished with a sprig of blooming fire thyme. It always reminded her of an adventure in the Flowering Hill, one of her more amusing and harmless trips, compared to some of her other experiences. She was in urgent need of a cheering up right now, as her thoughts were less amusing and harmless. At peak, she had watched a rehearsal of the Lizard Ballet in the Ren Hall and didn't have a meeting with the Sylvanian emissary until two hours later. She used the time in between to withdraw, to give her white tressym Aurita a few caresses and to think.

Two weeks earlier, Naghûl had told her about Lady Juliana's visit to the Barracks, the three-verse Sword Prophecy in the Old Tongue and the pictures of the three legendary blades. He had also mentioned Jana's vision in which the sorceress, Factol Sarin and he himself had seen the white katana Hope in the depths of the catacombs underneath Broken Reach. And of course, he had also vividly described Lord Valiant's surprising arrival and his exchange with Sarin. She sighed to herself as she recalled it. Lord Valiant's return to Sigil did not bode well, of that she was sure. All the more so since they knew from the Envoy that he was not necessarily well-disposed towards the Chosen and was apparently working against them. His innuendos had been of uncomfortable nature, according to Naghûl, and her factotum was certain that the celestial knew something. At least, the presence of the Chosen at Sarin's office hadn't really surprised him. Thus, it was reasonable to assume that he was informed about some things concerning the Prophecy. Moreover, he seemed to want to pressure Factol Sarin. Comments like “whether what I see here satisfies me ...” were a clear sign of that. Erin's gaze darkened as she petted the winged cat curled up in her lap. Putting pressure on Sarin was something she generally considered a very bad idea. Even a celestial like Valiant had to have an ace up his sleeve when he tried that. On top of that, Sougad Lawshredder seemed to be becoming an issue again. They had to make sure that Lord Valiant didn't obstruct their work and take up too much of the Harmonium's factol's time.

At a meeting with Sarin, Ambar, Rhys and Terrance, they had all agreed that they should plan the next step quickly, before anyone could get in their way. The question was, of course, what was the next step ... Lawshredder or the sword Hope? They had quickly agreed that Lawshredder would come to them whether they liked it or not. Besides, they didn't even know exactly when. Therefore, it made more sense to pursue one goal after the other. Which unfortunately meant that the Chosen would have to travel to Broken Reach to search for the sword. However, they would have to do so without Morânia and thus without the Envoy. Taking her to Pazunia as a paladin would have been madness. The risk of her holy aura being detected despite the use of obscuring magic was just too great. The others also had to think about appropriate disguises and roles in order to be able to move around the Abyssal fortress as inconspicuously as possible. If the inhabitants themselves had no idea that the legendary sword was there, all the better. But of course they had to assume that they knew about it.

The current plan was to pretend to be ore hunters who wanted to acquire black mithral. It was common knowledge that these groups paid well in Broken Reach, so they were usually let in quickly. With Kiyoshi, they also had an expert with them, as the young soldier was skilled in blacksmithing. Erin had taken on the task of procuring a good and rare poison for the Chosen to carry with them. Should they find themselves in an unpleasant situation, they would need something to win the favor of the powerful succubus mistress of Broken Reach. And rare poisons as a gift usually won over Red Shroud. However, the factols had charged their respective Chosen to handle the whole affair without an encounter with Red Shroud wherever possible. A succubus over two thousand years old was dangerous enough, but the Mistress of Broken Reach, daughter of the demon lord Pazuzu and Malcanthet the Queen of Succubi, was an opponent to be avoided at any cost. The fact that the sword Hope apparently lay in a tomb deep below Broken Reach was inconvenient but also exciting – seen from a purely Sensate-philosophical perspective. Erin almost regretted not being able to join the mission. But she was factol now and could no longer undertake such adventures as recklessly as she once did. Those days were behind her. She felt a brief pang of regret at the thought, remembering the experiences she had shared with her lover Da'nanin not so many years ago. Well, one couldn't have everything, and she had deliberately aimed for the office of factol, knowing what it entailed, for better or worse.

“What do you think, Aurita?” she asked the tressym, whose fur she ruffled absentmindedly. ”Should I have stayed an adventurer? Or was becoming factol the better option?”

“I'm not entirely neutral on the matter,” the winged cat replied, stretching herself luxuriously on her lap. ”If you hadn't come to Sigil, we wouldn't have met.”

The intelligent tressym understood Common yet couldn't speak. But Erin possessed an amulet that allowed her to converse with Aurita. They rarely spoke to each other in the presence of others, however, preferring to let believe outsiders who knew little about the winged cats that Aurita was only Erin's pet and not her confidante.

“That's probably true,” Erin replied with a smile. “But I could have settled here and still remained an adventurer. A planewalker with all sorts of destinations and a permanent residence in the City of Doors. Wouldn't have been a bad idea either, would it?”

Aurita looked at her with her sapphire blue eyes and then meowed in disapproval. “No, my dear. I think you are exactly where you should be.”

“Well, I agree with that,” said Da'nanin, who had entered the room at that moment. As a ranger, he could understand Aurita as well.

Smiling, Erin put down the now empty glass of Cloudy Dream. ”Well, if my consort and my confidant both agree, then there must be something to it.”

“How nice that you're listening to us, once in a while,“ Da'nanin said teasingly, as he stepped up to her to greet her with a brief kiss.

“Don't be so harsh.” She pushed back a strand of his white hair that had fallen into his face. “I always listen to you – if you have better points than I do.”

“Which, admittedly, is not easy,” the half-elf conceded, then scrutinized her. Of course, after all these years, she couldn't hide the fact that more serious thoughts were on her mind. He knew her too well. “What's going on?” he asked immediately. ”Is something bothering you?”

“She's just thinking,“ Aurita said, stretching her feathery wings. “About the creepy serial killer.”

Da'nanin frowned. “Lawshredder?”

“Among other things,” Erin punted. “Because of Jana's vision, the Envoy's answers and what Ambar and Lereia experienced in Harbinger House.”

Her companion now took a seat next to her on the chaise longue and shook his head disapprovingly. “This bizarre house is almost as eerie as Lawshredder himself. I wouldn't tell it Ambar to his face, but personally, I find it more than dubious.”

“It's an interesting concept,” Erin objected.

But in this case, Da'nanin's dislike seemed to outweigh his Sensate curiosity, as he made a dismissive gesture. “No, honestly: a facility that houses nascent powers? Sounds a bit suicidal here in the middle of Sigil. Who came up with that? Not Ambar, I know. Not his predecessor Curran either. But someone in the faction must have come up with this crazy idea at some point.”

Erin smiled. “Why don't you ask Ambar about it? You two seem to get along quite well.”

“Maybe I will.” The half-elf ruffled Aurita's fur between the wings and she purred contentedly. ”Next time he's in the Festhall, I'll invite him to a glass of Arborean Red and broach the subject. In the meantime, to take your mind off the dark thoughts about deranged serial killers, how about a visit to the Sensorium before you meet with the emissary? There's still that experience waiting, with the kobold pirates on the Oceanus and the forgetful water dragon.”

Erin's expression brightened. This was actually an experience she had been looking forward to for quite some time and had never found the muse for in the past few weeks. There was still over an hour to go, so why wait when they could enjoy life here and now? Unpleasant experiences were coming her way, so it couldn't hurt to seek out the beautiful and fun ones. She reached for the hand that Da'nanin held out to her and nodded. “I'd love to!” As she stood up, she turned to Aurita. “What do you say? Kobold pirates and water dragons?”

The tressym rose gracefully. “I'm not really keen on water, but the kobolds sound funny. I'm in.”

Erin linked arms with Da'nanin, while Aurita floated in a gentle glide from the recamier to the door. Her consort was right, she could worry about Lawshredder later. Much of what was connected to the Prophecy seemed to be coming their way anyway, without them having any influence on it. So why not instead experience an unusual boat trip on the river Oceanus?

Chapter Text

“We have no past and you have no future."

one of the numerous philosophies of the Revolutionary League

Second Clerk's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Krystall strolled through the Market Ward, and the air pulsated with the energy of the countless cultures and creatures that rubbed shoulders in the planar metropolis of Sigil. Before her stretched the ring-shaped silhouette of the city, an endless loop arching over the heads of the inhabitants, finally meeting itself again. Around her, the streets were still bustling with activity even as the Last Light fell. On a street corner, a gnome in a colorful cloak haggled with an earth genasi vendor for a bottle of shimmering liquid, while an aasimar with bright golden hair strolled gracefully past them. Some quadrones approached Krystall, their mechanical joints clacking in rhythm, and a group of tiefling children darted through the crowd, apparently playing tag. Above them, a beholder floated by, keeping an eye on the happenings below, but without stopping. As always in Sigil, it was such a surreal mix of creatures that it seemed strangely harmonious.

Although the Great Bazaar was a few blocks away, almost every corner was teeming with market stalls selling exotic goods. At one stall, an elven craftsman was skillfully polishing a pendant, an apparently enchanted piece of jewelry that glowed with an inner light. Another stall offered silk fabrics shimmering in dozens of colors, their patterns constantly changing like captured sunsets. A few steps away, a dwarven blacksmith stood hammering at an anvil, creating weapons that pulsated with a faint magical energy, while a small crowd watched with interest. When Krystall turned into the next street, she spotted a heated debate between a rakshasa and a human woman. The fiend, in all his majestic, tiger-headed glory, was apparently trying to sell a scroll. The woman, however, being the Cager that she was, did not seem to be deterred by his imposing presence and countered with her own demands. Their exchange was a mixture of charm and intimidation, typical of the City of Doors. As Krystall continued on, she came across a kobold street performer juggling flaming knives, to the delight of the gathered crowd. The performance was accompanied by several pugwampis playing music – although the term “music” was certainly open to doubt here. Children of various races clapped and cheered, their faces aglow with excitement. Some vendors took advantage of the situation and offered sweet treats and trinkets. Krystall bought a bag of Elysian honey pearls, small golden balls filled with heavenly nectar. She was on her way to see Sgillin and decided that it couldn't hurt to bring a small gift.

As she turned the next corner, she almost collided with a truly unusual creature – an ethereal, fox-like being with six legs and a glittering, color-changing coat. The animal's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intelligence, and as it gracefully hopped away, it left behind faint traces of shimmering light in the air. Krystall had heard of these creatures before – dream foxes ... They were known as mysterious wanderers between the planes, so rare that they were hardly ever seen. Some explorers supposedly spent their whole lives searching for them in vain. But one had come to Sigil and she had spotted it during a simple walk, without even expecting to. The encounter made her heart race and reminded her how unpredictable and fascinating the Cage could be. She watched the dream fox as it leapt through the alley, waited until the last shimmer in the air had disappeared, before continuing on her way. Despite the multitude of impressions - the smell of exotic spices, the cacophony of voices in a hundred languages and the kaleidoscope of sights - she felt associated. Sigil, where every corner promised the unknown, where dark alleys hid portals to other worlds and where every encounter could change the course of one's destiny ... She might not have been born here, but she had been a part of this city for a long time.

And so she knew enough of her way around to know that she had almost reached Sgillin's place. He had recently taken up residence in the ground floor of a small building near the inn Insomnium. Since his break-up with Lereia, she speculated, even though the half-elf hadn't really talked about it. But she had always been a good observer and could put two and two together. Apparently, the apartment had belonged to Morânia before, but she had given it to Sgillin as she had permanently moved into quarters at the Great Gymnasium. Giving away an apartment wasn't something one did every day, Krystall thought to herself, but it was in line with the dogma of a Lathander paladin and also proved that Morânia saw the half-elf as a friend. As a paladin of Milani, Krystall appreciated the bal'aasi's actions in any case. And as the leader of the Razor Angels, she was glad to know that Sgillin apparently had friends he could count on. Of course, in the meantime he had also gotten to know the small Anarchist cell, which he had unknowingly joined, had taken part in a few forays, when they had relieved rich merchants and clerks of a little jink. But it had only been a few months, whereas he had known most of the members of his Chosen group for much longer. She was already on her way to his front door when she spotted Sgillin. He was sitting in a nearby gazebo, smoking a pipe and watching the ebbing hustle and bustle on the street.

“Hello, handsome,” Krystall greeted him with a grin as she stepped up to his side.

He looked up, a little surprised, as she noted with satisfaction. “Where are you headed?” he asked with a smile.

“Well, to see you.” She sat down next to him without further ado.

Sgillin moved a little to the side to make room for her. “Oh, how I wished you would say that,” he replied with a wink.

She smiled. “However, I'm here on official business, so to speak ... sort of.”

“And just like that, the beautiful daydream is shattered.” The half-elf grimaced, sighing.

“I'll make up for it,” she promised. “We could go for a drink sometime soon, without obligations or prophecies.”

“That would be nice,” he replied with a smile.

“I look forward to it.” She meant it. Although she had no romantic interest in Sgillin, she did want to spend time with the newest member of her cell and the Chosen of the Revolutionary League on a regular basis, and on a personal level, too. The half-elf had been present at some of the Razor Angels' activities in the past few months, or had just come to the Alley of Dangerous Angles to hang out with the cell. But it was only in private, or at most in the presence of her friend Rianna, that they could talk about the Prophecy. Besides, Sgillin was and remained a well-integrated part of the other Chosen group. And as much as this suited the Anarchists as a whole, she still took care of binding him closely to the Razor Angels through regular meetings and conversations. But perhaps it was time to go one step further ... To steer the conversation in a corresponding direction, she asked casually: “Tell me, how have things been going for you lately?”

“Well, could have been better.” Sgillin shrugged. “But I can't really complain either. And you?”

“Oh, since the attack at the Court, all the cells lie low for a while,” she replied and offered him a couple of Elysian honey pearls. ”But we're still doing our thing. We don't resort to violence anyway ... Well, at least not that kind of violence.”

She grinned briefly and Sgillin had to smile. “I'm glad to hear that. I hope you stay on this path.”

“As long as I have a say in the Razor Angels, yes.” She playfully nudged him with her elbow. “And you should say you hope we stay on this path.”

“Right ... we.” He nodded. “But I don't have any say in the Razor Angels.”

“All the members have a say,” Krystall replied seriously. “Even if there is a leader, I would listen to everyone.”

“If that's the case, we have something over the other factions,” the half-elf stated.

Krystall raised her eyebrows. “You bet,” she said emphatically. “That's one of the points we're trying to make.”

“But I am curious now,” Sgillin admitted. “What is the reason for your visit here?”

She shrugged, feigning ignorance. “But we're just two ordinary, albeit attractive, young people sitting on an ordinary bench in the Market Ward,” she joked.

“Yes, you're absolutely right about the attractive part,” the half-elf replied with a grin.

She laughed heartily, but then dropped the nonsense. ”But kidding aside ... I thought it was time you got to know the others. You've seen them all at least once, and you've even talked to most of them. But still, I mean, really get to know them. I'm talking about the other Chosen, of course.”

“Oh.” Sgillin widened his eyes, but he seemed quite interested. “Now I'm really curious.”

She smiled. “Then come.”

They strolled from Sgillin's house towards the Guildhall Ward, their conversation mixing with the babel of voices of Sigil's various inhabitants. The architecture changed only slightly as they left the Market Ward behind, but it was a little more orderly and quiet here, as the guilds based in the ward were no longer working at this time. Nevertheless, the streets were still teeming with a motley mix of different races. A group of githzerai monks strode past, their movements fluid and purposeful, and a trio of Warforged, their bodies decorated with intricate runes, marched in perfect lockstep. Nearby, a serious-looking man talked to a group of aasimar in hushed tones, their conversation punctuated with occasional nods in the direction of the neighboring Clerk's Ward. Although less common than in the Market Ward, stalls could still be found on some street corners. One sold small clockwork creatures that scurried and fluttered about in cages. At another stall, a tiefling offered quills that wrote with shimmering, ethereal ink. He loudly assured that this ink was supposedly visible even to the spirits of the dead. Krystall wasn't sure why the spirits of the dead wouldn't be able to read writing done with normal ink, but she just shrugged in good humor. Who could possibly fathom the meaning of everything for sale in Sigil?

As they turned a corner, they witnessed a heated debate between two representatives of the Fraternity of Order and a Xaositect. But since it wasn't Krixxi, Krystall paid no further attention to the scene, headed for their destination instead. They were delayed once more when they had to give way to a sedan carried by four burly minotaurs. The magnificent cabin was decorated in Olympian style, the delicate curtains embroidered with laurel leaves and lightning symbols. When a sudden wind blew the light fabric aside, they caught a glimpse of the interior, where a woman with pink hair and three large black panthers were resting on silk cushions. Sgillin gave Krystall a questioning look, but she just shrugged her shoulders. She had no idea who the lady with the three big cats might be. Perhaps she was a member of a lesser prominent High House of Sigil, or she was a guest in the city. Since the sedan was moving in the direction of the Clerk's Ward and was clearly Olympian, she might be a guest of the Sensates or an emissary of the faction. As soon as the way was clear again, Krystall went down the last street that led her to her destination near the Great Gymnasium. When they arrived at the door of the House of Visions, Sgillin sighed deeply.

“Duh!” In response to her questioning look, he shrugged apologetically. “I have a certain dislike for this place.”

“Yes, it is a bit creepy,” Krystall admitted. ”But it obviously has a connection to you. The Chosen, that is.”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Sgillin replied a little discontentedly. “I've often wondered why this prophecy couldn't have started in a different place ... a nice tavern, for example.”

Krystall laughed. “Well, if even the Chosen don't know ...”

“Believe me, my dear ... as one of the Chosen, I don't even have the slightest idea what it's all about.“ He raised his hands in resignation.

“That will certainly calm the others,” Krystall said with a smile. “They feel much the same.”

Sgillin took a deep breath. ”Well, let's go inside then.”

Krystall nodded and opened the door, which was unlocked at the moment. She had only been here once before, when Rakalla had shown her the house. She could well understand Sgillin's feelings; the building was indeed oppressive. As always, a deep silence lay over the entrance hall, which was still completely empty. Only dark, gray stone walls and an uneven floor made of coarse tiles. There was a faint, distant smell of wilting roses, wherever that smell might come from. And in addition to all of this, something invisible, imperceptible seemed to dwell in these rooms, whose presence was nevertheless always to be felt and made the skin crawl. She looked around briefly to make sure that the gloomy room was actually empty.

“The others are probably in the back,” she then remarked.

Sgillin sighed quietly, but followed her without a word as she led him through the narrow corridor to the back room of the house. There they were, gathered as agreed: the vampire Zamakis, with her raven hair pinned-up, wearing a dark, elegant frock coat. She seemed reserved as always, not exactly unfriendly, but cool. Sgillin knew her, because he had dealt with her in the Mortuary during the Hive Strangler Murders. Next to the adlate stood the medusa Rakalla, clad in dark leather. Her snake hair moved slightly and hissed now and then, barely audible, and she wore glasses with two round, black lenses. Sgillin had seen her back then in the Black Sails when they had been on Eliath's trail. The half-elf obviously also recognized the minotaur standing next to her, perhaps rather by his horn ornaments than his face. It was Blackhoof, the factotum of the Bleakers, who had spoken to them about Eliath at the Gatehouse. He stood over two and a half paces tall and, like all minotaurs, looked awe-inspiring, although his gaze was calm and friendly. The fourth person, on the other hand, Sgillin had seen only briefly, also at the Gatehouse, as far as Krystall knew. The goblin woman Krixxi was just about three feet tall and had very large ears and bright pink hair, which betrayed the fey blood running through her veins. Next to her stood the perhaps strangest person in the room: the rooster. Figaro had a mechanical leg, wore welding goggles and carried a few other curious technical devices. He was almost as tall as Krixxi and he eyed Sgillin intently, as did the others. The half-elf waved to the group, which was unusual even for Sigil, and then gazed at the rooster in amazement.

“Oh, hello,” Krixxi called, waving excitedly.

“H ... hello everyone,“ Sgillin replied, still a little perplexed.

Krystall noticed his glance at the rooster, of course, and grinned.

“Nice to meet you,” Rakalla said. “Well, intentionally, that is.”

“Yes, same.” Sgillin nodded, but kept looking over at Figaro.

Krixxi was fidgeting around hectically and, as so often, couldn't keep still. “It's great that you're finally showing your face!” she babbled away. “This is so exciting!” She hurried towards Sgillin, followed by Figaro, the rooster with considerably more dignity than the goblin woman.

“That's right,“ the half-elf replied with a smile. “You have a fancy hairstyle.”

Krixxi giggled. “Oh, thank you!” She tried to tidy her tangled pink ponytail, but only made it worse.

“I know you,” Sgillin said with a smirk. ”I've seen you before.”

Krixxi widened her eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, at the ... what is it called again ...?” The half-elf frowned. “Madhouse?”

“Gatehouse,” Blackhoof explained, patiently and calmly.

Sgillin nodded. “Gatehouse, exactly. Thank you.”

“But it's a madhouse, too,” Krixxi remarked, snickering.

“No doubt about it,” Rakalla interjected dryly.

Blackhoof snorted softly at these comments, but apparently more amused than offended, and Sgillin looked over at him. “And we've also met before, haven't we?”

The minotaur nodded. “Yes, that's right. It was a while ago, but I remember.”

When the half-elf looked at Zamakis, she bowed slightly. “And we even worked together on the Hive Strangler Murders. Quite successfully, actually.”

“Yes, that was an exciting affair,” said Sgillin.

Figaro now lifted his mechanical leg. “It seems to me that I am the only one here who has not yet met the famous gentleman before. So, if I might ask for the honor of an introduction?“ He seemed to be speaking to Krixxi.

“What?” The goblin woman had obviously been somewhere else in her thoughts and now seemed to need a while to understand what her feathered friend wanted from her. “Oh, I see!” she then exclaimed. “Yes, sure. This is Figaro, an awakened rooster and talented mechanic.”

“I've saved the best for last,” the half-elf said with a grin. “My name is Sgillin, Mr. Figaro.”

The rooster scraped – quite literally – and bowed. “It's an honor.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Sgillin, in turn, took a perfect bow, which made Krystall smirk. The situation was amusing, but it was also nice to see that Sgillin had settled into Sigil so well that he could handle talking animals with mechanical limbs so confidently. “You're an awakened rooster?” he asked, interested.

Figaro nodded. “That's right. I was lucky enough to be awakened.”

“Have you always been a rooster?” the half-elf wanted to know.

Figaro was slightly confused by this question. “Um ... but of course I've always been a rooster. Since I hatched from an egg.”

Krixxi nodded eagerly at his words, and Sgillin raised his hands apologetically. “You'll have to forgive me for asking such questions ... as a Clueless, there's still a lot here that, let's say, amazes me.”

Krystall laughed. ”Well, Figaro is special, even in Sigil.”

“Oh, you do me too great an honor,“ the rooster replied, probably trying to sound modest. He nevertheless sounded quite proud. “You embarrass me.”

“And you are also a Chosen?’ Sgillin wanted to know.

“No, it wouldn't seem so,” Figaro answered, perhaps with a slight tinge of regret, as it seemed to Krystall. “However, my friend Krixxi, who has been close to me for many years, has decided to keep me informed about everything. Because we are inseparable, so to speak.”

Krixxi nodded energetically. “Figaro and I invent the best things only together and we also build them together!”

“Well, that's a matter of opinion,” Zamakis interjected, so matter-of-factly that it had a tang of sarcasm.

Krixxi pouted, but the vampire paid no attention to it, instead scrutinizing Sgillin. ”And now that the lost child has returned ... what now?”

Sgillin shrugged a little helplessly. “No idea. But apparently you're my actual troop ... somehow, anyway.”

“We assume so,” Rakalla confirmed. “Because without you, we're only four. And also because it just seems fitting.”

The half-elf frowned. ”You mean in terms of our ... allegiances?”

“Yes.“ The medusa nodded. “”Your faction is clearly closer to us than to the Harmonium. And also to the other factions in your group.”

“But apparently there's a reason why I'm with the others,” Sgillin said thoughtfully.

“Of course,” Krixxi replied immediately. “I mean, that's what the Anarchists do: be with someone else.”

“You surely mean the Revolutionary League,” Sgillin replied with a wink.

The goblin woman laughed heartily. “If you want to be formal.”

Krystall acknowledged the little exchange with a grin, and Sgillin laughed too, but then became more serious again. “And what are you able to do?”

“You mean our gifts?” Zamakis looked the half-elf up and down.

Sgillin nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

The Dustmen adlate looked at the others, and Rakalla shrugged. ”Well, there you go. If he belongs to us, I think he should know.”

“I agree,” Krixxi said.

Blackhoof gave a small snort, which Krystall by now knew was a sign of agreement. Zamakis, however, said nothing, and Sgillin immediately sensed the tension in the group. “Well, I can show you my gift,” he offered. “Unfortunately, I can't reveal the others’ without their consent.”

Krixxi twirled a strand of her pink hair. “Isn't that actually your job?” she asked, confused.

“No, I don't think so,” the half-elf replied kindly but firmly.

Krystall couldn't hold it against him. He had been friends with the others for a long time, but had only been a member of the Razor Angels for a few months. In her eyes, it spoke for him that he was not so quick to betray close friends. She smiled as she addressed the others. “As I said, Sgillin joined us by roundabout means.”

“Yes.“ Rakalla seemed undeterred. “You did mention something about that.”

Zamakis was less enthusiastic, and the leader of the Razor Angels could tell that despite the undead's emotional reserve. “To be honest, that's not exactly how I imagined things, Krystall.”

“Hm ...” Blackhoof scratched his head between his horns. “I'm a bit overwhelmed right now.”

“Well, I don't blame you if you don't want to tell me your gifts,” Sgillin assured.

Krystall sighed softly. She had feared that the matter of working together would not be so easy, and she had also assumed that Zamakis, in particular, would be skeptical. But before she could say anything, Krixxi hopped a few steps towards Sgillin. “Well, I would tell you.”

Zamakis' expression darkened, the ruby red of her eyes turning burgundy. “And I can only reiterate that this is not your decision alone, Xaositect.”

The goblin woman sighed theatrically. ”Man, everything's always so complicated here!”

“I'll show you my gift,“ Sgillin suggested. “I believe that we can only resolve this if the Chosen work together.”

“Ha!” Rakalla pointed at Sgillin. “Thank you! That's exactly my opinion.” She enthusiastically took off her glasses, and Blackhoof immediately took a step back.

“Careful ...” he snorted, clearly nervous.

When Sgillin saw the minotaur's reaction, he looked at Rakalla and also took a step back.

“Yes, all right,” the medusa appeased. “That was an accident last time.” She looked at Sgillin while slowly putting the glasses back on. ”Um, I usually have my gaze under control.”

Krystall noticed that the half-elf let out a sigh of relief. Who could blame him? “Oh, the medusa gaze,” he said. “I thought you wanted to demonstrate your gift.”

Rakalla laughed. ”Ha ha, no. My gift is more likely to destroy than to petrify. The point is: I agree. It's no use if we all want to do our own thing.”

“A sister in spirit ...” Sgillin smiled. “Finally. Yes, exactly. And what we have experienced so far has partly confirmed this theory.”

“What do you mean?” Zamakis asked, and a certain alertness flickered in her eyes.

“That we already had to rely on the cooperation with other Chosen to achieve a goal,” Sgillin explained. “And I'm sure our paths will cross again in the future.”

The adlate nodded measuredly. “We worked together on the Plane of Fire once. And with the other group too.”

“Right,” Sgillin replied. “I have my own theory about the Grave of the Factions that was mentioned in the House of Visions.”

Rakalla thoughtfully stroked the scales of a snake coiled over her right shoulder. “That it's the end for us – or for the factions – if we don't work together?”

“Something like that,” the half-elf said. “But more along the lines of us breaking down the factions’ boundaries.”

“Wouldn't be a bad thing,“ Krystall interjected.

“Well now!” Krixxi punched one of her small fists into the palm of her other hand. “Then let's finally say something concrete!”

The medusa nodded. ”I agree. Let's at least everyone say their name. The one in the Prophecy.”

“All right,” Zamakis explained unemotionally. ”I can go along with that.”

Krystall felt a certain relief at the way the conversation was going. After all, she had initiated this meeting, knowing full well that Zamakis was at least skeptical about it. She had managed to convince the adlate of the usefulness of such a gathering, but the vampire had probably expected Sgillin to reveal a little more about the other members of his group. For a brief moment, the leader of the Razor Angels had feared that the nascent beginning of a collaboration would be nipped in the bud. But now there was at least a point from which they could start.

Sgillin nodded as well. “All right, I'll start. I am, as you might expect ... the Traitor.”

“Great!” The goblin woman chuckled gleefully. “That fits perfectly.”

Figaro, standing next to her, turned his head and gently shook his impressive red comb. ”That was a little insensitive, Krixxi.”

She promptly put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, really?” She looked at Sgillin, concerned. “Sorry, no offense meant.”

But the half-elf just shrugged, grinning. ”I'm used to it.”

“Phew ...” Krixxi laughed with relief and took a quick glance around, but didn't wait long. “All right, now me. I'm the child whose blood makes the razor vine bloom. I'm the one through whose veins flows the blood of the gods. I am the Fool.” She paused for effect and looked very proud. ”Cool, huh?”

Sgillin actually seemed enthusiastic. “Indeed!”

The goblin woman jumped from one leg to the other like a little child and Figaro looked at her so proudly, as if he had written the Prophecy himself. Once again, Krystall smiled at the dynamic between these two so very different friends.

”All right, I'm next.” Rakalla pushed her glasses back a little. “I am the child who destroys in order to create something new. She who closes the eternal cycle. I am the Destroyer.” One could tell from her tone of voice that she seemed to like that.

“Ah.” Sgillin smiled. ”The Surtr of the Chosen.”

The medusa frowned. “Do you mean the giant god?”

“Yes, the destroyer of worlds.”

Rakalla grinned broadly. “That sounds good.”

“Well, I don't know ...” Blackhoof snorted softly and wiggled his ears. Krystall knew by now that this was a sign of worry.

Rakalla had to laugh. “Come on, you know I'm an Observer. Now you.”

“All right.” Blackhoof turned to Sgillin. “I am the child who has the gift of healing. He who eases the pain of the ages. I am the Healer.”

“Fascinating!“ The half-elf seemed very enthusiastic to learn more about the roles and gifts of the others, and Blackhoof snorted with satisfaction.

“And now you, Zamakis!” Krixxi chattered excitedly.

The vampire seemed to sigh slightly, but she hid it quite successfully in typical Dustman manner. “Very well. I am the child who knows what moves the dead. She who speaks with the passed and has power over death. I am the Wailer.”

“Creepy, right?” Krixxi whispered.

“A little, yes,“ Sgillin admitted.

Zamakis arched one of her dark eyebrows. “Death is not something we need to fear,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“I may be so bold as to see it somewhat differently,” Figaro replied politely and with the same measured dignity as the adlate.

It amused Krystall once more that the only one in the group who could keep up with Zamakis' solemn habits was a rooster.

Sgillin seemed to share Figaro's feelings. “Yes, I think that's a matter of opinion,” he remarked and then looked at Krystall again. “And how did you get to know each other?”

She smiled. “Well, the other factions all have a factol who interferes. Even in the Free League, Bria is in on it. You were in the other group from the beginning, and I assume that it should remain that way for the time being. But I still wanted to be in touch with the others, so I made contact.”

Rakalla grinned. “Or to put it another way: the Anarchists always need special treatment.”

“Hey!” Krystall raised a warning finger in the direction of the medusa, but had to laugh as well.

“But why?” Sgillin asked. “How did you know that they were Chosen?”

“Well, we had also found part of the Prophecy,” the leader of the Razor Angels explained. ”It said something about the gifts. So I kept my eyes open. And you know that the Revolutionary League has many sources of information. That's how we found you, too.”

She winked at him and Sgillin smiled. “I see. And have you already told them about my gift?”

“No,” Krystall replied. “I wanted to leave that to you.”

Sgillin nodded and turned to the others. “Since you have told me your names and I want to prove that I am really serious about working together, I will now show you my gift. As I said, I won't hold it against you if you still want to keep yours to yourselves. We haven't known each other that long, after all.” His eyes turned to Krystall. “Would you assist me?”

Krystall sensed a hint of unease at his request. They had already tested a body swap, and it had worked. So she knew what she was getting into, and she trusted Sgillin. But it remained a strange experience that was beyond her control and therefore made her alert. But she quickly covered up these feelings with a smirk. “But don't do anything stupid,“ she warned jokingly.

“Just relax,” the half-elf replied with a grin.

“That's easy for you to say,” the leader of the Razor Angels retorted, while Krixxi impatiently hopped from one foot to the other. But then she fell silent and let Sgillin do his thing.

“There is something I forgot to mention …” he explained, focusing on her. “I am the child who swaps mind and spirit ... He who sees through others' eyes and wears a thousand masks.”

“Now that sounds like something …” Rakalla said, impressed.

When Sgillin focused on her, Krystall instinctively wanted to build a protective mental wall. But she knew that it wouldn't work if she did that ... a reassuring thought that helped her to let go and relax. When she no longer actively resisted it, the swap worked – and suddenly she saw herself, just as she had the first time. There she stood, with wavy brown hair, in knee-high leather boots and a red-embroidered doublet over her white shirt, her rapier at her side.

She looked over at herself, now in Sgillin's body, and grinned. “Well?“ she asked, or rather the half-elf in her body asked. “How does it feel to be me?”

She looked down at herself – or rather at Sgillin – and saw the ranger's inconspicuous black clothing, familiar and yet strange now that she was wearing it. “Once again, it's a bit ... creepy,” she admitted.

Sgillin looked down at her body with interest, his gaze obviously wandering briefly to her cleavage. “Well ...” He grinned. “I wouldn't call that creepy.”

Krystall didn't hold it against him and laughed a little. ”Sorry, you know ... But I'm a man ... this is really weird.”

“Whoa!“ Krixxi made big eyes. “Do you really have switched bodies now?”

Krystall saw Sgillin nod in her body and Figaro pawed the ground. “Hm. What gift could suit an Anarchist better,” the rooster stated appreciatively.

“Does it work on everyone?” Zamakis asked with interest.

“Unfortunately not,” Sgillin replied. “The factols, for example, are an exception. It may depend on the mental strength of the target. They can block me.”

“That's reassuring,” the vampire replied calmly. ”Although it's probably rather disappointing for an Anarchist. By the way, we've already figured out that part about mental strength.”

“Really?” Sgillin tugged briefly at Krystall's shirt sleeve and looked at the buttons on it. “How so?”

“We suspect,” Blackhoof explained, ”that the gifts - or some of them - can only be used on those who are no stronger in spirit than you are. Or stronger in soul. We haven't quite figured that out yet.”

Sgillin nodded. “It didn't work with the other Chosen at the beginning either. But now it works, as long as they allow it.”

Krystall was eyeing the half-elf's hands, running her – or his - fingertips over the typical calluses of an archer on Sgillin's shooting hand with interest.

Krixxi clapped enthusiastically. ”You have to do that with me when everything is a bit more relaxed!”

“Absolutely,“ the half-elf assured. “I'd like to test whether it works with you guys, anyway.”

“Oh yes, me, me, me!” Krixxi excitedly held her hand up in the air, like an elements grade schoolchild.

“I can only use the ability once a day so far,” Sgillin explained regretfully.

“Oh, what a pity,” the goblin woman said, but it didn't dampen her spirits. “Next time, then!”

“It worked with your brother,” the half-elf explained to Blackhoof. “It happened in the Blood Pit. Although it was unintentional at the time.”

“Yeah, he told me a pretty twisted story back then,” the minotaur grumbled. “I thought he'd had drunk too much bumbat.”

Sgillin grinned. “No, no, he didn't. But let him believe that.” Then Krystall watched her turning her head to herself. “Do you want to go back?”

“Um ... yes, please,” she said. “It's interesting, but somehow a bit too creepy.”

She felt Sgillin break the connection between them, it went dark around her for a moment – then she was back in her own body. She sensed a certain relief as she reached for her rapier with one hand and ran her other hand through her long hair.

“I took good care of everything,” Sgillin grinned.

“And now?” Rakalla asked in her direct way. “I would suggest we sort out the situation with Zamakis and our factols, and then we can meet again and - hopefully - show our gifts too.”

“Oh yes, that would be great,” Krixxi said eagerly.

Zamakis nodded. ”So be it. You can find us via Krystall or we can contact you via her.”

“I'd love to introduce you to the others, too,” Sgillin explained. “But they'll have to discuss that with their factols ... that's a real nuisance in this city.”

“Too right,” Krystall agreed.

The half-elf seemed to be thinking. ”Now that I know you, I could contact you directly ... or is that inconvenient with regard to your factions?”

The minotaur shrugged his mighty shoulders. “It doesn't matter for us.”

“The same goes for us,” Zamakis explained.

Krixxi giggled. “We all do what we want anyway.”

“Ditto,” Rakalla agreed. “Pretty much.”

Sgillin sighed deeply. ”Oh man, I'm definitely in the wrong group.”

His frustration elicited a well-intentioned laugh from the medusa. “Take comfort in the fact that you are actually in our group. It's just that the Anarchists are always on a wayward path.”

Sgillin nodded. “I guess that's right. Good, then I will choose the unofficial channels ... if my factol agrees.” He winked teasingly at Krystall.

“Don't you dare calling me something like that!” she replied, laughing. “Yes, go ahead, do as you please.”

“Very well.” Sgillin grinned and then turned to the other Chosen. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“We too!” Krixxi replied, beaming.

Rakalla nodded. ”Indeed. Take care of yourself for now.”

“Always,“ the half-elf assured, and then looked at Krystall. “What do you say? The business part is over. Do you still stand by your word? I mean, about having a drink?”

Krystall smiled. “I'd love to, if you are free.”

Chapter Text

"Victory favors neither the righteous nor the wicked; it favors the prepared."

Olympian proverb

First Void Day of Decadrus, 126 HR

Naghûl hummed softly as he arranged drinks and a few snacks on plates for the guests. He had baked small moonberry tarts and prepared Ýdalir breads, toasted shepherd's bread topped with spinach, fried onions and finely sliced Ysgardian smoked bass. He had provided fresh water from the Plane of Water, grape juice and a glass of Fairy Dust for each, a refreshing drink mixed from glimmer water and a dash of raspberry liqueur. There was also a bottle of mead on the little table for Sgillin. As always when it came to cooking or baking, Morânia didn't interfere. That had been Naghûl's territory for a long time, and she had no ambitions to dispute it. The guests they were expecting were Sgillin, Lereia, Kiyoshi and Jana. They wanted to discuss the upcoming journey to Broken Reach, and although Morânia would not be coming with them, she could still help with the planning. Besides, she had a vague feeling that the Envoy might awake. She couldn't explain it, she sensed it on a spiritual level, which Rhys called “the vibrations of the Cadence”. Her factol often had premonitions of this kind, concerning the big picture as well as very specific things, which led some to believe that the tiefling woman was clairvoyant or had a sixth sense. But it was Rhys' lasting, profound connection to the Cadence of the Planes that gave her this gift. As a factotum, Morânia was still a long way from reaching that point - and her vocation as a paladin of the Morninglord had often given her other tasks than to walk the Path of the Cadence. Tasks that were noble and important, but not necessarily conducive to inner and spiritual balance. However, she did not struggle with it. Everyone had their own path and she was quite satisfied with hers. So she sat relaxed on the divan, which stood next to the dining room entrance, and watched Naghûl arranging the food. He placed the glasses and plates on small tables next to the Olympian stools that surrounded the water basin in the atrium.

The atrium ... Morânia shook her head once more, smiling. Naghûl had not been living for long in the spacious apartment, which boasted such luxury. Factol Erin had only recently provided it to him, and it was exactly what one would expect of quarters that were a gift from the factol of the Sensates: a tasteful mixture of luxury and Olympian classicism. On entering, one was greeted by a large main room with a basin of about knee-high, clear water. The centerpiece was a marble statue of a unicorn rising from the water. A cozy fireplace gave the room warmth and atmosphere, perfect for cool evenings. The bathroom was also a highlight of the apartment. The door was decorated with a mosaic depicting a beautiful mermaid, emphasizing the maritime theme of this room. A large bathtub was set into the floor, big enough for up to four people, with a carefully carved stone dolphin as an eye-catcher, water flowing out of its mouth at the command word. The well-stocked library was a room that Morânia would probably use more than Naghûl. She had been interested in all kinds of religions, cultures and planar history since she was a child and sometimes liked to retreat to read in peace. The kitchen, of course, was Naghûl's realm and apparently equipped with everything a cook and baker's heart desired. Not that Morânia would have been able to judge that, but since her husband had almost fallen all over himself when he had first entered the kitchen, she assumed that the equipment was extraordinary. The kitchen door, too, was decorated with a magnificent mosaic, this one showing two colorful peacocks. The dining room, like the rest of the apartment, was inspired by the splendor of the Olympian realms of Arborea, with columns, laurel motifs, and a fresco depicting a landscape on the slopes of Mount Olympus. The large room was clearly designed to invite and entertain quite a number of guests. In addition, there was a bedroom and a guest room. All in all, there was no doubt that Naghûl's new apartment was a true masterpiece of Sensate interior design. So it was no wonder that he gave a tour of his new home when Lereia, Sgillin, Kiyoshi and Jana had arrived. He started in the atrium, showed the bathroom and the library as well as the kitchen and dining room, explaining the materials used and the different art styles with great enthusiasm.

“I'm really in the wrong faction,” Sgillin murmured after the tour.

Lereia meaningfully raised an eyebrow. ”And in more ways than one.”

The half-elf just waved it off and Naghûl laughed heartily as he led his guests back into the atrium and asked them to take a seat on the padded stools that stood there. He also invited them to help themselves to the drinks and food that he had arranged on small side tables. While Lereia and Sgillin did so immediately, Kiyoshi took a seat but apparently waited until the host drank as well.

Jana, on the other hand, seemed more interested in the basin in the center of the atrium. “May I plunge my feet into the water?” She held up her bare left foot, from which she had already slipped off her black ankle boot, as if to demonstrate.

“Sure, go ahead,” Naghûl said and took a seat next to Morânia. He reached for a glass of Fairy Dust, raised it in a toast and then came straight to the point of their meeting. “So ... the journey to the Abyss. I assume that not everyone is fully prepared yet?”

Lereia nodded. “Correct. We should discuss some precautions.”

“We are traveling to Broken Reach,” Naghûl explained. ”Probably via Plague-Mort. A succubus named Red Shroud rules this hellish fortress. But not an ordinary succubus. This lady is over two thousand years old and can even prevail against demon lords. And she is not only powerful, but also extremely treacherous and cunning. Therefore, I have already made some preparations. First: She loves poisons, and the more unusual a poison is, the more she appreciates it as a gift. We have the very rare poison of the rainbow jellyfish and the Lady's Kiss at our disposal to keep on her right side should the need arise.”

Lereia listened carefully and took notes as always. Jana had taken off both boots and was bathing her feet in the water, making a soft splashing sound, but she was obviously listening to Naghûl as well. Sgillin had lit a pipe and Kiyoshi winced slightly as the smoke wafted over to him. Morânia suspected that his dislike was partly due to the fact that his senses had sharpened since his dragon-blood transformation.

“Secondly,” Naghûl continued. ”Should we need a safe place in or near Broken Reach, a place to gather strength, I will create an Astral Shelter for us. Thirdly, should things get really, really tight we will plane shift to Arborea without delay.”

“A brief question,” Sgillin interjected, blowing another smoke ring into the air. ”Could you explain what an Astral Shelter is.”

“The Astral Shelter is a small pocket in the Astral Plane,” Naghûl explained. ”I can create it with a rather powerful spell. Only I and people I explicitly designate have access to it. The disadvantage is that it takes about an hour to prepare. So, I will do this only if we don't have a reasonably safe place.”

“That sounds very powerful, Naghûl,“ Lereia said, impressed. “Just like the plane shift.”

“And how do we get out of the shelter again?” Jana asked skeptically. Apparently she didn't know the spell.

“We just leave it through the exit,” Naghûl explained patiently. “We then reappear where we entered.”

“Please don't forget to summon the exit,” Jana said lightly, splashing her feet in the water. “And I don't think I want to plane shift either.”

“That's a not unfounded reservation,” the tiefling admitted. ”A plane shift always carries a certain risk. But we prefer to shift to a reasonably safe plane than to end up on the slave market of Broken Reach or Plague-Mort.”

“I once heard that something like that can go dramatically wrong,” Jana interjected. ”And that you then ... well, arrive in pieces on the other plane.”

Morânia had to smile. This story was a little exaggerated, but she had admittedly had some unpleasant experiences with plane shifting. However, she left the explanation of arcane matters to Naghûl and listened quietly.

“It's not that bad, Jana,” her husband explained. ”It's like this: you determine a destination plane, and then you may or may not be lucky. You can arrive five to five hundred miles from your intended destination.”

“Yes, but just imagine what happens if you arrive a hand's breadth too low.” The sorceress emphasized the statement by raising her left arm. ”Then half of you is stuck in the floor.”

Naghûl shook his head. “No, in the worst case in the water, but not in solid ground. Therefore, everyone should take a hood of water-breathing with them.”

But Jana didn't stop. “Or imagine, if one half of you wants to go five hundred miles to the left and an arm and a leg want to go to the right, then ...” She left it at that, but raised her eyebrows in earnest.

Morânia realized that Naghûl was running out of patience. “No, Jana, please. We remain as a whole and do not get stuck in the ground.”

“Yes, let's hope so,” the sorceress replied with concern.

Thankfully, Kiyoshi now raised his hand and interrupted the discussion. “Are we going to pretend to be miners?” he asked. “If we pretend to be there for the black mithral?”

“Oh dear.” Lereia sighed. “Unfortunately, I know nothing about mining and metals.”

“We're just there to mine the stuff,“ Sgillin reassured her. “Kiyoshi will be the expert.”

“Hm.” The young woman nodded and looked down at herself somewhat unhappily, as she was of very delicate build.

“I don't even know at which end I should hold a pickaxe,” Jana pointed out.

“You won't be mining anything,” Morânia assured them. “Access to the mines is strictly controlled.”

“Exactly, we travel there to acquire the stuff.” Naghûl nodded. ”And when transporting black mithral, it has to be guarded. You are hired mercenaries, Kiyoshi is the expert, and I will probably do the talking.”

“Forgive my ignorance, honorable Naghûl-san,” the Harmonium soldier spoke up again. ”But I still have two questions. First, how can I prepare for my role? And secondly, shouldn't we all dress in a more aggressive way?”

Naghûl nodded. “First of all, try to find out as much as possible about black mithral and how to manufacture it. Ask your factol; a faction like yours would certainly have records on the subject. The Godsmen may also know something about it. As for our equipment, we should choose dark armor or robes that match the style of the Abyss or Plague-Mort. Red is also popular, and of course details such as metal thorns, ornaments in a demonic style, Abyssal runes and symbols ... things like that. We should also ask our factols for trade goods: items that are not so easy to get and of high value. We may have to bribe people.” He paused and then sighed deeply. “I have a bad feeling, friends. Never have I gone to the Abyss better prepared than now.”

Morânia had to smile, because she knew exactly what he meant. They had stumbled into the Abyss a few times before – most recently even together with Sgillin, Lereia and Kiyoshi, when they had found the deva Ybdiel. And indeed, they had never been so well prepared.

“Because of that you have a bad feeling?” Lereia asked uneasily. “I think we'll still have plenty of opportunities to improvise.”

“This could also be a chance to develop our gifts further,” Sgillin interjected. ”The environment would be perfect for a body swap if things get dicey.”

“Just sensing soul signatures works very well for me now,” Lereia explained. “But I didn't dare to do anything else since the incident with Ambar.” She sighed, and it was clear that the matter with the accidentally severed soul of her factol still weighed heavily on her.

“You could practice it on those who are sentenced to death,” Kiyoshi suggested abruptly and completely matter-of-factly.

Morânia frowned in disbelief at this statement, and Lereia also looked over at Kiyoshi in horror. “No!”

“Why not?” the young soldier asked, unperturbed.

“Because I won't rip the soul from anyone unless it's absolutely necessary,” Lereia declared energetically. “That would be torture.”

“Kiyoshi,” Naghûl interjected gravely. ”A soul that is torn apart in Sigil can't find its way to the planes. That really isn't an option.”

“Then outside of Sigil?“ the young man relentlessly developed the thought further. “People are also sentenced to death in Kamigawa.”

“That makes no difference to me,” Lereia declared firmly.

“Kiyoshi ...,” Sgillin prevented another remark from the soldier. “She won't do it ... no matter on what plane.”

Morânia was about to explain to Kiyoshi the moral ambiguity of ripping souls apart when she sensed it. The Envoy awoke, just as a vague premonition had already whispered to her. She could just utter an “Oh ...” before her body belonged to the archangel.

“What?“ Naghûl turned his head to her, then he seemed to realize. “Oh! She awakens.”

Fortunately, they had prepared some questions for this case. She couldn't see it, but Morânia knew exactly that her eyes were glowing in that white light again. “Ask and you shall be answered,” she heard herself speak with a reverberating voice.

Kiyoshi rose respectfully, as he always did in the presence of a kami, while Lereia looked questioningly at the others. They nodded encouragingly, and the young woman turned her gaze to Morânia.

“Do the bearers of the three swords Memory, Hope and Sorrow belong to the Chosen of the Prophecy?“ she asked.

“Yes,” Morânia heard the Envoy reply.

Sgillin asked the next question. “Does Lord Valiant know about these swords?”

“No,” the bal'aasi heard herself give the relieving information.

“Is one of us here a bearer of one of these swords?“ Sgillin also asked the next question.

“Yes,” the Envoy replied.

To Morânia's surprise, the archangel's soul had not yet withdrawn. As on the last two occasions, she seemed willing to answer more questions. But on both those occasions, she had been in the House of Visions. Outside of the house, the Envoy had never answered more than three questions ... And that was why they hadn't prepared more than three either. A slight panic was now spreading among her friends. They seemed to be feverishly pondering, then Naghûl was the first to come up with a question.

“Are one or more of the following items in Sigil: Memory, Sorrow, the Memory Stone or the Sorrow Stone?”

“Yes,“ the Envoy replied, and still she remained present.

“Is one of us the bearer of Hope?” Kiyoshi asked, quick-witted.

“Yes.” One last answer, and then Morânia felt the archangel's soul withdraw. She held on to the armrests of her stool to stabilize herself. As always, when the Envoy awoke, she felt a slight dizziness afterwards.

“Five questions outside the house,” Lereia said, pleased. ”That was good.”

Naghûl nodded in agreement as he rose and came over to her to give her a gentle kiss.

Morânia smiled weakly. “Thank you. It seems I can keep her awake a little longer now. But I think ... I need to lie down. I'm incredibly exhausted, just like last time. And I'm not coming with you to Broken Reach anyway. It's too risky, and not just because of my paladin status. Just imagine if they would sense the archangel's soul ...”

“Of course,” Lereia said sympathetically. “Get some rest.”

Sgillin nodded at her. “Yes, sleep a bit.”

Morânia rose slowly. Even the way to the bedroom suddenly seemed arduous. Answering more than three questions had already been tiring in the House of Visions. But here, outside the house, she felt a heavy exhaustion now. Naghûl gave her a questioning look, but she gestured for him to stay. The others still had a lot to discuss, and she wanted to be alone anyway – and above all, she wanted to sleep.

“I wish you success and luck in your further planning and the blessings of the gods,” she said. Her gaze lingered briefly on Jana. “Or whatever.”

The Athar didn't seem to take offense at the remark and waved to her as well as the others, while she went over to the bedroom. Morânia just managed to take off her boots as she sat on the edge of the bed. Then she lay down and no sooner had her head touched the pillow than she sank into sleep, as if the ground beneath her had become liquid and was swallowing her up.

Chapter Text

“Time is often part of a solution, but never the solution itself."

planar proverb

Second Guild Day of Mortis, 126 HR

The alleys of the Hive were as familiar to Síkhara as the lines on her own palm. Every crack in the pavement, every rotten door, every hidden niche seemed to hold a story or a lost dream - some of them her own. About a week and a half had passed since she had met Krystall in the Rusty Blade, and neither the blood hunter nor the Razor Angels had been able to find any useful clues about the shadow thieves. Síkhara's client, the githzerai Zramag, was growing impatient. But then Krystall had contacted her. One of her cell members, a half-elf named Rianna, had discovered something. Disguised as a scribe at the City Court, she had told a new victim that her shadow had also been stolen, and had thus struck up a conversation with the affected gnome lawyer. He had shown her a piece of paper he had found in his office, the scene of the theft. Several symbols were written on the small scrap that the lawyer wasn't able to identify, and he suspected that the shadow thief had lost it at the scene of the crime. He had actually wanted to submit it to the Harmonium as evidence, but fortunately, Rianna had quick and dexterous fingers. She had taken the scrap of paper from the gnome without being noticed and brought it to Krystall. The leader of the Razor Angels had immediately contacted Síkhara and handed her the small piece of evidence. The fire genasi nodded gently. Krystall was a valuable ally, with her connections in the underworld and her unwavering determination to protect the weak. Now Síkhara had to find out what the scrap of paper meant.

Rakalla was her next port of call, for the medusa was a skilled alchemist and possessed knowledge in this field that rivaled even that of the scholars in the Clerk's Ward. If anyone could help her with this piece of paper, it was her. Síkhara turned into a narrow alley so dark she could barely see her own hand in front of her face. The smell of mold and decay hung in the air, and she heard the patter of feet in the distance. She drew her scimitar, just in case ... Why shadows? she asked herself again. What was so valuable about these incorporeal images that someone was willing to take such a high risk to steal them? And what did all of this have to do with the Clerk's Ward? It couldn't be just a coincidence that most of the victims lived and worked there. There was a deeper connection, a hidden logic that she hadn't yet figured out. Finally, the blood hunter reached the edge of the Hive. Here, at the transition to the Lower Ward, lived Rakalla. Síkhara stopped at a door with chipped green paint, but an intricately carved snake-shaped knocker. The medusa's laboratory was located in an old, abandoned warehouse that had once been used for spice trade. Now it was a realm of alchemy, a place where Rakalla did her best to turn the laws of nature upside down. Síkhara knocked loudly, and a moment later a small hatch in the door was opened and emerald green eyes with slit pupils looked through it. Although she knew that Rakalla could control her gaze, Síkhara flinched briefly. The hatch closed, and a few seconds later the door creaked open. The slender figure of the medusa stood out against the light of the laboratory, her snake hair writhing as always.

“Síkhara,” Rakalla said with a smile. ”What a surprise. But it's good to see you again. Come in.”

The fire genasi entered the warehouse and was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of smells - herbs, metals, acids, and vapors that combined into a unique mixture, in equal shares stimulating and acrid. The interior of Rakalla's laboratory was lit by lamps made of magical crystals, and everywhere stood tables and shelves filled with bottles, flasks, crucibles, mortars, and pestles. Nevertheless, the room seemed to be both a laboratory and a living room, as on one side there was also a kind of sofa that Rakalla had apparently improvised from a few sturdy wooden boxes and old cushions. To her surprise, Síkhara saw Haer'Dalis sitting there. The blue-haired tiefling had his legs crossed and was quietly playing his lute.

When he saw her enter, he stopped playing and waved at her. “Ah, look at the firebird fluttering in here unexpectedly. The Lady's Grace, Síkhara.”

“Haer'Dalis.” She smiled. “That's unexpected, indeed. You seem to be here more often lately.”

Rakalla shrugged innocently at this remark, but the tiefling grinned. “An alchemist's laboratory owned by a medusa, and such a charming one at that - who wouldn't want to come here?”

He winked briefly at Rakalla, and she cleared her throat. “We're both part of the same faction, after all,” she explained quickly. “And since I told Haer'Dalis about the Prophecy ... well, that naturally brings us closer.”

Síkhara glanced briefly between the two, wondering if something more was in the offing here and, if so, whether it was mutual. She wasn't jealous - the affair between her and Haer'Dalis had been over for quite some time. They had remained friends - sometimes with benefits - but otherwise they were no longer bound to each other. However, she couldn't figure out what exactly was going on between the tiefling and the medusa for the moment, because Rakalla was now offering her a seat on the sofa.

“Síkhara, my dear, it's good to see you. What brings you to my humble abode?”

“I need your help, Rakalla,” Síkhara replied without beating around the bush. ”I have a new case, and it's ... complicated. It's about the recent shadow thefts. I don't know if you've heard about it?”

The medusa nodded. “Krystall mentioned something a few days ago.”

Síkhara took out the paper with the symbols and handed it to the alchemist. ”Can you tell me what this is?”

Rakalla took the small scrap and examined it with interest. Her green fingers slid over the mysterious lines of the symbols as if trying to feel a hidden message. “These are strange signs,” she explained, her emerald eyes sparkling in the light of the crystals. In her own quarters, she rarely wore her glasses with the blackened lenses. “Fragments of runes unknown to me, but connected to alchemical symbols.”

Haer'Dalis leaned forward to get a better look. “And what symbols exactly, my jungle viper?”

Síkhara knew that the bard gave all his friends animal nicknames, so this didn't necessarily mean anything about his feelings for Rakalla. However, he only used this type of nickname for people he felt close to, that much was certain.

The medusa glanced at him briefly. “One stands for the moon and another for bones. I can't make sense of it at the moment. But I'll analyze both the paper and the ink. Maybe that will tell us more.”

She went to one of her work tables, which was covered with a collection of tools whose purpose Síkhara could only guess. There were flasks made of different colored glass, crucibles with liquids bubbling over green flames, and a strange apparatus made of polished bone and twisted metal. “I'm preparing the extraction apparatus to analyze the ink and the paper,” Rakalla explained, without taking her eyes off the symbols on the scrap. ”If I can identify the individual components they're made of, that might help us determine their origin.”

She took a fine scalpel, carefully scraped traces of ink from the piece of paper, and then cut off a small blank corner of the scrap. She put the samples in small crystal bowls and placed them under a complicated microscope equipped with eyepieces, mirrors, and lenses.

Rakalla glanced through it and her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Interesting,” she murmured. ”The ink contains traces of moon dust mixed with ground bones. A rather rare combination. If this piece of paper really has something to do with the shadow thefts, then there must be a good reason for this particular mixture. There are portals to the Plane of Shadows whose keys are moon dust or bones.”

Haer'Dalis ran his fingertips thoughtfully over the strings of his lute. “The Plane of Shadows ... A place of darkness, secrets, and lost souls. A place sought by many, but understood by few.”

Rakalla looked at him. ”Sounds like you have experience with it.”

“Oh, I once visited a place called the Shadow-Cursed Lands,” the bard explained. ”But I am no scholar of the shadows. My knowledge is more ... practical in nature.”

He glanced briefly at Síkhara, and she nodded knowingly. They had visited this place together on their last journey on the Prime. Overall, it had been a rather unpleasant experience.

Rakalla did not ask any further questions, however, but nodded briefly and returned to her analysis. She placed the samples in a complicated device consisting of intertwined glass tubes and glittering crystals. Carefully, she poured in a mixture of colored liquids and then sealed all the tubes. With a steady hand, she lit a small fire under the device, and the liquids began to bubble and evaporate.

“This is an alchemical extractor,” she explained. ”It will break down the ink into its basic components and reveal any residue on the paper. With a bit of luck, we'll be able to link this information to a specific source.”

The minutes stretched as Rakalla worked on her analysis. Alchemy took time, as Síkhara knew. The air in the laboratory was soon filled with the hum and hiss of equipment and the scent of exotic herbs and essential oils. Haer'Dalis played his lute, his music sometimes cheerful and lively, then slow and thoughtful. Síkhara, on the other hand, watched Rakalla closely as she worked, without distracting or interrupting her with questions or comments.

Finally, the medusa took a corked test tube from a holder and nodded. “I couldn't find anything unusual about the paper. But the ink consists of an interesting combination of ingredients: moon dust, bone meal from nightmares, and a type of liquid shadow essence that I have never encountered in this form before.” She demonstratively lifted the test tube containing a gray liquid. “Even in this diluted form, it still smells very intense. Here, see for yourselves.”

She passed the tube to Síkhara, who removed the cork and carefully sniffed the contents. Indeed, the gray liquid gave off a strange, intense odor. It was difficult to describe, most like a mixture of nightshade, ash, and acid. The blood hunter had never smelled anything like it before, but Haer'Dalis sat up abruptly when he also sniffed the thin glass tube.

Rakalla didn't miss it, of course. “Does that smell familiar to you?”

The tiefling rose and walked over to the table where Rakalla was working. “Indeed. I'm sure I smelled that not too long ago. It was at a workshop in the Hive, near the Goblin Quarter.”

Síkhara also stood up. “A workshop? What was being made there?”

“I'm not sure,” the bard explained regretfully. ”I just happened to pass by on my way to the Armory and didn't pay much attention to the place. A few people were dragging strange devices from the courtyard into the workshop that looked like traps or cages. But that smell ... it was unmistakable. I'm sure it was the same.”

Rakalla frowned. “Can you remember exactly where this workshop is?”

Haer'Dalis nodded. ”It's in a small alley behind Dogskull Way. An inconspicuous building with no windows and a heavy iron door.”

“That's it!” Síkhara grabbed her coat. “That's our lead. Rakalla, thank you for your help! And you, Haer'Dalis, for providing the crucial clue.”

“Wait a minute.” The medusa took the test tube from the tiefling, corked it, and placed it back in the holder. ”You want to go there right now?”

“Absolutely,” the blood hunter replied. “I've been looking for a concrete lead for too long. It's time to do something.”

“Then you shouldn't go alone,” Rakalla said, also grabbing her coat. ”If dark alchemy is really at work there, it could be quite dangerous. I'm coming with you.”

Haer'Dalis had already fetched his lute and slung it over his back. “Of course, this sparrow will accompany you on this dark path, my firebird. May our steps lead us to the truth – or into the Abyss.”

As so often, his theatrical streak elicited a smile from Síkhara. ”All right, I could use a little backup. Then show us the way, my friend."

Near Rakalla's laboratory, the alleys were still relatively busy, partly lined with improvised stalls offering a wide variety of goods: simple but at least unspoiled food, cheap, sometimes stolen goods, and the odd questionable elixir. The merchants were a colorful mix of tieflings, goblins, humans, and gnomes, loudly touting their wares. The smell of soot, rancid oil, and cheap alcohol was omnipresent. But this was still the Lower Ward. As soon as they entered the Hive, the alleys became quieter, but also gloomier. The buildings here were significantly more dilapidated, some of them seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Rebellious or obscene graffiti could be seen everywhere on the walls, water dripped from leaky gutters here and there, and rats scurried almost across their feet. As they passed the Slags, the ground became increasingly uneven and littered with rubbish. The smell of decay and sewage hung in the air, and here and there they heard soft whispers, moans, or giggles. Alongside the poorest of the poor, the occasional fiend loitered here, to whom a berk could sell their soul - if they hadn't done so already. The alleys became even narrower and darker as Síkhara, Haer'Dalis, and Rakalla finally approached the Goblin Quarter. As the name suggested, there were a lot of goblins living here, so that small, green-skinned figures could now be seen on every corner. Krixxi had some friends here, as Síkhara knew. Haer'Dalis led the group purposefully and with the confidence of a man who had crossed these alleys countless times. Yes, he was currently performing once more with Raelis Shai's highly respected theater troupe, but like Síkhara herself, he had been in the Hive often enough to find his way around easily. He knew all the shady corners and secret paths. Finally he stopped at one of these corners. The smell of strange spices and fried meat wafted from a nearby dive and mingled with the stench of the alley.

“It's not far from here,” he said in a hushed voice. ”Be on your guard, my friends. We may not be the only ones looking for answers.”

They turned into a narrow alley, even darker and dirtier than the previous ones. The buildings huddling above them were so old and dilapidated that they were beginning to crumble. Cobwebs covered in dust and dirt hung between the low roofs, and symbols whose meaning Síkhara did not know were scrawled on several house walls, looking suspiciously as if they had been painted with blood.

Haer'Dalis pointed straight ahead. “There,” he said. “The workshop is in a building at the end of this alley.”

They continued cautiously, and the sounds of the Goblin Quarter faded behind them. The atmosphere changed subtly, becoming heavier, more threatening. The wind seemed to die suddenly, and the air grew cold and damp. Síkhara felt her muscles tense. At the end of the alley, they saw the building Haer'Dalis had described. It was an inconspicuous, windowless structure made of gray bricks. The heavy iron door was covered with rust and fitted with a massive lock. There was no sign, no indication of what was inside. It almost seemed as if the building was trying to hide from the world. They crouched in a dark corner and watched the house and the front yard for a while, but no one was to be seen. When they were sure that the workshop was empty, they sneaked to the front door. Haer'Dalis circled the building once, as quickly and silently as Síkhara remembered. She knew immediately what his shake of the head meant when he returned: the heavy iron door at the front was the only entrance.

“We should be very careful,” Rakalla whispered, her snakes hissing softly. ”This is certainly not a place where visitors are welcome.”

Síkhara nodded in agreement, stepped forward, and examined the heavy iron gate. She placed her hand on it - it did not radiate any arcane energy. “It's locked, but not magically sealed,” she concluded. “No arcane protection, just a sturdy, old-fashioned lock.”

Haer'Dalis stepped beside her. “Perhaps that's their mistake,” he said with a faint smile. “To think that a simple door is enough to protect their secrets.” He pulled a set of fine tools from a leather pouch on his belt. “I'm more specialized in words than in locks, but I've opened more complicated doors.”

While Haer'Dalis fiddled with the lock, Síkhara and Rakalla kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. The alley and the courtyard were quiet, but the blood hunter felt her hair stand on end. Someone - or something - was watching them. She could feel it, but she couldn't see anyone, and that made her nervous. After a few tense minutes, the lock finally gave way and sprang open with a soft click.

Haer'Dalis took a step back. “The door is yours, my lady,” he said with a grin and a bow in Síkhara's direction. “May your steps lead you to enlightenment ... or at least to an interesting fight.”

“You're an oddball, Haer'Dalis,” Rakalla whispered.

Síkhara nodded at the medusa's words but opened the heavy iron gate without a comment. It creaked unpleasantly and the fire genasi immediately paused with a quiet curse. Rakalla signaled her to wait and searched for something in one of her belt pouches. Only a few blinks later, she had pulled out a small vial and dripped something onto the door hinges. Then she nodded to Síkhara. And sure enough, when the blood hunter pushed against the door again, it slid open smoothly and silently. Síkhara nodded appreciatively at the alchemist and peered inside the building. Only pitch-black darkness and a smell ... the stench of acid and that unmistakable aroma she had perceived from the shadow essence in Rakalla's laboratory. Haer'Dalis had not been mistaken.

“I'll go first,” Síkhara whispered, then stepped into the dark room. As a fire genasi, she possessed darkvision, and knowing that tieflings and medusae did too, she refrained from using a light source that might betray their presence.

Haer'Dalis and Rakalla quickly slipped into the building behind her and closed the door quietly. The room was large and gloomy, apparently a storage room that had been converted into a laboratory. Tables and shelves stood everywhere, filled with bottles, flasks, crucibles, and strange devices. Thanks to her visits to Rakalla, Síkhara recognized some of them as alchemical apparatus, but others were completely unfamiliar to her. The air was filled with the strange smell of nightshade, ash, and acid, which indicated the presence of shadow essence. Boards with strange symbols and diagrams hung on the walls. Síkhara recognized some of the signs - they were on the scrap of paper that had led them here. But she had never seen the other symbols before. On a table in the center of the room stood a device that caught Síkhara's attention - a kind of cage made of polished steel and reinforced with runes etched into the surface. It was empty, but Síkhara could feel the subtle magical energy emanating from it.

“What is that?” she asked quietly.

Rakalla stepped beside her and looked at the device with a skeptical eye. “It looks like some kind of trap,” she said. “A cage for something ... immaterial.”

Síkhara felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “A cage for shadows,” she whispered.

She examined it more closely and discovered a small opening with a complicated locking mechanism. Haer'Dalis picked it as skillfully as he had opened the door and found a small crystal vial inside the cage. It was empty, but Síkhara could perceive the faint aroma of shadow essence.

“This is where they kept the stolen shadows,” she said. ”They locked them in this cage and extracted their essence.”

Suddenly, they heard a soft noise behind them. They spun around and saw a shadow detach itself from a corner of the room. It was pitch black and had a vague humanoid shape, but its contours were blurred and unclear. However, two red eyes glowed in the darkness of its silhouette.

“You shouldn't be here,” the shadow hissed in a hoarse voice. ”You must be removed.”

Then it attacked. It lunged at Síkhara with such speed that she barely had time to react. She dodged just as the shadow reached for her. Its claws, formed from pure darkness, sliced through the air where she had just been standing.

“Haer'Dalis, Rakalla, take cover!” the blood hunter shouted, drawing her scimitar.

The tiefling leaped aside and drew his two short swords. He whirled the blades and intoned a short melody. Instantly, his weapons were surrounded by an aura of blue light. Rakalla's snakes hissed as the medusa reached for a vial on her belt. Her gaze was useless against a shadow, which was probably the reason for the curse she uttered.

Síkhara now created a small flame in her free palm, one of her abilities as a fire genasi. “Shadows are sensitive to light!” she shouted to the others, then rushed toward the enemy.

As she did so, she drew the blade of her scimitar across her inner left forearm. The sharp, familiar pain as the edge cut through the skin and drew blood ... then the flash as her blade was engulfed in flames by her blood magic. She struck with the burning scimitar, which flashed in a bright light as it came into contact with the shadow. It recoiled and let out a pain-filled screech. Haer'Dalis reacted immediately. He hummed a short melody that created a ball of radiant light. The bard sent it flying toward the shadow, which flinched under the light as if burned. Síkhara seized the opportunity and attacked again. She struck several times with her scimitar, a series of quick, precise blows, while holding her hand with the flame aloft to cast even more light on the shadow. Each time her scimitar touched it, the shadow let out a pained sound and recoiled. But it was resilient. It frayed under Síkhara's attacks and Haer'Dalis' light spell, but it did not dissolve. It attacked the fire genasi again with its claws, and it was almost as fast as it had been at the beginning of the fight. She could barely dodge the attack this time.

“Síkhara, take cover!” she heard Rakalla shout behind her. ”It's going to get very bright!”

The blood hunter jumped behind one of the tables, and in the next moment, the medusa hurled a kind of grenade that hit the stone floor directly in front of the shadow. A blinding flash bathed the entire room in a flickering, almost painfully bright light. The shadow screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that made the walls of the laboratory shake. It frayed, its body flickered and swirled and began to dissolve. But before it disappeared completely, it hurled a wave of dark energy at the group. Síkhara ducked behind the table, Haer'Dalis and Rakalla behind a stack of boxes. The dark streaks swept over them without hurting them, but shattered some of the nearby equipment. Then the shadow was completely gone.

Síkhara slowly stood up and looked around. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“We're fine,” replied Haer'Dalis. “Thanks to the literally enlightening intervention of this dauntless jungle viper.”

Rakalla grinned. “Oh, thank you very much. Who would have thought that a simple alchemical flash grenade could be so useful?”

Síkhara nodded seriously. The fight had been short but intense, and this shadow had been no ordinary specimen, but a more powerful creature of darkness. That alone confirmed that they had stumbled upon something big and dangerous. “That means we're on the right track,” the fire genasi concluded. “We're closing in on the string pullers behind the shadow thefts.”

“What now?” asked Haer'Dalis, letting his gaze wander over the partially destroyed laboratory. “The creature is gone, but its creators are not.”

“We'll search everything,” Síkhara declared, sheathing her scimitar. ”Every table, every shelf, every corner. There must be something here that will give us another clue.”

The medusa and the tiefling nodded, and they began to comb through the laboratory carefully, table by table, shelf by shelf. They found various alchemical devices and ingredients, but no records of experiments or even clues as to who might be behind it all. However, they discovered more of the strange devices that resembled traps or cages, as well as vials filled with a dark liquid - presumably shadow essence.

Rakalla carefully packed the flasks away. “This is more than just ordinary theft,” she said with concern. “They're trying to create something. I'm not sure what it is, but it can't be anything good.”

The medusa was right - something big and dangerous was going on here, but whoever was behind it seemed to have covered their tracks well. Just as they were about to give up, Haer'Dalis found something - an inconspicuous compartment in one of the tables. The drawer was secured with a complicated lock, but the tiefling managed to open it with his thieves' tools. Inside, they found a handwritten note indicating a date and time: one hour before anti peak, and the date referred to three days from today. Next to it was a rough sketch showing the part of the Hive where Slaadi Walk and Black Boot Walk met. One of the houses was marked with a cross.

“Hmm, that's on the edge of the Night Market,” Síkhara said. “Apparently, a meeting, an exchange, or something similar is supposed to take place in the marked house in three days. That seems to be our next lead.”

Haer'Dalis carefully put the note back in the compartment. “I'll leave it here and lock the drawer. Maybe we're lucky and no one will suspect anything.”

Rakalla nodded with a sigh. “It's bad enough that the fight left traces of our breaking. But if the shadow thieves think the hidden compartment is untouched, they might not cancel the meeting at the Night Market.”

“Everything depends on that,” Síkhara agreed, already on her way to the door. “That's our only lead so far. Hopefully we'll know more in three days.”

Chapter Text

“She may be a poxy doxy, but she's the only town for me.”

refrain to “Plague-Mort's my Lady” by Blind Lemon Dulmaster, tiefling performer

Second Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

A week after the meeting in his new apartment, Naghûl met with Lereia, Sgillin, Jana, and Kiyoshi at the Barracks. Ironically – or perhaps it was the Lady's bizarre sense of humor – there was a portal in the Harmonium headquarters leading to the immediate vicinity of Plague-Mort. This had the advantage that no one outside their factions would be able to observe where they were going, be it Shemeshka or anyone else. They had, of course, prepared for their journey into the Abyss in accordance with their last meeting.

Naghûl, who would take on the role of leader of the supposed mercenary troop, had opted for a dark battle robe with red appliqués, adorned with silver spikes and hellish runes. He wore pointed metal caps on his curved horns, a cloak made from the fur of an Abyssal beast, and a staff with a pulsating, blood-red crystal. The ensemble was rounded off by a necklace made from the teeth of various demons and a belt pouch from which wisps of sulfur occasionally rose.

Jana was to pose as an expert in arcane magic in the group. She had consulted Terrance's secretary, Askorion, for advice on her disguise, and the young aasimar had proven to have a good eye: the sorceress wore a deep purple robe, decorated with changing arcane symbols. Her bare arms were covered in temporary tattoos of Abyssal symbols that the wizard Hobard had painted on her. Her matching jewelry consisted of several rings with onyx and hematite and a headband with a central purple opal. In addition, Jana had obtained a desecrated staff made of twisted black wood from the Athar's rich collection of clerical artifacts, through which a red grain pattern ran like living veins. A small bottle of swirling chaos energy that she wore on her belt and a brooch in the shape of a demonic grimace made the disguise so convincing that Naghûl congratulated Askorion inwardly. Bards - when it came to a good performance, one could always count on them.

Kiyoshi, who was supposed to pose as fighter and blacksmith, had obtained an impressive suit of armor from the Harmonium's armory that mimicked draconic scales, with shoulder spikes and a wide, sturdy belt made of basilisk hide. It was complemented by gauntlets decorated with dragon claws, a deep red cloak of fireproof fabric, and a necklace made of dragon teeth. On his belt, he wore a small bottle, the shape and cap of which suggested that it contained dragon blood – but in reality, it was a powerful healing potion for emergencies.

Sgillin was to act as scout and tracker and had apparently asked his cell for help with the clothing. The Razor Angels had chosen well, Naghûl thought. The half-elf wore a dark, well-fitting leather armor with elven patterns interwoven with Abyssal symbols. He had also been given a hooded cloak that seemed to blend in with the shadows, as well as a longbow with a string made of demon hair. Magical paint had been used to apply some demonic-looking tattoos to his skin, and his belt held a pipe carved from the horn of a manticore.

Only Lereia's disguise Naghûl had not seen yet, as she had arrived in her tiger form. The plan was for her to play the role of Naghûl's slave, but she had decided to venture into this hostile environment in her animal form first. Naghûl understood her reasoning. As a tiger, she was considerably stronger and more dangerous, and therefore felt safer, whereas in the role of a slave she was more vulnerable in unpleasant situations. It was therefore understandable that she chose to transform before venturing into a place like Plague-Mort. Kiyoshi carried her luggage, which contained her disguise and some trade goods. So they would have to wait a little longer to see what the Godsmen had chosen for Lereia, but Naghûl assumed that Ambar's instincts were as accurate as Askorion's.

In addition to their usual travel gear, they carried a collection of various planar currencies, including some soul coins, rare poisons to use as gifts for Red Shroud if necessary, various drugs that were always in demand in the Abyss, valuable trade goods such as gems, high-quality ores and forged items, and a few rare spell foci. They had prepared a credible backstory about their former mercenary activities and their interest in black mithral, and had been given faction contacts for emergencies, an Athar in Plague-Mort and an Anarchist in Broken Reach. As Naghûl had said at the meeting a week earlier, he had never been so well prepared for the Abyss, and that worried him a little. Could one ever be too well prepared? He quickly eyed the group and was satisfied with the first impression. They would certainly pass as a troop of mercenaries operating in the Lower Planes. However, there was still room for improvement in terms of behavior. While Sgillin appeared as confident as one would expect from someone with an actual background as a mercenary, and Lereia was impressive as a tigress anyway, Jana clearly did not feel safe in her role yet. She kept tugging at her purple dress and running her fingers through her now braided hair so often that the hairstyle Jaya had carefully arranged was already looking a little disheveled. Kiyoshi appeared much calmer, but it seemed to Naghûl that he felt very uncomfortable appearing in the Barracks dressed like that. The tiefling sighed quietly. The sorceress and the soldier definitely needed to adopt a more aggressive, self-confident posture and manner of gesturing. But that would happen once they were in the right environment, he hoped.

When they entered the Barracks' entrance hall, where Kiyoshi was waiting for them, they were eyed with curiosity and irritation by the soldiers on guard. Kiyoshi struck his fist against his chest in greeting, but then kept his head bowed so as not to have to look anyone in the eye. Sgillin, on the other hand, waved to the guards in a friendly manner.

Lady Diana sat behind her large desk, as she usually did during the day, and nodded kindly when she saw the faces she knew well by now. She did not seem surprised by the Chosen's appearance, so she was probably at least vaguely informed about the upcoming mission. “Well, hello,” she greeted them with a laugh. ”Very daring.”

“The Lady's Grace, dearest Lady Diana,” Naghûl replied. “I am sorry that I must appear before you today in such a sad array, but duty is duty.”

The concierge grinned briefly. “Well said. Decurion Verûsa has already let it be known that you have a mission and need his assistance. You will find him in instruction room four.”

“My deepest thanks.” Naghûl bowed. “May Her Shadow never cut you.”

“May She who Rules in Silence be gracious to you,” Diana replied kindly.

The tiefling now let Kiyoshi go ahead, assuming that he surely knew better where instruction room four might be. This was the case, and the young soldier led them unerringly down the wide corridor to a row of larger doors numbered from one to eight. He stopped at the fourth and knocked.

“Come in!” a voice answered immediately from inside.

Kiyoshi opened the door, and when they entered, they spotted a tall man in his mid-thirties. His fair skin had a certain alabaster sheen, his shoulder-length hair was silver-white, and his eyes were bright blue. Naghûl suspected that due to his two horns, the man, probably decurion Aranis Verûsa, was often mistaken for a tiefling by those unfamiliar with the planes. A cutter knew, of course, that this could also be a sign of celestial heritage, as the cervidal guardinals of Elysium had horns, too. And the decurion appeared to be an aasimar of this lineage. Kiyoshi saluted by striking his fist against his chest, but kept his head bowed.

“Ah, soldier Kiyoshi,” Aranis Verûsa greeted him kindly. ”The Lady's Grace.”

He nodded to the others in greeting, his gaze briefly lingering on Lereia. Her decision to come along in her animal form had been rather spontaneous, so the decurion had probably not been told to expect a tigress. Perhaps he thought she was the familiar of either Jana, Sgillin, or Naghûl. And although Lereia could speak when transformed, she clearly didn't feel like it at the moment, which might reinforce Verûsa's impression.

“So,” he said with a slight smile. ”On a secret mission, huh?”

“That's right.” Naghûl nodded, while Kiyoshi clearly wished the ground would open and swallow him up. The tiefling remembered that the soldier had had similar problems during the mission in the Mortuary. Although his factol Sarin had explained to him that undercover investigations did not fall under the Harmonium's “lying is wrong” principle, Kiyoshi still felt anything but comfortable with it.

“Yes, I'm partly informed of it.” Aranis Verûsa nodded, now more serious. “I don't know much, only that you're supposed to go to the Abyss. Dangerous place, my respect.”

“We'll earn it when we get back,” Sgillin replied with a smile. ”Unscathed, mind you.”

“Hm.” The aasimar raised his eyebrows. “Good point.”

Jana sighed. “It's not like we chose the destination.”

Naghûl, on the other hand, felt his Sensate enthusiasm gaining the upper hand despite the dangers ahead. “Oh, it'll be a great experience!” he said, almost euphoric.

Sgillin looked at him and tapped his forehead with a grin.

Aranis Verûsa also shook his head in amusement. “With all due respect, you Sensates are seriously off your rocker.”

“Yes,” the half-elf agreed. “Well said.”

Naghûl had to laugh. “Of course, otherwise the sensory stones would be all too bland.”

“That's true,“ Jana admitted.

“Who am I to judge the philosophy of other factions?” decurion Verûsa said with a smile. “I mean, apart from the fact that our way is the right way, everyone should seek heaven in their own fashion.” He didn't seem entirely joking, but he wasn't completely serious either.

Naghûl raised his hands with a grin. “If others weren't on the wrong path, you wouldn't have anyone to teach.”

“There's more going on here than on the Philosophers' Forum in the Temple District,” Verûsa remarked cheerfully. “Come on, I'll show you the portal.”

“Thank you very much,” the tiefling replied, in good humor.

He followed the aasimar enthusiastically, while Sgillin and Lereia walked more calmly behind them. Jana seemed clearly nervous, and Kiyoshi trailed so far behind that it almost looked as if he didn't belong to the group. Aranis Verûsa led them to the end of the long corridor, through the Great Auditorium and a little further, before opening a door and inviting the group into a room that was probably some kind of archive. Then he stopped at the wall opposite the entrance, where a round arch was built into the stone, not a door, but merely a decoration between two shelves.

“There it is,” the decurion explained.

Naghûl examined the spot Verûsa had pointed out and actually sensed the faint energy signature emanating from each portal, which most planars could perceive. Although unknown to many, he himself was not a planar, but he could recognize the portal thanks to his arcane gift. He shook his head slightly. “The portal to Plague-Mort in the middle of the Barracks. Well, irony is also a kind of humor.”

“Yes, the Lady's humor is unfathomable,” Verûsa replied with a sigh. “One more thing before you go through: this portal is not widely known, and we want to keep it that way. It's bad enough that we have a gate to Plague-Mort in the Barracks, but not everyone needs to know about it.”

Jana nodded. “Of course.”

“As for the key on this side of the portal ...” The aasimar looked around. “I hope one of you has recently attended a lecture on chaos matter.”

“Ahhh.” Naghûl grinned as the penny dropped. “Indeed, I have.” Now he understood why Erin had sent him to that lecture the day before. Sarin must have explained to her that attending such a lecture was the key. Well, that was at least something, the tiefling thought to himself. Since the portal was not located in a central part of the Barracks, especially not in a door frame, and since members of the Harmonium rarely attended lectures on chaos matter, the risk of someone accidentally stepping through was at least minimal.

Aranis seemed to sense Naghûl's thoughts and smiled. “Very good. Otherwise, this portal would stay closed.”

Kiyoshi, who had remained in the background in shame since the greeting, finally spoke up. ”Forgive me, honorable decurion Verûsa Aranis-senpai, but what is the key to return?”

The aasimar handed the soldier a small bag made of sturdy leather. “A piece of razor vine with fresh blood on it. The razor vine is in the bag. You must add the blood before passing through.”

Naghûl nodded. ”Thank you very much, decurion. Well then ... Let's jump into purgatory!”

“Take good care of yourselves over there,” the aasimar said seriously. “Good luck!”

“We'll need it,” Sgillin predicted, then Naghûl stepped close to the stone arch and the portal opened ...

A blink of an eye and a flash of light later, they stood in the Outlands – and by no means in their most pleasant part. The landscape around them was rough and gloomy, marked by jagged rocks and twisted, sickly vegetation struggling to survive on the cracked ground. Sulfurous geysers regularly erupted from deep crevices, releasing poisonous fumes, and in the distance, toothed rock formations rose from the barren soil, their silhouettes reminiscent of demonic figures. The sky above was a turbulent mass of dark, threatening clouds with an unhealthy green hue. Occasionally, red flashes lit up the landscape, accompanied by distant rumblings that sounded more like painful moans than thunder. An oppressive heat weighed down on everything, making the air thick and suffocating. Naghûl saw how the surroundings affected the two most nature-loving among them, Sgillin and Lereia, in particular. The tigress laid her ears back, while the half-elf wrapped his cloak protectively around himself despite the heat. Naghûl looked around to see where they had come out, where the way back to Sigil lay. The other side of the portal was the entrance to a small cave in a larger rock formation. The tiefling memorized it well, then let his gaze wander over the inhospitable plain.

Fortunately, they would not have to wander through this landscape for long. Only about a mile away, the walls of Plague-Mort rose up. They towered before them like a massive barrier of blackened stone that seemed to absorb the sparse light of the surroundings. As they drew nearer, they saw that grotesque gargoyles and demonic faces were carved into the masonry, their expressions frozen in eternal torment or malicious glee. At irregular intervals, spiked towers rose from the walls, crowned by pulsating, poison-green flames that bathed the surroundings in a sickly light. They had spoken little since passing the portal, but the closer they got to the town, the more the group fell silent, apparently preparing themselves internally for their roles. The main gate of Plague-Mort was massive and forbidding, framed by two huge, curved horns whose tips almost touched at the top. The gate itself was made of materials that looked like blackened bone and metal, amalgamated in a nightmarish fusion. The surface was covered with disturbing carvings depicting scenes of torment and depravity. A deep moat surrounded the town, filled not with water but with a bubbling, corrosive substance that occasionally emitted poisonous fumes. Above it stretched a drawbridge made of bones and tendons, seemingly stable but disturbingly organic. The gate was guarded by two tieflings, a man and a woman, clad in black and red leather armor, and a swarm of quasits fluttered around the spiked towers. The guards watched the approaching group with a mixture of suspicion and alertness, but seemed only half-heartedly dedicated.

“Hey!” the man growled. ”Who are you and what do you want?”

“Hello, folks,” Naghûl greeted them with an accent common in the lower gate towns. “We're on our way to Broken Reach.”

The woman let her yellow eyes wander over the group, briefly eyeing Sgillin with interest, then looking at Lereia. “Nice animal. Yours?”

“Yeah,” Naghûl confirmed. ”Bought it from a Vile Hunt big game hunter who caught it in the Beastlands. It's well trained.”

To emphasize his story, Lereia took a few steps closer to him and let him place his hand on her head.

The guard looked more closely at the tigress. “You don't want to sell it, do you?”

“No, thanks,” Naghûl replied. “It cost me quite some jink and is too good a guard animal.”

The woman spat to the side but nodded. ”Sure, understand.”

“And what do you want in Broken Reach?“ the man now asked.

“Trade,” Naghûl replied. “With a little luck, we'll get some black mithral.”

“You shady fortune hunters with your black mithral,” growled the guard. “You all just want to get to Broken Reach, but none of you want to leave your jink here.”

“Oh, if the town has something to offer, we wouldn't be averse,“ Sgillin interjected.

“See,” said the woman. “Maybe the new Arch-Lector will do something with the town again.”

“As if!” the man grumbled, but then nodded to the group. ”All right, go in. At least spend a few greens here.”

They hurried through the gate, not wanting to risk the chaotic town guards changing their minds. Naghûl breathed a sigh of relief. The first step had been taken, and it hadn't gone too badly. The others had kept in the background as agreed, but their posture, gestures, and facial expressions had been convincing enough not to arouse suspicion. Naghûl knew the Arch-Lector mentioned by the tiefling woman: Sarshán. A fallen half-angel from the prime world of Ravnica, from a guild called Orzhov. He and Morânia had dealt with her on the island of Terra Equilibrium, where they had lived for a while. His wife in particular harbored a deep dislike for Sarshán, perhaps because, being a quarter deva herself, she simply couldn't understand why a half-celestial would turn her back on light and good. The fact that the lady was now the ruler of a gate town to hell apparently confirmed Morânia's reservations.

As they stepped through the gates, they immediately realized that they had entered a corrupt place. Everything was gloomy and oppressive, but not in a magnificent and impressive way, as also evil places could be. No, here everything was somehow run-down, as if the town had seen far better days. Most of the houses were built of dark, weathered stone and reinforced with iron bands, a crude mixture of massive blocks and twisted towers, with gargoyles on the roofs and demonic faces carved into the doorways. The narrow, winding streets were oppressively overshadowed by the tall buildings. As they ventured further into the town, they could almost physically feel how the atmosphere in Plague-Mort was marked by constant unrest and subliminal horror. The overcast sky bathed the town in a dull, monochrome light, and a hot wind blew through the streets, carrying with it the faint smell of decay and the distant echo of tortured screams. The air was thick with tension, as if the inhabitants were constantly bracing themselves for inevitable disaster. Plague-Mort was undoubtedly a place where the boundaries between the planes blurred and the influence of the Abyss permeated every stone and shadow.

As they walked through the streets, Naghûl quietly encouraged the group to move upright and confidently, not to adopt a hesitant or even crouched posture, so as not to encourage the townspeople to attack them. The Sensate knew that the inhabitants here were a tough and suspicious bunch who had adapted to the harsh environment and the ever-present threat from the Abyss. A mixture of humans, tieflings, drow, and yuan-ti made up a large part of the population, but lesser tanar'ri such as dretches, jovocs, rutterkin, cambions, and alu were also a common sight in the streets. They were joined by various undead, dark fey, and grim and ferocious were creatures, at the sight of which Lereia laid her ears back and revealed her impressive fangs. Naghûl tried to move quickly but not too fast, so as not to appear fearful or as if they were fleeing from something. They passed a shop that apparently sold various types of blood, and leaning against the entrance was an elegantly dressed woman with red hair who was almost certainly a vampire. She eyed the group with interest, making no effort to hide her hungry gaze. Naghûl felt Jana's steps behind him become irregular and uncertain. She kept looking back at the undead woman, whose interest had obviously been piqued by the sorceress' nervousness. The tiefling cursed inwardly. He knew that Jana had had bad experiences with vampires in the past. In her youth, she had apparently been kidnapped by one who had performed dark experiments on her. These had given Jana her arcane powers, but also traumatized her deeply. Finally, Jana stopped and stared uncertainly at the vampire. The undead naturally took this as an invitation and moved a few steps towards her.

“What now?“ the sorceress whispered fearfully.

“Keep going,” Naghûl answered in a hushed voice. “Just keep going.” He gently took Jana's elbow and pulled her along, trying not to pay any further attention to the vampire without appearing too evasive or fearful.

Sgillin and Kiyoshi followed them stoically, their eyes fixed ahead, while Lereia bared her fangs and hissed softly. The undead woman eyed the tigress with a mixture of alertness and greed, but then apparently decided not to take any chances and retreated back towards her shop. Naghûl breathed a sigh of relief when the brief, threatening situation eased. He continued towards the center of Plague-Mort, the Arch-Lector Palace, where the portal to Broken Reach was located. This brought them to the merchant quarter, which also housed the town's large street market. Naghûl had unpleasant memories of their former crossing of Sigil's Night Market. At that time, he had had to incapacitate Kiyoshi with a spell because the completely inexperienced soldier had made attempts to enforce Sigil's laws and his own faction philosophy in one of the most disreputable areas of the Hive. The tiefling cast a watchful glance at the young man, but this time he remained calm and composed. Naghûl nodded gently. Yes, Kiyoshi had also been in Sigil for almost a year now and had learned how the planes worked, that one could not always act as accustomed to in their prime home world.

So they entered the large street market of the gate town without fuss and without attracting unwanted attention. The stalls of the hellish bazaar were made of rough wood and iron and often crested with skulls and other macabre decorations. Loud voices could be heard everywhere, haggling for goods in Common and in Abyssal, and the acrid smell of dubious potions and charred meat hung over the square. As expected, the merchants here offered goods of dubious nature and origin: weapons forged in hellfire or imbued with demonic essence, cursed relics and forbidden books, exotic and poisonous herbs from Pazunia, demon blood, torture instruments, and maps of the Abyss, often unreliable or deliberately misleading. Many slaves were also sold here, looking desperate and hopeless. Several disreputable taverns could be seen on the edge of the market, and above it all hung a hazy, reddish sky that conveyed an omnipresent mood of doom. They passed through the terrible market as quickly as possible and without any major incidents. Once, a group of pitiful figures tried to sell them their own kidneys or eyeballs, and another time, a stray hell hound became aggressive, but was driven away by Lereia's threatening growl. After leaving the gruesome bazaar behind, they came to a district that appeared to be mainly residential. Its division into two parts was striking: to their right they saw a completely dilapidated slum. The houses and their inhabitants were in even worse condition than in the rest of the town; the Hive seemed almost friendly compared to this hell. To their left were streets lined with elegant black marble houses, richly decorated, often guarded and separated by fences. And directly ahead, a hill rose up, which seemed to be the highest point in town. On top of it stood a large building, darkly noble, made of obsidian and ivory: the palace of the Arch-Lector.

“That shrew ...” Naghûl muttered quietly.

They stayed on the main road, approaching the magnificent building, when a grotesque procession passed them, coming from the market - a so-called chain mob, slaves destined for hard labor, all chained together. It was customary in the Abyss to chain small groups of slaves together without ever removing their shackles. From then on, they had to perform their hard labor together and spend the rest of their lives chained to each other. This was usually not a long life, and that was perhaps the only mercy these poor souls ever experienced. The glowing chains on their wrists radiated a faint heat, and demonic guards with whip-like tendrils drove them forward, their growled commands echoing off the stone walls. The bystanders stepped aside, glanced briefly as the slaves were led to their cruel fate, and then went on their way.

Naghûl felt his heart tighten. It wasn't his first time in a gate town to hell, nor would it be his first time visiting one of the hells themselves. He knew what awaited him, what he would see and experience. He had experienced it often enough. And yet, every time, it was depressing and cruel to see how much evil and suffering there was in the planes, how many desperate and damned souls that no one would save. Not even him, as much as he wanted to. One could save a desperate merchant in the Outlands from highwaymen, a kidnapped child or a village from being raided by a band of robbers. One could even defend an island on a prime world against a horde of demons. He had done all that, together with his wife Morânia, sometimes also together with Sgillin, Lereia, and Jana. But one couldn't destroy evil itself. One couldn't free all the slaves in a hellish gate town or even the damned from the Abyss. There were limits for individuals and even limits for the hosts of heaven. Sometimes one had a mission and had to see and experience terrible things along the way. Sometimes one couldn't help. Sometimes one had to close eyes and heart to keep going. That, too, was an experience. That, too, was a necessity. But even though Naghûl had learned this long ago, it still stung every time.

Entangled in these dark thoughts, he almost didn't notice the two women he had nearly run into: a medusa and an alu, who were talking at the corner of a house. He managed to slow down just in time and gave them a wide berth. However, a mane shuffling past was less careful and bumped roughly into the medusa. The snake-haired woman angrily looked at the lesser demon and her eyes glowed ... The mane let out a frightened screech that ended abruptly when it was turned to stone.

“Fleabag,” hissed the medusa, and the alu laughed loudly.

“Hard luck,” Sgillin muttered, consciously or unconsciously putting some distance between himself and the medusa as he passed.

Jana almost stumbled because she couldn't take her eyes off the petrified mane, but then hurried to catch up with the others. So far, their disguise had apparently been good; no one had stopped them. One or two bloodhounds, the Arch-Lector's bodyguards, had briefly eyed them suspiciously, but aside from that nobody had noticed them and with their attire they actually blended in well with the crowd. So far, so good, Naghûl thought to himself. Now they had to get through the portal at the Arch-Lector Palace, and he suspected that there would be a fee. Before they went up, however, he wanted to get an idea of how many guards were standing up there, whether the crowd was large, what the mood was like ... So that his observation would not be too conspicuous, Naghûl went to a merchant who had set up a stall on a street corner at the last block of houses before the palace grounds.

“Let's see what you have,“ he said.

“The dark blessing of Graz'zt for you,” the merchant greeted, a tiefling with reddish skin, green hair and two curved backward horns. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“A souvenir for my little girl,“ Naghûl improvised, keeping his eyes as discreetly as possible on the palace.

“Hmm, let me see ...” The merchant began rummaging through his display while Jana leaned against the nearest wall and Lereia took a seat beside her. Kiyoshi and Sgillin stayed with Naghûl.

“Ah yes, how about this?” the tiefling said, pulling out a necklace made of what appeared to be white pearls. ”A pretty necklace, and the white skull beads are guaranteed to be carved from real elven bones.”

He grinned at Sgillin, and Naghûl could see that it took some self-control for the half-elf not to say anything, instead biting his lower lip.

The Sensate waved it off. “Bling? Oh, I don't know, never mind ...” He certainly wasn't going to buy anything made of elven bones, secret mission or not.

“How about this music box?” the merchant offered. “With wonderful Abyssal ornaments.” He opened the lacquered box to reveal a lascivious succubus sitting inside, lolling while a melody played - which didn't even sound too bad, Naghûl had to admit. That was more to his taste.

“That looks better,“ he said, glancing up at the palace again. The crowd at the portal didn't seem too big at the moment, as far as he could tell from down here.

“Only fifty ivory bits,” the merchant offered.

“Fifty?” Naghûl laughed. “Are you crazy?”

“Finest craftsmanship from Azzagrat!” the merchant assured emphatically.

“Yeah, sure.” The Sensate tapped his forehead. “I'll give you thirty.”

“Let's say forty,” the tiefling haggled.

Naghûl uttered a short curse in Abyssal. “Oomg hoo! No, no, thirty-five.”

The merchant grinned broadly. “Thirty-eight.”

“Oh, come on,” Sgillin said dismissively. “You can find that kind of junk anywhere. Let's go.”

“Hey, don't be rude!” The tiefling merchant crossed his arms indignantly. ”No one else here has anything like this.”

Naghûl realized that he actually wanted the music box. A small souvenir to remember this trip. He often brought back little trinkets like this from his adventures. “Oh, let the Abyss swallow me whole!” he exclaimed. “Fine, thirty-eight.”

“Excellent decision!” the merchant declared with satisfaction, while Sgillin rolled his eyes.

“I want to see the chick dance,“ Naghûl said with a shrug. “I enjoy that.” He counted out the bone coins and paid, then took the music box the merchant handed him.

“And I finally want to put my feet up somewhere,” Jana interjected. “Can we please move on?”

Naghûl nodded, but then looked up at the portal again. “Busy day?” he asked.

“Oh, not so much,” the tiefling replied. “Rather quiet today.” Then his gaze wandered to Sgillin, he held up the necklace once more and whispered with a grin. “Eeelven bones.”

The ranger glared at him. “Forget it.”

“How much?“ Kiyoshi asked abruptly.

The others, including Naghûl, looked at him in surprise, but immediately tried not to let their irritation show too clearly.

“Are you interested?” the merchant asked happily. “Sixty ivory bits.”

“Sure,” the young man replied dismissively. “Forty.”

It was unusual to hear the otherwise overly polite Kiyoshi speak in this manner, but even stranger was that he wanted to buy this necklace. What was his purpose?

“Fifty,” demanded the merchant.

Kiyoshi let his gaze wander over the display. ”Forty-five and the ashtray there.”

Jana eyed Kiyoshi thoughtfully from the side, and Sgillin was clearly irritated but held back.

“Which one?” asked the merchant. “The one with the symbols of Demogorgon?”

Kiyoshi nodded, and the tiefling thought for a moment. “Um ... Well, all right, because your friend was such a good customer.”

Kiyoshi pulled out the coins and paid, while the tiefling handed him the necklace and the ashtray. Then the soldier turned without another word and walked toward the Arch-Lector Palace. The others followed him, still puzzled by this behavior they couldn't understand.

When they had moved a short distance away from the merchant, Kiyoshi turned to Sgillin and handed him the necklace. “Here, honorable friend,” he said solemnly. ”Bury them according to your customs.”

A look of honest surprise appeared on the half-elf's face as he took the necklace. Then he smiled. “Thank you,” he replied, touched, as he carefully tucked the gruesome piece of jewelry away.

Kiyoshi's expression softened for a moment, and one could almost think he was returning Sgillin's smile. Naghûl nodded gently. He had assumed that the young soldier had not bought the necklace without good reason. But he had not been sure what that reason might be. After the brief moment of affinity, Kiyoshi's expression became impassive again and he turned his gaze to the palace in front of them. The towering building of obsidian, black marble, and ivory dominated Plague-Mort with its intimidating presence. The smooth walls reflected the dim light in a dull glow, the battlements were crowned with jagged spikes, and the facade was decorated with demonic figures and hellish runes. The only entrance consisted of a heavy, iron-clad door guarded by massive, armored bulezau. But they didn't want to enter the palace; they wanted to use the gate that led to the Abyss. It was the leftmost of three arches on the side of the palace facing the city gate.

“Not bad,” Sgillin muttered. “Evil, but impressive.”

“Indeed,” Naghûl replied quietly. “You have to admire the quality of the architecture, Abyssal or not.” Then he walked over to the group of bloodhounds standing guard at the portal. “Hey there!” he greeted them.

One of them stepped forward and nodded curtly. “What's up?” She seemed to be a drow with fiendish blood, for she had dark gray skin, white hair, and pointed ears, but also two elegantly curved horns and a long tail.

Naghûl pointed to the archway. “We want to pass the portal, sweetheart.”

“You say sweetheart!“ She grinned and spat. “I say jink!”

“Sure, sure.” The Sensate sighed dramatically. “How much?”

She put both hands on her hips. “What do you have to offer, huh?”

“Just bought a music box with a rakish succubus,” the Sensate said with a grin. “But I'm afraid it won't do.” The guard laughed and shook her head, whereupon Naghûl began rummaging in his pockets. “What do you have in mind? A hundred each?”

“Hm.” She shook her head. ”More like three hundred each.”

“By my mother's ass!” Naghûl blurted out. “Three hundred?”

She pulled out a dagger and began cleaning her fingernails with its tip, looking bored. “The Arch-Lector has high expenses.”

“All right,” said Naghûl. “I've got a nice rock here. But it's for me and my people.” He held up a flawless ruby. “And for the way back, of course. We don't want to rot over there.”

The bloodhound put away her dagger, her interest clearly piqued. “Can I have a look?”

“Sure,” the Sensate replied sarcastically. “And then you run off and leave us standing here like pissed manes.”

“Hey, don't get cheeky!” warned the guard. ”I'm not letting you pass without checking that thing. Might as well just be a worthless piece of glass.”

Naghûl snorted derisively, but then handed her the ruby. “All right ... here, take a look.” Of course, both his initial refusal to let her examine the gem and his reluctant concession were just an act to make the scene more convincing, to behave as was customary in Plague-Mort.

The bloodhound took the gem and examined it against the light emanating from the portal - she seemed to know a thing or two about it. “Hmm, it actually looks good. All right: this nice little rock here in exchange for the passage and the return trip for the four of you, your pet, and any prisoners you may have on the way back. But slaves have to be paid for separately!”

Naghûl nodded. “Deal!”

She pocketed the ruby. ”Well then, have fun. Oh, one more thing ... The new Arch-Lector has this weird new rule: no child slaves in Plague-Mort. So if you buy any over there, you'll have to transport children otherwise.”

This information surprised Naghûl. Did Sarshán have certain limits after all? He had to tell Morânia about this. Maybe the celestial part of her wasn't completely lost? But he quickly hid his feelings from the guard by snorting disparagingly. “Those brats are useless in a smithy anyway. I don't care about them.”

The bloodhound shrugged. ”Just wanted to say.”

“Why is that?” Jana asked. “Did she say why?” Noticing the guard's skeptical look, she quickly added: “Surely there's a lot of jink to be lost?”

“No idea,” the bloodhound replied. ”It's probably just one of the lady's quirks. Every high-up has their own.”

“You're right!” Naghûl said with a laugh, then turned to his group. “Come on, everyone.”

They nodded and, for the second time in a few hours, stepped through a portal they would never have chosen if it weren't for that mysterious Prophecy …

Chapter Text

"to have a bloody halo"

Cant, meaning a dangerous celestial

Second Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Her Magnificence Archbishop Juliana Spesinfracta sat in the factol's office in the Barracks and waited. Killeen Caine, Legate of Arcadia, leaned against Sarin's desk and watched her discreetly as she calmly but sternly studied the large wall map of Ortho. She was now in her early sixties, her hair gray but still long and full, pinned up in a neat and elaborate hairstyle and adorned with the diadem that signified her rank as archbishop of the Archonites. The fine wrinkles around her eyes had deepened, but her gaze was as alert and sharp as ever. She sat very upright, her entire posture an expression of discipline and inner strength, every movement deliberate and controlled. Juliana was, as always, a model of etiquette and perfect social manners. Something Killeen Caine could not necessarily claim for himself, as he was well aware. He had to smile to himself at how often Juliana had reprimanded him for his lack of decorum when he had been a decurion, but also when he was already a prefect. Actually, she still did. Of course, he knew it was only for his own good. Delazar had said so, too, but the difference was that Killeen had always believed Juliana. He had always known that despite her strictness, she valued his qualities as well as himself as a person. She had been in Excelsior with the Archonites for almost five years now, but one thing had not changed: the half-elf would have walked through hell and high water for her. And he shared this attitude with many members of the Harmonium, especially Tonat Shar and Factol Sarin, who entered the room at that very moment. Killeen quickly pushed himself away from his desk and braced, at least to some extent.

But Sarin didn't even notice, rushing in indignantly and closing the door a little louder than necessary. He took off his gloves and threw them on the table. “What a berk!” the factol huffed, clearly upset. “He's been living here in the Cage for over ten years and would have himself put in the dead-book in such an addle-coved way!” When his gaze fell on Juliana, he interrupted himself and cleared his throat. ”Oh, Lady Juliana, you're already here. I greet you. I'm glad you found your way back to Sigil so quickly.” He bowed low.

Juliana had watched Sarin's entrance with disapproval and now rose from her chair. “I must tell you, Sarin, that your behavior has taken a turn that I do not like. There is something loutish about it.”

It seemed to take a few seconds for her words to really sink in. The paladin looked at her in disbelief. “Pardon? Something ... Excuse me?”

“Yes, indeed,” the archbishop replied ungraciously. ”Your manner of speaking just this very moment.”

Still somewhat overwhelmed by Juliana's unexpected rebuke, Sarin spread his hands. “What manner of speaking? You mean because I use Cant? Please, Juliana, I have lived in the Cage for over twenty years.”

Indignantly, Juliana twisted the right corner of her mouth. “In the Cage! Berk. Put in the dead-book. My goodness, Sarin, I know where you live. But that doesn't mean you have to use language that is more common in the lower districts than here in the Lady's Ward.”

“Well, but you know how it is. You were factol here, too, and ...”

“I am well aware of what I was,” Juliana replied sternly. ”All the more, exemplary behavior should be exercised - even in small matters. There are other things as well. For example, it is hardly appropriate to address me as Juliana by default. It is a little too personal, reserved for very private moments, which people in our positions are rarely granted.”

Sarin capitulated and bowed his head briefly under her reproachful gaze. “I ... You are right, of course. I beg your forgiveness, my lady.”

Killeen bit his lip to suppress a grin. Even as Legate of Arcadia, he had often stood before his former factol like a scolded schoolboy. Seeing that this happened even to Sarin from time to time was both fascinating and reassuring. Juliana had had such an immense influence on himself, as well as on Tonat and Sarin, that it would never completely fade away.

The archbishop nodded, but not too graciously. “That's better. But it doesn't change my overall impression. The very way you stormed in here is inappropriate for a man of your degree.”

Sarin clearly wanted to object, but he contained himself. “But how ... how did I ... storm in?” he asked, looking Juliana in the eyes again.

She raised a brow. “Oh please! The way you tore open the door, then tossed your gloves on the table ... That's no way to behave.”

“I was a little upset ...”

“That's no excuse,” she interrupted him. ”A little more discipline and decorum would suit you well.”

Killeen held his breath. Had she gone too far? Sarin was the factol, after all, and no matter what she had been in the past, such a judgment was tantamount to a direct attack.

And indeed, a spark of displeasure flashed in Sarin's dark eyes. “My lady, with all due respect I owe you and deeply feel for you, but ...”

He didn't continue, and Juliana looked at him inquiringly. “But you think I'm going too far?”

Sarin took a deep breath before answering. “Yes. I admit that my behavior just now was not the most elegant, and my choice of words might indeed have been inappropriate in higher social circles. But that is hardly enough to accuse me of a lack of decorum or even discipline. I ...” He hesitated briefly again, but then continued. ”I am factol now, no longer a decurion whom you must mold according to your standards. That time was extremely important for my personal development, and you have my deepest and most humble thanks for that, my lady. But that time is over.” His posture, his voice, his gaze betrayed a clear tension as he spoke like this to Lady Juliana.

The archbishop looked him over from head to toe, then smiled. “Good,” she replied with satisfaction. ”That is how a factol speaks. I like how you have developed. Oh, why are you looking at me like that? Did you think I was angry?”

Sarin smiled with relief. “I had considered that possibility and accepted it with the greatest reluctance, Magnificence.”

“But you accepted it. And I am glad to see that you execute your office with competence and determination. Not that I was ever unsure of that. I knew what I was doing when I made you my successor. But it was important for me to know whether you act with the same self-confidence towards me as you act towards others.”

“But in no way it diminishes my deeply felt respect for you, my lady,” the paladin assured her.

She took his right hand. “I know that, Sarin. You are exactly the leader I wanted for the Planar Harmonium. You will achieve great things, I am sure of it. Now, I must take my leave, as I have a liturgy to attend in half an hour.”

The factol bowed low and kissed her hand. “The L... Iomedae's blessings, my lady.”

She noticed his change of words in his farewell expression and acknowledged it with a knowing smile. “The blessings of Celestia, gentlemen.”

She nodded to Sarin, as well as to Killeen, who also bowed to her in farewell, then she left the room majestically.

The half-elf looked over at Sarin, a certain mischief sparkling in his violet eyes. “My respect, my friend,” he remarked. “You have passed the archbishop's trial. I didn't realize it was one until the very end.”

“Neither did I,” Sarin replied. ”And I didn't feel comfortable, believe me. I mean, she was our factol, after all. That still influences me.”

Killeen grinned. “Yes, and pretty profoundly, as I see it.”

“Oh, just laugh about it. I'm looking forward to seeing you next time she's ready to polish your manners.”

Killeen leaned against Sarin's desk with his arms crossed. “Then I will of course not be as outspoken as you.”

“Yes, I wouldn't advise that,” the paladin replied with a smile, motioning Killeen to step back from his desk with a quick wave of his right hand.

The half-elf pushed himself away from the edge. “Oh, sorry.”

Sarin waved it off. “One of your many annoying habits,” he remarked as he took his place behind his desk, but he didn't seem particularly bothered.

Killeen grinned. “Yes, one of my annoying habits ... but it's easily outweighed by my many qualities.”

Sarin removed his two scimitars from his weapon belt and placed them on the right side of his desk, as he always did. “That's why you're still my legate,” he replied, eyeing Killeen from head to toe.

His factol's scrutinizing gaze made the half-elf feel uneasy. “What ... what is it?” When Sarin didn't answer right away, he glanced down at himself and then spread his hands. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

Sarin waved it off. “No. I was just thinking. Get a chair, we need to talk.”

“That doesn't sound good. What about?”

“You'd better ask who.”

Killeen sighed deeply as he pulled a chair away from the long conference table. “I have a feeling ...”

“If Valiant returns to Sigil, we need to discuss how to handle this,“ Sarin replied.

“I have a few ideas,” the half-elf said.

Sarin looked up. “Really?”

“Well,” Killeen replied innocently. ”Petrify him. Turn him into a squirrel. Give him a key that just happens to open a portal into the Abyss. If you give me some time, I'm sure I can think of some more creative ideas.”

Sarin shot him a reproachful look but couldn't hide a grin. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Legate. But seriously ...”

“Seriously,” Killeen interjected, ”I also have another idea.”

Sarin leaned back and folded his arms. “I'm listening.”

Killeen sighed. “Well, the idea isn't quite as entertaining as the others, but it's more promising - at least I hope so. You know, there are few who have a more tense relationship with Valiant than I do, but even I have to admit: he's charismatic and politically skilled. He is a celestial, after all, and that alone goes down well with many people. He has power. And he's back in Sigil. But why is he back? Besides the vague platitudes he threw at you, there must be something else behind it. We should try to find out what his real motives are. That's the only way we can keep him in check effectively.”

Sarin nodded slowly. “You're right, he definitely has hidden motives. The Envoy also confirmed that he's working against the Chosen. Or against our alliance with the Sensates, Athar, Ciphers, and Godsmen - which in this case probably amounts to the same. According to the Envoy, he doesn't know anything about the three swords, but he may well know other things.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Killeen growled. ”We need to keep an eye on him and find out what he's up to. I think we should focus on our strengths. Valiant is good at manipulation and deception. We're better at finding facts and uncovering the truth. Valiant won't reveal his intentions, of course, but he'll leave clues. He'll talk to people, conduct transactions, seek allies. If we can observe some of his moves, we might be able to figure out where he's headed.”

The factol sighed and rubbed his temples. Killeen knew exactly what was on his friend's mind: Sarin didn't like intrigue and secrets, but he knew they were often necessary in Sigil. So he nodded in agreement. “You're right. But as you said yourself, Valiant is politically astute. He'll suspect we're watching him.”

“Of course,” Killeen conceded. “We have to proceed with great discretion. Ideally, we'll give him the impression that he's in control, while we're actually outmaneuvering him.”

Sarin eyed him seriously. “I know a man who would be perfect for the job - but I sent him to Arcadia as my legate.”

Killeen sighed. He hadn't been eager to become Legate of Arcadia back then. Although it was his home plane, he had been in Sigil for a long time, and not without reason. Despite all its dark sides, the Cage had always appealed to him more than Melodia, which was paradisical and light-filled, but also extremely orderly and, for his taste, a little too quiet and unspectacular. But not without good reason had Sarin chosen to send him to Arcadia, rather than Tonat, who would certainly have been better suited to Melodia in terms of character. The actions of the former factol Delazar had led to the slip of Arcadia's entire third layer – a catastrophe of unprecedented proportions, even by planar standards. Killeen's cheerful, lively nature and his often unorthodox methods were intended to ensure that Arcadia's philosophical orientation swung back more towards Celestia than towards Mechanus. The half-elf had accepted and understood his factol's decision, but it had still been difficult for him to leave Sigil. And he enjoyed visiting the City of Doors regularly. But Sarin was right that he couldn't investigate here like he used to. “Yes,” he agreed. “Back then, as simple decurions, when we were cracking the difficult cases that the Cage confronted us with ... Back then, I would have taken care of it myself. Now I have to delegate a little.” He couldn't quite hide a certain pain at the fact that the days of investigating the streets of Sigil with Sarin and Tonat Shar were over.

His friend noticed it, of course. “I know,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. “I also miss those days sometimes. They were simpler times - without us realizing it at the time.”

Killeen nodded wistfully, but then he straightened up. The past wasn't coming back - except maybe in the form of Valiant. And now they had to deal with him. “All right, we'll keep an eye on him. I'll assign a few select people I know we can trust and who know how to gather information discreetly.”

“Good.” Sarin leaned back in his chair. ”I have complete confidence in your instincts, my friend. You've always been good at these things. Let me know as soon as you've chosen the people.”

Killeen nodded, rose, and took his leave with a slight bow, as he did most often since his old friend had become factol. On the way to his quarters, which he still had in the Barracks, he went through a list of people in his head who might be suited for the task at hand.

Chapter Text

“I wouldn't sweat over a few bugs in your flagon. The acid'll kill ’em before they're half way down your throat.”

Kor Clotbur, tiefling bartender, offering a little friendly advice to a new customer

Second Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

If Plague-Mort had been the courtyard, they had now clearly arrived in hell. After passing through the portal, they stood on hot, ashy ground through which lava shimmered here and there. The air was also uncomfortably warm and thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, a toxic mixture that settled in their lungs and burned their throats with every breath. A thick and swollen red sun hung in the reddish sky, dripping light like blood from the sky.

“Welcome to the Abyss,” Naghûl muttered.

He looked at the others and decided to give them a moment to get used to their surroundings. After all, none of them had been in the Abyss before, and the sight took getting used to. The hellish vastness of the first layer Pazunia was a chaotic jumble of jagged black rocks and yawning chasms, all brimming with malevolent energy. Cracks filled with molten lava ran through the bleak plain like fiery veins, casting an eerie light. Above them, the sky was a stormy canvas of churning storm clouds and flickering lightning. The portal to Plague-Mort, a tall arch of deep black stone, lay behind them, the split citadel of Broken Reach directly in front of them. Only a few hundred steps away, a colossal rock plateau rose into the sky, its rugged walls seemingly made of red-hot crystal.

And up there, ominously enthroned, a sight met their eyes that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying - a huge fortress, split in two by an ancient, cataclysmic force, a testament to the violence and chaos that had once permeated this place. They slowly began to move, approaching the plateau at the foot of which they could already make out various people and creatures, humanoids as well as demons and even some young dragons, it seemed. The closer they got, the better they could spot the details of Broken Reach up there. The left half of the fortress was a twisted tangle of dark iron and obsidian, its towers reaching into the blood-red sky like the claws of a monstrous beast. Fences lined with jagged spikes surrounded the structure, and banners made from torn and burnt fabric fluttered in the biting wind. Guards in terrifying armor patrolled the walls, the constant clanging of weapons and the harsh barking of commands echoed through the air. The right half was just as imposing, but threatening in a different way. Here, the walls were covered with a creeping, fleshy growth that pulsed with a sickly light. The entire building seemed to breathe with a malevolent hunger. Ducts and windows gaped like the mouths of voracious beasts, and the screams of the damned echoed from deep within, carried by the wind like the whispers of ghosts. Between the two halves of the fortress lay a great chasm, a huge, gaping precipice that seemed to reach into infinity. Lattices of iron and bone spanned it, connecting both parts of Broken Reach, each a dubious path at best, directly above the void. Dark energy crackled above the chasm, and ghostly figures flickered and swirled in its depths, a haunting reminder of the corrupt forces at work here. Broken Reach - split in two yet indestructible - stood like a grim sentinel over the endless expanse of Pazunia.

“By the great creator,“ Sgillin muttered quietly to himself as he let his gaze wander over the hellish fortress.

“Yes, the pleasant part is over,” Naghûl said with a sigh. “Now we get down to the nitty-gritty.” He looked at Lereia. “I think it's time ...”

The tigress laid her ears back and seemed to hesitate for a moment. But then she bowed her mighty head in agreement. They moved behind the last formation of jagged rocks that still stood between them and the groups gathered at the foot of the plateau. There, Lereia could transform without anyone seeing her. Kiyoshi handed her her backpack, which she carried behind one of the large boulders, holding it between her teeth. It took a little longer than usual for her to reappear, probably because putting on the unfamiliar clothes had taken her some time. When she showed herself to the others, she seemed a little uncertain, but Naghûl raised his eyebrows in admiration. The disguise chosen by the Godsmen was very appropriate for Lereia's role, that of the mercenary leader's slave. At first glance, she wore only several flowing layers of dark red fabric, draped in such a way that they revealed a lot, but also concealed enough to arouse curiosity. On closer inspection, however, Naghûl noticed that underneath was a tight-fitting, short and sleeveless garment made of light fabric, which would prevent her from possibly being embarrassed by the revealing outer garment. Thin shoes with soft soles allowed her to move silently, and to feign her role as a slave, she had temporary tattoos on her visible skin that indicated ownership through magical binding. They had not been visible under the tiger fur. Lereia also wore narrow rings with an eyelet on both wrists, which could be connected by a thin chain. She carried a small box with her, which supposedly contained Naghûl's personal belongings, but in reality held thieves' tools, healing potions, and foci for minor magical effects for distraction purposes. Whether Ambar or someone else from the faction had chosen the disguise, it was perfect for the role Lereia was supposed to play.

“Done,” she said with a weak smile, and Naghûl nodded encouragingly.

“You look good. Believe me, we'll pull this off just as convincingly as we did in Plague-Mort.”

The others nodded, more or less confidently, but all straightened up to get back into their roles as they emerged from behind the jagged rock formation. They weren't the only travelers here, as they had already noticed from a distance. A little ahead of them, a smaller group was also approaching the fortress: a gaunt tiefling wearing a bone-adorned robe, a drow with blood-red streaks in her white hair, and a green dragonborn with a huge axe. Naghûl nodded to himself. At least as far as their appearance was concerned, they were well prepared and should be able to blend in without attracting attention.

The space in front of the towering plateau on which Broken Reach rose was seething with hellish activity, a chaotic mixture of demons and damned souls. The ground, a patchwork of obsidian and cracked, heat-scarred rock, radiated an oppressive heat that distorted the air and sent shimmering heat waves into the sky. Scattered across this hellish landscape were pools of viscous, glowing lava, their surfaces occasionally breaking open to release poisonous fumes into the already acrid atmosphere. These pools served as nests for young lava dragons, creatures with scales of cooling magma and eyes that burned like hellfire. They rested at the edge of the lava, their tails slithering lazily through the molten rock as they waited to bring new arrivals up to the plateau. The mesa towered over the area below like a malevolent guardian, its steep walls streaked with pulsing red lines reminiscent of exposed arteries. The dragons seemed to be the only way up; there were no stairs, ladders, or elevators in sight, nor was there a single cave-like entrance at the foot of the plateau.

A colorful mix of new arrivals was already milling about down here. They stood in groups, eyeing each other suspiciously, their hands never far from weapons or arcane foci. This chaos was supervised by Red Shroud's servants, cambions, alus, kelvezu, and even a few succubi and incubi. They moved through the crowd with predatory grace as they organized transport to the fortress above. Some carried books that appeared to be bound in humanoid skin and wrote down names with quills dripping a suspiciously red ink. At irregular intervals, a lava dragon trudged to the edge of its pool, its body still steaming as the outer layer of magma cooled and cracked. New arrivals climbed onto special saddles on the creatures' backs, which were made of heat-resistant skin and bones. When the dragons took off, they left a trail of slag and ash behind them, and the passengers clung to the saddle pommels as they were carried upward through swirling vortices of sulfur-laden air. Naghûl sighed softly. So this was the path they would have to take, for better or worse.

The entire area was bathed in a reddish-green light, a mixture of the glow of the lava pools and the sickly green radiance of floating witch light balls that wafted through the air and served as light sources. The shadows cast by this unnatural lighting seemed to move on their own, reaching out with grasping tendrils toward the unwary. Naghûl led his companions across this chaotic, gloomy place, taking care to keep a distance from the other groups that was far enough to avoid trouble but not so far that they appeared fearful. They passed a vulture-like vrock and an alu with waist-length black curls. Naghûl couldn't help but stare at the beautiful woman; it happened almost automatically. She didn't even notice the group, however, but was engaged in conversation with the vrock, who was now hissing indignantly.

“I don't care!” he croaked in Abyssal. “Graz'zt is not my master!”

The alu lasciviously placed one hand on her hip. “Well, sweetie, don't explain it to me. I'm just delivering a message. I don't care about the rest.”

The vulture demon snarled venomously, and Naghûl tore away from the sight of the alu. He must not give in to the carnal temptations of the Abyss, ever. That was one of the most important principles here. “Let's find a way up,” he said, looking around to see if one of the lava dragons was free.

His gaze lingered on a group of nightmares whose fiery manes and tails glowed in the hazy light.

Lereia had also seen them and was staring at them with fascination. “Eerie, but beautiful nonetheless,“ she murmured.

“I wonder if they're for sale?” Sgillin whispered.

“That's not why we're here,“ Kiyoshi reminded him.

“We can at least take a look,” the half-elf replied irritably, but then moved away from the nightmares with a slight sigh.

Kiyoshi, on the other hand, had approached the wall of the plateau to examine it more closely. The rock seemed to glow from within and looked very smooth. “Interesting,” the young soldier remarked. “A kind of crystalline substance with inclusions. Formerly living inclusions. We are walking on a kind of glass into which souls and demons are ingrained.”

A closer look confirmed Kiyoshi's words: in some places, demonic grimaces and desperate humanoid faces could be seen in the glass-like rock, trapped there like insects in amber. It also became clear that the walls were far too smooth to even consider climbing up.

“I guess the only way up is on the backs of the lava dragons,” Naghûl concluded.

Not far from them was a magma pool with no group waiting at the moment. The area was bordered by a row of jagged obsidian pillars with Abyssal runes etched into their surfaces. Twisted metal rods connected the pillars, forming a makeshift waiting area. Two young lava dragons waited at the edge of the pool, their bodies covered with cooling magma plates that moved over a core of liquid fire. Steam rose from their nostrils as they eyed their potential passengers with eyes like glowing coals. Saddles made of black leather and bone were strapped to their backs, each providing enough space for three medium-sized people. This pool was guarded by an incubus whose unearthly beauty stood in stark contrast to the hellish surroundings. He was tall, with flawless alabaster skin and deep, swirling violet eyes. His long hair flowed ink-black over his shoulders, two small curved horns protruded from his forehead, and leathery wings were folded on his back. He was dressed in black leather that accentuated his perfect physique in a sinful way. A belt of intertwined silver bones encircled his waist, from which hung a cruel-looking whip and a book bound in skin. He eyed the approaching group with a mixture of boredom and predatory interest. Naghûl took a deep breath before approaching the demon.

“Hey there, greetings,” he said, not in Abyssal, but in washed-out Common so that the others could understand the conversation.

A seductive smile played around the incubus' lips. ”What do you want, hm?”

“Up to Broken Reach. Can you help us?”

Naghûl didn't fail to notice that the women in the group were staring at the incubus with fascination, but then Jana quickly crossed her arms and looked away, apparently trying to concentrate intently on the ground. Naghûl couldn't blame them; his gaze had also been immediately drawn to the alu – and she was only half succubus.

The incubus briefly surveyed the group, and the tiefling found it difficult not to suddenly feel inconspicuous and uninteresting in his presence - an unfamiliar sensation. “I might be able to help you,” the demon replied, then his gaze wandered to Lereia and Jana. “Hey, you have chicks with you and a guy is talking to me?”

“Sure,“ Naghûl replied quickly. “They're speechless.”

The two women were clearly embarrassed when the incubus looked at them. His gaze wandered between the two of them, then he pointed at Lereia. “I want to talk to her.” The nails on his long, elegant fingers were obsidian black.

Lereia seemed to freeze for a moment, then instinctively moved a little closer to Naghûl. “Greetings,” she said quietly, but did not look the incubus in the eyes.

He scrutinized the young woman intensely, and his gaze could only be described as lewd. “Hmm …” His smile deepened. “An exceptional beauty even.”

Naghûl noticed Sgillin biting his lip and hoped his friend would be able to contain himself. They had to play along if they wanted to go up.

The demon now turned back to the Sensate. “She's yours, eh?” This time he spoke Abyssal, and the others promptly exchanged worried glances when they could no longer understand the conversation.

“That's right,” Naghûl replied, also in Abyssal. A certain relief washed over him at the decision to pass off Lereia as his slave here. The tanar'ri were chaotic, but in a trading place like Broken Reach, personal property was generally respected.

The incubus turned his glowing gaze back to Lereia. ”What a pity.” With an ambiguous smile, he switched back to Common. “We would have had a lot of fun, dearie. I could have given you pleasures you never knew the female body is capable of feeling.” His voice was melodic and enticing, but with an unmistakable hint of underlying malice.

Naghûl noticed Sgillin snort briefly, but Lereia's breathing quickened. “It's your misfortune that she's mine,” he resumed the conversation. “And my good fortune.”

The incubus laughed gleefully. “Very well, another form of payment then.”

Naghûl nodded quickly. “I think we have something that might change your mind.”

“Let's see,” replied the demon, but he continued to stare at Lereia, practically undressing her with his eyes.

“Sgolag,” the Sensate addressed Sgillin by his alias. ”Show him what you have.”

The half-elf, who had regained his sense of humor, looked down briefly at himself and grinned. “You think he cares?”

Naghûl had to laugh briefly. For once, he hadn't intended his words to be ambiguous.

The incubus grinned broadly as well. ”Hey, I stopped myself from saying it ... only because of the chicks here, of course.”

Jana cleared her throat and took a step behind Naghûl while Sgillin began rummaging in his pockets. Kiyoshi watched with a stony expression, and Lereia kept her head down, but apparently couldn't help glancing at the incubus whenever he wasn't looking.

Finally, the half-elf pulled out a small bottle containing a deep green liquid. “This is something you won't find anywhere else. But that's for the return flight, too.”

Naghûl knew what the concoction was: a distillate made from green nuts that the half-elf had had made by a friend who was an alchemist. Consuming these nuts caused everything to appear in a delicate shade of green for a while.

“What is this stuff?” the demon asked skeptically.

Sgillin looked around. ”Does anyone have something the size of a thimble?”

Naghûl took the cap off his water bottle and held it out to the half-elf.

He filled it with the nut essence and passed it to the incubus. “Drink.”

The demon took the makeshift shot glass, but his gaze remained alert. “Should there be holy water in there ...”

“Nonsense,” the half-elf waved him off.

“Hm.” The incubus thought for a moment, then shrugged and drank the green essence. Then he handed the cap back. ”Well, I don't feel anything ... Wait ... I'm suddenly getting so warm ...”

That wasn't the usual effect, and Sgillin looked at the demon in amazement. The latter, however, eyed Lereia once more and let out a throaty hum. “This wonderful creature ... can't I buy her after all?” He suddenly seemed a little tipsy.

The young woman looked at Sgillin and Naghûl in alarm, but the tiefling placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “No, you can't. But you can have more of this stuff.”

“That stuff is funny, I can tell.” The incubus laughed, and Naghûl noticed that his skin was gradually turning a delicate green. “All right, deal. Give me the stuff and you can go up.”

Sgillin apparently swallowed his astonishment and looked at Naghûl. “All of it?”

“Half,” the tiefling objected. “We want to make sure you bring us back down.”

“Extremely rare,” Sgillin emphasized as he poured half of the essence into another bottle and handed it to the incubus. ”Because I'm the only one who knows where to get the ingredients.”

“Pfff ...” The demon rolled his eyes, but then nodded. “All right ...” He spread his arms dramatically. ”Climb up there, the dragons will take you up.”

Relieved at the successful deal and looking forward to flying on a lava dragon, Naghûl now felt a certain Sensate excitement welling up inside him as he approached one of the impressive creatures. “I'm sitting in front!”

While the incubus took the bottle and took another small sip, the tiefling climbed into the front seat of the saddle, followed by Lereia and Jana. Kiyoshi, who had watched the whole scene with an impassive expression, and Sgillin went to the other dragon.

“A little tip for free,” the half-elf said with a wink as he climbed up. “Take a sip of it before you have fun with a woman.”

The incubus grinned. “But I still can't use the chick here to test it out?”

He pointed at Lereia, and Naghûl shrugged apologetically. “No, otherwise I'll know she's not having fun with me. Don't take away my illusion.”

The demon laughed loudly. ”You poor mortal men.”

Naghûl grinned and congratulated himself inwardly on every hour of acting lessons he had ever taken in the Festhall. In situations like this, it always helped him considerably to successfully conceal his actual discomfort and simply play along. And it had worked; he had been able to divert the incubus' budding interest away from Lereia. Not that it had felt good, but what did in the Abyss? As Naghûl sat in the saddle, sweat immediately broke out on his forehead: the heat emanating from the lava dragon's body was almost unbearable, even with a certain fire resistance. However, he didn't have much time to think about it, because the dragon rose into the air with a deafening roar, and its powerful wings sent gusts of scorching heat in all directions.

In stark contrast to his joyful anticipation, Naghûl quickly realized that the ascent was more of an agonizing experience. The dragon snaked its way through columns of poisonous smoke and streams of overheated gas that poured out of the cliff face everywhere. Occasionally, it dove and veered off course, forcing its passengers to cling desperately to the pommels to avoid falling off. The landscape below them grew smaller, revealing the true expanse of the hellish terrain that surrounded Broken Reach. As they reached the edge of the plateau, the full terrifying splendor of the fortress came into view. Tall towers of black stone rose into the blood-red sky, and winged demons circled them like scavenging birds. The dragon landed with a bone-shaking thud on a wide obsidian platform and took off again after the group had dismounted with unsteady legs.

As they climbed down the ladder from the landing platform, they were immediately overwhelmed by the atmosphere of Broken Reach: before them rose a massive gate of metal and bone, flanked by the towering statues of two demon lords, probably Pazuzu and Dagon, if Naghûl interpreted the symbolism correctly. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, and even up here, crowds of visitors of all kinds were milling about - tieflings, humans, drow, yuan-ti, lesser demons and other hellish creatures. The massive gate wings stood open, and a group of chained slaves was just being driven into the interior of the fortress. On the other side of the gate, there was a bustle of activity, for there was a market and vendors were touting their wares, some of them certainly too horrible to comprehend. At the entrance stood a single kelvezu with deep red skin and coal-black hair. These tanar'ri often served as assassins and infiltrators in the Blood War, but this one seemed to be on guard duty. However, she did not check any of the new arrivals or ask any questions, just watching boredly as the visitors streamed in and out, polishing a jagged saber. Since she didn't seem particularly interested in who came and left, Naghûl decided it would be safe to ask her a few questions.

He stepped closer and nodded in greeting. “Hey there. I'm burning with curiosity about the famous fortress here. Is there anything in particular I should be aware of? I don't want to take a wrong turn and get eaten by a goristro.”

The kelvezu shrugged with a grin. “The outdoor areas are freely accessible, as are the quarters and suites. If there's somewhere you're not allowed to go, there will be guards.”

Naghûl laughed. “That's easy, even for me.” He reached into his belt pouch and gave her a handful of coins. “Have a booze.”

With a satisfied nod, the demoness pocketed the money. ”I will. Go in.”

The Sensate nodded. It could never hurt to be on good terms with a few of the guards in a place like this; that was one of the reasons their factions had given them enough money for this trip. “Come on,” he said to the others and passed the gate.

“Yes, let's go,” Jana sighed quietly.

In the courtyard of Broken Reach, nestled between bloodstained walls and open to the threatening sky, the demonic market thrived - a dangerous bazaar where unimaginable goods were traded under the watchful eyes of sinister merchants. It was a labyrinth of stalls and tents, all built from a hodgepodge of different materials - bent iron, bare bones, tarnished brass and the leather hides of countless hellish beasts. The air was filled with the disharmonious sound of Abyssal haggling, while the stench of sulfur and rot mingled with the more exotic scents of forbidden spices and arcane elixirs. There was a bustle of activity here, where dubious traders, Blood War mercenaries, shady fortune hunters and adventurers mingled with all manner of demons and other hellish creatures. The falling darkness did nothing to dampen the commotion, especially since it didn't really get dark because the lava and crystal walls radiated too much light.

Naghûl took a deep breath. “One more thing. You really need to think for yourselves here. I have to concentrate fully on the conversations with the demons, otherwise we'll be mincemeat before we know it. Don't do anything stupid and don't wander off on your own.”

Jana nodded uneasily. “I'd say we take a look around first,” she said quietly. “We need to find some clues on how to get into the catacombs.”

So they ventured into the market of Broken Reach, taking care to stay close together and not lose sight of anyone. The merchants here were as diverse and grotesque as the goods they offered. At one stall, a huge, muscle-bound demon with purple skin and black horns sat enthroned above the plundered weapons from what must have been a dozen battles. His eyes gleamed greedily as he showed a kenku a curved sword still encrusted with blood. Next to him, an emaciated tiefling woman in tattered robes hawked potions and elixirs. Glowing liquids bubbled and hissed on her rickety wooden cart. The vials glistened with an otherworldly light, and the woman's long fingers moved with astonishing precision as she mixed concoctions that promised power, immortality, or twisted dreams. Not far away, a bloated demon with corpulent folds of flesh bulging over his iron armor offered curses and hexes. He was covered in talismans and fetishes made of bones, hair, and tendons, each one imbued with a dark spell. Quasits swarmed everywhere, selling jewelry and curiosities from dirty bags. Their alert eyes darted nervously around, always on the lookout for opportunities or wary of threats. Other merchants offered soul coins, fragments of ancient relics and even the preserved eyes of decapitated prophets - an assortment of bizarre and often dangerous items, many of them magical or cursed.

Once, a shadow mastiff approached Lereia and sniffed in her direction, but then seemed to hesitate, tucked its tail between its legs and ran away. Naghûl could see the young woman grinning contentedly. Even in her human form, some of the creatures here could sense the threat emanating from the tigress, and this seemed to restore some of Lereia's confidence, which had been temporarily shaken by her encounter with the incubus.

“We should also ask around for black mithral,” Kiyoshi said quietly. “After all, that's why we're here.”

“Then maybe we should go to a merchant,” Sgillin suggested. ”Perhaps one of the weapon sellers knows where to find black mithral around here. Oh, and one more thing: if you see a sign of a skull in front of a sun, let me know.”

Naghûl nodded. Sgillin probably would recognize the sign as the contact his cell had given him in Broken Reach. They let their eyes wander over the jumble of stalls, dodging a dretch who staggered past them with a cleaver in one hand and a half-rotten Abyssal chicken in the other. In the middle of the market stood a large, gnarled tree that seemed to be made of iron and bone. In its shadow sat a demoness with alabaster skin and black wings, offering chains and shackles for binding celestial beings in a seductive voice. Naghûl caught himself thinking that this was a tempting commodity given Lord Valiant's imminent return to Sigil. But he pushed the thoughts aside. That was not why they were here, and he had to stay focused, however uplifting the idea was.

They passed a wizard haggling with a drow for rare components, and then a group of hell knights searching for improvements to their corrupted blades. Weapons were exactly what they were looking for, and they slowed their pace. Soon they discovered a purple tent standing somewhat apart from the other market stalls. As they approached, they spotted various weapons and pieces of armor, all radiating an aura of evil: swords with serrated blades, maces in the form of screaming faces and armor that appeared to be made of blackened bones were among the goods on display. Inside the dimly lit tent were numerous other weapon racks, and in a glass display case lay vials containing strange, glowing liquids - probably poisons or alchemical enhancements for the weapons on offer. In one corner, a forge blazed with otherworldly flames that cast eerie shadows, and behind a counter made of polished obsidian stood the weapons dealer - an attractive man with ashen skin and black horns. His eyes glowed like coals, and he wore expensive dark leather armor decorated with filigree gold. The man had an aura that was all too familiar to them from the negotiations over the lava dragon ride, but to Naghûl's relief, it was not as intense as that of the incubus. He seemed to be a cambion. Kiyoshi nodded and approached the tent with determination, while Naghûl could hear Lereia sigh softly.

“Tough day for you, sweetheart,” Sgillin remarked with a grin, that earned him a grim look from Jana.

The cambion greeted the group with a smile that reached his fangs but not his eyes.

Naghûl nodded to him and looked at the displays. ”What do you have here?”

“Good armor, bracers, high-quality weapons that can cut through both flesh and soul.“ The man's voice was like a soft purr as he gestured expansively toward his wares.

“Do you have bows?” Sgillin inquired.

“No, but how about a nice scythe? Or a whip?“ He grinned at Lereia. “Lady, I'll give you one at half the price to keep your harem in check.”

“She's part of my harem,” Naghûl corrected him.

“I'd say so, too,” the merchant replied with a laugh.

Lereia demonstratively linked arms with Naghûl, but couldn't help grinning at this exchange of words. Kiyoshi examined the weapons, tilted his head, and then nodded appreciatively.

“Do you have a long sword that might interest me?” Naghûl asked.

The cambion showed them a few blades, which were of good quality but neither made of particularly rare material nor truly masterfully crafted.

The Sensate shook his head appraisingly. “Kimon,” he said, turning to Kiyoshi. ”Show him what a long sword is.”

The young soldier took the bundle from his back, in which he carried the blades intended for trade and barter, unpacked them, and fanned them out before the merchant.

The latter nodded. “Yes, they look promising.”

“That's his harem,” Naghûl remarked with a grin. “You see, Kimon is a master of his craft.”

“Yes, indeed,” admitted the cambion. “So you want to sell these beautiful blades?”

“Yes, but not only that. We're looking for something special so he can forge even better weapons.” Naghûl lowered his voice and leaned slightly forward. “Something that makes Broken Reach so unique.”

“Black mithral?” The merchant gasped.

The Sensate frowned questioningly. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, for one thing, I don't have any at the moment.” The cambion raised his hands regretfully. “I sold the last two ingots yesterday. For another thing ... it's not for sale to just anyone. Mistress Red has a few overseers who keep an eye on the mines and the sales. You'll have to talk to one of them.”

“And how do I get hold of one of them?“ Naghûl wanted to know.

“I could talk to one and recommend you,” the merchant offered. “I'd do that if I get a good price for these beautiful weapons. I'd give you five hundred ivory bits for one of these blades.”

Surprisingly, this wasn't a bad price. The merchant seemed to be really interested in the deal – which spoke for the quality of the weapons forged by Kiyoshi and was certainly beneficial to their cover as mercenaries.

“Sounds like a good deal,” Naghûl replied.

The cambion grinned contentedly. “All right, I'll see if I can make a contact. Come back tomorrow and I hope the deal will be done.”

“Agreed,” said the tiefling, extending his hand, which the merchant shook. “Can you recommend somewhere for us to stay?” asked the tiefling. “Preferably without manes.”

“With the money you have, you can surely afford some of the suites,” explained the cambion, pointing to a nearby door that apparently led into the interior of the fortress. “Go that way until you can't go any further, and you'll find the merchant's lounge. You can ask there for the suites.” He winked at Lereia. ”One for you and one for your harem, huh?”

Lereia laughed and continued to hold on to Naghûl's arm. The Sensate said goodbye with a grin and headed straight for the door the merchant had pointed out. The swollen red sun was already sinking slowly behind the glowing rocks, but it only grew a little darker and not noticeably cooler. Since the conversation with the cambion had been more successful than he had hoped, Naghûl decided that it was time to find lodgings and get some rest. In a place like the market of Broken Reach, where nothing was sacred and everything was for sale, he did not want to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. On the way to the entrance, a shadowy figure crossed their path, vaguely humanoid but completely gray, its face contorted into an inhuman grimace of pure madness, with empty, milky-white eyes.

“I think ... I was once human,” the figure whispered in a voice that sounded hollow and pain-filled. ”Did I die here? ... I remember ... a small town? Forests? ... No, that's not possible. I've always been here ... haven't I?”

Lereia and Sgillin recoiled, and Jana immediately slowed her pace at the sight. Kiyoshi's hand seemed to move almost unconsciously towards his weapon.

“A bodak,” Naghûl explained quietly. ”Undead creatures without personality or soul, created by contact with pure evil, for example by a nightwalker. When all memories of their former existence are destroyed, they become relentless and cruel hunters. We'd better keep our distance while this one is still in a state of confusion.”

The others nodded in agreement, and they quickly scurried past the bodak, opened the iron door, and entered Broken Reach. They found themselves in a dimly lit entrance hall with walls made of polished obsidian. Torches with eerie, multicolored flames provided uneven lighting and cast strange shadows. Only a single corridor led off from here, just as the merchant had described, and they followed it. Tapestries on both sides depicted scenes of conquests and torture on various layers of the Abyss, and the floor was made of a mosaic of dark stone and something that looked like molten bone. The air grew heavier with the smell of sulfur and exotic incense.

Finally, they reached an ornate archway carved with writhing demonic figures. Behind it lay what appeared to be a bar and the merchant's lounge. The corridor opened into a large, round hall with a vaulted ceiling that seemed to reflect the swirling chaos of the Abyss itself. The bar dominated the left side of the room, its counter consisting of a single slab of volcanic glass. Behind it were shelves lined with bottles of various shapes and sizes containing liquids that glowed, swirled, and sometimes moved on their own. Seating areas with black and red divans were scattered throughout the room, where various groups of visitors engaged in quiet conversation. A haze of multicolored smoke hung in the air, and the soft murmur of voices was occasionally interrupted by shrill laughter or angry hissing.

Naghûl nodded gently. Yes, anyone who thought of the hellish fortress as nothing more than gloomy catacombs, dirty cages or the black mithral mines was mistaken. In the dark heart of Broken Reach existed a world of insidious opulence and cruel decadence. The fortress was not the home of a powerful succubus for nothing, and in addition to dungeons, torture chambers and forges, it also housed luxurious suites, bars and baths. Where to end up, whether in the stocks or in a canopy bed, depended on one's own skill and wallet, on the ruthlessness one was capable of, but also simply on pure luck. Did you catch the eye of an incubus who was a favorite of Red Shroud? Or were you unlucky enough to knock over the drink of a marilith general who was stopping over in Broken Reach? That alone could mean the difference between freedom and slavery, life and death. Demons were born into this world. Many mortals chose to do business here of their own free will. While it was at least in the nature of the tanar'ri, however corrupt, to feel at home here, Naghûl would never understand what attracted a human, tiefling or half-elf here when they could choose Arborea instead.

And yet, more than enough had chosen the Abyss and were now gathered here in the lounge, sitting around tables carved from petrified wood, negotiating dark deals over cups of steaming, hellish brew. It was a disparate mix of fiends and corrupt mortals. A breathtakingly beautiful succubus lolled on a divan, surrounded by several kelvezu guards, while at another table a group of necromancers sat together, apparently haggling over a powerful artifact. Every interaction seemed marked by intrigue, betrayal and the constant possibility of violence. It was not a place where even a halfway decent creature could feel comfortable, and yet these thoughts faded into the background when Naghûl's gaze fell on the succubus. Her skin was flawless as alabaster, contrasting sharply with her flowing red hair, from which curved horns protruded. Her eyes, a swirling violet with a golden sheen, seemed to capture and hold the gaze of anyone who dared to look at her. She was wrapped in gauzy silk that left little to the imagination, and the fabric shimmered and changed color with her every subtle movement. A knowing smile played on her full, blood-red lips as she surveyed the room with regal indifference. Naghûl almost tripped over one of the divans, but Lereia gently pulled him aside at the last moment. Sgillin's eyes were also immediately fixed on the succubus, and not even the ever-disciplined Kiyoshi could hide his fascination. The demoness eyed them briefly with a predatory gaze and ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips in a thoughtful manner. But then she turned back to her conversation partner, a wolf-headed arcanaloth who was leafing through a thick tome. The yugoloth supplied both tanar'ri and baatezu with weapons for the Blood War, so the wolf lady was certainly here to do business. Arcanaloths were powerful, cunning, and dangerous, and it was best to avoid them if possible.

“Stay away from the wolf-headed one,“ Naghûl whispered in warning as he tried to tear his eyes away from the succubus.

“Mhm, it's best not to tangle with them,” Sgillin agreed.

He should know, having done business with the smuggler queen Shemeshka in Sigil, Naghûl thought to himself. The memories seemed to make the half-elf quite uncomfortable, for he gave the divan with the succubus and the arcanaloth a wide berth.

“We'd better ask someone about the suites,” Jana said quietly. ”Maybe at the bar over there?”

Naghûl nodded and headed for the left side of the hall, taking care not to get too close to any of the seating areas. Once, however, they had to pass quite close to a large hellcat. These impressive, intelligent animals were the size of mighty lions and, like those big cats, had thick manes. But their fur was red-orange, and pointed horns grew behind their ears and out of their shoulders. Bright tongues of flame licked repeatedly from their manes. Lereia paused when she spotted the hellcat, but then slowly nodded to it. Naghûl held his breath. Like the shadow mastiff outside, this predator could clearly recognize Lereia's true nature, but was that to their advantage or disadvantage? The hellcat pulled back its lips and growled softly, but did not actually seem aggressive. Lereia looked at it and let out a soft hiss, which sounded more like a greeting than a threat. The hellcat sniffed, hissed back, shook its mane, and then majestically returned to its original resting place. Naghûl relaxed, and Jana beside him breathed audibly in relief. Lereia watched the predator with fascination, then turned back to Naghûl and nodded, signaling to continue toward the bar.

The walls on either side of the volcanic glass counter were lined with dark velvet and decorated with macabre trophies and artifacts, each of which surely told a story of pain and betrayal. The bloody red light of Pazunia fell through iron-studded windows, casting eerie patterns on the floor. Behind the bar stood a drow tiefling whose obsidian skin was adorned with intricate silver tattoos. Small horns protruded from his white hair and his eyes glowed red. He was pouring Black Nectar into transparent, bone-shaped glasses - a spirituous liquor with a silky consistency and a bittersweet taste made from the rare shadow lotus that grew only in the darkest corners of the Abyss. Several guests sat on bar stools: a group of tiefling merchants arguing in hushed tones about some contract, and a warrior in black armor, apparently a Blood War mercenary, who was probably nursing his wounds and having a drink - Abyss Brew, judging by the smell, a foamy, dark beer made from hellish herbs and mushroom spores. A little apart from them, a young night hag, beautiful and therefore most likely disguised, sat on one of the high stools. Her skin was delicate gray, and her long, dark hair twisted like living shadows. She sipped a drink that gave off a soft, ghostly sound when she brought it to her lips.

As Naghûl and the others approached the bar, the conversation of the tiefling merchants faded to whispers and they looked over suspiciously. Unimpressed, the Sensate took a seat and briefly sized up the night hag. She returned his gaze with glowing eyes, one azure blue and one deep red. Naghûl had actually wanted to ask the bartender about the suites, but somehow he suddenly lost himself in the intense eye contact with the night hag ... He couldn't explain why he kept staring at her, nor was he sure how long his gaze had been fixed on her when Sgillin nudged him lightly in the side. He startled and shook his head dizzily, while the drow tiefling behind the bar put on a broad grin. The young hag smiled darkly and twirled a strand of her long black hair around her finger as she took another sip of her drink.

Naghûl could feel the frowns of his companions and cleared his throat before turning to the bartender. “We're looking for suitable sleeping quarters. Can you help us?”

“Ahhh, suitable.” The drow grinned. “The gentleman is looking for suites, yes?”

“That's right.” Naghûl smiled politely while the night hag leaned against the bar in feigned innocence and studied him closely. Her gaze made him nervous ... He smiled uncertainly at her and brushed a strand of hair from his face, then did so again, even though the strand was no longer there. What was wrong with him? He was usually more hardened from his years of experience in the planes. The bartender grinned even more broadly, and the young hag now lowered her eyes coyly, with a girlish smile - but immediately her eyelids lifted again and her glowing eyes winked at him, full of promise. Naghûl felt a wave of heat welling up inside him ... Damn it! Had she just successfully charmed him? It certainly felt like it ...

He cleared his throat once more and forced himself to look at the drow. “Yes, are ... um, are there any rooms available?”

The bartender laughed loudly, apparently less amused by the question itself than by Naghûl's difficulty in concentrating on the conversation. ”No idea. You'll have to ask upstairs. There at the back, next to the last set of seats, up the stairs.”

“Thanks,” Naghûl replied. “Yes, thank you very much. I'll be going now ... um, with my companions ...” He couldn't help but look back at the night hag. ”... upstairs. Yes, upstairs with my companions ...”

His heart beat faster when their eyes met again and he cursed inwardly. He was usually good at resisting such spells, but apparently not today ... She would meet him in his dreams, he was sure of it. That was what night hags did ...

Lereia smiled politely at the drow. “Thank you very much,” she repeated, then reached for Naghûl's hand to pull him gently but firmly with her.

The bartender seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the scene, and Naghûl was glad and grateful not to be here alone. Without the watchful eyes of his companions, he would not have been able to resist the night hag, he was sure of that.

“Come on, Romeo,” Sgillin said with a grin, obviously referencing a character from some prime play, he once mentioned.

Naghûl clasped Lereia's hand tightly and let her pull him away, unable to take his eyes off the hag.

She waved gently at him. “Sweet dreams ...” she whispered in a velvety voice and smiled, innocent and sinister at the same time.

“Um ... Thanks.” Naghûl laughed nervously as Lereia pulled him away.

It wasn't until they were halfway across the hall that his head cleared and he noticed Sgillin's shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to stifle his laughter. That damn hag. Naghûl was very annoyed that he had fallen under her spell, but tried to quickly play down the embarrassing situation. There was no need to make a big deal out of it now. Instead, he looked for the stairs the bartender had mentioned and spotted them at the back of the hall.

“Up there,” he grumbled discontentedly and hurried to the upper floor.

They climbed a spiral staircase made of polished black stone and entered a spacious anteroom that probably served as a kind of reception area. Floating spheres of pulsating red and purple light cast an eerie glow on the visitors and the furnishings. The walls were decorated with demonic glyphs etched into the stone, and in the center of the room floated a delicate silver net structure, apparently for decoration. Tiny, jewel-like insects seemed to be trapped inside, their wings fluttering weakly. The entire piece rotated slowly, seemingly on its own. Armchairs and upholstered couches were arranged in small groups, on which some guests sat and spoke quietly to each other. In the middle of the room lay a drider on a specially made divan. His human torso was decorated with elaborate tattoos, his spider legs neatly folded beneath him. He was engaged in lively conversation with a group of tieflings and a shadowy figure whose features were concealed by a hooded cloak.

As in the lounge below, several slaves could be seen here as well. But these were not the desperate workers who were kept in cramped, iron-bound cells and forced to labor until they were completely exhausted. Nor were they gladiators sent to the blood pits for entertainment. These slaves were attractive and well-groomed, some servants and some chosen for erotic purposes, adorned with chains and collars engraved with hellish runes. They were toys, subject to the whims of their demonic masters, their souls mercilessly crushed under the weight of cruelty and exploitation. Naghûl glanced briefly at Lereia, who fortunately was only playing this role. He could see from her troubled expression that she was clearly preoccupied with depressing thoughts, probably about what it would be like if this were not a disguise but bitter reality.

Jana also looked around uneasily. “Great Unknown,” she murmured. “What a fine selection of visitors.”

“Yes, just hellish,” Naghûl replied with a hint of sarcasm. The incident with the night hag dampened his mood even more than the terrible surroundings.

At the other end of the room stood a large table made of polished blood stone, and behind it sat a woman with four arms covered in green scales. Her yellow eyes had slit pupils. Naghûl supposed she was a tiefling with a marilith in her bloodline, powerful, six-armed demons with the lower body of a snake. Next to her on the floor stood a small, ornate cage made of intertwined metals. Inside, a dark cloud of smoke took on various shapes - sometimes a screaming face, sometimes writhing tentacles. As the group approached the table, the woman smiled, revealing two needle-sharp fangs.

Naghûl nodded to her. “Greetings. We are looking for high-quality accommodations. Are we in the right place?”

“You are,” replied the four-armed woman, somewhat friendly even. “Would you like to rent a suite? Or several?”

“How big are the suites?” the Sensate asked.

“They are designed for two people each,” the tiefling woman explained, her split tongue darting out between her lips. ”Each suite also has room for one slave per person. That's fifty ivory bits per night per suite. Slaves don't count, of course.”

Naghûl nodded. “Well, then they must be worth it. We'll take two and will probably stay three nights.” He placed the money on the table and hoped they wouldn't have to stay three nights.

The tiefling woman took the coins, slid two keys across the table, and pointed to a row of doors on the left wall. “Behind the wooden doors with iron fittings are the simpler accommodations. The suites are behind the ornate black metal doors. You have numbers eleven and twelve, the Azzagrat Suite and the Shendilavri Suite.”

Naghûl handed a key to Sgillin, who nodded to Kiyoshi to share the quarters with him. The young soldier nodded with a stony expression.

“And by the way,” the Sensate said before heading toward the Shendilavri Suite with Lereia and Jana. “The incubus wasn't that great. If I go to the Great Gymnasium more often, I can have that kind of abs too.”

“Of course,” Sgillin replied with a laugh. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

“The hand that holds the portals is the hand that rules the plane.”

ancient Pazunian proverb

Second Void Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Naghûl was surrounded by thick fog. The cool air smelled exotic and intoxicating as he followed a path of obsidian. He felt both drawn and uneasy ... Suddenly, the young night hag appeared before him, her beauty even more otherworldly and seductive than at the bar. Her skin shimmered like gray pearls, her hair a cascade of living shadows. Her eyes - one blue, one red - seemed to peer directly into his soul. She beckoned him with a smile that was both inviting and predatory. He approached without resistance, without thinking, as the landscape around him transformed into a lush, dark garden filled with phosphorescent flowers and twisted, whispering trees. The night hag took his hand, and her touch sent shivers of pleasure and unease through his body. She led him deeper into the garden and spoke to him in a melodic voice, her words promising power, knowledge and joys beyond mortal comprehension.

As they walked, Naghûl caught fleeting glimpses of his reflection in still, black pools. Each time, his appearance had changed subtly - his features becoming sharper, more otherworldly, more powerful ... The hag drew him closer, her lips almost touching his ear as she whispered dark secrets to him. Secrets that could supplant his old self and replace it with something darker, but undeniably stronger ...

She leaned forward to kiss him ...

Naghûl awoke drenched in sweat, his heart racing. It took him a while to realize that he was in one of the suites at Broken Reach - not much better than the eerie forest from his dream, but bizarrely enough, still a relief. The hag's promises still echoed in his head, causing a lingering feeling of longing and unease. He could still feel the phantom sensation of her touch on his skin ... He cursed inwardly, once again upset that he had succumbed to the night hag's spell the night before. He knew that the evil creature drew strength from invading his dreams and hoped that his mind would be strong enough to resist her the following night. For he did not believe that he would be lucky enough to have left the Abyss by then.

Slowly, he sat up in bed and let his gaze wander around the suite. The walls of smooth black stone were streaked with veins of molten gold, and a large round bed dominated the spacious main room. The bed frame was made of polished brass and decorated with elaborate figures of writhing demons. The sheets on all the beds were made of a shimmering, blood-red fabric that felt cool despite the oppressive heat in the room. On one wall was a large fireplace, its flames burning in an unnatural purple hue, fueled by crystals instead of coal or wood. The mantelpiece was adorned with various sculptures, two of which had caught Naghûl's eye the night before. One was a miniature representation of a three-headed hell hound, each head growling in a different direction. Its eyes glowed with a faint red light, and sometimes a distant, ghostly howl could be heard from it. The other figurine was a grotesque hand, palm upward, carved from pale bone. Small flames danced across its fingertips, but did not burn the bone, instead casting eerie shadows. Despite their Abyssal style and origin, Naghûl had to admit that the two sculptures were tasteful and of high artistic quality. They would have been worthy to grace the Gehenna Lounge of the Festhall.

He dangled his legs off the bed, touching the soft, deep purple carpet in front of his sleeping place with the soles of his bare feet. Gradually, he regained some inner peace after the disturbing dream. A quick glance through the half-open silk curtains of the canopy bed revealed that Lereia was already up. This was rather unusual, as she was the one who needed the most sleep of them all. He and Jana had chosen the two simpler sleeping places by the windows of the suite and left the large bed to Lereia. They had decided that was only fair, given that the young woman was playing the role of a slave here. The sorceress was apparently already awake too; he could hear her and Lereia talking quietly. So Naghûl got up and stepped into the suite's anteroom, which was separated by a black curtain. In one corner stood a dressing table and a chair made from the bones of a huge creature. There he found the two of them.

Lereia had obviously been awake for quite a while, as she had found the time to style her long, white hair in an elaborate manner, with small red jewels and bone beads artfully woven into her braids. These hair ornaments were apparently part of the disguise provided by the Godsmen, but there had been no time for this flamboyant jewelry after Lereia's transformation the day before. But at the moment, Jana was sitting on the bone chair while the were tigress stood behind her with a brush in her hand. She was apparently helping the sorceress fix her braids, which had tangled overnight. Jana usually wore her blonde hair loose and was therefore not used to the hairstyle Jaya had braided for her before they had left. Naghûl wished the two women good morning and they greeted him back, but thankfully let him wake up in peace for the moment. The Sensate glanced briefly at the well-stocked bar in the suite. It wasn't really his style to drink in the morning, but a sip of Black Nectar seemed quite tempting after his unwelcome dreams. However, he decided against it. This was not a pleasure trip to the Golden Hall on Arborea, but a highly dangerous mission in the Abyss, for which he needed a clear head. He therefore walked resolutely past the shelf and into the bathroom to freshen up.

It was just as opulent as the rest of the suite, with a large bathtub sunk into the floor that had room for four people. But he had neither the time nor the desire for an extended bath. Instead, he contented himself with the washbasin, which was made from a single piece of purple crystal. The tap was shaped like a snarling demon's head and actually provided normal, fresh water – a concession made by Broken Reach to its mortal visitors. After washing and dressing, Naghûl stepped out onto the balcony in front of the suite's main room. It offered a breathtaking view of the hellish landscape surrounding Broken Reach. The sky, a swirling mass of dark clouds occasionally lit up by purple flashes of lightning, accurately reflected Naghûl's mood: a little uneasy due to the threatening, malevolent surroundings and still in a bad mood because of the incident with the night hag. But it was no use, they had a mission and he had to concentrate on the task ahead.

So he went back inside, and since Lereia had just finished Jana's hairstyle, he suggested to head down to the lounge. They had arranged to meet Sgillin and Kiyoshi there the next morning. He deactivated the floating witch light balls with a simple, common command word before they left the suite. When they entered the merchants' lounge with the bar, it was already surprisingly busy. They recognized some of the guests from the previous evening, such as the Blood War mercenary in black armor, the arcanaloth and the drider who had been resting on the divan upstairs. To Naghûl's relief, however, neither the succubus nor the night hag were to be seen. At one of the seating areas, they spotted Kiyoshi and Sgillin, each of them with a large cup filled with a steaming liquid. Naghûl hoped for shadow mocha. The strong, dark brew was the closest thing to black coffee in the Abyss.

Sgillin, who was just taking a sip, promptly inhaled sharply. “By all the hells, that stuff could wake the dead.”

Naghûl nodded. The aroma of the steaming drink and the half-elf's reaction definitely pointed to shadow mocha. Since they were hungry and assumed that it would not be welcome to unpack their own provisions in the middle of the lounge, they dared to order breakfast from the menu.

An unpleasant-smelling quasit soon served them sulfur eggs with red yolks, a kind of bread made from black dough with bone marrow spread, some blood-red, pear-shaped fruits and three more cups of shadow mocha. While Naghûl, as a tiefling, had no problem with the food, his companions were understandably more skeptical. Jana contented herself with some bread and the red fruits, while Sgillin tried the eggs and apparently found them acceptable. Lereia, as a were tigress, had no problem with the bone marrow spread, but refrained from eating the eggs. Her keen scent was certainly no help with this meal. Kiyoshi, on the other hand, ate mainly eggs, and Naghûl suspected that his dragon blood was the reason for this. But at least everyone found something to satisfy their hunger to some extent – not a matter of course in the Abyss.

“Say,” Jana said when they had all emptied about half of their shadow mocha. “Did you have strange dreams last night too?”

Naghûl looked up a little caught, but to his surprise, Lereia nodded seriously. “Yes, indeed.”

The Sensate frowned. Apart from the incident with the night hag, he had had another dream, but he did not connect it with the dark seductress' spell. However, if Jana and Lereia had had similar dreams, it might not be a coincidence.

“Perhaps everyone could briefly describe what they dreamed?” Lereia suggested. “It seemed like a message to me.”

“I had two dreams that troubled me tonight,” Naghûl explained. “The first was about a kind of chess game. But the pieces all looked different, and they were alive and fighting each other.” Strangely enough, he was sure he had seen at least some of those pieces on the chessboard that the vampire Count Loranóv had recently shown him. However, as the visit had been an internal faction matter, he couldn't mention this at the moment. “Besides, a voice whispered something to me,” he continued. “It said: You think you know what's coming. It hasn't started yet. The second dream was ...” He cleared his throat. “... was probably sent by the lady I met at the bar yesterday. It's not important.”

Sgillin quickly swallowed his mocha and then snorted slightly with laughter.

“Shut up,” Naghûl growled irritably.

“Ah ... Yes, I think so too,” Lereia replied with a slight smile, then looked at Jana. “And what did you dream?”

“I saw a snake,” answered the sorceress. “A huge snake in the clouds, floating upright, and in the foreground was an egg. But only the lower half, and a city was built inside it. And a voice said: Not every ending is a new beginning. I also think someone is trying to send us a message.“ ”Mysterious,“ Lereia said thoughtfully. ”Perhaps Naghûl's dream refers to Lawshredder and Jana's to a new city in the center of the multiverse? I saw myself, so to speak. There was a woman in a red cloak with a hood, holding a red rose in her hand. She approached me in the moonlight between some trees. As she came closer, I realized it was me, and I also heard a voice. It said: You have crossed the boundary first ... so soon.”

“Maybe because of the soul goulash?” Naghûl suggested.

Jana frowned skeptically. “Soul goulash?”

“Well, Ambar's soul,” the Sensate explained, glancing apologetically at Lereia.

The young woman was clearly not happy about the crude wording, but she hid it quite well. “But why now?” she wondered. “And what boundary? The woman's clothing was also unusual for me: a red dress, fine jewelry, a red cloak ... I can't interpret the message.“ She shook her head in confusion, then looked at Sgillin and Kiyoshi. ”What about you? Did you have dreams like that too?"

“Yes, I also had a strange dream,” the half-elf confirmed after taking a large sip of shadow mocha. “I saw a wide field with hundreds of ravens circling above it. In the grass knelt a young human woman who was naked. She was illuminated by a bright light coming from the clouds.”

“Did you know her?” Lereia wanted to know.

“Unfortunately not,” Sgillin replied with a grin. “She was really pretty.” When Lereia just raised her eyebrows but said nothing, he continued a little more seriously. “She had short, dark hair and a star-shaped tattoo on her right shoulder. Her head was framed by a circle of light, a bit like a halo. One of the ravens landed on her hand, and I heard a voice say: One among a thousand.“ He took another sip of mocha and shrugged. ”I have no idea what that means. All in all, apart from the beam of light, the imagery was rather gloomy."

“Forgive my ignorance,” said Kiyoshi. “But you all had dreams like that?”

Lereia looked at him. “You too?”

“Me too,” the young soldier confirmed.

“Well then, tell us about it,” Sgillin said in his direct manner.

“I dreamed of a warrior woman,” Kiyoshi reported. “She was holding a bloody katana in front of a bright moon. Her skin was decorated with a kind of tattoos as are customary among my people. She looked proud … desperate, but still combative and determined, and a voice said: Hope dies last, in every cycle.”

“So maybe it's somehow about the end of the cycle,” Lereia speculated.

Kiyoshi nodded seriously. “That's quite possible.”

“I can't make head nor tail of it,” Sgillin stated. “Of none of your dreams.”

Lereia sighed. “We can't interpret them yet, but we should keep them in mind. Kiyoshi, the katana in your dream ... was it Hope?”

“The blade looked very similar,” the young man replied. “But the hilt was different, honorable Lereia-san.”

They fell silent for a while, pondering the mysterious dreams and emptying their cups of shadow mocha. It was difficult to make sense of all these different dream images, which at first glance seemed unrelated. And yet it was striking that they all had had such a dream on the same night, in which a voice had whispered to them. But as Lereia had said, they would have to keep it in the back of their minds and deal with it later. For now, they had to concentrate on getting into the catacombs beneath the fortress. They rose as the frantic quasit reappeared to clear away the breakfast dishes.

“We have to return to the weapons dealer,” Lereia said. “But there's probably no point in going there right after breakfast. Any ideas until then?”

“Burning of hags ...” Naghûl replied grimly. His gaze wandered to the night hag, still in beautiful disguise, who had just entered the lounge. “That bitch.”

Lereia placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “She just caught your attention for a moment. It's no big deal.”

“Well, yeah …” Sgillin grinned. “For a moment.”

“Shut up!” Naghûl snapped at his friend for the second time that morning. He felt his bad mood worsen at the sight of the night hag, all the more so because her knowing gaze still caused a tingling sensation in his stomach.

“So ...” Jana looked around and illustrated her words by wrapping her arms around her body and shivering demonstratively. “Shall we move on? I have a feeling we're attracting attention. Let's just look around, stroll a little, but let's not stand around like we're plotting something.”

Sgillin frowned. “You think anyone here cares?”

“Are you crazy, you berk?” the sorceress snapped at him. “Do you even know where we are?”

Sgillin shook his head in confusion and tapped his forehead, but Jana just turned away from him. Yes, Naghûl thought to himself, the disturbing, malicious environment was gradually making itself felt, making them all more irritable and thin-skinned. Lereia huffed in annoyance and turned toward the exit, the half-elf close behind her.

“Leena,” Kiyoshi said sharply, using the young woman's cover name. “You are not leading this expedition.”

“I don't want to search for the mines alone,” Lereia said snidely. “I just want to get out. Is that forbidden?”

“If you leave without permission? I think so.” Kiyoshi's expression became even harder than usual.

Naghûl couldn't quite figure out whether he was acting as a mercenary, reprimanding an overly hasty slave, or whether, as a Harmonium soldier, he wanted to prevent any uncoordinated action, or whether the mood of the Abyss was simply rubbing off on him. Possibly all of it.

“I didn't know leaving the lounge would cause such a drama.” Lereia clearly had little desire to play her part and rolled her eyes. “But if it makes you happy.” She turned back and waited, visibly annoyed.

Sgillin, on the other hand, bowed to Kiyoshi, exaggeratedly low. “Please, go ahead and control our fate.”

Naghûl sighed as Kiyoshi nodded contentedly and headed for the exit. He hoped his companions would get a grip on themselves, otherwise their mission here would become even more difficult than it already was. For his part, he tried to calm the anger still simmering inside him over the incident with the night hag and gave Lereia an encouraging look as he left.

She immediately understood that he was referring to her uncharacteristic testiness. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “After one night here, I feel something ... tugging at me. Something primal and wild ... Not strong enough to threaten my control, but a feeling I thought I had overcome long ago.”

Naghûl nodded sympathetically. Lereia had defeated the curse years ago and had control over her transformation. But here she was in a place that challenged that control, quietly but persistently shaking it, gnawing at it. It was understandable that she reacted irritably. As they entered the inner courtyard of the fortress, they were immediately enveloped in a cacophony of mostly unwelcome sights, sounds and smells. Crowds of visitors of all kinds were already jostling in the packed courtyard, haggling loudly over exotic goods. The noise of Abyssal and Common, but also other languages filled the air, interrupted by the occasional screech of an otherworldly beast. They passed a stall displaying writhing tentacles in jars, while a black-scaled kobold approached them from the side and offered them “guaranteed authentic” maps of the Abyss. On a nearby podium, a group of chained slaves was being auctioned off to the highest bidder, and not far away, a circle had formed around two tieflings who were dueling while the spectators cheered and placed bets.

As they moved through the bustling market, unsure of where to turn, a strange and disturbing sight met their eyes. A short distance from the stalls was a circular shaft in the ground, about three paces in diameter. The edges of the hole were lined with jagged stones that seemed to absorb the light around them. A sickly green mist rose from the depths, and there were clearly patches of blood around the edge of the pit. Next to this ominous well stood a rutterkin, a lesser demon whose twisted, asymmetrical body was covered in pustules and wounds.

As Naghûl slowly approached the shaft, Jana held him by the sleeve. “Um, is this necessary?” she asked, looking at the blood on the ground.

As the group approached, the rutterkin turned his attention to them, his lipless mouth contorting into an unpleasant smile. “Sacrifice?” he croaked, pointing towards the pit with a gnarled hand. His voice sounded like crushed gravel. “Abyss always hungry.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, and the demon eyed the group as if assessing which of them could provide a suitable sacrifice.

Naghûl looked down into the shaft and couldn't help thinking of the night hag. “Maybe later,” he replied, turning away.

As they moved away from the pit, he felt the rutterkin's gaze following them. The ominous shaft remained behind them, a silent testimony to the dark sacrifices that fed the power of this hellish realm.

As they continued walking, Sgillin nudged Jana. “I think you were right ...” he said conspiratorially. “That mane over there was watching us suspiciously when we were standing together for so long ...”

The sorceress, however, did not react in any way to the half-elf's mockery, but stared past Naghûl at a slave standing in a dirty pillory, being tormented by a dretch with a spiky stick.

Sgillin followed her gaze, but seemed more interested in the wall behind the pitiful man. “Look.” He nodded toward an iron-bound door nearby. “The symbol over there ... a skull in front of a sun. That's the sign of my contact here in Broken Reach. And there are no guards.”

“If there are no guards there, we could go in,” Lereia suggested. “The kelvezu at the gate yesterday said that if you're not allowed to go somewhere, there are guards there, right?”

“Exactly.” Naghûl nodded. “Let's take a look. If we find an ally there, he might be able to help us find a way into the catacombs.”

As they slipped through the unguarded door, they found themselves in a dimly lit corridor. The walls were made of dark, rough-hewn stones, occasionally streaked with pulsating red lines, and the air was heavy with the smell of sulfur and hot metal. The hallway stretched several dozen paces in length and then turned to the left. They saw three doors: a massive iron door covered with intricate rune engravings, a smaller door made of reddish wood, and a third that appeared to be made of tanned demon skin stretched tightly over a frame of bones. All were closed, but at the end of the corridor, an open archway led into a room that appeared to be a forge. However, there were no workers present at the moment, so they dared to take a peek inside. They saw anvils shaped like demonic faces, a cooling tank filled with a bubbling black liquid that occasionally sprayed sparks, shelves with bizarre tools, many of which seemed more suited for torture than metalwork, and unfinished weapons and armor, scattered around. Naghûl could sense a latent magical aura emanating from some of them. In the large forge that dominated the center of the room, the fire had burned down, but an otherworldly purple flame still glowed.

“It's strangely quiet here,” Lereia remarked as she looked around alertly. Her nostrils quivered slightly, as if she were trying to smell something even in her human form.

Kiyoshi checked the embers in the forge. “No one has worked here for about an hour,” he explained. “If the workers are taking a break, they'll probably be back soon.”

As tempting as it was to search the currently empty forge for interesting items, they decided against it. It was more important to find a way into the catacombs, and they wanted to avoid any unnecessary trouble or unwanted attention. So they left the forge and followed the hallway that led them to a staircase. At the top, they spotted two more doors on a small landing. The first appeared to be made of blackened steel, decorated with a metal demon face. The second was lower, made of dark, polished wood with elaborate brass fittings. At Naghûl's chest height was a small hatch, and faint, muffled noises could be heard from inside. Next to the hatch, this time smaller and less conspicuous, the symbol of the skull in front of a sun was etched into the wood. The Sensate stepped aside and beckoned Sgillin to approach the door alone. The others also took a step back. After the half-elf knocked, it took a while, then the hatch in the door was opened and a rough voice snorted dismissively.

“Well, how charming. And who are you?”

Sgillin pulled back his hood. “Someone who knows your symbol.”

“Is that so?” The tone of the man behind the door did not sound any friendlier. “Well, a few people know it. Not too many, but a few. Who sent you?”

“A mutual acquaintance from Sigil,” the half-elf replied politely.

“I know several people in the Cage,” the stranger behind the hatch countered.

Sgillin hesitated briefly, but then seemed to remember that he had already revealed the name of his cell leader to the others in Elysium. “Krystall,” he replied.

“Krystall. I see.” The other man let out a dry chuckle that sounded like a lizard's belly scraping against a stone. “All right. You have the sign with you and can show it to me, right?”

Sgillin nodded and pulled out the Anarchist amulet from under his shirt to show it to the man behind the door. However, he kept the chain around his neck. The other man tugged at it, probably to indicate to the half-elf that he should bend down a little. After Sgillin did so, there was silence for a few seconds while the contact man apparently studied the amulet. Then he let it go.

“Yes, it's real.”

Sgillin nodded. “Then you're Mokk, I presume?”

“Not my real name, of course,” replied the other. “But it's the name I chose for our meeting. And you're Sgillin, the one Krystall said might show up here.”

“That's me,” confirmed the half-elf. Then he looked to the side for the first time. “There are a few friends of mine over there.”

The voice behind the door growled unhappily. “Do you trust them? All of them? I mean, the Revolutionary League isn't exactly a happy party where anyone can just drop in as they please.”

“Yes, you're right,” Sgillin admitted. “But they don't know your real name, and their factions have no business here in Broken Reach. And you can trust me.”

Mokk snorted. “That's easy to say. But at least you have the sign.” There was silence again for a moment, then the hatch was closed, but the latch behind the door was pushed back. “All right, come in.”

Sgillin nodded to the others before stepping through the door, and the small group followed him. When they entered, Naghûl immediately recognized their host as an older dwarf with infernal heritage. He had the typical size and stature of a dwarf, long white hair and a beard braided into five thick plaits, but also pointed ears, claw-like hands and glowing yellow eyes. He was surrounded by a faint magical aura. Naghûl suspected that he had altered his features with a simple illusion spell as a precaution to protect himself from recognition. With a mixture of curiosity and caution, he watched the group as he beckoned them closer. Naghûl quickly glanced around the Anarchist's dwelling. The main room was round, and on one side several shelves were built into the walls, filled with books, strange artifacts and jars with unidentifiable substances. A large workbench dominated the other side of the room, covered with half-finished mechanical devices. Above it, tools of both dwarven and hellish design hung on the wall. In the center of the room was a sunken fire pit where dancing flames blazed in purple, green and blue. Around it stood four chairs that appeared to be covered in demon skin. Opposite the entrance door, a narrow archway led to an area that looked like a small kitchen. Something was simmering in a cauldron, filling the air with a strange aroma. Among the objects in the main room, Naghûl mainly noticed a battle axe mounted on the wall and decorated with dwarven runes, as well as a collection of exquisite gemstones in a glass display case.

The man who called himself Mokk nodded and pointed to the fire pit. “Sorry, I don't have enough chairs. I'm not used to having so many visitors.”

Sgillin waved it off. “I'll stand.”

Kiyoshi also took up a standing position at the edge of the fire pit, while Lereia, Jana and Naghûl sat down on the chairs. The dwarf took a seat as well.

“Do you know anything about the catacombs underneath Broken Reach?” Sgillin got straight to the point.

Mokk scrutinized him. “Maybe.”

“And do you know how I can get in there without having to pass Red Shroud's guards?”

“What do you want in there, huh?” The dwarf now showed two long, needle-sharp fangs as he spoke.

Sgillin just grinned briefly. “I'm looking for something.”

Mokk wrinkled his nose and made a brief gesture to indicate that it wasn't his problem if the half-elf and his berk friends put their lives in danger. “Well, if you really want to go down there ... Getting in isn't so much the problem. Getting out again is.”

“Let's start with getting in,” Sgillin replied calmly. “How and where do we get in?”

“There's an entrance in the inner halls,” the dwarven tiefling explained. “Not everyone has access there. But I could certainly arrange something.”

Sgillin nodded contentedly. “That sounds good. And why is getting out so difficult?”

Mokk's yellow eyes seemed to glow. “Lady Red doesn't like it when people snoop around down there. The old corridors are guarded.”

Naghûl sighed to himself. It had been clear that searching for a legendary sword here in Broken Reach would not be easy. But since Mokk was Sgillin's contact and the half-elf was conducting the conversation very successfully so far, the Sensate leaned back for the time being and did not interfere.

Meanwhile, Sgillin furrowed his brow and seemed to be thinking. “And how well are the passages guarded?”

Mokk laughed harshly. “I've never been down there. But I assume very well. That's all I can tell you.”

“Well, yeah.” The half-elf sighed. “It would be boring if it were any different.”

The dwarf twirled his beard, seemed to think for a moment, then nodded. “Hmm ... I should probably tell you that you're not the first person interested in the catacombs of Broken Reach at the moment.”

Sgillin raised his eyebrows. “Really? Who else is interested?”

“There were two other groups,” Mokk explained. “They didn't talk to me, but I heard them asking around at the market. Strange coincidence, huh?” He didn't sound as if he actually believed it was a coincidence.

“Indeed ... very strange,” the half-elf said. “Do you know anything about these groups? Who they are or anything? Do you know if they made it down there yet?”

The dwarven tiefling shrugged. “No idea if they found a way down yet.”

Now Naghûl joined the conversation for the first time. “And do you know more details about those people?” he asked, after Mokk had ignored the question.

“Like I said, they visited the market,” the Anarchist replied grumpily. “I only caught a glimpse of them as I was passing by. One group had four or five members. They were hooded, but the woman who spoke was very tall and broad. The other group ... well, there were more of them, about eight. I think two were tieflings and one was a gith. But I don't remember exactly.“

”Eight?“ Lereia frowned, a little concerned. ”Was that a while ago?”

Mokk shook his head. “No, I saw them both the day before yesterday.”

“Then they might already be down there,” the young woman murmured. “Or even out again ...”

“Back to getting out of the catacombs,” Sgillin interrupted these musings. “Do we have to leave the tunnels the same way we enter them?”

“No idea, boy,” the dwarf grumbled. “If you find another exit: no. Otherwise, yes.”

“We will get out again,” Naghûl said, trying to sound confident so as not to discourage the others. “What's the price for this favor?”

“I'll sort that out with him.” Mokk nodded to Sgillin and then looked inquiringly from one to the other. Finally, he sighed. “Come on. You're all looking for that damn sword. You and the others too. Isn't that right?”

Naghûl felt a rush of heat shoot through him at these words, and he immediately tensed, but he tried not to let it show.

Lereia, on the other hand, couldn't hide her surprise. “What makes you think that?” she asked the dwarf.

“There have been rumors in Broken Reach for a long time,” Mokk explained. “That deep inside the catacombs lies a powerful treasure. A few say it's the skull of a necromancer or a lich. But most say it's a sword. I don't know if it exists. But I wouldn't be surprised if someone wanted to find it someday.”

“How concrete are the rumors?” Sgillin asked cautiously.

The Anarchist laughed raucously. “As concrete as rumors can be. Well, there's definitely a grain of truth in there, that there's something valuable underneath the fortress. But what? No idea. Maybe it really is a sword. Maybe it's something else entirely.”

Lereia frowned. “Red Shroud never thought of searching for a supposed powerful treasure herself?”

“I don't know,” Mokk said with a grin. “Maybe she even found it long ago.”

The were tigress nodded thoughtfully, and Naghûl could clearly sense unease spreading through the group. Kiyoshi's expression became even more stony than usual. Despite his lack of facial expression, the Sensate had learned to interpret this as a sign of tension. Jana wrapped both arms around herself as if she were shivering, even though it was very warm in Mokk's dwelling.

“Anyway,” Sgillin said resolutely. “How are we going to do this? How can you get us in?”

“We'll meet tomorrow at the market,” the dwarf explained. “There's a snack stand with a cute vendor. Pink hair with black streaks. She's a bit skinny on top, but she's got a nice butt.”

The half-elf grinned. “Yeah, I noticed her.”

“Very good.” Mokk laughed briefly, but then became serious again. “So ... you really want to get down there, huh?”

“Yes, we do,” Sgillin replied firmly.

“Well, you may know what you're doing.” The old dwarf shrugged. “Then we'll meet at the market tomorrow morning.”

The half-elf nodded. “What will you get for your help?”

“Give me a valuable gemstone or a valuable alchemical ingredient tomorrow,” Mokk replied.

“Deal,” Sgillin said. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Naghûl stood up. “Very well. Thank you in advance, Mr. ... Helper.”

“Mr. Helper.” The Anarchist snorted with amusement. “That was a good one.”

The Sensate grinned briefly. “Take care and see you tomorrow.”

“You take care,” Mokk replied gruffly.

The two women also rose, and the group left the dwarf's dwelling. As they descended the stairs, they could hear that work had been resumed in the smithy. However, they decided not to visit it, but instead returned to the courtyard.

“That didn't work too badly,” Naghûl remarked, nodding to Sgillin approvingly. “Let's stop by the mithral dealer we spoke to yesterday.”

The others nodded and they tried to navigate their way through the maze of stalls and booths to find the cambion again. They passed a duergar merchant selling quasits and Abyssal vermin as pets and an old human woman offering fortune-telling paraphernalia, which appeared to consist of tanar'ri bones and other demonic body parts. At one point, a winged eye flitted back and forth above them, presumably to deliver a message or monitor the events below. On their second day here, Naghûl realized that despite the omnipresent chaos, there was a certain structure to the madness. Armed guards patrolled the edge of the courtyard, constantly on the lookout for trouble. The mistress of the fortress clearly wanted to ensure that trade flourished here relatively undisturbed, as it was the basis of Broken Reach's wealth - and thus her power.

As the Sensate let his gaze wander over the twisted towers that rose into the cloudy sky, he paused. High above, on one of the balconies, he saw a figure shrouded in red silk. The fabric moved slowly in the warm wind, the woman's long black hair flowing over her shoulders, and then two leathery wings unfolded behind her back. She looked down majestically at the scene below her, radiating an aura of power and authority. Was that Red Shroud? It was quite possible, but before Naghûl could get a closer look, she turned away and returned to the interior of the fortress. In response to Jana's questioning glance, the tiefling waved it off, and they continued on their way. Finally, they reached the purple tent of the weapons dealer and spotted the cambion behind one of the sales tables.

He nodded to them. “Ah, it's you again.”

“That's right,” Naghûl replied. “How about our deal? We have our goods with us.”

The merchant grinned broadly. “Well, what can I say? It was really anything but easy, but I actually managed to get you a bar of black mithral.”

Impressed, Naghûl raised his eyebrows. He had expected a contact at best, not to actually get any of the coveted, rare metal.

Kiyoshi stepped closer to the table, clearly interested. “May I see the ingot?”

“But looking only,” the cambion warned jokingly, then pulled a small box out from under the table and opened it. He removed a piece of dark cloth and showed the group a bar, about a foot long, three fingers thick, and pitch-black ... there was something strange about it that smacked of looming doom. It wasn't a large amount of metal, but given the value of black mithral, it was quite a considerable trade.

Kiyoshi played his part well, remaining stoic and merely shaking his head. “It'll have to do,” he said.

“Believe me, you won't get any more at the moment,” the merchant assured him. “It's very scarce right now.”

“Really?” Kiyoshi eyed him closely. “Are the mines running short?”

The cambion shook his head. “No, don't worry. But most of it is currently being sold by Lady Red to important trading partners. There's almost nothing left for free trade.”

“Next time,” Naghûl said. “So, the deal is still up?”

The merchant closed the box again. “The three beautiful swords? I'll trade this ingot for them.”

The offer surprised Naghûl. Sure, the three blades were very high quality and worth a large sum. But an ingot of black mithral of this size had an even higher value. The tiefling therefore assumed that the ingot was impure and not made of pure black mithral. However, even Kiyoshi, who was well versed in blacksmithing, did not know enough about the rare metal to be able to tell at first glance. Besides, this was just a cover; they were not really in need of high-quality black mithral. Kiyoshi therefore just nodded and took out the three blades he had offered the day before. The merchant collected the swords and handed the young soldier the box containing the mithral ingot. They thanked him for the trade and then moved away from the tent.

Lereia glanced towards the wing with the accommodations. “I'd say we don't go exploring any further until we meet Mokk tomorrow. Until then, we should lie low. Maybe there's something to do here to pass the time?”

“Mane fights,” Kiyoshi said dryly.

The young woman nodded and sighed in resignation. “We could just have a drink in the suite and go to bed early.”

“A drink sounds good,” Jana agreed. “The air here is the worst, don't you think?”

“I can't decide what the worst thing is,” Naghûl replied. “But a drink sounds good, yes.”

From somewhere, a tortured scream rang out as if someone were in great pain, then a raucous laugh ... then it was over.

“Yes ...” Lereia glanced unhappily in the direction of the horrifying sounds. “Let's retreat and wait until we meet Mokk tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

"Three things cannot long stay hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth."

proverb from the realm of Mahāmāyūrī, peafowl goddess of wisdom and secret sciences

Second Void Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Amariel looked down at herself once more before preparing to enter the Hive together with her comrades Nallart and Aranis Verûsa. She wore simple, torn clothing, loose enough to hide the chain mail beneath and dirty enough not to attract attention in the alleys of the Hive. Her sword was hidden underneath a dark cloak, as were the blade of Aranis and Nallart's axe, which the old dwarf carried on his back. He wore rough linen robes over his armor and a leather apron that made him look like a simple blacksmith. Aranis, like Amariel, wore dark, worn clothing, a wide hood and glasses with darkly tinted lenses that hid the bright blue of his eyes. Although there were aasimar in the Hive - albeit much rarer than tieflings - Aranis had apparently deemed it advisable to conceal his heavenly ancestry a little in a part of Sigil where there were so many fiends but no Harmonium patrols. At least, no official ones. Amariel, Nallart and Verûsa were here on an undercover investigation to find out more about the shadow thefts. They had received a clue to a house on the edge of the Night Market from a small-time crook named Zip, who often sold information to the Harmonium. Since his own activities were limited to petty theft, but his hints had already helped solve several more serious crimes, they were letting him go for the time being. The man knew, of course, that this was only true as long as he didn't commit any major crimes, so Amariel hoped that it would remain a matter of bagatelles. Zip had heard that a fence who called himself the Shadow Ripper had recently been offering stolen shadows at the Night Market. He didn't know many details, but he had given Nallart the address where the fence was said to be operating. So Amariel, Aranis Verûsa and Nallart were now on their way, in disguise, to take a closer look at said house - and ideally even catch the so-called Shadow Ripper.

Be extremely careful, the half-elf reminded herself, remembering the words of Runako Fireheart, who was in charge of the case. The Night Market is one of the most dangerous places in Sigil. I wouldn't let you investigate there without good reason. But I know you are qualified and the evidence justifies it. Put together a small squad, go unrecognized, and be on your guard! So she had asked Nallart and Aranis for support, and now they stood in Sandstone Row, ready to proceed toward the Night Market. Amariel took a deep breath. Undercover investigations in areas like the Hive were sometimes part of her job. It wasn't her first time doing this, but she was nowhere near as experienced as her brother Killeen, Tonat Shar or Factol Sarin, who had often taken on such cases during their time as investigators. It wasn't one of her favorite tasks either. She was an anointed knight and preferred direct combat to rummaging around in the shadows. But to uncover the truth, one sometimes had to venture into the darkness. And that was exactly what they were about to do.

The Night Market was not far from the Sandstone District. For a while they followed Zerthimon Lane, which bordered the district, then crossed the Darkwell Court and finally turned onto Black Boot Walk. Where it met Slaadi Walk, was the house where the Shadow Ripper was supposed to conduct his shady dealings. On their way, Amariel saw the usual mix of Hive dwellers: beggars, prostitutes, pickpockets, daytallers, thugs, collectors and the occasional fiend. Now and again, her gaze lingered a little longer on a scene that particularly caught her eye: a figure in a black robe, sitting on a box at the side of the road and talking to a magpie perched on their hand; some very large rat skulls piled up in a wall niche and tied together with leather strings; a dried-up mummy dangling motionless in front of a shop, seemingly serving as a sign. Like all other wards of Sigil, the Hive had countless of these bizarre accents, only here they were gloomy and macabre of course. As they passed the outskirts of the Night Market, torches attached to poles cast flickering shadows on the crooked buildings. The air thickened with the smells of fried meat, exotic spices and cheap alcohol. They moved at a normal pace, but stayed close together as they made their way down the street without incident. Only once did a red-scaled kobold approach them, tugging at Nallart's sleeve.

“Tooth doctor?” he croaked, waving a dirty pair of pliers under the dwarf's beard. “Pull a tooth for only five greens!”

The kobold pointed to a nearby stand improvised from planks and tattered cloth. The tools hanging there looked as if they had been fished out of a rubbish dump. Several blood splatters were visible on the curtains of the shack. Amariel couldn't help but get goose bumps at the sight.

“Pike it!” the dwarf growled at the self-appointed dentist.

When the kobold didn't let up, but continued to tug at the sleeve of Nallart's tunic, the annoyed decurion gave him a hard kick. The kobold screeched and then rushed back to his stall, clamoring loudly.

At a glance from Amariel and Aranis, Nallart shrugged. “What? He should keep his hands off my teeth. Besides, the little beast stinks badly.”

Amariel could hardly argue with that, so she just nodded and said nothing. The old dwarf had been patrolling the streets of Sigil for many decades, often in the Lower Ward, near the Hive.

He had seen more than anyone could imagine. This had given him considerable experience, but also rough manners. He shared this trait with many Harmonium members who had been on patrol duty for a long time. Knowing that Nallart's hard shell hid a soft core, Amariel did not argue about it. Especially since the dwarf was right about one thing: the kobold had indeed smelled terribly. Amariel pulled her hood a little lower over her face as they continued to follow Black Boot Walk. It was relatively quiet in the alley, which was all the more eerie given its proximity to the bustling Night Market. Finally, they reached their destination. The house Zip had mentioned rose up before them like a monster made of rotten beams and crumbling stone. The plaster had long since peeled off, and the windows stared into the night like empty eye sockets. Obscure symbols were smeared across the façade, but the words had become illegible and remained incomprehensible to Amariel.

Cautiously, they circled the building. At the front, there were several boarded-up windows and a massive locked wooden door reinforced with rusty iron fittings. On the side wall, they squeezed past a pile of rubbish consisting of rotten food, broken glass and several large but limp and lifeless tentacles. Amariel grimaced. Even the trash in Sigil seemed to have its own repulsive personality. The back of the house was even more dilapidated. There was another door here, but it was secured with only a simple padlock. Amariel leaned against the wall and listened intently. The noise of the Night Market was muffled here, but she could still hear the distant squeaking of cart wheels, the chatter of the merchants and the occasional bawling of drunks. But then, very quietly, she heard it ... a whisper. It was barely perceptible, like a soft rustling in the wind. But it was there.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered to Nallart and Aranis in a low voice.

The dwarf raised his head attentively. “I hear the wind and the sounds of the Night Market. Nothing else.”

But Amariel was certain: the whispering was coming from inside the house. It was quiet, but it was there, almost as if the walls themselves were speaking, as if the shadows were hatching secrets.

Aranis concentrated, his sapphire-blue eyes seemed to glow faintly behind his glasses. “I don't hear any whispering, but I sense a presence,” he said quietly. “Something dark, in one of the upper rooms of the house.”

Amariel had no doubt: this was their destination, and they had to get in. She gestured to Aranis to pick the lock. The aasimar nodded and pulled a small set of delicate tools from a pouch on his belt. Even the Harmonium had experts for opening locked doors - only they were allowed to do so legally. Aranis Verûsa knelt down in front of the lock and began to work with nimble and skilled fingers. The silence seemed to thicken as he fiddled with the door under the curtain of night. Amariel felt her muscles tense. Although it didn't take long for the lock to spring open, it seemed like an eternity to the half-elf.

Aranis stood up. “It's open,” he whispered.

Amariel nodded with determination. “Get ready.” She took a deep breath and then opened the door a crack.

The hinges creaked and a rush of stale air flowed towards them. Amariel immediately paused at the unwelcome sound, and Nallart and Aranis behind her also froze in place. Behind the door, the half-elf spotted a narrow stairwell, but there were no doors leading off on the ground floor. A well-trodden wooden staircase led upstairs, and quiet voices could be heard from the upper floor. Since the conversation continued, the people upstairs had apparently not heard the door open. At least, that was what Amariel hoped. She slipped through the crack, followed by Aranis – but the broad-shouldered dwarf couldn't squeeze through the narrow opening. He had no choice but to push the door open a little further. Once again, the hinges creaked, but fortunately more quietly, and the conversation upstairs did not stop this time either. After the three undercover investigators had entered the house, they left the door open behind them so as not to make any more telltale noises. Since they all had darkvision, they went without a light source and instead sneaked toward the wooden staircase. It ended at a door, and behind it, the muffled voices of several people could undoubtedly be heard.

Amariel took a deep breath, then pressed the handle and entered, Nallart and Aranis close behind her. The room behind the door was not particularly large and only dimly lit by a soot-blackened candle stuck to an upturned wooden bucket. Three people stood in the middle of the room. One was a woman with long, intense red hair, from which a few sparks sprayed as she turned toward the opening door - probably a fire genasi. Next to her stood a man with pointed ears and long blue hair - perhaps fey-blooded or a tiefling. He carried two short, slender blades, which his hands immediately moved to as they entered. The third person was a gaunt man in a worn black coat. A long scar ran from his forehead across his left cheek to his chin, and he held something in his hand that looked like a small, tied-up bag in the dim light. For a moment, there was complete silence. Again, Amariel could hear the whispering, and it seemed to come from the bag in the scarred man's hand. Then the fire genasi took a step forward, her hand on her weapon, her body tense like a big cat about to pounce.

“Calm down,” Amariel appeased. “We're just looking for someone.”

Aranis stepped beside her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Nallart, always the pragmatist, secured the entrance.

Meanwhile, the man in the black cloak took a step back. His eyes flashed, and he glared angrily at his two negotiating partners. “There was no mention of any other partners!” he hissed. “Traitors!”

“We don't know these people,” the fire genasi assured. Her turquoise-green eyes sparkled in the dim light.

Amariel looked into the eyes of the man who must be the Shadow Ripper. “That's true, we don't belong to them,” she said. “But we are interested in a deal.”

The man with the scar laughed, a dry, unpleasant sound. “You think you can fool me? You want to peel me! Pull the wool over my eyes! But what if it's your eyes that cannot see?”

He threw the bag he had been holding onto the ground. It burst open, releasing a cloud of dark, swirling smoke that spread through the room like a living creature. The whispering grew louder and was now clearly audible. The fire genasi cursed and the man at her side drew his two blades. Amariel felt a shiver run down her spine as the smoke spread, and she sensed a sting as if something had touched her soul.

“What is that?” Nallart growled, alarmed.

“Shadow dust,” the fence replied with a laugh. “It will steal your shadows and consume your souls!”

With these words, he turned to the nearby window and tore open the shutters. Aranis tried to stop him with a bolt from his hand crossbow, but by now the smoke filled the entire room and even with darkvision they could hardly see anything. Amariel wanted to pursue the fence, but the smoke made her cough and caused a painful stinging in her chest. Everyone else seemed to be suffering from the same effect. Then she heard the man with the blue hair cast a spell, and at the same moment, a violent gust of wind swept through the room. The cloud of smoke was blown out through the now open window and dispersed harmlessly into the sky above Sigil. At the same moment, the stabbing pain in Amariel's chest subsided. Coughing and gasping for breath, she leaned against the wall and immediately searched the room. But the Shadow Ripper was gone, having fled through the open window under the veil of darkness.

Cursing, the fire genasi ran to the open shutters, leaned out, and searched the street below. “Damn it, he's gone.” Angrily, she slammed her flat hand against the shutter.

Then she turned to Amariel, Nallart and Aranis, glaring at them angrily. The man with the blue hair stepped beside her. He seemed calmer, but still held his two blades vigilantly in his hands. The cloud of smoke had cleared, but the shadow of a looming confrontation hung darkly over the room. A quick glance at Nallart told Amariel that the dwarf was still guarding the door, the only exit besides the window. Aranis, on the other hand, stood beside her, calm but ready for battle.

Amariel turned her gaze to the fire genasi. “Are you accomplices of this man?”

“Accomplices?” The woman laughed bitterly. “We wanted to expose his scheming! We're just as much on the hunt for that bastard as you are.”

“Anyone can say that,” Amariel replied. Since the undercover investigation was no longer going according to plan and an open conflict was brewing, she took out her badge. “Harmonium. You have interfered with a covert mission. We need to question you.”

“We have interfered?” Again, sparks sprayed from the woman's orange-red hair. “You just trampled on a clue we worked hard to uncover! Why don't you go back to the Lady's Ward instead of snooping around here in the Hive, which you don't care about anyway.”

“That's enough,” Amariel replied grimly. “I don't have time for your accusations. You're coming with us to the Barracks for interrogation.”

“Like hell we will!” The fire genasi placed her hand on the hilt of the scimitar she carried at her side. “We are trying to uncover a crime here, just like you. But you Hardheads are so blind in your self-righteous obsession with order that you cannot see the truth even when it jumps out at you.”

When the genasi reached for her weapon, Amariel drew her sword and Aranis did the same. Judging by the sound behind her, Nallart also took his axe from his back. The fire genasi drew her scimitar with a quick, practiced movement. The skin on her right forearm was briefly exposed, and Amariel spotted many small scars, as if from short cuts. Was this woman a blood hunter? In contrast to her previous anger, she now appeared calm and confident. The fact that there were three of them against two did not seem to impress her. The air crackled with tension. Amariel knew they were on the brink of a fight, and she hated that it had come to this. But if the genasi and her companion were part of this dark game, she would not let them escape.

“Ho, my wild fire bird,” the blue-haired man said to the blood hunter, sounding more amused than concerned. “I don't think we'll get anywhere with the friendly officers of the Harmonium here with so much rage. Perhaps we should all sheathe our blades and talk?” To emphasize his words, he tucked away his two short swords. As he did so, his dark cloak fell slightly to one side, revealing an emblem that clearly showed the symbol of the Doomguard.

Amariel inhaled sharply and saw Aranis tense up at her side at the sight of the emblem. The blue-haired man seemed to notice, but only smiled kindly.

“I won't stand in the way,” the fire genasi replied grimly. She lowered her scimitar slightly, but kept her eyes on Amariel.

The half-elf still had her sword raised, but something in the blood hunter's gaze held her back. It wasn't just anger or defiance, but also a reckless determination that Amariel recognized. But a fight here, in this cramped space, would have been bloody and pointless, and would only distract them from hunting the Shadow Ripper. So she lowered her sword a little. “Why should I believe you?” she asked, her voice still harsh but slightly less accusatory. “You are obviously a blood hunter, known for your unorthodox methods and your connections to shady figures. What are you doing here?”

The fire genasi took a deep breath. She seemed to think for a moment, then made a decision. “My name is Síkhara,” she explained. “You're right, I am a blood hunter. And I'm looking for answers, just like you. I was hired to find stolen shadows. And I've already discovered some clues.”

“Who hired you?” Amariel asked immediately.

“That's not important,” Síkhara fended off the question. “What's important is that we all have the same goal. We want to catch the shadow thieves and bring back the stolen shadows.”

She didn't seem dishonest to Amariel, but the half-elf wasn't ready to let her guard down just yet. “You expect me to believe that? You're working with a Sinker.” She glanced darkly at the man with the blue hair, whom she by now assumed to be a tiefling based on his aura.

“My name is Haer'Dalis,” he said, bowing slightly. “It is true that I am a member of the Doomguard. But I am not a blind servant of decay; I see myself more as ... a guardian of the natural ways in which the multiverse is meant to disintegrate.”

Amariel frowned. The tiefling might be implying that he was not a Ravager, but an Observer. Nevertheless, he remained a member of the Doomguard.

“And why should we trust a Sinker?” Nallart asked grimly from behind.

“The stolen shadows are a very distinct feature of entropy,” Haer'Dalis replied. “But they are becoming a little too pronounced. They are pushing decay forward too quickly for my liking.”

Amariel sighed. If Haer'Dalis was right about one thing, it was that the stolen shadows were more than just stolen possessions. These thefts were an intrusion into the natural order and a serious threat to the inhabitants of Sigil. She exchanged a quick glance with Nallart and Aranis. Amariel knew she had to make a decision. She could arrest Síkhara and Haer'Dalis and try to catch the Shadow Ripper on her own. But they would not come willingly, and they might actually have valuable information about the case. And stopping these thefts was a priority, in order to protect the citizens of Sigil.

Amariel lowered her sword completely. “All right, I'll give you a chance,” she said. “We'll work together. But only if you tell the truth and promise me your full cooperation.”

Síkhara nodded. “You have my word. We will help you catch the shadow thieves. And should you find out that I am lying to you or betraying you, you can hold me personally accountable.” She sheathed her scimitar. “But I promise you, that won't be necessary.”

Amariel glanced briefly at Nallart and Aranis. Both nodded, although the dwarf was a little grumpier than the aasimar. Seeing that her comrades had no reservations or objections, the half-elf sheathed her weapon. There was no guarantee that she could trust Síkhara and Haer'Dalis. But sometimes one had to take a leap into the unknown.

“All right,” said Amariel. “What do you know about the Shadow Ripper, and how did you track him down?”

The blood hunter and the tiefling from the Doomguard exchanged a quick glance.

“We've discovered something,” Síkhara replied. “Perhaps we should show it to you, and then we can exchange information.”

The half-elf nodded in agreement. Perhaps, she thought as she followed the fire genasi and the tiefling outside, it was indeed possible to forge an unconventional alliance with these two. Perhaps together they could uncover the truth and put an end to the shadow thefts. Amariel knew she had to be on her guard. In the City of Doors, many an alliance was a dance on the edge of a precipice. But she was willing to take the risk.

Chapter Text

“Ah, the infinite wonders of the Abyss. If there's anything you don't like, you'll find it here.”

tanar'ri saying

Third Lady’s Day of Mortis, 126 HR

They stood in a narrow tunnel in the catacombs of Broken Reach. The air was thick and carried the musty smell of ancient decay mixed with a pungent aroma that burned unpleasantly in their throats. Although it was not cold, but rather humid and warm down here, Yelmalis shivered slightly. On the one hand, he was relieved to have escaped the omnipresent chaos and malice of the fortress above. But a warning instinct told him that something even worse might await them down here. The walls, glistening with moisture, seemed to pulsate faintly in the light of the magical orb hovering above Dilae's palm. It seemed as if the stone itself was alive and breathing, while the soft glow cast long, dancing shadows that made the tunnel appear endless in both directions. Garush led the way, her muscular body tense and ready for any threat. Sekhemkare's forked tongue occasionally darted out, testing the air for signs of danger, while Tarik's eyes were half closed in concentration. Using his psionic abilities, his mind searched for nearby beings.

Yelmalis stood slightly apart from the others, his back against the damp, warm wall. Disgust and frustration governed his thoughts at the moment. How, by Akadi's silver winds, had he ended up here? Well, of course, it had been one of Tarik's dreams that had triggered all this – as so often. Yelmalis couldn't blame the tiefling; he hadn't chosen this gift any more than he had chosen his own. But still, the Signer's dream images were usually the reason for such missions. In this case, to recover a legendary katana called Hope from the catacombs beneath Broken Reach. They had gone into the Abyss incognito, Dilae and Yelmalis disguised as planar merchants in search of magical artifacts, with Garush as their bodyguard. Tarik pretended to be a fortune teller and Sekhemkare a poisoner and alchemist. After several unsuccessful attempts, they had actually found someone at the market of Broken Reach who could give them a line on one of the entrances to the catacombs.

In the early hours of the morning, when the fortress was at its quietest, they had started their risky operation. Yelmalis had cast a spell to detect magical auras and identified a heavily guarded area in the part of the fortress mentioned by the informant. After Tarik had used his psionic abilities to distract the nearby guards, they had entered, Dilae hidden in the shadows, Yelmalis, Sekhemkare and Tarik invisible, Garush disguised as a guard. She had “procured” the armor and weapons the day before while the others had been eating, and no one had asked any questions. With his yuan-ti senses, Sekhemkare had noticed a faint draft coming from behind a tapestry in a remote corridor. Upon closer inspection, they had discovered a hidden door sealed with both a magical and a mechanical lock. While Yelmalis had disabled the magical lock with a counter spell, Sekhemkare had picked the physical lock. But just as they had been about to open the door, Garush had signaled that a patrol was approaching. Dilae had been able to distract the guards by using her gift to create the illusion of a drunken demon stumbling down the adjacent corridor. With the guards' attention diverted, they had seized the opportunity to quickly open the door and descend the narrow, sloping staircase behind it. At the bottom, Yelmalis had sensed an arcane barrier, recognized it as an alarm spell and carefully neutralized it without triggering the alarm. Then they had finally ventured into the dark, oppressive atmosphere of the catacombs.

As Yelmalis did not possess darkvision, Dilae had conjured a glowing, moonlike orb to illuminate their path, but the gloom of the tunnel still overwhelmed the air genasi, too stark a contrast to the open sky he loved. Every breath felt laborious, the stale air a poor substitute for the fresh breeze he longed for. His fingers traced the intricate patterns on his spellbook, seeking comfort in the familiar. He remembered the academic debates, the theoretical discussions in a lecture about the Lower Planes. Theory and practice were indeed two different worlds ... For a moment, Yelmalis allowed himself to think of the airy towers of his native city, Skyhome, feeling the wind blow through his hair as he levitated down to one of the squares. The contrast to their current surroundings was almost painful. But he saw Garush signaling them to move on, and pulled himself together. He might feel out of place in every way, but he was here now. His gift could be immensely important in this situation and environment, so he had to stay focused. With a deep sigh, he pushed himself away from the wall.

As they ventured further, the corridors remained narrow and winding, often seemed to be carved directly into the rock. The warm walls were damp and slippery, occasionally pulsing with faint reddish veins disturbingly reminiscent of blood vessels. Their footsteps echoed audibly, despite their attempts to move quietly. They were doubly cautious, because not only was it unclear what guards or other creatures awaited them, but they also knew from one of Tarik’s dreams that the others were here too. The other group of Chosen, that was, some of whom they already knew. Yelmalis had conducted Jana’s defense after she had defaced the Io shrine in the Temple District. And he had been present, involuntarily, when Factol Sarin had tried to prevent an assassination attempt on Archbishop Juliana Spesinfracta in Excelsior. In the end, he himself had prevented it, allowing the factol of the Harmonium to pledge his own fate in order to change a fixed point in time. However noble the goal and result of this act, Yelmalis still did not know whether it had been a wise decision. But how could he have contradicted Sarin, how could he have told the paladin that he would not comply with his wish and will? Downright impossible, and fortunately his own factol, Hashkar, had agreed with him. Anyway, he had met Naghûl, Lereia and Kiyoshi on this occasion. Dilae seemed to know Naghûl and Sgillin “from earlier times,” as she had put it, but she had not wanted to explain further. Garush, on the other hand, knew all the members of the other group - Jana, Lereia, Kiyoshi, Naghûl, Sgillin and Morânia – either from the unfortunate incident when Mallin had arrested the other Chosen to force Sarin to talk or from the equally unfortunate conversation in the House of Visions. They had actually had quite a few encounters. When they had been looking for Eliath, they had known nothing about each other, and during the search for the Keeper and the Proclaimer, it had apparently been intended that each of the groups would find the two on their own. This included the ominous third group, about whom they did not yet know much and with whom they had had no contact so far. But now they knew about each other, had gotten to know each other, had learned that they were all part of the same Prophecy - and yet they had traveled to Broken Reach separately and were now exploring these gloomy catacombs independently of each other in search of the same sword. Somehow it didn't feel right, but Yelmalis didn't know what he could do about it at the moment.

So he followed Garush deeper into the tunnels, alert, tense, his senses irritated by the acrid air, the heat and the almost tangible evil that permeated this place. Grotesque carvings lined the walls of this passageway, depicting scenes of torture and demonic rituals. Some seemed to writhe and move when viewed out of the corner of the eye, but remained still when looked at directly. At irregular intervals, niches were carved into the walls, containing mummified corpses or piles of bones, some clearly not humanoid. The floor was uneven and in some places felt strangely warm underfoot, as if there was a large source of heat far below. Occasionally they passed side passages that led into pitch-black darkness. A faint, incomprehensible whisper seemed to come from these openings, but it fell silent when someone tried to listen closely. Instead, they heard the echo of something large moving through the corridors in the distance, accompanied by the grinding of chains. Yelmalis noticed that his arcane senses were clouded, as if the stone around them was imbued with a magic-dampening property. When he quietly told Tarik, the tiefling nodded seriously and explained that he himself felt a constant psychic pressure, as if countless malicious thoughts were crashing against the edges of his consciousness. At one point, they came to a fork where the path split into three. Above each passageway was a demonic face carved into the stone, each with a different expression: fear, anger and ecstasy. Garush paused and looked at the three paths with a mixture of unease and grim determination. Then she turned to the others, her yellow eyes almost glowing in the dim light.

“Which way should we go?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Is there magic at work here? If so, have a look at it, I don't know anything about that.”

Sekhemkare stepped forward and examined the faces more closely. His tongue darted out as if he were tasting the air. “The path of ecstasy smells of ... seduction. It could be a trap.”

“I sense a dark energy coming from that path.” Dilae nodded in agreement. “We should be careful.”

Tarik closed his eyes and concentrated. After a moment, he opened them again. “The path of fear seems to have less psychic activity. Perhaps it is the safest.”

Yelmalis, on the other hand, looked at the path of anger. “Places of power are often protected by elements of aggression. So this path could lead to important areas.“

Sekhemkare was about to reply when a distant noise suddenly caught their attention. It sounded like a muffled scream, followed by the clanging of metal.

”That came from the path of fear,“ whispered Garush. ”Maybe the others are there.“

Dilae nodded seriously. ”If they're in danger, we have to help them.”

“But what if it's a trap?” Sekhemkare objected. “We could jeopardize our mission.”

“Sometimes you have to take risks to do the right thing,” Tarik replied firmly, and Yelmalis nodded in agreement.

Garush hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “You're right. Let's have a look, but be careful!”

The amazon took the lead again as they entered the path of fear. The tunnel grew narrower and the air cooler for the first time. Runes appeared on the walls, pulsing with an eerie blue light. They moved forward slowly, all their senses sharpened ... then they heard the sounds again, louder and clearer this time. It was definitely the noise of battle.

Garush drew her weapon. “Looks like we've found company. Are you ready?”

The others nodded grimly, and with a deep breath, Garush gave the signal to advance. As the group left the corridor of fear, a larger, irregularly shaped room opened up before them. The bluish light of the runes gave way to a gloomy, reddish glow emanating from scattered torches on the walls. Torches that someone must have lit ... The floor was littered with the remains of a recent battle. Several dead manes lay around, their bloated bodies studded with arrows and marked by deep cuts. Dark, thick blood still seeped from their wounds. In one corner of the room, they spotted the slimy remains of what must once have been amorphous ooze creatures. The substance was still sizzling and bubbling slightly, dissolving slowly. Near the opposite wall lay the carcasses of several dog-sized spiders. Their long, hairy legs were twisted unnaturally, and their bodies showed stab wounds and burns that indicated the use of magic.

Garush knelt down next to one of the manes and examined the wounds. “The fight can't have been more than a quarter ago,” she muttered. “The blood hasn't clotted yet.”

Two more corridors led away from the central room, and Garush chose the one on the right. Yelmalis couldn't tell whether it was a warrior's instinct that guided her or her gift, which was very reliable in alerting her to nearby threats. But he had learned to trust the amazon in such matters. And indeed, no sooner had they entered the corridor than they heard a noise ahead of them - the crunch of stone splinters under boots. Garush signaled to them to prepare for a possible fight and then turned the corner with her axe raised. There stood a half-elf in dark robes with long black hair, that was shaved on the sides. His face was covered with several small cuts, probably from the giant spiders outside. He had raised his bow and arrow, but lowered them when he saw Garush. It had to be Sgillin, the only one from the other group besides Morânia whom Yelmalis had not yet met.

Garush also lowered her weapon. “My, my,” she said in a growly voice.

“Yes, oh my.” The half-elf also seemed to recognize the amazon and took a few steps back to knock on the door on his rear. The rest of his group was probably behind it.

“Great,” hissed Sekhemkare.

Someone inside the room also knocked on the door. “Garush,” Sgillin said louder than necessary, no doubt to warn the others. “What an … unexpected ... pleasure.”

The half-orc bared her tusks. “You always meet twice, huh?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” the half-elf replied. He had lowered his bow but not yet removed the arrow from the string.

At that moment, the door behind Sgillin opened and out looked a tiefling whom Yelmalis knew. “Well, I would have preferred to meet in a cozy tavern, drinking a beer,” Naghûl stated.

Dilae made a somewhat apologetic gesture toward the Sensate, which Yelmalis couldn't quite place. “Stupid ... situation,” she said.

“You can say that again,” Sekhemkare hissed, while Garush watched the other group warily.

“But why?” Jana's face appeared next to Naghûl's and she pushed past him to step into the hallway. “I'd rather call it a fortunate coincidence. Aren't we all here for the same thing?”

“That's exactly what I fear,” the amazon growled.

Yelmalis felt it was time to intervene diplomatically. “Um, Garush ...” He stepped beside the half-orc. “Maybe we could ...”

She raised her left arm and stopped him, somewhat roughly, from stepping too far forward. “We could do what?”

He was already familiar with this behavior of hers, a rough but well-meaning way of trying to protect him, somewhere between safeguarding and patronizing. “Don't go wild again,” he said soothingly.

“Shut up, wizard,” the amazon cut him off.

Naghûl raised his eyebrows. “What's the problem?”

“Um, internal group ... differences,” Tarik explained quickly. “Sorry.”

Sgillin shot the others a meaningful look. “They're even more harmonious than we are.”

“Please,” Jana said, raising her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “There's no reason to argue. We're all acting in ... well, we're not getting in each other's way.”

Sekhemkare let out an annoyed hiss while Sgillin shook his head. “Well, technically ... we are .” He pointed up the narrow corridor where they were standing opposite each other.

“Say something, Garush,” Tarik urged, obviously nervous about the tense situation.

“Some people think before they speak,” the amazon growled.

Tarik raised his hands defensively, but Jana nodded in earnest. “Yes. And some people sit down before they have a conversation.” She pointed behind her. “There's a fireplace and some chairs in there. We've been fighting, we're exhausted and wounded, and we're in no condition to fight you.”

It was only then that Yelmalis noticed the long cut on Naghûl's left arm, probably from the claws of a mane. There were also several tears in Sgillin's robe; the spiders had apparently not only bitten his face but also his right leg.

Garush seemed to think for a moment, then she pushed her axe back into its holder. “All right, it can't be worse than out here. Looks good, by the way. Was that you?”

The Sensate nodded. “I still need to practice my sword technique a little, but that was us, yes.”

“Hmm, not bad.” The amazon grunted appreciatively. “So you want to talk?”

“Yes, please,” Jana said hastily, although Sgillin gave her a rather doubtful look.

“Primarily, we want to pass and politely ask you to make way for us,” Naghûl replied. “But I guess I can forget that, right?”

“What's the point of that?” Sekhemkare now turned to Garush. “They're wounded and exhausted. We have the advantage.”

Tarik shot the yuan-ti a disapproving sideways glance. “As far as I'm concerned, I'm not so keen on busting heads. I'd rather talk.”

“I agree,” Yelmalis quickly supported him.

Sgillin's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Sekhemkare. “I'll still shoot a few arrows at you before you even swing your stick.”

“Go ahead,” the yuan-ti hissed. “You can try.”

“Is this a vote now?” Garush growled irritably. “Enough. Let's talk.”

“Yes,” Jana pleaded urgently. “Let's stop this childish behavior and talk.”

Dilae breathed a visible sigh of relief and Garush nodded towards the door. “Well?”

“Yes,” Naghûl replied with a sigh. “Let's go in.”

They entered an almost square room with a small fireplace in the middle, surrounded by a few roughly hewn stone seats. On one side stood a few simple wooden chairs, a rickety table and two cots. Torches on the walls provided a flickering light, and in one corner stood an old, weathered altar whose surface was covered with faded Abyssal symbols. Yelmalis noticed that Jana was limping slightly; she seemed to have a bruise on her right ankle, possibly from a fall during the fight. A little further back in the room stood Kiyoshi. He was holding his right side, breathing shallowly, which indicated bruised or broken ribs. The white tigress next to him must have been the transformed Lereia. She licked her forepaws cautiously. They looked sore, probably burned by the acidic ooze they had found outside.

“So, let's get to the point,” said Naghûl as everyone had entered the room and Sgillin had closed the door. “Let's stop this charade. What are you doing down here?”

“Well, we want to find the sword,” Garush replied bluntly.

“Great, so do we,” the Sensate countered. “And now? Are you going to jump at our throats?”

Garush grinned, slightly baring her tusks. “If I wanted to do that, it would have already happened.”

“I can confirm that,” said Tarik with a weak smile.

“Hm.” Yelmalis eyed Garush from the side and then looked at the impatient and agitated-looking Naghûl. “Seems like every group has people with a bit of a hot temper.”

“Not everyone has to be as uptight as you, Yel,” the amazon snorted, but then added: “No offense.”

“I know,” the air genasi replied calmly. He had grown somewhat accustomed to Garush's gruff manner.

Meanwhile, Jana shot the Sensate an irritated glance. “Maybe you should just be quiet for a moment, Naghûl.” Then she turned back to Garush. “The bearer of the sword is predestined. Only one of us can wield it, am I right?”

“Exactly,” the amazon confirmed. “We are all searching for the sword, but only one can wield it.”

“Then we're not in each other's way,” the sorceress concluded. “We might as well continue together.”

Dilae nodded. “Yes, why not?”

“So you were too late?” Kiyoshi suddenly interrupted the conversation. “To find the sword? We will already have found it, right?”

Yelmalis glanced questioningly at the Harmonium soldier. “Um, excuse me?”

“We're all disguised or transformed,” the young man explained. “So there's little chance you could have recognized us that easily, unless you know more. You, Yelmalis-san, seem strained, and we know about your gift. That leads me to conclude that you are not in your own time.”

Sgillin glanced at Kiyoshi in astonishment, and Yelmalis had to smile. “That's not a bad guess. However, in this case, it's not accurate.” He decided it wasn't necessary to clarify that he couldn't travel through time together with four other people. Traveling through time with Sarin had pushed him to the absolute limit of his power.

The young soldier nodded briefly. “Well, then please forgive me for jumping to conclusions. It seemed obvious.”

“It stood to reason, indeed,” Yelmalis admitted. “But of course we know more. Just as you do, I assume.” As the situation relaxed, he felt the butterflies that had been fluttering excitedly around him before flying more calmly now.

Jana nodded. “We all have our secrets, and we want to keep them. But it's not safe here, and I would appreciate some additional support.”

“And what does that mean?” Lereia spoke for the first time. She was apparently able to speak in her tiger form, a fact that had been unknown to Yelmalis until now. “We continue together and then everyone can try to hold the sword?”

“For my part, I have no quarrel with you,” Jana assured Garush. “And I like Lereia's suggestion.”

“Besides, we don't have many options,” said the tigress. “Either we fight each other or - and I would prefer this - we continue together. Whoever can wield the sword is the bearer. That settles it, doesn't it?”

“Then I'm in favor of continuing together,” Tarik interjected. “If I may make a comment.”

“I agree,” Garush replied gruffly but resolutely.

“Me too!” Dilae added quickly.

Yelmalis nodded. “So do I.”

“I don't,” hissed Sekhemkare, and the air genasi closed his eyes briefly. He suppressed the strong urge to cast a silence spell on the yuan-ti.

“You don't have to come with us,” Naghûl replied irritably to Sekhemkare's remark. “But I see it the same way: we'd better go together instead of fighting each other.”

Tarik sighed. “Come on, Sek ...”

A forked tongue darted out between the yuan-ti's scaly lips. “As you wish,” he said, annoyed. “No one listens to me here anyway. Would have been wise last time, but ...”

“Last time was a completely different matter,” Yelmalis replied with a sigh.

“So we shall continue together?” Dilae asked quickly, trying to divert attention from the emerging discussion.

“Yes, it seems so.” Lereia nodded and then looked at Garush. “How much have you explored already?”

The amazon laughed briefly. “Not much. We've only been down here for about an hour and then we saw the battlefield out there.”

“Don't worry.” Naghûl grinned. “We'll take care of you.”

Garush bared her tusks in amusement. “Funny, shorty.”

Naghûl laughed a little, and Yelmalis also had to smile. It was much better to deal with the other group this way than to fight. It was fortunate that they had found common ground, especially since they were in the middle of the Abyss.

“To cut a long story short,” said Lereia. “We still have two locked doors here, but so far no stairs or anything like that. We've already searched all the other rooms.”

“And did you find anything?” asked Dilae.

“The nastiest spiders I've ever seen,” Naghûl replied. “And I've seen a few.”

“And unpleasant oozes.” Lereia demonstratively raised a front paw that was clearly still injured by the acid.

The Sensate now leaned his staff against the wall. “Here's a suggestion: Since we've done the first part of the dirty work, and we're going to continue together, you take over guard duty for a short rest.”

Garush nodded. “That's only fair.”

“Wonderful.” Naghûl sat down on one of the chairs. The exhaustion he had previously concealed quite well was evident now. “After that, we'll wipe up the rest of the 'ri filth here and climb down.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dilae replied.

Chapter Text

“We are called the Lost, but sometimes what is lost does not wish to be found.”

Ridgrath Ro, bariaur Athar champion

Third Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Factol Ambar had already covered half the distance from the outer edge of the Ring of the Athar to the Shattered Temple. It was one of those days in Sigil when the sky was a delicate gray, but the temperature was mild and the wind almost imperceptible. Nevertheless, anyone who had lived in the Cage long enough could sense that it would rain, if not the same evening, then the next day. The area surrounding the Temple, consisting mostly of destroyed buildings, was avoided by most of Sigil's inhabitants. Too obvious were the traces of the Lady's wrath, which centuries ago had destroyed not only Aoskar's temple but also all the surrounding blocks. No one had dared to rebuild the houses since then – or at least not many. Thus, the Ring of the Athar was a field of ruins several blocks wide, stretching in a circle around the Shattered Temple, now overgrown with grass, weeds, the ubiquitous razor vine and a few scattered trees that bravely stood their ground against the city's harsh climate. Only here and there had members of the Athar rebuilt a few houses, which they inhabited because the Temple was far from large enough to accommodate all the members of the faction. Some buildings were also used as taverns or shops, but rarely did any customers other than the Lost frequent these places. After all, who else but the Lost could feel at home in such a desolate and oppressive place?

Ambar did not, even though the Godsmen and the Athar shared some philosophical views and had been political allies for a long time. But the barren landscape of ruins and the broken, dark Temple at its center always weighed heavily on Ambar’s mind. He kept asking himself how his longtime friend Terrance could stand it here, in this gloomy building that was such an obvious symbol of decay and decline, surrounded by so many embittered souls. Of course, he had to admit that not all of the Lost were like that. When he thought of the priestess Jaya or the bard Askorion, they could certainly not be described as bitter. And as for decay, it was, after all, the decline of a powerful god that they witnessed here every day. Despite all of Terrance's positive traits, this was something that the factol of the Athar thoroughly enjoyed. Fortunately, Ambar was not here to discuss philosophical questions and personal attitudes toward divine power.

The Athar guards recognized him immediately and already knew that the half-elf visited the Temple from time to time to meet Terrance. So they simply bowed low in greeting and let him pass. Ambar himself was traveling without guards, as was usually the case. He simply did not like to surround himself with guards who constantly made him feel like his life was in danger. His deputy Ombidias and many of his other factors called it reckless, but Ambar always waved it off. Over the course of more than six hundred years, several factols had been murdered in Sigil - most of them in the presence of their bodyguards. That wasn't what he feared. Ambar Vergrove feared other things that were brewing on the horizon of the near future. Things that might have something to do with the Ring Prophecy and the God Machine. But also other things that concerned only himself and his faction, things he had to sort out, and soon. If only he knew how.

“You're still looking so glum.” His familiar, the pixie Kayedi, snapped him out of his thoughts. She had spent the last few minutes chasing a colorful butterfly, hoping to identify its species by the pattern on its wings. But now she had apparently grown bored, for she fluttered back to him to perch on his right shoulder.

“You're exaggerating,” he replied with a smile. “I was just thinking.”

She held on to his lapel and crossed her tiny legs. “Mhmm,” she said slowly. "You can't fool me, Ambar. I've known you too long. But I have to admit one thing ...“ She looked around briefly. ”There's something creepy about this place. No matter how many times I come through here, I always get a queasy feeling.“

Ambar nodded. ”A powerful god once died here. No wonder we can still feel the reverberations.”

Kayedi's dragonfly wings buzzed for a moment before she let them droop slowly. “You're probably right. You know ... when we came to Sigil from the Outlands, where we had spent so much time in the wild, free nature ... when we entered the Great Foundry and I realized that you wanted to stay there, I wasn't very enthusiastic. But then we visited the Shattered Temple for the first time, and I knew: it could have been worse.“

Ambar had to laugh. ”Do me a favor and don't say that when Terrance is around.“

”Oh.“ The pixie dismissively waved one of her little hands. ”I already told him that."

“Oh, really?” The half-elf raised his eyebrows. “And what did he say?”

“You know him.” Kayedi chuckled lightheartedly. “He just smiled mildly and said he was glad you hadn't been drawn to the Athar. At worst you would have had to fight for the factolship.”

Ambar smiled. “Yes, that sounds like him.”

When they reached the entrance to the Temple, Ambar strode through the wide corridor between the front wings into the courtyard of the mighty building. Kayedi had risen into the air again and was buzzing alongside him. The shattered dome allowed a view of the sky above Sigil, and in the center of the courtyard stood the Bois Verdurous, the Holy Tree of the Athar. Tall, calm and majestic, it seemed to be both guardian and treasure of the Temple. Many rumors and legends surrounded this tree. That it held the remaining essence of the dead god Aoskar. That its consciousness was always connected to the current factol of the Athar. That the tree stood on a powerful seal that held either unknown horrors or the key to unimaginable power. Ambar knew one thing for sure: only the factol of the Athar could touch the tree without burning up inside. And that the Lost stripped blessed and holy objects of their power and transferred it into the tree so that only Terrance could use it. These were just rumors in Sigil, but Ambar had seen it once, years ago. He knew enough to stay away from such an unusual tree, despite all the curiosity of a ranger.

So the half-elf walked respectfully around the Bois Verdurous , heading for the right rear wing where Terrance's quarters were located. Here, too, the guards at the door let him and Kayedi pass, and the two mighty temple golems, with colorful glowing stained-glass windows in their chests, remained motionless. Ambar did not arrive without invitation, so Terrance had obviously announced the high-ranking visitor. As the half-elf climbed a few stone steps and crossed a small, dark antechamber, Kayedi was quieter than usual. Even the lively, always cheerful pixie seemed impressed by the somber majesty of the Temple.

However, when Ambar opened the door to his friend's chambers, warm light enveloped the visitors. In these rooms, the Temple's wonderful stained-glass windows were still intact, but the stone floor had been replaced by parquet. The quarters were a fascinating contrast between the rebellious, gloomy philosophy of the Athar and the healing, benevolent nature of their current factol. The walls were decorated with various paintings and works of art, including a triptych depicting the journey of a soul through the planes – from the Prime to the Astral Plane and finally to the Outer Planes. Next to it hung several portraits of former Athar factols and two landscape paintings of Elysium, reminiscent of Terrance's origins. Particularly striking was a painting of the Shattered Temple before its destruction, on which it slowly transformed into its current state when viewed for a longer period of time. But no one who entered Terrance's quarters could ignore the desecrated objects of various religions that were also to be found here: a broken mirror from the realm of the Seldarine, several once-sacred symbols of various orc deities that had been repurposed as a surreal sculpture, a small bronze image of the dwarf god Moradin that now served as a paperweight ... Various desecrated altars and other religious artifacts were arranged alongside the walls, but they were not displayed triumphantly, rather placed respectfully and thoughtfully. They seemed more like memorials than trophies. In one corner was a large fireplace with a cozy seating area in front of it, where informal conversations and consultations often took place, and opposite to it stood a long meeting table made of dark wood, surrounded by many chairs. It was decorated with inlaid ebony symbols representing different variations of the Athar faction symbol. Between the fireplace and the meeting table, a staircase led to an elevated part of the quarters where Terrance's desk stood, along with numerous bookshelves filled with works on philosophy and religion, but also medicine and healing arts. Several planters stood between the shelves, some of them containing rare medicinal herbs from different planes, whose scent filled the air. Despite the desecrated religious objects, the room radiated an aura of calm and peace, reflecting the complexity of Terrance's personality - a man who rejected the gods but was nevertheless deeply spiritual and compassionate. His quarters were equally a safe haven, a place of healing and a center for the leadership of the Athar.

Ambar and Kayedi found Terrance in the rear, slightly elevated part of his quarters. The high priest of the Great Unknown stood behind his desk, still half turned toward the shelf from which he had apparently just taken a book. When he heard Ambar approaching, he looked up and smiled. “The Lady's Grace, my friend. And of course to you too, Kayedi.”

“The Lady's Grace,” Ambar replied warmly, stepping toward Terrance, who offered him both forearms. The half-elf placed his own on top and briefly grasped his friend's elbows before letting go.

Kayedi waved cheerfully to the Athar’s factol. Terrance pointed to one of the chairs by the fireplace, where a small fire crackled. Although it was mild outside, the walls of the Temple always seemed to be filled with a certain coolness. Ambar took a seat and Terrance offered him a glass of wine, which he thankfully accepted. Kayedi perched on the back of the chair. The Athar’s factol also sat down, looking thoughtfully at the half-elf, and Ambar held his gaze for a moment before turning his eyes to the flames in the fireplace.

“Have you found anything?” he began without beating about the bush.

Terrance sighed, leaned back, and also looked into the fire. “No. I think I've tried everything, to the best of my power, but no. I haven't found anything.”

“You think?” Ambar smiled as Kayedi lowered her wings, a little disappointed. “Unusually vague words from you, my friend.”

Terrance gently shook his head. “I've never searched for the severed part of a soul before. So you'll forgive me for not being an expert in this field.”

“I appreciate everything you're trying to do,” Ambar assured. “I didn't mean to seem ungrateful.”

The high priest waved it off. “I didn't take it that way. And I still have a couple of ideas. But I'm afraid it will take some time.”

“I hope that part of his soul ... is still in Sigil?” Kayedi asked hesitantly. “I mean, you know it's not back with Ambar, right.”

“Yes,” Terrance confirmed matter-of-factly. “I'm sure of that. And I also believe that Ambar's soul fragment is still in the Cage. Because the old, almost forgotten legend that souls can leave Sigil only in a body - whether living or dead … I find that story quite plausible.”

Ambar turned the wine glass thoughtfully between his slender fingers and nodded. He knew this old legend.

For Kayedi, however, the story was obviously new, and she looked at Terrance with curiosity. “How do you know that? And why is that so?”

Terrance crossed his legs and the dark blue fabric of his precious robe scrooped softly. “Well, when someone dies outside Sigil, a powerful cleric can bring them back to life, right?”

Kayedi nodded seriously, but did not interrupt the high priest.

“But there are limits. Apart from the fact that the soul must be willing, the same applies to the body. It must not already be in a state of decay, which means that after two, at most three days, it's usually too late - unless the priest is very powerful, and even then the time span is only one to two weeks. In addition, after a few days the souls go to the realms of their gods or to the plane of their corresponding alignment. And once they are firmly integrated there as a petitioner, they cannot be called back.“

The pixie nodded again.

”But how is it in Sigil?“ Terrance continued. ”Here in the Cage, assuming that the body has been properly preserved, the soul can be called back even after a much longer period of time. There have been cases where corpses were protected from decay by magic or alchemy, and they were resurrected after weeks, even months. So the souls were obviously still in Sigil, had not yet wandered to their destined planes. Otherwise, this would have been impossible.”

Kayedi looked at the Athar’s factol with a mixture of astonishment and unease. “I've never thought about it, but ... you're right. But I wonder why they don’t resurrect more dead people in Sigil then. Especially in the Upper Wards, many people would have the means to do so. But that almost never happens, does it? Not after more than three days.”

Terrance nodded seriously. “Exactly. Because the resurrected people were usually no longer themselves. Their personalities were twisted, perverted, completely changed. At least in most cases.”

“But why?” Ambar asked, frowning. “Where have these souls been while the body was dead?”

“I don't know,” Terrance replied. “I haven't found any information about it. But it must be something sinister.”

The factol of the Godsmen was not exactly happy about this statement. “And the severed part of my soul ... is in this sinister place?”

Terrance raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I wish I had an answer to that question. But I don't. As it's only a part of your soul, perhaps different rules apply - but that's just speculation. Do you still feel completely like yourself? Unchanged?”

Ambar nodded and looked back into the fire. “I feel no different than before.”

The high priest's gaze became more inquiring. “And Lereia actually did that? That's a very interesting process.”

Ambar looked up immediately. “An interesting process? What do you mean? It wasn't her intention!”

“I didn't mean to imply that,” Terrance said calmly. “I just think her gift is amazing, that's all. And you ... take an interest in more than just her gift, hm?”

The glow of the flames might conceal it a little, but Ambar was almost certain he was blushing. “I ... well, I ...” He heard Kayedi giggle from where she sat on the back of the chair and decided there was no point in lying to Terrance. “To be honest ... yes.” He smiled, a little abashed.

The Athar’s factol nodded contentedly. “I had almost given up hope that you would ever take an interest in anyone again. A serious interest.”

“Me too,” Ambar admitted. “But for the first time since Caye's death, I actually feel like I can open up - and maybe even commit myself – to someone. But I don't want to rush anything. After all, Lereia was with someone else until recently.”

“With an Anarchist,” Terrance stated matter-of-factly.

Ambar sighed. “By the Source of All, Terrance, Sgillin is still half clueless. He didn't really know what he was getting himself into. He didn't even know the sign. I believe him.”

“I believe it, too,” the high priest admitted. “But still, a factol would surely be a better match for her than an Anarchist.”

“Maybe. But I'm ... just not quite sure yet ...”

Terrance eyed the half-elf with raised eyebrows, and Ambar paused. “What?”

The high priest smiled, undeterred. “Well, you took her to the Festhall, weren't you?”

Kayedi nodded eagerly. “To a vernissage, factol.”

Ambar shot his familiar a warning glance and couldn't help sounding a little snide when he replied to Terrance. “I see you've been reading SIGIS.”

“As we all,” Terrance countered with his usual calm. “But in this case, I didn't need to. Askorion was there and he saw you.”

Ambar sighed. “Oh, yes. Is there any place where your secretary is not?”

The factol of the Athar laughed. “A few. Not many.”

“How reassuring. Well, if you want to know the whole truth, she asked me if we could go there together.”

Now Terrance looked surprised. “Really? Then she's bolder than I would have thought. She must be interested.”

“I'm not so sure,” Ambar replied evasively. “Not sure whether it's a kind of advances or just ... an innocent search for protection from someone she trusts in all this chaos.”

Kayedi sighed exaggeratedly, and Terrance smiled mildly. “Ambar, my friend. Who should know more about women? The still youthful, attractive and charming bard - or the priest with a vow of chastity who is already in his early sixties?”

Ambar raised an eyebrow. “I thought that vow only applied while you were a priest of Mishakal?”

But Terrance wasn't going to let him change the subject so easily. “You're evading the question.”

The half-elf had to grin. “May I cast a veil of silence over it?”

Terrance smiled. “You may. But I will give you some advice nonetheless: do something about it. The matter is preoccupying you, distracting you and gradually making you restless. I have noticed it, and I am sure your confidants will notice it too. Such a state of mind is not good for a factol.”

Ambar nodded with a sigh. “Unfortunately, you're right. When she returns from the Abyss, I'll ... try to sort it out.” He leaned back and gazed into the fire. Yes , he said to himself, as soon as she returns from the Abyss ...

Chapter Text

“Dragons? Splendid things, lad – so long as ye look upon them only in tapestries, or in the masks worn at revels, or from about three realms off.”

Astragarl Hornwood, Mage of Elembar

Third Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Yelmalis leaned against the rough stone wall of the room and watched as the members of the other group sat down to take a rest. Dilae had cast some healing spells, and a few hours of sleep would probably do the rest. Nevertheless, as the wizard's eyes wandered from one to the other, he noticed their exhaustion and the last traces of the recent battle. Naghûl sat down on one of the chairs, his staff within reach, while Jana huddled up on a blanket in a corner, carefully stretching out her injured ankle. Sgillin lay down on one of the cots, while Lereia curled up in her tiger form, her burned paws carefully drawn towards her. The dragon-blooded Kiyoshi had taken off his armor and chose the second cot, but only after Naghûl had assured him that he actually preferred to doze in a sitting position. While Garush remained standing in the middle of the room, alertly watching the door, Sekhemkare and Tarik pulled two chairs to the fireplace. However, they had decided not to light a fire, as it was already very warm in the catacombs. Dilae climbed onto the chest next to the fireplace, sat down cross-legged, and began to braid thin tresses into her white hair.

When everyone had found a place and it was clear that there would actually be a moment of peace, Yelmalis decided to seize the opportunity. He wanted to transfer a spell into his spellbook, which he had purchased at the market in the form of a scroll. So he pulled the last chair to the rickety table and took his grimoire out of his backpack. The book was a small work of art, bound in soft, bluish leather that felt like a cool breeze. The corners were decorated with silver fittings depicting delicate wind patterns, and the cover was embossed with a complex mandala that subtly represented the various aspects of air magic. When he opened the book, a light breeze blew across the pages, as if the grimoire itself were breathing. The parchment pages were of the highest quality, thin and smooth, but durable enough to preserve the magical energies of the spells. Yelmalis took his writing set out of a side pocket of his backpack. It consisted of a pegasus feather quill with a starsilver-reinforced nib and a crystal inkwell containing a shimmering, silvery-blue ink made from rare ethereal essences. The spell that Yelmalis now began to transfer into his spellbook was called wind cloak . It would enable him to surround himself and others with a swirling barrier of air that could deflect projectiles and accelerate the movements of those enchanted. With a steady hand and a focused gaze, the air genasi began to draw the complex arcane symbols on the page. The ink seemed to dance on the parchment, forming swirling patterns and delicate runes. Every stroke was precise and deliberate, for he knew that even the smallest mistake could alter or nullify the spell's effect. As he wrote, Yelmalis quietly murmured the incantation to weave the magic into the writing. A gentle breeze surrounded him, causing his hair to flutter slightly and the pages to rustle - a sign that the spell was taking shape. As he completed the last stroke, the symbols glowed briefly in a silver-blue light before imprinting themselves on the page. Yelmalis smiled contentedly. The wind cloak was now part of his arcane repertoire, ready to be summoned in times of need.

As he was putting his tools away, the air genasi noticed Kiyoshi twitching in his sleep and tossing and turning restlessly. At first, he thought it was just dreams or the aftereffects of the fight. But then something unexpected happened. Kiyoshi's body seemed to pulsate as if an inner force were pressing against his skin. Yelmalis' eyes widened as he saw the soldier's back arch and contort. Then - with a soft, tearing sound - two leathery wings suddenly broke through his shirt. They unfolded slowly, trembling in the dusty air of the catacombs. At the same time, a growth formed on the lower back of the sleeping man, quickly developing into a dragon's tail. The scales shimmered in a rich brassy color. Yelmalis was frightened, but equally fascinated by the transformation. As a wizard, he had seen many strange and wonderful things, but the spontaneous manifestation of dragon-like features in a sleeping person was new even to him. He watched as Kiyoshi's features relaxed in his sleep, as if the transformation had released some inner tension. Amazingly, the young soldier seemed unaware of any of this. He continued to sleep, now more peacefully, his new wings wrapped around his body like a protective blanket, his tail twitching slightly in time with his breathing.

Yelmalis glanced at his companions. Garush had also noticed the change and was eyeing Kiyoshi skeptically, while Dilae looked over at the young man with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Tarik and Sekhemkare exchanged a long look, the tiefling rather surprised, the yuan-ti clearly fascinated. Despite their amazement at Kiyoshi's unexpected transformation, they decided not to wake him or the others. The catacombs were a dangerous environment and they all needed to be at full strength, so it would not have been wise to disturb the other group's brief slumber. Thus, a relative peace returned to the room, Yelmalis’ group remaining alert while the others rested. After about an hour, Naghûl began to stir. The tiefling stretched, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light as he reached for his staff, which was leaning against the wall next to him. Almost simultaneously, Lereia awoke. She blinked a few times, then rose and stretched her limbs, licking her right forepaw a few times and then examining her paws, which, thanks to her therianthropic regeneration, appeared to have healed well. Shortly thereafter, Jana awoke. The Athar sat up and felt her ankle before casting a watchful glance around the room. Sgillin rubbed his eyes, yawning, and muttered quietly to himself as he tried to wipe dust and dried blood from the now-healed spider bites off his face. Kiyoshi was the last to wake up. As he moved, there was an unfamiliar rustling sound. Confused, he blinked and tried to sit up, but was held back by the weight of his new wings. The others in his group stared at him with a mixture of astonishment and concern.

Naghûl was the first to break the silence. “Kiyoshi, your transformation is progressing rapidly,” he remarked.

“Um ...” Tarik cleared his throat. “But he's alright, yes?”

Sgillin looked at Kiyoshi, blatantly examining him. “I think so. He's ... changing.”

Dilae climbed down from the chest and eyed Kiyoshi curiously, while Naghûl nodded to the Signer. “We have known about his dragon blood for some time. It is beginning to show more and more.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” Kiyoshi said, confused. “But what exactly do you mean?”

Lereia looked at the young soldier. “The wings ...”

“Wings?” He tried to turn around to see.

“You have ... well, exactly … wings,” Jana said awkwardly. “And a ... tail?”

Yelmalis stepped forward to support the sorceress. “It seems your dragon blood transformation has taken another step forward while you were asleep,” he explained calmly. “How do you feel?”

Kiyoshi needed a moment to answer, examining his new body parts. “I ... I feel good. Stronger, even.” He tried to move his wings, which he managed to do after a few awkward attempts.

“That will certainly make you stronger in battle,” Garush stated matter-of-factly. “Very good.”

Sekhemkare nodded. “Looks good. Especially the tail.”

“That figures, Sek,” Dilae replied with a grin.

Lereia examined Kiyoshi intently with her turquoise eyes. “The heritage seems to be strong.”

“Can you fly with those?” Jana tried to grab one of the wings, actually managed to get hold of it, and pulled a little.

“Eh.” Kiyoshi turned around quickly and reflexively struck out at the sorceress.

Fortunately, Jana had been on her guard and was able to jump back in time so that the young soldier did not hit her.

When he narrowly missed her, a look of shock crossed Kiyoshi's face. “I'm sorry!” he said immediately. “I didn't mean to.”

“One doesn’t pull a warrior by the wing from behind,” Garush stated dryly. “So don't apologize.”

“That's true.” Jana smiled conciliatorily. “I provoked it.” Then she took a few cautious steps back.

Although Garush was certainly right that one shouldn't pull a fighter from behind, neither by the wing nor by anything else, Kiyoshi's reaction had nevertheless astonished Yelmalis. He had always perceived the Harmonium soldier as very controlled and downright overly correct – and he thought so as a Guvner. The sudden, uncontrolled blow in Jana's direction, which had apparently surprised even himself, somehow did not fit in with Kiyoshi. Perhaps a temporary side effect of the dragon blood transformation, Yelmalis thought to himself. He hoped that it was indeed only temporary. The group slowly gathered, but everyone kept casting curious glances at Kiyoshi.

The young man tried to put on a stoic expression again and wanted to put on his armor - only to find that he couldn't wear it anymore because of his wings and dragon tail. With a sigh, he attached it to his backpack and then turned to the others. “I think it would be wise not to stay here any longer than necessary.”

Sgillin nodded. “That's true.”

Garush drew her axe as if in response. “Yes, we should focus on how to proceed from here. We still have a mission to fulfill.”

So Naghûl, Jana and Yelmalis cast a few protective spells and Dilae summoned her moonlike light again to illuminate the corridors. They turned to the first of the two locked rooms Lereia had mentioned. Sgillin picked the lock on the door without much trouble, and they entered a large, circular room with walls of smooth black stone. At regular intervals, niches were recessed into the walls, each illuminated by a flickering greenish flame. In the center of the room stood a large, round table made of dark wood, and around it seven magnificent chairs, each decorated with a different demonic symbol. A large map lay on the table, depicting various layers of the Abyss. From the ceiling hung a huge chandelier made of intertwined bones and metal. However, the candles in it were not burning. In one of the wall niches stood a life-size statue of a demon lord whom Yelmalis believed to be Pazuzu. The eyes of the statue seemed to glow and watch the room. But apart from that, everything was deserted and empty, and the thick layer of dust on the table and the map suggested that there had not been a gathering here for a long time. Yelmalis and Naghûl glanced briefly at the map, but could not glean any important information from it. Meanwhile, Sgillin and Sekhemkare searched the room for hidden secret doors, but found nothing.

They therefore decided to turn their attention to the second locked room, hoping to find a way deeper into the catacombs there. The lock here held a trap, which Sgillin fortunately discovered and disarmed. It also seemed to be more complicated, as the half-elf needed several attempts and a handful of lock picks to open it. That might be a good sign, because behind such a well-secured door there was certainly something important ... or dangerous. Garush seemed to have the same thoughts, because she entered the room with appropriate vigilance and caution. Once she had made sure that there was no one inside who might attack them, she let Sgillin go ahead again to look for more traps. But apparently no more were to be found, because the half-elf gave the all-clear signal with one hand, and so the others entered the room. The air here was cooler than in the rest of the catacombs and filled with a faint, barely perceptible hum that made Yelmalis' hair stand on end. Massive pillars decorated with Abyssal runes and demonic faces supported the high, vaulted ceiling. The room was bathed in an eerie red light emanating from several floating crystals. The walls were lined with shelves and cabinets crammed with old tomes, strange artifacts and containers with unidentifiable substances. A large workbench was littered with alchemical equipment, parchments and the bones of various creatures. There was also a small black wooden box on top of it. Naghûl opened it and looked inside cautiously.

Even in her tiger form, Lereia looked disgusted. “I suspect that experiments on living beings were carried out here, or something like that.” She looked at Naghûl. “Is there anything in the box?”

“A ruby, an emerald and diamond dust,” replied the tiefling. “But I didn't touch anything. They have a slight magical aura, and I don't want to risk taking a cursed item.”

Sgillin and Sekhemkare sighed almost simultaneously, which in turn elicited a brief grin from the others. Meanwhile, Yelmalis walked around the circular basin in the middle of the room. It was filled with a dark, oily liquid that occasionally bubbled, and alchemical symbols were carved into the floor around it, glowing faintly. The air felt heavy and stifling in his lungs, filled with the smells of sulfur, acid and liquid tar. There was an atmosphere of unholy science and forbidden experiments in this room.

Jana had turned to one of the shelves, where she was now rummaging around. “So, here's a skull,” she remarked matter-of-factly.

Tarik sighed. “There are skulls everywhere.” He didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about it.

The air genasi couldn't blame him and gave him an encouraging smile. The Signer returned it - briefly, almost shyly. Then he quickly looked away and Yelmalis cleared his throat a little. He was still unsure how to interpret Tarik's behavior. They had already been out to eat together a few times, mostly at lunchtime, when Yelmalis was bringing on a case in the City Court and Tarik was taking the minutes at a meeting in the Hall of Speakers. It was completely casual, of course, just a way to talk outside of their missions related to the Prophecy. To do something normal together, like friends did. They just got along well, and Yelmalis liked Tarik. Actually, he had to admit that “like” wasn't quite the right word. But how could he tell the tiefling? Was there even room for something like that between all the crazy events that were now part of their lives? On the other hand, wouldn't it be nice to have someone who understood all this? But he just wasn't good at these things. He was afraid of ruining everything if he told Tarik about his feelings. Of destroying their friendship and, as a result, the now smoother dynamic of the whole group. Was it worth it? Probably not, and even less so if Tarik didn't reciprocate his feelings. But what if he did? Dilae seemed to suspect something. She was good at these things. But as straightforward as she usually was, she hadn't asked him about it directly, and he was deeply grateful for that. In any case, this was not the right moment to ponder such things. They were in the Abyss, after all, and their mission was to find a mystical sword and get out of Broken Reach alive.

So Yelmalis pushed the annoying thoughts aside and looked at the other half of the room. Two things caught his eye: in one corner stood a massive cage, large enough to hold a humanoid creature. It was empty, but traces of dried blood on the bars testified to its gruesome use. And then there was the portal ... A massive stone arch, about three paces high and two paces wide, rose on a circular pedestal of dark, polished marble. The arch itself was covered with carvings depicting Abyssal battle scenes, and around the inner edge were pulsating runes, glowing in a green-yellow light. Inside the arch floated a shimmering purple energy field. It flickered and swirled like a living mist, occasionally pierced by flashes of lightning. Shadows seemed to move within. A soft hum emanated from the portal, accompanied by occasional crackling and hissing. Naghûl also took a closer look, while Jana remained at a distance.

“Through this portal, we could end up who knows where ...” she murmured.

“At the moment, I don't see any reason to pass it,” the Sensate explained reassuringly.

“Thanks,” Garush said promptly. “Me neither.”

“Thanks?” Naghûl frowned. “Well, for whatever. You're welcome, anyway.”

“Thank you for your reason,” the amazon replied. “That's what I meant.”

“We Sensates are always reasonable,” the tiefling joked in a self-mocking tone.

Garush just waved it off, but she bared her tusks with a slight grin.

The newly transformed Kiyoshi moved his wings up and down almost unconsciously as he examined the portal. “If it leads to another layer or plane, we definitely shouldn't pass it. Isn't the blade supposed to be in this layer?”

Tarik nodded. “Yes, according to our information, the sword should be on Pazunia.”

But something about the portal was strange ... Yelmalis stepped closer, his eyes focused on the shimmering surface. He felt his arcane senses sharpen as he examined the magical energies around him. The portal's signature felt ... wrong. Where he would have expected the familiar, pulsing power of a connection between planes, he sensed only a superficial imitation. It was like looking at a painting of a storm instead of feeling the raging wind and rain on the skin. Yelmalis closed his eyes briefly to focus better on the arcane structures, and in his mind's eye, the magical weave of the portal unfolded. Instead of the complex, interwoven threads of a real planar gateway, he saw a much simpler pattern - the unmistakable signature of an illusion spell.

“It's not real,” the wizard explained. “The energy signature is inconsistent, and the arcane structure ... it's clearly an illusion, albeit a very skillful one. Whoever created this didn't want anyone to discover the true entrance. In any case, there's no active portal.“

Sekhemkare tilted his head in a reptilian manner when Yelmalis finished his explanation. ”You're right,“ he said. ”I sense a subtle change in the air currents here. A hidden room or corridor behind this portal could explain that.”

“That means we could just walk through the archway?” asked Lereia.

As if to confirm this, Jana stepped up to one of the tables and took a heavy stone pestle from one of the mortars there. Then she threw it resolutely through the supposed portal. It flew right through and landed with a dull thud on the floor behind it. Sgillin nodded contentedly and was about to go through, but Garush, suspicious as always, held him back. Then she cautiously approached the stone arch and slowly reached out her hand. Her fingers slid effortlessly through the surface without any resistance or effect. She nodded slightly – then she stepped through.

“All right,” Yelmalis heard her voice immediately from the other side, much to his relief. “You can pass through unharmed. But be careful, there's a staircase leading down just behind the archway.”

They followed the amazon cautiously, one after the other, and found themselves at the foot of the steps down to a circular room. It was easily fifteen paces in diameter, spanned by a high, dome-like ceiling. The black stone walls were streaked with fine, silvery veins that pulsed faintly as if energy were flowing through them. In the center of the room stood a massive golem made of black steel, ten feet tall and menacing in appearance, with sharp edges and demonic features. However, it was completely motionless, surrounded by five gleaming rays of light that formed a kind of cage around it. A few steps away from the construct they discovered a stone pedestal surrounded by five large runes on the floor. Each glowed in a different color - red, blue, green, yellow and purple. On top of the pedestal, a single flame burned in a deep, hypnotic blue. Around the central platform stood four lower pillars, each about three feet high. Flames also burned at the top of those pillars, one red, one green, one yellow and one purple. The air in the room was filled with a palpable, magical tension, a soft hum that seemed to emanate from the runes and rays of light.

Tarik eyed the golem with a certain skepticism. “Is it guarding something?” he wondered.

“Quite possible,” Garush growled. “We should be careful what we do here.”

“Especially with the pedestal,” Naghûl agreed. “I could well imagine that it's connected to the golem.”

Jana kept a demonstrative distance from the construct. “So, if the theory is that the runes control the golem or something like that ... why don't we just leave them alone?”

The amazon nodded. “I think we should take a look around first. There are two more doors.”

She pointed to a massive metal door decorated with a large skull and a smaller, open passageway behind which seemed to be a smaller chamber. They decided to take a look at the room behind the archway first. It was significantly smaller, square and had a lower ceiling. The floor was covered with dark marble, into which subtle, swirling patterns had been carved. In the middle of the room, on a low, circular platform, stood an imposing statue. It was a figure wrapped in a black robe, about seven feet high. Although the robe was carved from stone, it looked so realistic that it seemed to move in the slight breeze that Yelmalis brought into the room. The hood of the robe was pulled down so far that the figure's facial features were not visible. The statue's hands, protruding from the wide sleeves, held a large, heavy book. The cover appeared to be made of ancient, weathered leather with metal fittings at the corners. However, it was impossible to spot any more details, like a title, as the book was open. Yelmalis' eyes were inevitably drawn to it. The tome radiated an almost tangible aura of power and forbidden knowledge, seeming to whisper secrets beyond mortal comprehension. The air genasi tried to read what was written on the pages, but the writing was very small and it was difficult to make out anything ... besides, the letters kept blurring before his eyes ... They twisted as if they didn't want to be read.

Yelmalis blinked briefly and rubbed his eyes. “The book is protected by magic,” he explained. “A spell that makes it impossible to read.”

“Do you think there's something important in it?” Garush asked skeptically.

The wizard smiled. “Since someone took the trouble to cast such a protective spell, probably yes.”

“Always this arcane stuff.” The amazon growled discontentedly. “Too highbrow for me. I'll guard the door while you magic whizzes try to read it. But don't dawdle, I have a feeling we shouldn't stay here any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Yelmalis couldn't suppress a smile. Yes, Garush wasn't very fond of the arcane and always made that quite clear. She walked briskly to the open passageway and took up her position there, and Sgillin and Lereia joined her. Kiyoshi, on the other hand, who was actually predestined to stand guard with the half-orc, stayed near the book, examining it closely. He seemed to be concentrating on something, but Yelmalis couldn't figure out on what. Just as he was about to address the young soldier, the latter suddenly shouted something, a word in a strange language completely unknown to the air genasi, concise, almost like a command. It sounded like Vistambhayisu!, but strangely, Yelmalis was unable to remember the word. At the same time, it was as if a gust of wind had unexpectedly swept through the room, hot and energetic ... It tugged at Yelmalis' body, but also at his mind and soul. The pages of the book began to turn frantically, as if someone were flipping through them incredibly fast. Faster and faster - forward, then back again ... almost as if the book were fighting back ... Then suddenly it stopped, the tome remained open ... and the writing was suddenly clear. Yelmalis and the others looked at Kiyoshi in amazement. Had that been the Old Tongue, his gift? Had he broken the spell on the book? Or simply commanded it to let itself be read? It seemed so.

But as surprised as the others were, the young soldier remained calm. “Here, please,” he said matter-of-factly. “You can read it now.”

“Well, that was unexpected,” Sekhemkare remarked. “But your timing is perfect.”

Yelmalis nodded gently, then approached the old book. It was written in Common, but obviously an incredibly old alphabet had been used here. And it was also a very early variant of Common. On the two open pages, he recognized intricate runes arranged in a pattern reminiscent of a key or code. Some of the runes resembled those they had seen in the room with the golem, but he couldn't assign them to any system he knew. Cautiously, he reached out to turn the page.

“Be careful!” Dilae's voice to his right made him flinch. “Don't let it poison you ... or bite you.”

The dark elf must have stepped quietly beside him while he had been examining the book. Naghûl was standing to his left, but Yelmalis hadn't noticed him approaching either, had been focused only on the ancient tome.

The wizard glanced briefly at Dilae. “Well, we have a cleric with us, just in case,” he remarked with a smile.

“Well, you’re funny.” She grinned briefly, then looked back at the tome, but like Naghûl, she made no move to leaf through it.

Yelmalis shrugged slightly. There was always a certain risk with books like this, that was just the way it was. But the great wizards of the planes would certainly not have earned their reputation and knowledge if they had allowed themselves to be deterred by such things. So he boldly reached out and turned the page – to his relief, without any immediate consequences. On the next two pages was a map showing different layers of the Abyss, with lines and symbols that seemed to indicate portals and important paths. Broken Reach was marked on it and appeared to be a kind of hub.

Yelmalis stared at the book. “Unbelievable ...”

“Why?” Jana now came closer. “What does it say?”

“It's a very old form of Common,” Yelmalis explained. “It would certainly take me a while to decipher everything, but ...” He leafed further, to a page with descriptions of various demons and what appeared to be their weaknesses, including some species Yelmalis had never heard of. Another page seemed to list a series of alchemical formulas for potions and elixirs with unusual and potentially dangerous effects.

“Yeah?” Dilae pressed, as he was about to lose himself in the book again.

“Excuse me.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, there could be incredibly valuable knowledge hidden in this book and ...” He faltered as he turned another page. “By the powers ...” Yelmalis felt both horror and joyful excitement shoot through him, as he managed to decipher a few of the words written there.

“What is it?” Jana also sounded impatient now, and Sekhemkare hissed in annoyance.

Slowly, the wizard lowered his hand and turned to the others. “It appears that part of the ancient text in this book is about the Deus Machina ...”

Naghûl raised his eyebrows in alarm. “Oh dear. Should we perhaps tear out the pages and take them with us and destroy the rest of the book?”

“The book has many more pages that are certainly important,” Lereia interjected from behind.

“Exactly!” Yelmalis replied vehemently. He felt how Naghûl's suggestion agitated him. “We can't just destroy a work like this ... even if we were able to.”

He saw Garush grinning broadly. “Yelmalis and books ... careful.”

“Alright,” Naghûl reassured him. “I'm just considering the fact that a succubus over two thousand years old is sitting a few floors above us, and we might now have given her the chance for an enjoyable reading experience.”

“Unless she enchanted the book herself,” Tarik interjected.

To Yelmalis' surprise, Kiyoshi also seemed to have reservations about Naghûl's suggestion. “These are powers we don't understand,” he said seriously. “Are you sure you would only destroy the book and not all of us along with it?”

“Exactly!” The air genasi, still stirred up, pointed at Kiyoshi. “You said it!”

“However, we may not have time to explore it fully,” Lereia cautioned. “It would be important to know if there is also a passage about the sword.”

“I have to study this!” Yelmalis declared emphatically. He felt the butterflies that always surrounded him fluttering faster and more frantically. “As long as possible! I mean, what do we know about the Deus Machina so far?”

Naghûl conceded defeat. “Fine, but then we'll have to split up. We can't all stay here, especially since most of us can't decipher the writing.”

“I'd like to stay here with the book too,” said Jana. “I've read some old texts during my alchemy studies. Maybe that will help.”

Sgillin and Lereia remained standing in the passageway, as if to demonstrate that they would help explore the catacombs.

“Then let's go,” said Kiyoshi, making a move to leave the room.

Yelmalis saw Garush bare her tusks. “Hello, Hardhead? My group hasn't decided yet who's staying here and who's going to explore further. I don't know what you heroes of the Harmonium learn about tactics and strategy, but maybe we should discuss this before you leave.”

The soldier looked at the amazon with a stony expression. “Have you ever heard of a declaration of intent? That's what this was. Nothing more, nothing less. But I know that you jailers of the Red Death are not concerned with laws, only punishment.”

Despite his impassive features, there was a certain irritation in Kiyoshi's tone. Having always perceived the Harmonium soldier as extremely controlled, Yelmalis now turned away from the book and looked at the young man in astonishment.

Sekhemkare's reptilian eyes narrowed slightly. “A declaration of intent is a declaration of will between negotiating partners to express an interest in concluding a contract. To say ‘Let's go’ and walk to the door is an announcement of an action. Well, Hardheads ...”

The yuan-ti's reply made Yelmalis smile. Apart from himself, Sekhemkare was definitely the one who knew the laws of Sigil best, which was certainly due to his affiliation with the Fated.

Kiyoshi, on the other hand, didn't seem to find the retort very funny, because he swung his naginata in a wide arc and only stopped when the blade was just inches from Sekhemkare's throat. “Please, insult my faction one more time ...” he snapped at the yuan-ti.

Yelmalis flinched, and he noticed that the others were also astonished, even terrified. This reaction was anything but typical of Kiyoshi. What was going on here?

Garush reacted with her usual confidence and quick thinking, grabbing the young man's weapon by the shaft faster than he could pull it back. “Your chatter has little to do with the law either,” she growled. “But if you're implying that I don't abide by the law, we'll settle this here and now.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Kiyoshi replied angrily, and Yelmalis noticed with horror that his teeth had become significantly longer and sharper.

If Garush was equally surprised, she hid it well, ever the warrior. “Then choose your phrasing carefully so that no one can put words in your mouth,” she replied, dangerously quietly. “You're such a master of words, after all, aren't you?”

Sekhemkare had taken two steps back from the tip of the naginata, but seemed quite calm since Garush had grabbed the weapon. Dilae and Tarik had remained at Yelmalis’ side, keeping their distance from Kiyoshi and the amazon.

While Jana, Lereia and Sgillin still looked at their companion in disbelief, Naghûl regained his composure. “Damn it, what is this?” he snapped at the two arguing fighters. “Calm down!”

Kiyoshi's head jerked toward the tiefling. “What!?” His teeth had now grown into real dragon teeth, and spikes were growing out of his neck ... His dragon blood seemed to be breaking through even stronger.

“I won't stand for such nonsense,” Garush replied grimly, without taking her eyes off the Harmonium soldier. “Even if we're all mentioned a hundred times in that stupid Prophecy.”

“Garush, please ...” Tarik began unhappily, but then fell silent and looked at Dilae for help. He knew that in situations like this, the only other woman in their group could approach the amazon best.

“That ...” The dark elf cleared her throat. “Well, I also don't think that this is a good development ...”

Kiyoshi turned back to the half-orc. “Then stop insulting me!” he shouted – and deep in his throat, Yelmalis could actually see a glow. Could that be fire breath breaking through thanks to his dragon heritage?

But Garush was not impressed. “Ahh, we're getting irritable,” she remarked instead, her calmness in stark contrast to Kiyoshi's anger and possibly deliberately displayed to provoke him.

Yelmalis suspected that the amazon saw an advantage in the young soldier acting uncontrollably and therefore unwisely, but he was not comfortable with it.

“What's wrong with you lawful ones?” Naghûl interjected again. “It beggars description! We are already in hell. Don't make it worse.”

“Do not insult my alignment!” Kiyoshi snapped at the Sensate, his voice now deep and throaty, more of a growl.

Garush jutted her chin forward, her orcish tusks in her lower jaw, which otherwise protruded only slightly from her lower lip, becoming more prominent. She signaled to Sekhemkare to step aside, and the yuan-ti gained a few steps of distance, retreating towards Yelmalis, Tarik and Dilae. “Hey, Hardhead,” Garush then turned to Kiyoshi. “I'm here. Settle your dispute with me first.”

Now the young man let go of the naginata and wanted to jump at the amazon's throat. His fingernails grew into brass-colored claws.

“Stop!” Lereia shouted from behind. “You're endangering us all!”

Garush had also let go of the naginata, which now fell to the ground with a clatter. She caught Kiyoshi's hands and held them tight. “Stop it,” she growled warningly. “Don't get yourself into more trouble than you can handle.”

But the transformed soldier didn’t listen anymore and spat flames. The reddish glow in his throat had indeed been a harbinger of a fire breath. Yelmalis cried out Garush's name in alarm, but at that moment her gift seemed to activate, for she moved so quickly that he had trouble even recognizing what she was doing. She ducked under the flames and the fire breath missed her, leaving only a soot stain on the opposite wall, barely visible on the black stone.

“Hey!” Dilae cried indignantly. “Are you barmy? That's typical of your faction! Tyrannizing anyone who doesn't suit you, right?” Although the dark elf was usually calm and friendly, a heated anger now broke through, certainly due to the animosity that had been smoldering between the Free League and the Harmonium for a long time.

Kiyoshi immediately let go of Garush and wanted to lunge at Dilae, but luckily the amazon still had a firm grip on his hands. The dark elf jumped back in fright, and Yelmalis also felt his heart skip a beat.

“Stop it!” he shouted. “She didn't attack you!”

At that moment, Naghûl apparently decided that it was time to intervene more actively and cast a spell. Yelmalis breathed a sigh of relief. He preferred that the Sensate did it, who knew Kiyoshi better, rather than having to do it himself. Garush had grabbed the young soldier by the throat at the same moment he had turned towards Dilae, but let go when Naghûl's spell hit him. A glowing green hand appeared around him, holding him in a firm grip. Kiyoshi no longer spoke, but only growled angrily like a mindless beast. He tensed his muscles and fought a futile battle against the powerful spell.

“How brave,” Garush said contemptuously while eying Kiyoshi. “Attacking an unarmed priestess with dragon claws. Lunging at a woman who didn't raise a hand against you. And you are serving Sarin?” She spat on the floor.

“I know that was messy,” Sgillin admitted. “But that's his dragon blood. He can't control it.”

As if to emphasize the half-elf's words, Kiyoshi continued to thrash wildly in the magical hand, even though movement was nearly impossible.

Naghûl took a deep breath, visibly struggling to maintain his composure. “So, can everyone except our own group leave the room? We need to somehow calm down our comrade.”

As much as Yelmalis understood the Sensate's request, he was reluctant to leave the old tome at that moment. Garush seemed to understand his brief glance at the statue immediately.

“I don't want to leave the book unguarded right now,” she explained.

Sekhemkare nodded in agreement. “Not that he gets the idea that it insulted him and wants to burn it ...” he explained sarcastically.

Despite all his rage, Kiyoshi still seemed to understand what was being said, because he yelled at the yuan-ti uncontrollably at these words. Sekhemkare hissed softly - a kind of laugh as Yelmalis had learned by now.

“I won't destroy it,” Naghûl promised. “I agreed that some of us would stay here to get hopefully important information from it. But now, please, everyone try to gather what little sanity we have left in this hellhole. Let me try to calm Kiyoshi. None of our factols would be happy about a bloody conflict between us. Right?“

Sekhemkare shook his head thoughtfully, but Garush nodded briefly. ”Make sure that he calms down, otherwise our joint mission is over. I wasn't aware that you were dragging people into the Abyss who have so little control over themselves.”

As she turned towards the door, Kiyoshi yelled at her, his voice losing all humanity. All that could be heard was the dragon. Dilae quickly darted to Garush's side.

“Yeah, because it was my choice who is a Chosen,” the Sensate grumbled.

“Touché,” the amazon admitted. “You have my sympathy.”

Yelmalis followed Garush, Dilae and Sekhemkare to the door with a sigh, but Tarik hesitated. He looked at the raging and roaring Kiyoshi, then at Naghûl. “Um, if I may say something ...”

“Yes?” The Sensate looked tense, but obviously not because of the Signer, but because of the situation as a whole.

Tarik's orange-red eyes glowed in the dim room, but despite this visible sign of his fiendish heritage, he radiated warmth even here. “Are you able to calm him down in his condition? Reliably, I mean?”

“Reliably?” Naghûl sighed. “I can't say. I'll do everything in my power. But I definitely won't let anything happen to him.”

“None of us want that,” Tarik replied seriously. “If you'll allow me ... I could help.” He tapped his temple lightly. “I know a little about the mortal mind.”

The Sensate thought for a moment, then nodded. “I trust you Signers. Try it. I would have started singing him beautiful songs to calm him down.”

Tarik smiled. “Not that I doubt your art of singing ...” He looked at Kiyoshi, who was still raging.

Despite the unpleasant situation, Naghûl smirked a little and made an inviting gesture. “Please.”

Yelmalis was about to hold Tarik back or at least call out a warning. But he contained himself. He didn't want his concern to give the impression that he thought the Signer was incompetent or so weak that he needed protection. He knew Tarik's abilities well enough to know that this was not the case. As friendly and modest as the tiefling was, his psionic powers were not to be trifled with. Besides, Kiyoshi was still firmly in the grip of the green hand that Naghûl had summoned. Tarik walked over to him and sat down cross-legged, regardless of the dusty floor. He studied Kiyoshi closely, and his red eyes began to glow with a bluish light, a sign of active psionic powers. And indeed ... the young soldier's brazen claws retracted, and he slowly calmed down. Then Kiyoshi's eyes also took on a bluish glow as he came under Tarik's psionic influence. Yelmalis nodded gently. Seeing that the Signer's plan was working, he turned and followed Garush, Dilae and Sekhemkare outside into the larger room with the golem and the pedestal. They kept a good distance from the passageway so as not to distract Tarik.

Lereia and Sgillin followed them, and when Dilae gave them a questioning look, the half-elf raised his hands. “There's nothing we can do in there right now anyway.”

Lereia nodded. “Better not disturb them.”

Jana stood hesitantly in the doorway, but then decided to join the others. Only Naghûl stayed in the smaller room together with Tarik and Kiyoshi to maintain the spell that kept the Harmonium soldiers at bay. Garush stood vigilantly between her group and the passageway, her eyes darting back and forth between the door to the book room and the other exits. Her tense posture made it clear that she was ready to respond to any threat. Dilae, on the other hand, withdrew to a quiet corner and seemed to be meditating or praying quietly, probably asking Eilistraee for help. Sekhemkare, meanwhile, examined the runes around the golem with fascination, but was careful not to touch anything. No one said a word, probably in unspoken agreement that they did not want to disturb Tarik in what he was doing. But the silence made the tension all the more palpable.

Lereia, still in her tiger form, wandered slowly around the room, while Sgillin leaned against a wall and adjusted the feathers on his arrows. Jana had settled down on the floor, a small book on her knees, in which she was writing something, perhaps notes about everything they had seen and experienced so far. Yelmalis’ gaze kept wandering to the passageway behind which he knew the frenzied Harmonium soldier as well as the mysterious book. He was concerned about Kiyoshi's loss of control and hoped that Tarik's psionic abilities could help. He found it difficult to assess what this incident and the soldier's condition might mean for their mission and the dynamics between the two groups. But it was a more than unfortunate situation in the middle of the Abyss, that much was clear. At the same time, Yelmalis' curiosity about the book gnawed at him. He wished he could have continued studying it right away, but at the same time, he was aware of the danger that such powerful knowledge could pose. He tried desperately to remember everything he had seen on the pages, wondering how it could help them. Was there any information in the book about the black golem and the pedestal with the flames and runes in this room? Was there anything about the sword Hope? And above all, could the book provide them with insights into the Deus Machina, as the few words he had been able to decipher suggested?

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as everyone waited for Tarik to bring Kiyoshi back to his senses. The tension in the room was almost palpable, and everyone seemed to be dealing in their own way with the uncertainty and potential danger arising from Kiyoshi's unstable state. Finally, they heard soft voices coming from the room with the book, and Yelmalis noticed the arcane signature of the green hand disappearing. Naghûl must have ended the spell. Then all three stepped through the door, Naghûl and Tarik first, Kiyoshi a few steps behind them. The young man now seemed much calmer - perhaps a little shaken and confused, but clearly no longer aggressive. Dilae and Sekhemkare moved closer to Garush again, while Jana put her book away and went over to Lereia and Sgillin. Naghûl joined them, while Tarik stepped next to Yelmalis. Responding to a questioning glance from the air genasi, he nodded with a smile. Obviously, he had been successful. Kiyoshi now approached Yelmalis and the others with slow, measured steps, took the naginata in both hands and laid it on the floor in front of the group. Then he knelt down and touched the ground with his forehead. This behavior was in such stark contrast to his previous frenzy that Yelmalis found it difficult to hide his confusion. However, a sideways glance at Garush told him that she was even less successful, as she stared at Kiyoshi as if he were a particularly curious creation of Limbo.

“Honorable Chosen of the Prophecy,” said the young soldier. “I beg you, hear me out.”

“This is going to be fun,” hissed Sekhemkare.

Tarik nudged him lightly and gave him a reproachful look. “Shh.”

“Moderation, please,” Naghûl said to the yuan-ti with a sharp glance. “Let him speak first.”

Dilae frowned and crossed her arms, but said nothing. The others also turned their attention to Kiyoshi.

“My behavior was absolutely unforgivable,” the young man explained seriously. “It is inexcusable, be it by the special circumstances of this plane or by any other means. I allowed my suddenly and unexpectedly strengthened dragon blood to gain the upper hand and thereby I threatened you. Even if you had insulted my honor and that of my faction, the proper response would have been to challenge you to fight or to bring this before a court.”

“Well, we would have a lot to deal with in Sigil then,” Yelmalis interjected, but then immediately made an apologetic gesture and fell silent again.

“I have brought great shame upon myself,” Kiyoshi continued. “I have lost my face and endangered this mission. I therefore offer you my weapon, the only means of defending myself. Do with it as you see fit. Nothing will ever make up for this transgression, and I want you to know that I take full responsibility for what has just happened. I should not have allowed the dragon blood to be in control, even if it is stronger than me.”

Garush looked at Kiyoshi with a mixture of incomprehension and appreciation, then slowly shook her head. “You're killing me. First that performance, and now this? It's like we were in Xaos ...”

Dilae grinned slightly and Naghûl raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You have been in Xaos?”

“Thank the Lady, just at its gates,” the amazon snorted. “But that's how I imagine it.”

Yelmalis, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation, cleared his throat. “Well, I think, considering the fact that he wasn't ... in control of himself ...”

“Considering such a fact, it's better not to pick up a weapon,” Garush interjected. At a reproachful glance from Yelmalis, she waved it off. “But who am I to reject a sincere apology?” She took two steps toward Kiyoshi. “Please stand up.” When the young man complied and rose, she bent down and picked up his weapon. “Listen. I'm not as clever as Yelmalis, nor as eloquent as Dilae. I'm not as diplomatic as Tarik, and I'm not very good at intrigue either.“ She glanced briefly at Sekhemkare. ”I usually say what I think, and most of the time I say it quite loudly.“

Tarik suppressed a laugh. ”You might say that ...”

“Shut up, Signer,” growled the amazon before turning back to Kiyoshi. “So, I'll tell you straight how I see it: I believe you that your outburst happened due to your dragon blood. That's why I don't question your honor. But I do question your sanity, until I have a plausible reason to believe otherwise. You are with the Harmonium, I am with the Mercykillers. Our factions should work together, we should work together. If I wanted something else, we wouldn't have ventured forth together in the first place. And I think I speak for the others here as well.“

She looked around briefly and Yelmalis nodded matter-of-factly.

”That's true,” Tarik confirmed.

Dilae also made an approving gesture. “Yes, you could say that.”

Sekhemkare remained silent, which elicited a brief grin from Garush. “Well, Sek always speaks for himself.” Then she handed Kiyoshi his naginata. “I see that making you angry is not a good idea. The same goes for me. Make sure you point your weapon at our enemies in future. I would hate to have to cut off your head.”

The young soldier nodded seriously and took the weapon. “Thank you. Your generosity reaches to the stars and shames me. I will prove myself worthy of your trust.”

“Ha.” The amazon laughed raucously. “My generosity reaches at least to the boundaries of this Prophecy. And I don't know whether to honor or to curse it. By the way, I apologize for calling you Hardhead. I know you don't like it, but I think the nickname has a certain charm.”

Yelmalis was relieved at the turn of events and heard Tarik breathe a sigh of relief at his side. Everyone else seemed glad as well that the incident had not ended in more animosity or even violence.

Kiyoshi bowed his head to Garush. “I'm glad this problem has been resolved.”

“Me too,” said Naghûl. “By the way, we agree on one thing, Garush: the Prophecy. Although I'm slowly starting to think it's a curse.”

The amazon snorted in agreement. “I just wanted to carry out my duty with the Red Death, hunt down child killers and have a child myself before I die. And now this mess. Well, hard luck.”

“After some initial reservations, I started to deem the Prophecy quite appealing,” Yelmalis said with a sigh. “I'll think about it.”

Dilae shook her head. “You're a bit barmy, Yel.”

“Hey.” But he had to laugh at her remark, and she grinned.

“Alright, very clever and barmy. But all of you Guvners are nuts.”

Naghûl raised his index finger with a wink. “Negative emotions, be careful. They're amplified in the Abyss.”

“I've got something for that if necessary,” Tarik explained with a smile, whereupon Garush bared her tusks.

“You're staying out of our heads,” she said, half in jest.

Naghûl smiled, looked around, and took a deep breath. “Oh well ... There are experiences that you're only glad about much later.”

Yelmalis raised an eyebrow and looked at Dilae. “Who's barmy here now?”

“When in doubt, always the Sensate,” Sgillin interjected with a grin.

The dark elf laughed. “I think the mission might not be as bad as we first thought.”

Naghûl nodded to her cheerfully, but then became serious again. “Good, shall we split the two groups?”

“I'd like to stay here and translate the book,” Yelmalis explained quickly, so that there could be no doubt which task he wanted to take on.

“Wonderful, I don't,” the Sensate replied promptly, eliciting a smile from the wizard.

“I'll follow the honorable Naghûl-san,” declared Kiyoshi.

Lereia twitched her ears a little. “Unfortunately, I don't understand anything about arcane matters,” she stated. “So I think it makes more sense for me to go downstairs too.”

“Same here,” said Sgillin. “I think I'll join the group descent.”

“Then I'll stay up here and try to help Yelmalis translate the ancient text.” Jana took her little book and charcoal pencil out of her bag again. “I can take notes.”

Garush nodded contentedly. “Good, I'll go down too.”

Sekhemkare stepped next to Yelmalis. “I'll stay up here.”

The wizard was not surprised. The yuan-ti was obviously just as interested in the book as he was. And perhaps Sekhemkare's gift would prove useful with the tome; perhaps a helpful soul shred would reveal itself.

Tarik, however, seemed less happy with the Taker's decision. “I think, someone of us should go down with Garush,” he remarked.

“Go ahead,” Sekhemkare replied, unperturbed. “Feel free.”

Tarik looked at Dilae for help, who looked back just as helplessly.

“What do you think, Garush?” the dark elf then turned to the amazon.

“I think maybe I shouldn't take any of you down with me,” the half-orc replied in her direct manner. “Because I have this stupid feeling that it's going to be more dangerous down there than up here. And I don't want to lose any of you.”

Naghûl raised his eyebrows. “Very diplomatically put ...”

“I told you, I'm not very good with words,” the amazon replied gruffly.

“But you can't always fight alone,” Dilae objected. “That's not fair, and it's too dangerous.”

Garush bared her tusks once more. “But maybe that's my purpose.”

“The Huntress, of course.” The dark elf sighed audibly. “I'm going down with you.”

That left only Tarik to decide whether to stay upstairs or go downstairs. He seemed uncertain, so Yelmalis decided to help him make up his mind.

“I'd prefer if Tarik stayed upstairs,” he explained. “In case this book tries to do something to us, we might need his psionic abilities.”

The tiefling looked at him, perhaps surprised, perhaps relieved, or perhaps both. Yelmalis nodded slightly. Although the suggestion had the pleasant side effect of keeping Tarik close by, the wizard knew that it also made sense strategically.

Garush seemed to agree and nodded. “Yes, that makes sense.”

“Good,” Yelmalis replied. “I think with Jana's and my spells, Tarik's psionic powers, and Sekhemkare's abilities, we're pretty well prepared.”

“They are able to take care of themselves,” said Dilae. “I can confirm that.”

Naghûl smiled. “I have no doubt about that.”

“All right.” Garush looked around. “Dilae, Naghûl, Kiyoshi, Lereia, Sgillin and I will go down. Tarik, Yelmalis, Sekhemkare and Jana will stay up here.”

And so it was decided.

Chapter Text

“A golem is a lifeless puppet - a magical force provides the animation.”

Safiya, Red Wizards of Thay

Third Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Naghûl watched as the two groups separated, feeling a mixture of tension and alertness as he stayed behind with Garush, Dilae, Kiyoshi, Sgillin and Lereia near the golem. His hand clenched his staff a little tighter than necessary as he examined the room. The massive black steel construct stood motionless in its cage of light beams. Naghûl could feel the arcane energy emanating from it - promising and threatening at the same time. He stepped closer cautiously, careful not to touch the beams. Then his gaze wandered to the stone pedestal. The flame on it flickered in a rich azure blue, the four smaller pillars with flames in red, green, yellow and violet forming a perfect square around the central pedestal. Naghûl watched as Garush systematically searched the room, her movements careful and precise. Sgillin knelt down to examine the floor runes around the pedestal more closely, while Lereia kept her eyes alertly fixed on the locked door with the skull.

Finally, the amazon returned to the golem in the middle of the room. “The question is: where do we go now?”

“Well ...” Dilae looked around. “The door with the skull over there is locked. There's no other obvious way out.”

Lereia nodded. “I think the door is our only option.”

Naghûl noticed that Kiyoshi was deliberately keeping in the background, apparently still ashamed of his earlier outburst. The others, however, were now approaching the metal door.

Sgillin carefully examined the large skull on the two wings of the door without touching it. “I can see several indentations,” he said. “Five, to be precise. One in each eye and three in the mouth. It looks like something could be inserted there, something octagonal, a little larger than a fingernail.”

Naghûl looked at the golem with the five rays of light. “There must be a connection between the golem, the pedestal and this door,” he said. “But what do we have to insert here?”

“Hmm.” Sgillin took another closer look at the lock and whistled softly through his lips. “Challenging. This mechanism is much more complicated than the one on the safe in the house of ...” He fell silent, glancing at Kiyoshi and Garush, deciding not to elaborate on his raids with the Razor Angels.

While the Harmonium soldier shot the half-elf an icy glance, the amazon didn't seem too bothered by the remark at the moment. Instead, she stared grimly at the skull-shaped lock. “I hate this kind of stuff,” she growled.

Naghûl sighed. “Fellow in misery.”

“Funny.” Garush glanced at the tiefling in surprise. “I would have bet that you Sensates were into that kind of thing.”

“Almost all of us,” Naghûl admitted. “With a few exceptions - myself included.”

Despite the tense situation, the Mercykiller couldn't help but grin. “Well, well.”

The Sensate smiled a little, then turned away from the door and walked over to the platform with the flames. Since Yelmalis, Jana and Sekhemkare were with the book, he and Dilae were the only ones who had the ability to examine the arcane signature emanating from it. He sensed the impatience in the group, the urge to move forward and find the sword. But he also knew that caution was called for. One wrong step in this room could have fatal consequences. So he concentrated on the deep red flame, which he recognized as magical - strangely, it was the only one of the five fires that he could attribute arcane properties to. Then he turned to the golem.

“The red flame on the pedestal is magical,” he explained. “And it's connected to the red beam of light near the golem. So be careful.”

“Interesting,” remarked Dilae. “Because the yellow flame is clerical in origin – and connected to the yellow beam. So the pedestal and the golem are related.”

Lereia sneaked around the pedestal, completely silent on her tiger paws. “One flame is clerical, one is arcane,” she mused. “And the other three?”

“A very good question.” Dilae looked back and forth between the purple, green and blue flame, then examined the green one more closely. As she carefully slid her right hand over it, the stone in a silver ring on her finger began to glow.

Sgillin stepped closer, curious. “What does that mean?”

“The ring reacts to poisons,” explained the dark elf. “The flame here is either poisonous itself or is produced by some kind of poison. So it could have something to do with toxicology. Maybe we should ask Sekhemkare about it, he knows a lot about these things.”

Naghûl nodded thoughtfully. “Red Shroud is a master poisoner and collects unusual and rare poisons. That would make sense. And the purple flame? I'm not as well-read as Yelmalis, but I remember that in encyclopedias, arcane notes are often written in red ink, clerical notes are gold, and psionic notes are purple.”

“Then maybe we should get Tarik as well,” said Garush. “He'll be able to tell us whether the purple flame is psionic.”

Lereia was already on her way to the smaller side room. “I'll let him know,” she said.

Shortly thereafter, she returned with the Signer, to whom they showed the flame and explained their theory.

And indeed, Tarik nodded. “Yes, your reasoning was correct. The purple flame here is indeed psionic in nature.”

Lereia quietly circled the pedestal once more. “Could the items we need for the door lock be lying in the flames here?”

Naghûl nodded. It was a good guess, but upon closer inspection, they saw nothing lying in any of the flames – and all of them were burning without any apparent source, without oil, coal or a crystal.

Tarik focused on the purple fire. “I think I could somehow ... disable this flame,” he said. “Psionically.”

“But should we do that?” Lereia objected. “What if it frees the golem?”

The Signer sighed. “Honestly? I think the golem is guarding the door anyway.”

“Unfortunately, that sounds logical,” Naghûl admitted.

Lereia seemed undecided. “But what do you think could happen that would help us?”

“It's just a feeling,” Tarik explained. “Maybe because everything is created by our thoughts. That's why we can often sense things intuitively.”

Naghûl raised his eyebrows. “Sure.” As a Sensate, he felt a certain connection to the Sign of One, but he decided not to comment on their philosophy that the entire multiverse existed only through the thoughts of individuals.

Garush, however, snorted quietly. “Here we go again.”

Dilae just grinned, while Sgillin looked questioningly, but then waved it off as if he didn't want to explore it further.

Tarik didn't let these obvious doubts about his worldview unsettle him. “So, should I do it?”

“I don't know enough about these things,” Lereia admitted. “But if the respective specialists are in favor of it, then yes.”

“Yes, go ahead,” said Garush. “Better than standing around here, looking stupid.”

Sgillin took the bow from his shoulder. “Then I would suggest we prepare ourselves before someone deactivates something here. Because if that thing over there starts raging, we will have fun.“ He pointed to the golem.

Kiyoshi demonstratively gripped his naginata more tightly, but Naghûl thoughtfully shook his head. Extinguishing the flames seemed obvious, but something held him back. ”What if we try to deactivate the rays around the golem instead?” he suggested.

Garush frowned. “What good would that do?”

“A kind of reverse reaction,” the tiefling tried to explain his thoughts. “If the golem is activated when the rays are interrupted via the pedestal, perhaps it won't be when we deactivate the rays on the golem itself.”

“But then we still don't have the keys to the door,” Dilae interjected.

Sgillin nodded. “Exactly. And if we extinguish the flames here – however we do it – the golem will still activate, won't it?”

“Maybe ...” Naghûl said. “But maybe not. Damn it, I don't know. And I hate puzzles.”

Lereia sighed. “I'm afraid that's beyond me.”

Garush growled softly, glaring at the golem. “I really hate to say this, but I'm tempted to consult Yelmalis. He's much smarter than I give him credit for.”

“But he has to copy and translate the book,” Dilae pointed out. “That could be extremely important, we'd better not disturb him.”

“Unfortunately, that's true.” The amazon looked frustrated and indignant.

Tarik eyed the purple flame once more. “I suspect a Cipher would say we're thinking too much. Maybe we should just do it.”

Naghûl had to smile. His wife Morânia would have agreed with that. And in this case, it might be true. “You know what, Tarik,” he said. “You're right. I don't like puzzling things out either. Let's just try it.”

The Signer nodded, looking relieved. “All right, I'll try to deactivate the psionic flame.”

Sgillin placed an arrow on the string, and Kiyoshi and Garush stood ready for battle between the golem and the rest of the group. Lereia sneaked silently to the amazon's side. While Naghûl and Dilae watched intently, Tarik concentrated on the purple flame. His eyes took on a bluish glow, as they had before when he had calmed Kiyoshi. Then the flame flickered faster, more intensely, almost frantically - and went out. Almost simultaneously, the purple beam of light near the golem disappeared.

Lereia nodded appreciatively. “Very good, Tarik.”

The tiefling smiled gratefully, then stepped closer to the stone pillar where the fire had burned. “There ...” He reached out and carefully lifted something up ... an octagonal purple stone, slightly larger than a fingernail.

“I think it appeared when the flame went out,” said Dilae.

Sgillin looked at the Signer. “Well done.”

“I didn't do much.” Tarik smiled modestly. “It was a simple solution.”

“But you had the inspiration,” said Lereia. “And that was crucial.”

Tarik looked at Garush with a grin. “Perhaps my dream after all.”

The amazon just waved it off while Lereia looked at the platform. “Then the next flame?”

Dilae seemed to feel addressed and nodded. “I hope I don't need too much clerical energy for that. If it exceeds a certain amount, I'll stop, otherwise we might be discovered here.”

Naghûl was grateful for her caution. As a priestess of a good goddess in the Abyss, saying prayers was indeed risky. But it seemed necessary to extinguish the yellow flame, and they had no one else with them who could release clerical energy. Dilae raised her hands in prayer and began to hum softly. It didn't take long before the golden-yellow fire began to dance wildly. The dark elf seemed surprised that it happened so quickly, but continued humming. Then she spoke a few words in Elvish, which Naghûl recognized as an invocation of the goddess Eilistraee. The flame flickered more strongly ... and then went out, as did the yellow beam of light near the golem. But it remained motionless.

“Done,” Dilae said with relief. “It didn't take much clerical power. I don't think we're in danger.”

Then she stepped up to the pillar where the yellow fire had burned and found a small, octagonal stone, this one amber-colored. Carefully, she picked it up.

Naghûl sighed lightly. Now it was his turn to extinguish the arcane fire. It was probably the only way to venture down deeper into the catacombs. And yet he felt a little uneasy about it. Nevertheless, he raised his hand, pointed a finger at the deep red flame, and began to recite the short formula to dispel magic. A small spark floated towards the flame and plunged into it. It flickered frantically, just like the other two before it, and then went out, as did the red beam near the golem. And as expected, an octagonal stone, red as blood, now lay on the pillar. When Naghûl picked it up, it was warm and imbued with arcane energy.

“Three of the five beams around the golem are deactivated,” Kiyoshi stated matter-of-factly. “Perhaps we should position ourselves directly at the door before we continue.”

Tarik nodded at these words. “A good idea.”

But before they retreated to the door, they examined once more the central pedestal on which the blue flame burned. Red stood for arcane power, yellow for clerical energy, purple for psionic powers and green for poison. But what did blue mean? It was Kiyoshi who finally noticed something.

“There's a circle carved into the stone beneath the blue flame,” he told the others. “There are four openings, similar to keyholes, aligned exactly with the pillars. Maybe the last beam has to be deactivated mechanically.”

Naghûl nodded. Of course – arcane and clerical magic, psionics, alchemy ... and mechanics. It made perfect sense. “Maybe a lock pick would work,” he mused. “That would fit with the difficulty of the other flames. What do you think?”

“Forgive me, venerable companions,” replied Kiyoshi. “But I know nothing of mechanics.”

Dilae, on the other hand, nodded. “Sounds plausible. I mean, the individual beams aren't that difficult to deactivate, but you need five completely different skills to get the keystones. That's the protection.”

“When it comes to picking locks, that might be something for Sgillin,” Lereia remarked.

“I'll give it a try,” said the half-elf, pulling some lock picks from one of his belt pouches. He carefully fiddled with the first of the four keyholes, and soon a soft click could be heard. The blue flame flickered almost imperceptibly, but after Sgillin had picked the second lock, it was already dancing faster. At the third click, it flickered frantically, and with the fourth, it went out, along with the azure beam of light near the construct. An octagonal blue stone had appeared on the central pedestal.

“Another one,” Sgillin said with satisfaction, picking it up.

The golem was still motionless, but they were all certain that the moment the last beam went out, that would change abruptly.

Lereia looked at Garush. “You said Sekhemkare knows something about poison?”

The amazon nodded and was about to head for the next room, but Sgillin held her back. “Should we perhaps first place the other four stones?”

“Good idea.” She turned back. “As soon as the last beam disappears, we'll probably have to act fast.”

Sgillin went to the door and wondered where he should place the blue stone. After a moment's thought, he chose the left eye. There was a soft ping, as the jewel clicked into place and glowed faintly. When he saw that this seemed to be the right approach, Naghûl came over with his stone, while Lereia informed Sekhemkare. He tried the right eye, and the red stone also connected to the skull with a soft sound, pulsing with a scarlet glow. Tarik didn't hesitate for long and chose the left recess of the mouth for the purple jewel – he too was successful. Finally, Dilae placed the yellow stone in the middle recess of the skull's teeth. It immediately glowed with a golden light. Their immediate success suggested that there were no set places for the different stones - either that, or they had simply been very lucky when placing them.

At that moment, Lereia returned with Sekhemkare. “We now have four of the five stones in place,” she explained to the yuan-ti. “You must try to extinguish the poison flame.”

Sekhemkare looked from the golem to the last flickering flame on the pedestal. “You're sure this is a good idea, yes?”

“No,” Sgillin replied. “But it's the only idea we have.”

The forked tongue darted out briefly between the yuan-ti's scaly lips. “I sort of expected something like that. Well, then.”

“Um, wait,” Garush interrupted. “This would be a good time for a plan.”

While Lereia nodded in agreement, Naghûl couldn't suppress a sigh.

“Excuse me,” the amazon said dryly. “But I don't feel like dying here.”

“Since the golem doesn't fit through any of the doors,” explained Lereia, “I say we escape through them as quickly as possible.”

“I agree,” stated the Mercykiller. “The translators stay behind one door, we go through the other.”

“Then I'll return to Jana, Yelmalis and the book,” Tarik said. “Good luck down there. Take care of yourselves!”

Naghûl nodded. “Thanks, Tarik. Good luck to you too.”

Dilae hugged the Signer briefly but warmly, then he returned to the smaller side room.

Garush turned back to the group. “As you know by now, I can move very quickly when necessary. As soon as Sekhemkare has extinguished the flame, I will take the last stone and bring it to the door. Meanwhile, Sekhemkare will run to the other door and get to safety. Is everyone ready?”

They nodded and then took up position as close as possible to the door with the skull. Four of the five jewels were already glowing in its eyes and mouth. The yuan-ti and the half-orc, however, made their way to the platform. Sekhemkare leaned his staff against the stone pedestal, bent forward and examined the flame. Then he took two small pouches from his belt and mixed a few ingredients.

“Be careful,” Garush warned him.

He nodded slowly but did not reply, too focused on his ingredients and the green fire. When he had finished mixing the components, he sprinkled the powder into the flame. As hoped – and feared – the fire flickered brightly once and then went out, as did the last ray of light near the golem. And with an unpleasant squeaking sound, the construct came to life. Sekhemkare immediately stood up and grabbed his staff, while Garush reached for the green gem on the pillar. Kiyoshi took his naginata in both hands and held it in a defensive position, while Lereia crouched beside him and stared at the golem.

It now moved towards the amazon and the yuan-ti near the platform. Garush turned to the door with the skull, while Sekhemkare turned in the other direction, towards the room with the book. In the doorway, Naghûl could see Jana, Tarik and Yelmalis watching the events unfold with tension. But who would the golem follow: the half-orc or the yuan-ti? Garush started running - and almost at the same moment, she was already standing between Naghûl and the others at the door ... her gift was obviously active. Sgillin shot an arrow at the golem to distract it and buy Sekhemkare some time. The arrow stuck unerringly in one of the joints, but did not seem to cause much damage. Meanwhile, the yuan-ti moved as fast as reptiles do and tried to sprint round the golem on the right. Lereia jumped forward a little and hissed loudly to attract the construct's attention.

Sure enough, the golem changed direction and now came straight towards the group at the door. While Garush inserted the green gem into the skull's last recess without hesitation, an idea flashed through Naghûl's mind. He pulled a scroll from the case on his belt, unrolled it and read it aloud to unleash the spell written on it. Dilae moved a little closer to the door so she could slip through immediately, while Sgillin shot two arrows simultaneously at the golem's eyes. They pierced the slits in its head, behind which a reddish light glowed, but with no apparent effect. Meanwhile, Sekhemkare moved quickly towards the other door.

Kiyoshi was already preparing to attack the construct, but at that moment Naghûl finished the incantation on the scroll, which crumbled to dust and a layer of oil began to spread on the floor around the golem. It had now almost reached the door and took another step forward. It raised its huge hand and struck out at Lereia with considerable force ... A blow that would certainly have smashed her skull without effort. But the greasy film on the floor caused the golem to slip and the blow missed its target. The tigress backed away with a hiss, and at the same moment, the skull on the door glowed, activated by the stones that had been inserted. Garush pulled the handle, but to Naghûl's horror, the door did not budge ... Sekhemkare had meanwhile reached the passage to the other room, but stopped and looked back, probably waiting to see how the situation would develop.

With a curse in Orcish, the amazon braced herself against the door with all her strength ... only then did the massive wings spring open. Dilae, the most petite and agile of them, immediately darted through and pulled against the handle on the other side to open the door a bit wider. At the same moment, there was a terrible screeching sound ... metal spikes seemed to extend from the soles of the golem's feet, drilling into the stone with an unpleasant crunch – it stood more stable again and would soon be able to move forward.

Garush pulled the door further open and Naghûl dived through. Right behind him, Lereia prepared to jump, pulling Sgillin with her. The half-elf was dragged along by the tigress. Now only Kiyoshi and Garush stood at the door, ready to defend the others. The two looked at each other, nodded briefly, and then rushed through the gap, first the young soldier, then the Mercykiller. Just as the two reached the corridor behind the door, the golem's fist came crashing down again, but only hit the metal door wings.

As Garush and Kiyoshi closed the door, Naghûl just caught sight of Sekhemkare darting through the passageway into the room with the book. Sgillin, who had fallen to the floor next to Lereia, remained lying there, coughing, as the fall had knocked the wind out of him. Naghûl allowed himself to sink briefly against the wall when it became clear that both groups had managed to escape the golem.

As the construct began to pound mechanically and persistently against the steel door, Garush nodded in satisfaction. “That worked perfectly.”

“That's what you always say when no one dies ...” Dilae remarked with a frown.

The half-orc just grinned. “It's true, isn't it?”

Kiyoshi set the naginata down beside him while Sgillin slowly got back to his feet.

“Are you alright?” Lereia asked worriedly, nudging him briefly with her snout. “I thought it was better to take my brunt than that of the golem.”

“Don't worry, it was the right decision,” the half-elf reassured her.

Naghûl looked at the door the golem was now hammering against. “It's making quite a noise. We should hurry.”

“Yeah, stupid thing,” Garush growled. “Let's move on quickly.”

Chapter Text

“We all have one foot in the shadows.”

Lykidas in Astyoche, Olympian tragedy by Anaxilea

Third Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

The alleys of the Hive seemed to close in around them as Amariel, Síkhara and Haer'Dalis made their way through the labyrinth of dilapidated buildings and dark corners. The smell of mold and garbage hung heavy in the air, and the half-elf pulled her hood deeper into her face, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. The decision to send Nallart and Aranis back to the Barracks had not been an easy one. The old dwarf had protested loudly, of course, making no attempt to hide his unwillingness to leave her alone with these “criminals.” Aranis had phrased his objection more politely, but the look of concern in his eyes had been clear. At the word “criminals,” Síkhara had raised an eyebrow but had not commented further on the insinuation. Haer'Dalis, on the other hand, had grinned, rather amused - the tiefling seemed to take many things with a sense of humor. In the end, Amariel had trusted her instincts, her conviction that the blood hunter and the Sinker did not pose a threat, at least in this case. Nevertheless, a lingering uncertainty gnawed at her. Síkhara had made it clear that under no circumstances she would take three members of the Harmonium to an alchemist she had called Rakalla. Understandable, on the one hand. Who would be happy about an unannounced visit from the city's law enforcement officers, especially several of them? As a woman living on the edge of the Lower Ward, said Rakalla might already have had trouble with the Harmonium, whether justified or not. On the other hand, it was not without risk for a decuria to roam the Hive alone with two strangers. But she had made her decision, had listened to her heart instead of her head, and now she had to continue on her way.

Amariel's thoughts returned to the secret laboratory that Síkhara and Haer'Dalis had shown them. It had been a gloomy place, still bearing clear traces of the battle that the blood hunter, the tiefling and the alchemist had apparently fought there. The cages, obviously intended for shadows, had given Amariel goose bumps and had also visibly worried Nallart and Aranis. The idea that a secret organization was stealing the shadows of Sigil's citizens, putting them in cages, and extracting their essence was deeply disturbing. However, the traces of the fight had obviously warned the shadow thieves, so they had abandoned the laboratory and sought another base of operations. Regrettable, certainly, but according to what Síkhara had said, the fight could not have been prevented and its traces not been made invisible. So they had to find a new lead. And that was precisely why they now wanted to seek out the alchemist named Rakalla. According to the blood hunter, they had left the shadow essences they had captured during their first visit to the laboratory with her for further analysis. Perhaps the results of this investigation would give them new clues.

“How far is it still?” Amariel asked Síkhara, who was walking ahead of her, trying to keep her voice calm and composed.

The turquoise-green eyes of the fire genasi glowed slightly in the half-shade of the alley. “Not far. Rakalla's laboratory is in an old warehouse on the edge of the Hive.”

Amariel nodded and asked no further questions. She felt Haer'Dalis' gaze resting on her, but she avoided looking him in the eyes. At first glance, he seemed friendlier and more approachable than the blood hunter - almost too friendly for a Sinker, at least in Amariel's conception. But he radiated an aura of mystery that unsettled her. The alleys grew narrower, the buildings taller, and the shadows deeper. Finally, they turned a corner onto a slightly wider street and stopped in front of a large, dilapidated warehouse. The windows were clouded, and the green paint on the massive front door was partially chipped away. The artfully carved knocker in the shape of a snake had obviously been added later and caught Amariel's eye.

“This is it,” Síkhara explained. “Rakalla's laboratory.”

Haer'Dalis stepped closer to the entrance, but instead of knocking, he pulled a heavy key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He had to be more familiar with the alchemist, as he had access to her home. Amariel's heart beat faster, but she took a deep breath and followed Síkhara and Haer'Dalis into the darkness of the warehouse. A wave of stifling air washed over her, saturated with the smells of herbs and acids. As an Anointed Knight, Amariel was also knowledgeable in the arts of alchemy, but the smells immediately told her that the ingredients Rakalla used were very different from hers. In the middle of the room they entered, a figure stood bent over a table covered with alchemical apparatus, her hair writhing around her head like living tentacles. Snakes ... Amariel's heart missed a beat. Rakalla was a medusa - Síkhara and Haer'Dalis hadn't mentioned that. But the half-elf looked directly into her slit pupils ... and nothing happened. This medusa was apparently able to control her gaze. Nevertheless, Amariel couldn't help but flinch, and Rakalla, for her part, didn't seem particularly thrilled about her presence. She stared at the uninvited visitor with a piercing gaze.

“Síkhara,” the medusa said angrily. “Who is that?”

“This is Amariel,” the blood hunter explained. “She is here to help in the search for the shadow thieves. And she is ... please don't get upset ... she is a decuria of the Harmonium.”

Rakalla's eyes narrowed immediately, glowing slightly orange. Amariel felt the urge to duck behind a nearby workbench so as not to be in her field of vision. “You're bringing a Hardhead into my lab?” hissed the medusa. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We're sorry, Rakalla,” Haer'Dalis said soothingly. “We should have discussed this beforehand. But we were hunting this fence, and ... it came about unexpectedly. Amariel is on our side, really.”

Rakalla eyed the half-elf from head to toe, her gaze piercing and unforgiving. “I don't like this,” she said. “I don't want Hardheads snooping around my lab. I've got enough trouble as it is. Nothing criminal, mind you. Just ... personal.”

“I don't want to interfere in your affairs,” Amariel assured her. “I'm only here to solve the case of these shadow thefts.”

Rakalla hesitated. She shot Síkhara and Haer'Dalis a sharp glance, and the tiefling put a hand to his heart, a gesture that seemed to ask for forgiveness. Síkhara also made an apologetic gesture.

“All right,” the medusa said reluctantly. “But only because it's a really important and serious matter.”

Amariel nodded. “Thank you very much. I appreciate it, believe me.”

Rakalla offered them a seat, but did not sit down herself, instead leaning against one of the shelves. “So? What did you find out?”

Síkhara recounted the encounter with the Shadow Ripper, how Amariel, Nallart and Aranis had unexpectedly joined them, and how the fence had ultimately managed to escape. “I don't understand why he's selling the shadows on the black market, though,” she concluded. “The shadow thieves seem to have something else in mind for them. Otherwise many more of them would have been sold at the Night Market.”

“Maybe he's just greedy,” Amariel said. “He works for the shadow thieves, but he sells the shadows on his own account.”

Haer'Dalis nodded. “That's possible. There were a lot of cages and shadow essences in the secret laboratory. If he pockets a shadow here and there and sells it at the Night Market, it might not be noticed – and he has a nice source of income.“

”A traitor, then?“ Rakalla shook her head, and her snakes hissed softly. Amariel still didn't feel comfortable with it. ”That's an interesting theory.“

”It would also explain why the shadow thefts seem so random,“ Haer'Dalis mused. ”If he's not just stealing them for the shadow thieves, but also for himself.“

Amariel nodded. ”There could be something to that. And so far, that man is our only lead. We have to try to track him down again.”

“When it comes to finding guys like him ... that's my specialty.” Síkhara smiled grimly. “I'll see if I can pick up the trail again. But before I do ...” She looked at Rakalla. “Were you able to analyze the shadow essences we took from the lab? Did you find anything that might help us?”

Rakalla picked up a vial filled with a dark substance from the table and examined it in the glow of the light crystals. “Shadow essence is an elusive substance,” she explained. “It’s difficult to analyze. But I think I’ve found something.”

However, she did not continue, just stood there with the small bottle in her hand, her expression indecisive, her posture tense. Amariel sensed that the medusa was hiding something. She had discovered something but was hesitant to reveal it.

“What is it, Rakalla?” asked the blood hunter, her voice concerned. “What have you found?”

The alchemist glanced meaningfully at Síkhara and Haer'Dalis. “It's ... complicated,” she finally said. “I discovered something in the shadow essence that I can't easily explain.” She hesitated again, her eyes searching for Haer'Dalis'.

The bard seemed to understand what was making her hesitate, for he nodded slowly. “Because it relates to something that is still hidden?”

“Exactly.” The medusa took a deep breath and then looked back at Amariel. “I have a ... gift. I can see things that others cannot see. It's hard to explain.”

Again, Amariel felt her heart skip a beat. She now suspected what Rakalla was talking about. When Sarin had told her about the Prophecy, he had also revealed that there were apparently others besides the Chosen they knew. They knew for sure about one group, consisting of members of the Guvners, the Mercykillers, the Signers, the Free League and the Fated. But there seemed to be a third group. The vampire Zamakis of the Dustmen seemed to belong to it, as did a minotaur from the Bleakers, a female goblin ... and a medusa from the Doomguard. Rakalla had to be one of the Chosen and was alluding to her gift related to the Prophecy! And judging by the exchange of glances between Síkhara, Haer'Dalis and herself, the fire genasi and the tiefling were also in on it.

“Are you talking about some kind of ... augury?” Amariel asked, keeping her words vague enough to be able to backtrack if necessary.

Rakalla's eyes widened in surprise. “You know about this?”

Just as she had suspected. The half-elf nodded. “I am the adjutant of Factol Sarin. That is why I have cognizance of this matter.”

Haer'Dalis whistled softly through his teeth. “The adjutant of the factol? I had no idea we had such a distinguished visitor here.”

“Yes, wonderful,” hissed Rakalla, but then raised her hands towards Amariel in an apologetic gesture. “I'm sorry, it's nothing personal. It's just ... Hardheads and Sinkers aren't exactly a good combination.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would agree,” Amariel admitted. “But these are not normal circumstances. They are very special, and we have a common goal. This case could cast long shadows, so I'm willing to work together with you.” When Haer’Dalis grinned at this unintended pun, she sighed slightly. “Yes, I got it.”

Síkhara shook her head with a smile, but then became serious again. “Now that it has turned out – admittedly surprisingly – that we all know about the Prophecy ...” She looked at Rakalla.

The medusa nodded slowly. “All right, then I can talk about it at least somewhat openly. I still don't want to reveal too much about my gift. But I can say this much: I found something in the shadow essence that is very disturbing. It contains traces of souls. Probably the souls of those whose shadows were stolen.“

Amariel's eyes widened. ”You mean ... the shadow thieves don't just steal shadows, they also steal the souls of their victims?“

”At least part of them,” Rakalla confirmed seriously.

Amariel got goose bumps, and Síkhara and Haer'Dalis also seemed disturbed by this news. As interesting as it was to learn about the medusa's gift, this information weighed much heavier.

“But how do they do it?” asked the tiefling. “And what happens to the souls?”

“I don't know,” Rakalla replied. “But it can't be anything good. The soul fragments are essentially trapped in the shadow essence ... and they seem tormented. I can feel their despair.”

“We have to stop these people,” Amariel said resolutely. “We have to bring the shadows back and free the souls.”

“I agree,” Síkhara concurred. “The question is, how?”

The half-elf sighed. “I'm afraid we need more information first. We need to find out where these people are operating, who they really are, and who might be supporting them.”

The blood hunter nodded. “I'll try to find out more. I have connections in Undersigil that might be helpful.”

“And I'll step up our investigation in the Clerk's Ward,” Amariel declared. “We'll also question all the victims once more. Maybe we overlooked some important clue.”

Rakalla carefully placed the vial of shadow essence back in its holder on the work table. “Good. Then I'll tap into a few contacts in the Doomguard. Maybe someone has heard something interesting.”

Haer'Dalis stood up and went to one of the shelves, from which he took a bottle of fire wine.

“This sparrow will ask around Raelis' stage,” he said. “The evening chatter of theatergoers sometimes reveals more than one would expect. And now ...” He raised the bottle. “Shall we drink to our new partnership?”

“I won't say no to that,” replied Síkhara.

Rakalla nodded in agreement, but Amariel raised her hands defensively. “Unfortunately, I'm on duty.”

“In that case, I'll drink for you, dear decuria,” Haer'Dalis replied cheerfully as he opened the bottle. “And don't think I missed that little word unfortunately.”

He winked at her, and both the medusa and the fire genasi laughed. Amariel smiled a little. She would, of course, remain on her guard. But all in all, her unorthodox allies gave the impression that things could have been much worse. And they all knew about the Prophecy ... perhaps this was a sign that her intuition had led her in the right direction.

Chapter Text

“If there are laws that govern the Abyss, I don't want to know them. “

master-scrivener Jarvel of the Guvners

Third Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Naghûl blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the corridor behind the door with the skull. The narrow passage was carved from the same dark stone as the previous room, but here the air was more stifling, heavy with the smell of centuries of dust and decay. His hand tightened around his staff, ready to cast a spell at any moment. Dilae had once again conjured the moon-like ball of light, which floated gently above her palm, illuminating their path. After about twenty steps, they reached a steep, spiral staircase leading down. Naghûl exchanged a quick glance with Garush before cautiously taking the first steps. The steps were worn and smooth, a clear sign of their age. When they reached the lower floor, the passage widened into a gloomy, dusty corridor. The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust and debris, their footsteps leaving clear marks. On one side of the corridor were three prison cells, their rusty, stained bars silent witnesses to long-past atrocities. Naghûl stepped closer to the first cell, holding his faintly glowing staff high to see better. In the corner lay a pile of rotten wooden planks and rags that had once formed a cot. The tiefling could see faint scratch marks on the wall, perhaps markings left by a long-dead prisoner. The second cell was empty except for a small, broken clay bowl in the middle of the room, the floor covered with a thick layer of dust that seemed untouched for decades. In the third cell, Naghûl discovered a skeleton in a corner, still clothed in the tattered shreds of what had once been a magnificent robe. However, a quick examination revealed that there was nothing of value to be found among the remains.

Then Sgillin returned, who had gone ahead a little way, hidden in the shadows, to scout. “There's a big spider,” he explained. “I'd suggest taking it out so it doesn't get behind us. And there's something cocooned behind it. Unfortunately, I couldn't see exactly what it was.”

“How big is the cocooned thing?” Lereia wanted to know.

The half-elf pulled an arrow from his quiver. “It's the size and shape of a box or chest.”

The tigress nodded and they moved forward cautiously, Garush, Kiyoshi and Lereia at the front, Naghûl in the middle, and Dilae and Sgillin bringing up the rear. Soon they spotted large, thick cobwebs at the end of the corridor. When they looked up, they saw a giant red bloodsilk spider sitting in the webs under the ceiling. Sgillin opened the battle with a well-aimed arrow that pierced one of the spider's legs. This startled it immediately, and Naghûl reacted quickly with a hail of magical missiles that hit the spider reliably and left a smell of singed hair. The creature hissed in pain and rage. As it dropped from the ceiling to attack the intruders, Lereia leaped forward and attacked the spider from the side. Her claws left deep gashes in its chitinous armor. Garush rushed forward with her axe raised and landed a powerful blow that severed one of the spider's legs. Kiyoshi, apparently still cautious after his earlier loss of control, moved forward and thrust his naginata at the monster. Unable to wear his armor due to his transformation, he used the reach of his pole weapon to fight from the second row. Then a second arrow from Sgillin and a hail of missiles from Naghûl hit the bloodsilk spider's body almost simultaneously. The animal, now cornered, fought desperately, hurling a web that entangled the half-elf and biting Lereia's shoulder with its poisonous mandibles. But it wasn't long before Garush managed to split the spider's head with a powerful blow of her axe, ending the fight.

Dilae immediately rushed to Lereia to neutralize the spider venom with a prayer, while Naghûl and Garush freed the ensnared Sgillin from the sticky threads. Meanwhile, Kiyoshi took advantage of the fact that he could reach the ceiling of the corridor with the blade of his naginata. Carefully, he cut through the spider web at the spot where the wrapped object was held. It was rectangular, about half a pace high and wide, and appeared to be some kind of box. When the cocooned bundle gradually came loose, Kiyoshi caught it with both arms and carefully placed it on the floor, where he then removed the last threads with his naginata. A dark wooden chest appeared. Meanwhile, the others had freed Sgillin from the sticky web and approached curiously. The half-elf examined the lock for a hidden trap but found none, then pulled out a lock pick with which he easily opened the box. Inside, they discovered two vials containing shimmering liquids. Dilae identified one of them as a healing potion, while Sgillin recognized the other as a contact poison, which he kept to coat his arrows with if necessary. They also found a small casket containing a few gemstones and a bag with several gold coins.

The half-elf nodded contentedly. “At least it was worth bringing this thing down.”

At the end of the corridor, just behind the spider web, they stood once again in front of a locked door. But this one was no problem for Sgillin's lock picks either. Naghûl felt his hair stand on end as they entered the room behind it. The smell of old blood and decay hung heavy in the air, mixed with the acrid aroma of burnt incense sticks. The room was circular, about ten paces in diameter, with walls of smooth black stone carved with demonic symbols and grotesque scenes. In the center was a circular pit about three feet deep, the floor covered with dark stains that Naghûl thought were dried blood. Rusty iron rings were embedded in the stone around the edge of the pit, presumably to tie down victims. Opposite the entrance stood an altar made of solid, dark gray stone. Its smooth, polished surface had a shallow recess in the center, which also contained dried blood. Seven skulls stood around it in a semicircular arrangement, each from a different species, it seemed - Naghûl was at least sure he recognized a human, an elven, a reptilian and a tiefling skull. On either side of the altar stood quasit statues, each about two feet tall. They were made of a dark, shiny metal and depicted the small demons in a crouching, ready-to-pounce stance. Their eyes seemed to glint in the light of Dilae's moonlight orb. A little further away stood large, bulbous vessels made of black clay, from one of which protruded the handle of a ceremonial dagger. On the opposite wall was another door, apparently the only way deeper into the catacombs.

Naghûl felt an icy chill spread through his stomach. This place radiated a malevolent energy that was almost tangible. He glanced briefly at his companions. “Be careful. This room was obviously used for dark rituals. Who knows what forces still powers here.”

Just as he uttered these words, the statues of the two quasits began to groan softly.

Lereia immediately pricked up her ears. “What's wrong with them?” she asked, alarmed.

“I have a very bad feeling about this ...” the Sensate muttered.

Sure enough, the statues' eyes began to glow and the noise grew to a loud crunching sound, as if stone were being ground ... then both figures burst apart and two real, living quasits emerged.

“Damn it!” Garush growled and rushed forward.

Naghûl reacted immediately, almost instinctively, sending a hail of magic missiles at one of the small fiends. Sgillin shot an arrow at the same quasit and hit, but the demon seemed to shake off most of the damage. These were clearly not ordinary quasits, which would have been a minor threat. These were stronger and more resilient, better suited to guarding a ritual room. Garush lunged at the second quasit and forced it onto the defensive with a powerful axe blow. Lereia also jumped at it and attacked it with her claws, but the agile demon escaped a direct hit. Since the other two melee fighters were busy with the second quasit, Kiyoshi decided to fight the first one and stood between the demon and the ranged fighters with his naginata. But the fiend had no intention of attacking the young soldier. Instead, it cast a spell on Sgillin, causing the half-elf to writhe in pain and drop his bow. Meanwhile, the second quasit attacked Garush with its sharp claws. Dilae made a gesture that caused the white ball of light above her hand to grow, bathing the room in bright light. This seemed to temporarily blind the quasits, which the others were able to use to their advantage.

Naghûl fired another hail of magic missiles at the first quasit, who now finally appeared weakened. Lereia lunged at the second one again and managed to grab it by the throat with her teeth. Garush took advantage of the demon's resulting immobility and split it in two with a well-aimed axe blow, leaving Lereia holding only its limp upper body in her jaws. Despite the pain, Sgillin managed to shoot another arrow, which pierced the first quasit's wing. Then Kiyoshi ended the fight by impaling the demon with his naginata. When it fell to the ground with a thud, its pain spell dissipated and Sgillin breathed a sigh of relief. Lereia shook the halved quasit vigorously once more, then let it fall to the floor. The room was completely silent for a few seconds, only the heavy breathing of the group could be heard. Everyone flinched and turned around in alarm when they heard a hem behind them, coming from the entrance.

“You're making a lot of noise.”

Jana. She stood in the doorway, eyeing the group disapprovingly, like a teacher reprimanding a group of rowdy children. Sgillin lowered the bow he had raised in alarm and cursed under his breath.

“I'm just saying,” the sorceress stated matter-of-factly. “If someone were following you, you'd be really easy to find.”

“Sorry,” Garush growled. “It's hard to fight quietly. What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be upstairs with the book?”

“I'm here to warn you about the third group,” Jana explained. “They're on our heels. We lured the golem away from the door and I sneaked down here invisibly.”

“Did you see the third group?” Lereia asked. “Are the others okay?”

“Yes, everyone is fine,” the sorceress reassured her. “Yelmalis made a time leap and saw the other group coming. There are probably nine or ten people in total, including two githzerai and a tiefling. We decided that I would come down to warn you. The others will continue copying the book until the last moment and then follow.”

Naghûl looked around the circular room, which offered little cover apart from the altar. “If we confront them, it won't be here.”

Jana nodded. “Yes. And I also think we should try to talk to them before we attack.”

“How far into the future did Yelmalis travel?” Garush wanted to know. “When will they arrive?”

“In about two hours,” Jana replied.

“Oh, I see.” Dilae breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought they were already at the door.”

“We're not going to stand around here like idiots for two hours,” Naghûl said. “I say we move on.”

Lereia nodded in agreement. “Then I say we hurry.”

“Fine by me.” Jana stepped fully into the room and carefully closed the door behind her. “But if we're going to move on, let's at least do it quietly. And save our strength. The noise you make when you fight can be heard throughout the entire fortress.”

Sgillin frowned doubtfully. “You heard us fighting down here from upstairs?”

“Yes, I did,” the Athar replied. “More than clearly. Didn't I just say so?”

The half-elf just waved it off with a gesture that seemed to say that it didn't matter now because they couldn't change it anyway. He was right, of course, and Naghûl was glad that the little exchange hadn't turned into a pointless discussion. The group set off again, now with a heightened sense of urgency. The only other door in the room with the sacrificial pit was unlocked and led them back into a dusty corridor. About a hundred steps further on, the passage split, and since there was no indication where to go, Garush, who was leading the way, decided to take the right-hand path without further ado. As they turned the next corner, Naghûl froze. Before them, barely ten steps away, two giant spiders crouched in webs under the ceiling. Their bodies were crimson red – bloodsilk spiders, like the one they had encountered before. Their black eyes glinted eerily in the dim light of Dilae's spell.

Garush raised her hand in warning and motioned to the others to be quiet. After the dark elf had reduced the moon-like orb to a tiny spark, the group crept past the spiders with bated breath and extreme caution. Every step was a challenge; the slightest noise could give them away. Garush's hand clenched the handle of her axe so tightly that her knuckles turned pale green. Kiyoshi was visibly struggling to keep his newly acquired dragon wings close to his body. Naghûl held his breath as he crept past the monstrous creatures. There was a good chance that even one of them would alert the spiders – and yet they managed to get past without giving themselves away. Only after they had turned another corner did everyone breathe a sigh of relief. But the relief was short-lived, for soon they reached an area that sent another shiver down their spines. On the right side of the corridor was a huge, empty cell. The bars were as thick as young tree trunks, bent and partially torn from the wall. Broken chains lay on the floor, each link as big as a fist.

Garush stepped closer to the cell. “By all the powers,” she muttered. “What could be strong enough to break free from such chains?”

Jana pulled out her notebook and began hastily sketching the cell. “Whatever it was,” she whispered, “I hope we don't encounter it.”

“Maybe we should turn back?” Dilae said, a little apprehensive.

But Naghûl shook his head. “We don't have time. The other group will be here soon. We have to keep going.”

With one last worried glance at the destroyed cell, they continued on their way. After another bend in the corridor, they finally saw two doors in front of them, one on the left and one on the right.

The group paused, unsure which way to go. The doors were identical, solid and made of dark wood, with iron fittings. There were no inscriptions or markings to indicate what might be hidden behind them. Sgillin sneaked cautiously closer while the others stayed back. He examined both doors for traps and listened, then returned to the group.

“Behind one of the doors it's silent,” he reported. “Behind the other one … it sounds like there's a small lake inside. There are no traps on either of them.”

They looked at each other, undecided, and Lereia waggled her tail restlessly. “To be honest, I have no opinion on which door we should take next,” she said.

“Let's open the one behind which Sgillin didn't hear any noises,” said Garush, heading purposefully towards said door.

She opened it quickly but cautiously, ready for any surprise that might be lurking there despite the silence. The room behind it was small and square, with thick cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. However, it was empty except for a few rusty chains on the walls and a half-rotten wooden chair in one corner. The musty smell of warm dampness and decay hit them.

“Another cell,” Naghûl muttered as he illuminated the room with his staff. “But it hasn't been used for a long time.”

After making sure that the room held no hidden dangers, they turned to the second door. When Kiyoshi opened it, he instinctively took a step back. The room was filled with water almost up to the ceiling. But after the initial shock, they noticed that it wasn't flowing out, but remained behind the open door like a swirling, gurgling wall.

Naghûl clearly sensed an arcane signature on the door frame. “A magical barrier,” he explained. “It's keeping the water in the room from flowing into the corridor.”

“But what's the point of that?” Garush growled. “Some kind of weird safety measure?”

Dilae stepped closer, interested, and peered into the greenish-gray water. “Something's moving in there,” she said. “Looks like big fish.”

Now Sgillin also took a closer look into the room, but not with the curiosity of the bard-priestess, but with the trained eye of a ranger. “They look like barracuda,” he said. “But their eyes are glowing red.”

“Then they're probably Abyssal barracuda,” Garush commented matter-of-factly as she looked around the corridor. “Except for this flooded room, this is a dead end. What shall we do now? Go back and try the other tunnel?”

“I think I can dispel the magical barrier at the door,” Jana said confidently and began to cast a spell.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Sgillin called out. “We haven't even figured out if ...”

But it was too late. Jana's spell neutralized the arcane wall and a huge mass of water poured into the corridor. Almost the entire group was swept off their feet by the sudden current, only Garush and Sgillin managed to cling to the door frame in time. The water smelled stale, was murky and slimy, and poured into the corridor with astonishing force. In the midst of the torrent, silvery shimmering bodies darted back and forth – the Abyssal barracuda. Most were about three feet long, with needle-sharp teeth and glowing red eyes, but one of them was significantly larger, comparable in length to a crocodile, with scales that shone like polished steel.

Jana and Dilae were flushed away the furthest, crashing into the opposite wall of the empty cell. Kiyoshi tried to use his wings to stabilize himself in the water, while Lereia, in her tiger form, fought the current with some success. Naghûl, standing chest-deep in the water, immediately began reciting a spell to ward off the fish. The giant barracuda lunged at him but missed by a hair. As the water spread throughout the corridor and adjacent rooms, it quickly ebbed away. The smaller fish floundered helplessly in the shallow water, easy prey for Garush's axe, Sgillin's arrows and Lereia's claws. The large barracuda, however, was still a serious threat. It snapped wildly, its massive jaws coming dangerously close to Garush's legs. Kiyoshi raised his naginata and stabbed at it courageously, while Naghûl fired several magic missiles at it. Dilae, who had meanwhile picked herself up, summoned her moonlight orb once more, blinding the fish for a moment. This gave Garush the opportunity to strike the beast's head with a powerful blow of her axe. The fight raged on for a few more moments until finally the last barracuda was bitten in two by Lereia.

Panting and dripping wet, the companions stood in ankle-deep water, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of the hellish fish. Lereia shook her wet fur with a disgusted hiss, and Naghûl leaned against the wall, panting, holding his bleeding left arm where one of the predatory fish had bitten him. He felt his soaked robe sticking to his body, and the fact that they now all stank of brackish water didn't make it any better.

“Great ...” he muttered, ill-humored.

“Why?” Jana asked cheerfully. “It worked wonderfully.”

“Yeah, great,” Sgillin replied. “We could discuss such things beforehand next time.”

Dilae had come over to Naghûl and murmured a quiet prayer to Eilistraee to heal the wound on his arm.

“Well, I didn't think there would be so much water ...” The sorceress shrugged.

“Never mind, it's too late anyway,” said Garush, but Naghûl could tell that she wasn't too thrilled about being completely soaked either. “Luckily, it's at least quite warm down here, so we won't go hypothermic. Let's take a look at the room now that we've emptied it.”

After most of the water had drained away, they cautiously entered the former water tank. The square room was about eight paces high and the walls were tiled with smooth, dark stone. Bones and other remains lay on the damp floor – presumably former victims of the barracuda. Algae and strange, phosphorescent lichens covered the walls up to the former waterline, about six paces above the floor. They glowed faintly in various shades of blue and green, casting an eerie light.

Sgillin was the first to discover more. “Over there,” he said, pointing to an outline on the opposite wall.

Naghûl narrowed his eyes slightly. Was that ... a door? He moved closer, and sure enough, there was another exit in the room. The door was made of solid metal and completely covered with slimy algae. There was no handle or lock to be seen, but next to it was an iron lever inset in the wall, rusted and corroded by its time underwater. The others came over, their boots making squelching noises on the wet floor.

Sgillin carefully examined the mechanism. “Seems to still work,” he said. “No traps visible either.”

He pulled the large lever and the door opened with a metallic crunch, but slowly and only a crack, as too much algae had overgrown the door frame. Garush pulled the door forcefully, tearing the water plants apart with a smacking sound. Behind the door, they saw another passage leading downwards. Lereia went ahead to scout for possible enemies – or to sense their soul signatures. Right behind her were Garush and Naghûl, followed by Dilae, Jana and Sgillin. Kiyoshi brought up the rear to ward off any attacks from behind. The group moved cautiously through the corridor when suddenly there was a dull crash. The stone floor beneath Lereia gave way without warning and, with a terrified roar, the weretigress plunged into the depths. The impact was accompanied by a disgusting splash, followed by agitated hissing and snarling.

“Lereia!” Sgillin cried, rushing to the edge of the pit.

In the dim light of Naghûl's staff, they could see the tigress swimming about four paces below in a dark, oily liquid. She was desperately struggling to stay afloat, but the slimy substance made it difficult for her to find purchase on the smooth walls.

The half-elf wanted to crawl further to the edge, but the floor tiles began to creak dangerously and Jana held him back. “Be careful, Sgillin. It won't help anyone if you also fall down.”

“Hang in there!” Naghûl shouted down, rummaging hastily in his backpack for the rope he was carrying.

Garush snatched it from his hand, skillfully tied a noose, and threw the end down to Lereia. “Change back if you can!” ordered the amazon. “Then hold on to the rope, I'll pull you up.”

Lereia apparently followed the advice, because Naghûl heard a sound like cracking bones and stretching tendons down in the pit. The animal-like growling turned into the groaning of a woman's voice. In her human form, she managed to wrap the noose around her waist. Her movements were already sluggish from the sticky liquid clinging to her. Garush braced her feet against the ground and began to pull, while Naghûl, Kiyoshi and Sgillin steadied the rope. Dilae provided light with her moon orb while Jana shifted nervously from one foot to the other, holding a healing potion ready, just in case. Garush's muscles tensed - a remarkable sight, Naghûl had to admit, clearly revealing her orcish heritage. Lereia tried as best as she could to keep her feet on the wall, but kept slipping. The amazon moved slowly but steadily backwards, and Sgillin grabbed Lereia's hand as soon as it was within reach and pulled her over the edge of the pit. On solid ground, the young woman collapsed, panting, completely naked after her transformation and covered from head to toe in the foul-smelling, oily substance.

“By all the gods,” she coughed. “That was close.”

Dilae knelt beside her and began to clean her face with a cloth. “Are you hurt?”

Lereia shook her head. “Only my pride. And my nose - this stuff stinks to high heaven.”

Kiyoshi had tactfully turned away when the young woman had been pulled over the edge of the pit completely naked, and Naghûl did the same. Sgillin, although no longer with Lereia, was naturally less shy and remained at her side. The Sensate could see out of the corner of his eye that he was taking off his cloak, probably to put it around Lereia.

“You look ... wild,” he heard Garush say in her direct manner.

Despite the shock and the disgusting liquid covering her, Lereia tried not to lose her sense of humor entirely. “Thank you,” she replied as jokingly as she could to the half-orc's dubious compliment.

“Good work, Garush,” said Sgillin. “I won't forget that.”

“We shed blood together,” replied the amazon. “That means a lot. There's no need to thank me.”

Without turning around, Naghûl and Kiyoshi passed their water skins to Lereia. The group took a moment to let the young woman clean herself up a bit before continuing on their way. Then Lereia transformed back into the tigress - she felt safer like that in this hostile environment. A few black, oily stains still marred her white fur, but otherwise she had fortunately survived the fall unscathed. They decided that Sgillin should go ahead again to look for traps. When they reached the end of the corridor without further incident, they found themselves not in front of a locked door, but at an open passageway. Behind it was a rectangular room whose walls were covered with faded frescoes depicting demonic rituals. However, they could not see any other doors at first glance. An altar made of black marble dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with dried bloodstains that blended into grotesque patterns. On top of it lay a fist-sized medallion made of dark metal, attached to the stone slab by a heavy chain. In the center was a cloudy stone that emitted a faint reddish light. Naghûl cautiously approached the amulet. He couldn't detect any arcane signature, but when he held his palm over it, he felt a biting cold. Next to it stood an urn, an intricately crafted alabaster vessel with demonic decorations. However, the lid was missing, and a glance inside revealed that the urn was filled with light-colored dust that shimmered unnaturally.

“Be careful,” whispered Dilae. “The amulet is cursed. And the dust still radiates an undead aura. Either ground skeletons - or the dust of a vampire. Judging by the strength of the aura, I'd guess the latter.”

Naghûl decided it was best to keep his hands off the unholy talisman. If the cleric of a good goddess sensed something suspicious about it, it was usually a good idea to take heed of the warning. However, he was itching to take the vampire dust with him. He had no idea what they could use it for, but it wasn't easy to get hold of real vampire dust, and it might come in handy. Especially in a place like the catacombs of Broken Reach. He looked around the altar and actually spotted the lid of the urn lying on the floor. Carefully, he picked it up and placed it on the vessel – it fit and closed tightly. With the dust thus secured in the urn, he packed it into his backpack. Lereia, Jana and Dilae gave him doubtful looks but said nothing.

The Sensate now joined Sgillin, who was looking at the murals in the room. The first wall depicted a sacrificial ceremony. Demonic figures in black robes stood around an altar on which a bound figure lay. The colors were mostly dark red hues, and the demons' faces seemed to grin in the glow of Naghûl's staff. The second wall showed a kind of procession. Various creatures - humans, elves, tieflings and others - walked with bowed heads through a large portal. Above them hovered shadowy, dark figures with outstretched wings. This scene was painted in gloomy shades of blue and gray. The third wall depicted a library. Shelves full of books stretched seemingly endlessly into the depths of the picture. Between the shelves stood veiled figures, engrossed in large tomes. Strange shadows danced between the bookshelves, and some of the painted books seemed to emit a faint glow. Finally, the fourth wall showed a battle scene: a huge demon, surrounded by smaller demonic servants, was fighting a group of warriors carrying a glowing sword. The fresco was particularly detailed, and the sword depicted resembled the painting of Hope that Archbishop Juliana had shown them.

Sgillin whistled softly through his teeth. “Well, look at that. We seem to be on the right track.”

Naghûl nodded seriously and eyed the sword a little more closely. Yes, the shape seemed to be that of a katana, the blade was very bright, almost white, and two light blue ribbons fluttered from its hilt. Did this mean they were getting closer to their goal?

“There's another book over here, honorable companions,” Kiyoshi called from the other end of the room, interrupting Naghûl's thoughts. “Someone who knows more about such things than I do should take a look.”

Naghûl, Jana and Dilae immediately went over. The book lay a little apart on a small lectern and was bound in weathered black leather, its pages made of thin parchment, yellowed and brittle. The characters inside were brown-red, as if they had been written in blood.

Jana and Dilae shrugged; they obviously couldn't read the language, but Naghûl recognized it. “Abyssal.”

“And what does it say?” Jana wanted to know.

“To pass through the last door, pay with blood,” Naghûl read aloud. “The tomb of hope below can be entered by two times five. But in the circle of pentagrams only a sacrifice will bring you back up. Over this sacrifice, the veil of silence shall be cast.”

The sorceress frowned. “Two times five? Why not one time ten?”

“Because it sounds more mystical?” Sgillin said casually, shrugging his shoulders.

Despite the grim surroundings, Naghûl had to smile a little at these words and leaned forward to turn the page to see if there were any more cryptic messages hidden in the book. On the next page was a picture he recognized immediately. It was one of the motifs depicted on the walls of the room: the scene with the procession and the portal. The tiefling looked back and forth between the wall and the book to compare the images and found that they were identical. Thoughtfully, he ran his finger over the drawing when Dilae suddenly let out a surprised cry. He looked up and followed her gaze ... the mural depicting the procession had suddenly lit up. When he took his finger away, the glow faded. He placed it back on the drawing, and the glow returned.

“What are you doing?” Garush growled skeptically.

But Naghûl was not deterred and boldly placed his whole hand on the picture in the book … Suddenly there was a sound like stones rubbing against each other, and where the portal was painted on the wall, a secret door slid open.

“A very good idea, Naghûl,” Lereia said approvingly.

“It was more luck than anything,” the Sensate explained, then withdrew his hand to test what would happen.

The door glided shut again immediately, so quickly that there was no chance of getting from the book to the portal without using a haste spell. Or being called Garush ... The others seemed to be thinking the same, because all eyes now turned to the amazon.

She nodded. “All right, I'll open the secret door, you go through and I'll follow quickly.”

“Wait,” said Sgillin as Garush replaced Naghûl at the book. “But how will the others get through? And how are they supposed to know how the secret door works?”

“It's honorable of you to think of that,” said the half-orc. “But Yelmalis is pretty smart, he'll figure it out. And he has a haste spell. Storm ... mantle, or something like that.”

The half-elf nodded, apparently satisfied with this information, and then joined the others at the door. Garush placed her hand on the picture and once again the wall inside the painted portal slid aside. They all stepped through and then eyed the amazon excitedly. She took her hand off the page, started running - and just like before with the golem, she was behind the secret door so quickly that they could hardly follow her movements with their eyes. Almost at the same moment, the door glided shut behind them.

Kiyoshi examined the wall, which now showed no trace of the secret passage. “The question is how to open it from this side ...”

“We'll try to answer that question when the time comes,” said Garush. “We have to keep going, because the time until the third group arrives is almost up. Come on.”

The others nodded and they quickly moved on, following another gloomy corridor. On both sides, passageways opened into cells and small rooms, but they only glanced briefly inside as they passed. In one of the cells, a pile of rusty chains lay next to a stone pedestal on which the remains of red candles could still be seen. Another room contained a small altar with a broken mirror hanging above it - the shards glimmered strangely in Dilae's moonlight. At one point, they passed a room with countless vials and bottles on shelves, all filled with different colored liquids. Thick dust covered the flasks, and many were broken, their contents long since evaporated. However, they did not linger there to search for poisons or healing potions, as time was pressing.

Finally, the corridor took a sharp turn to the right - and Sgillin, who was leading the way, looking for traps, recoiled in fright. In a niche, he had discovered an unusual creature - a kind of oversized rat with scaly, black skin and six legs. The creature stared at them with glowing red eyes but made no move to attack. After a brief moment, it scurried into the shadows and disappeared through a crack in the wall. They passed another room with a single chair standing in the middle. As they walked past, the chair slowly turned on its own axis, as if an invisible being were sitting on it. They exchanged meaningful glances, but no one wanted to stop to investigate the phenomenon further. Naghûl was more than relieved about that. They had already had enough trouble down here, and as long as the chair didn't attack them, even the Sensate was content to simply ignore it. The corridor led them further down, past more cells and small chambers. Some contained scattered bones, others rusty instruments of torture. One cell was completely covered with strange symbols carved into the walls, another contained nothing but a pile of decaying books and scrolls.

But then Garush suddenly stopped, and a tremor seemed to run through her body. “Wait!” she hissed. “There is something ...”

Dilae seemed to understand immediately. “Do you sense danger?”

“Yes,” the amazon replied tensely. “There are people ... or monsters up ahead. And someone is coming from behind.”

Chapter Text

“In the Abyss, kindness is unnatural, mercy impossible and power all that matters.”

Rule-of-Three

Third Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Garush's warning that someone was approaching them from both the front and the rear caused everyone to freeze.

“Not good,” muttered Naghûl, unsure whether to look ahead or behind him.

The amazon stood there, motionless, tense to the extreme, and seemed to be listening – whether to a real sound or her supernatural sense of danger remained unclear to the tiefling.

“Her gift often awakens when danger threatens,” Dilae explained in a hushed voice. “Greater danger, you know?”

“How great?” asked Sgillin, already taking an arrow from his quiver.

“Tanar'ri,” muttered Garush. “A whole group. Still a good distance ahead, but they're drawing nearer.”

Lereia stepped beside them, her nose twitching as she sniffed. After a moment, she nodded in confirmation. “Yes ... the stench of sulfur and rotten flesh. Definitely tanar'ri.”

Before Naghûl could really think of how to deal with this new threat, they heard hurried footsteps behind them. Everyone spun around, weapons drawn, ready to attack. But it was Yelmalis, Tarik and Sekhemkare who rounded the corner, harried and out of breath.

“The third group,” Yelmalis explained, gasping, as he reached them. “They are coming. We already heard them upstairs. They'll be here soon.” The genasi was surrounded by a whirlwind that spun rapidly around him - probably the spell Garush had mentioned, which allowed him to accelerate his movements.

Tarik nodded. “We have to hurry. Or hide.”

Seeing the serious expressions on the others' faces, Sekhemkare's tongue darted out nervously. “What's going on? You look like you've already found trouble.”

Garush pointed down the corridor. “Tanar'ri. Ahead of us. We're trapped.”

Naghûl cursed softly in Abyssal. There they stood, trapped between two threats, unable to escape either. For a while, they all remained silent, each trying to think of a way out of their precarious situation. Their glances darted back and forth between the two directions from which danger threatened.

“We have to fight,” Garush growled. “What other choice do we have? Let's keep going and face the tanar'ri. If we defeat them and find a solid door, we can block it and the other group won't be able to follow us.”

“A direct confrontation with the demons?” Naghûl shook his head skeptically. “Very risky. We don't know how many they are or how powerful.”

Yelmalis looked at Dilae. “Maybe you could try using an illusion to mislead one of the two groups. Or even both.”

“But powerful tanar’ri could see through that,” the dark elf pointed out.

“What if we split up?” Sgillin suggested. “That way we could draw the two groups apart and perhaps fight them more effectively.”

“Better not,” Jana replied. “I think our unity is our greatest strength. We should stick together.”

Kiyoshi nodded in agreement.

“I have an idea,” Lereia interrupted the discussion with a low growl. “Why don't we hide in one of these side rooms? If we're lucky, the two groups will meet and fight each other.”

Naghûl nodded. Of course, that was an excellent idea, if it worked. And if it didn't, at least they would have a door as a bottleneck, which would be easier to defend than the much wider corridor. “That could work,” he replied. “We'll let them keep each other busy while we lie low.”

“Good,” Garush said grimly. “Let's try it.”

Yelmalis glanced at the surrounding cells. “Maybe there,” he suggested, pointing to a door on their right. “That room has enough space for all of us and a good view of the main corridor.”

The genasi ended his wind spell and without further discussion, they scurried through the door he had pointed to. It appeared to be a former storeroom with empty, dust-covered shelves. They positioned themselves so that they could observe the corridor through the narrow door crack. Garush and Sgillin stood in front, their eyes alertly fixed on the tunnel. The others huddled behind them, breathing shallowly so as not to make any unnecessary noise. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as they waited. The only sound was their suppressed breathing and, in the distance, the occasional scratching of claws on stone.

Then finally they heard it: from one side, the heavy stomping and soft hissing of the tanar'ri, from the other, muffled voices and the clanging of weapons as the two groups approached each other. Through the narrow crack, they saw the demons first, and Naghûl's heart sank when he glanced over Sgillin's shoulder and recognized an imposing marilith, wielding swords in four of her six arms. A fight against such a powerful demon could end badly, and he sent a quick prayer to Sharess that Lereia's plan would work. Following the marilith were two vrocks, a cambion, a kelvezu and a few drooling dretches.

Seconds later, the other group appeared at the opposite end of the corridor. Naghûl suppressed a cry of surprise when he recognized two familiar faces: the Shadowknave and the githzerai wizard Imogen. The half-elf was dressed in dark robes, just as he had been during the fight at the Ditch, and had several throwing knives tucked into a shoulder strap. The githzerai had her familiar, the white cobra, with her, hissing and coiling around her left arm. Ahead of them were a tall, muscular human in heavy armor, a tiefling with two short swords and a red-haired dwarf woman with an axe and a shield. Behind the Shadowknave and Imogen, Naghûl spotted another half-elf armed with a bow, a gnome with a crossbow and a woman in a dark robe, probably a wizard or sorceress.

From their hiding place, the Chosen watched with bated breath as the two groups faced each other. The tension in the corridor was almost palpable – and then all hell broke loose. The deafening screech of the vrocks echoed through the catacombs, followed by the clang of steel on steel. The marilith lunged at the tall, armored warrior of the Illuminated with her four swords, while the kelvezu went after the tiefling. Naghûl couldn't see much more from his position, but he heard the hiss of magic missiles and the voice of the githzerai.

Garush pressed her eye against the door crack, her muscles tense as if she had to force herself not to intervene in the fight. “The Illuminated are fighting well,” she muttered. “But the demons are too strong.”

Lightning flashed through the corridor, accompanied by Imogen's incantations. The Shadowknave was little more than a blur, darting between the combatants, landing precise stabs here and there. Naghûl flinched when the gnome was grabbed by a vrock and thrown against the wall. The crack of bones could be heard even in their hiding place.

“They're being overrun,” Jana whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed tension.

The noise of battle swelled and subsided, a chaotic jumble of screams of pain, demonic roars and the sound of splintering stone as the dwarf's axe missed its target and struck the walls.

Suddenly, they heard Imogen's voice above the clangor: “Retreat! We have to get back!”

The Illuminated began to withdraw slowly. The dwarf and the tiefling covered their retreat, but it was clear that they were badly hurt. The tanar'ri, led by the marilith, pressed forward. When the survivors disappeared from view, all that remained were the bodies of the fallen, the echoes of battle and the acrid smell of sulfur and blood.

Lereia, who had glanced past Garush into the corridor, nodded with relief. “They're gone,” she whispered. “Both groups.”

The silence that followed was almost as oppressive as the noise of battle before. Naghûl nodded to Lereia, grateful for her idea, which had saved them from the carnage.

“Good call, tigress,” Garush agreed. “We should keep going. The 'ri will be back soon, we have to find that sword.”

They hurriedly left their hiding place, their tension slowly easing. Outside lay two dretches and a vrock, but also the tall warrior, the gnome, the half-elf archer and the sorceress in the black robe, all in a pool of their own blood. However, they did not bother to search the bodies. Instead, Garush took the lead again, her senses sharpened for any sign of further danger. They hurried down the long corridor, past three more cells. A quick glance revealed scenes of decay and neglect, but no one dared to linger longer than necessary. Finally, they reached a room that made Garush utter an orcish curse. Before them was a seemingly bottomless hole that stretched from wall to wall. The darkness below seemed to swallow all light. A single narrow wooden bridge spanned the chasm, old and weathered, but apparently the only way forward.

Naghûl stepped cautiously to the chasm, glanced down into the depths, and then pushed a stone over the edge with his foot. “I didn't hear it hit the bottom,” he muttered after a moment. “We should be damn careful.”

“I'm changing back,” Lereia said. “These planks might not be able to bear me as a tiger.”

She disappeared into the passageway from which they had come and returned shortly thereafter in human form. While walking, she closed the backpack from which she had apparently taken her clothes. One by one, they stepped onto the bridge, always keeping a considerable distance from the person in front of them so as not to put too much weight on the planks. The wood creaked ominously under their feet, and the abysm on both sides seemed to pull them towards it with invisible fingers. Suddenly, when Garush had reached the middle of the bridge, there was a sharp click. Wooden bars shot up from hidden slits in the planks. It was so dark that they had not been visible hanging underneath the bridge. Garush found herself trapped in a cage-like structure.

“By all the gods!” Sgillin gasped as another grille shot up immediately afterwards and trapped him as well.

In quick succession, Lereia, Kiyoshi, Jana and Dilae were also confined by the suddenly appearing bars. Yelmalis, Tarik and Sekhemkare, who were still at the beginning of the bridge, and Naghûl, who had almost made it to the other end, were spared. The captives rattled at their cages, but the grilles did not give way. The situation was precarious: six of them were immobilized, trapped on a rickety bridge over a bottomless chasm.

“Don't panic,” Naghûl tried to reassure them. “We'll find a way to get you out of there. But move as little as possible - the bridge looks pretty unstable.”

While the Sensate took a closer look at the bars and searched for a solution for their trapped companions, Yelmalis suddenly pointed to the distant walls of the room. “Look out!” he shouted. “Beholder statues!”

Naghûl followed his gaze and sure enough, in large niches in the walls stood two stone effigies of the multi-eyed aberrations.

No sooner had Yelmalis uttered the warning than the stone eyes of the grotesque statues began to glow. Magical energies gathered in their pupils.

“Get down!” Naghûl shouted just as the first beam of magic hissed across the bridge.

It narrowly missed Garush's cage, charring the wood where it struck. The free members of the group ducked as best they could, while the prisoners looked on helplessly as more beams shot towards them.

“We have to destroy the grilles!” Sgillin shouted through the chaos. He began kicking the wooden bars of his cage with all his strength.

Yelmalis reacted quickly and hurled a bolt of lightning at one of the statues, while Tarik tried to influence the other with his psionic powers. However, neither seemed to cause much damage. Sekhemkare rushed to Lereia's cage and began striking the bars with his staff. Meanwhile, the other statue released several magic missiles that hit Garush and Kiyoshi, but fortunately did not seriously injure them. Amidst the hail of magic and flying wood splinters, the prisoners managed to free themselves relatively quickly, as the bars had become rotten with age. Garush smashed hers with sheer muscle power, while Kiyoshi used his newly acquired dragon powers to burn the grilles of his cage with a fiery breath. After Lereia and Sekhemkare had broken the bars of the young woman's cage together, they rushed to Dilae and Jana to free them as well. Meanwhile, the bars confining Sgillin had given way under the half-elf's kicks and a spell cast by Naghûl. The bridge groaned and swayed menacingly under the strain of the battle.

“Quick, to the other side!” urged Naghûl, who was already standing at the other end of the chasm, reaching out his hand to his companions.

In a daring sprint, dodging the continued spells of the beholder statues, the Chosen on the bridge managed to reach the other side of the abysm. Dilae jumped off the creaking planks just in time before a ray of fire hit them in the middle and split them in two. But Yelmalis was still on the bridge ... Naghûl felt his heart sink and heard Jana scream in fright.

But when the wizard felt the boards beneath him give way, he quickly made a gesture with his left hand - and floated. As the charred remains of the wood plummeted into the depths, Yelmalis moved the last few paces through the air as lightly as a feather. Naghûl breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, all air genasi could levitate thanks to their elemental heritage, even those who were not versed in magic. That was why the wizard had deliberately crossed the bridge last. Floating, Yelmalis safely reached the edge of the chasm and landed silently on the rocky ground. Panting and exhausted, but relieved, the Chosen gathered at the other end of the room. The beholder statues continued to fire, but could no longer reach them.

“That was close,” Lereia panted as she shook wood splinters from her clothes.

Garush nodded grimly. “Too close. We must proceed with caution. Who knows what else awaits us down here.”

After one last look at the now useless bridge and the still active statues, the group advanced into the next corridor. This time, however, they did not have to go far before the tunnel ended. They stood before an imposing door that filled the entire passageway, made of heavy, dark metal, its surface covered with intricate engravings and demonic symbols. Embedded in the center of the door was a circular emblem depicting a stylized eye.

After Sgillin had made sure there were no traps, Naghûl stepped forward and examined the door more closely. His fingers traced the engraved lines as he muttered quietly to himself. Then he paused. “Here,” he said, pointing to an inscription below the eye emblem. “It says: Only through a sacrifice the way will open.”

Yelmalis stepped beside him. “This must be the last door the book spoke of,” he said. “The one that has to be paid for with blood.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Naghûl remembered the cryptic message: To pass through the last door, pay with blood. The Tomb of Hope below can be entered by two times five.

The air genasi cleared his throat. “It seems we must all make some kind of blood sacrifice to open the door.” He sounded almost apologetic, as if he himself had decided how the door was to be opened.

Dilae nodded seriously. “And ten can pass through. That's exactly our number.”

Without further ado, Sgillin drew a dagger from his belt. “Very well, let's do it.” Seeing the skeptical looks on the others' faces, the half-elf shrugged. “What? I don't find it uplifting either, but I didn't come up with it. And we have to keep going, don't we?”

Kiyoshi leaned his naginata against the wall. “You're right, Sgillin-san. The only other option would be to turn back.”

“Out of the question,” Garush growled. “All right, let's do it.”

Sgillin stepped closer to the door, dagger clutched tightly. With a quick, precise movement, he cut into his forearm, deep enough to draw blood but not so deep as to impair his ability to fight. He held his arm over the eye emblem and let several drops of his blood fall onto it. The metal seemed to suck it up greedily, and the eye began to glow faintly. Garush was the next to offer up the sacrifice, her face a mask of stoic determination. When her blood touched the emblem, the glow pulsed a little stronger - it seemed to be working. One by one, the Chosen stepped forward. Naghûl had the impression that Yelmalis' blood shimmered in a hue of blue, surely a sign of his elemental ancestry. Kiyoshi's blood, on the other hand, smoked slightly when it touched the metal - an indication of his dragon lineage. Dilae murmured a quiet prayer to Eilistraee as she sacrificed her blood, as if to apologize to her goddess. Jana's hand trembled slightly, but her gaze remained steady. Tarik, Lereia and Naghûl followed her. Sekhemkare was the last. His forked tongue darted out as he let his blood drip onto the eye.

With each drop of blood, the glow of the emblem intensified until it finally radiated a deep, pulsing red. The air around them seemed to charge with energy, and a low hum filled the corridor. When the last blood sacrifice was offered, a slight tremor shook the ground. The eye in the center of the emblem seemed to stare at them for a moment, as if testing their worthiness. Then, with a deep, echoing sound that vibrated in their bones, the door began to open. The Chosen stood there, their forearms still bleeding, but their eyes fixed on the opening passageway. Naghûl knew that with this ritual, they had crossed a point of no return. Whatever awaited them behind that door, they would face it together, bound by the blood they had sacrificed. One by one, they crossed the threshold, each with a mixture of determination and trepidation. When Jana was the last to step through, the door closed behind her with a dull thud. They now stood in semi-darkness, illuminated only by Dilae's magical moonlight orb. The sword Hope might be waiting for them - but perhaps also even greater dangers than those already behind them.

Garush, her axe clenched tightly in her hand, was the first to go further into the room. “Stay alert,” she warned. “Who knows what awaits us here.”

The Chosen cautiously ventured into the circular room, whose walls were made of smooth black stone. In the center they spotted a low altar of dark marble, on which lay a single golden key. Around the altar, arranged in a perfect circle, stood eight quasit statues, their stone eyes seemingly fixed on the treasure they guarded.

Naghûl stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Be careful,” he warned. “I sense strong arcane energies.”

No sooner had he spoken than the eyes of the statues began to glow. With a crashing sound, the stone shattered, and eight living quasits leaped out, their claws and teeth flashing.

“Not again,” Garush growled, raising her axe.

The quasits were fast and agile, their sharp claws a serious threat. While Garush and Kiyoshi stood at the front, Yelmalis hurled small bolts of lightning, Sgillin shot his arrows and Tarik used his psionic powers to confuse the demons. Naghûl, Jana and Sekhemkare held back so as not to spend too many spells, and Dilae just provided light to the fighters, saving her prayers for healing after the battle. Lereia seemed to be hesitating about whether to change to tiger form and contented herself with watching the fight for the time being. When all the quasits were lying on the ground, the Chosen turned their attention back to the altar.

Sgillin approached cautiously, but stopped two steps away from the stone table. “There's a pressure plate trap that runs in a circle around the entire altar,” he explained. “It looks complicated, but ... I might be able to ...”

He nocked an arrow and took accurate aim. With a precise shot, he catapulted the key off the altar. Naghûl was about to congratulate the half-elf on his idea, but as the key touched the tiles, the floor quaked. A deafening roar rang out, and a huge Abyssal wyvern appeared in the middle of the chamber. From the arcane signature, Naghûl could sense that it had been teleported into the room by a protective spell cast on the altar. Its scaly skin glistened like polished obsidian, and corrosive slime dripped from its mouth. Iron rings could be seen on its claws, with remnants of rusted chains still hanging from them. Naghûl remembered the huge cage cell they had seen. Had it been the wyvern's? If so, it had escaped – only to be summoned here as an unwilling guardian. Its mood was obviously bad ...

“By the Dark Maiden,” Dilae gasped as she cast a healing spell on Kiyoshi, who had been wounded by a quasit.

The wyvern lashed out with its tail and smashed one of the pillars, sending chunks of stone raining down. At that moment, Garush's gift apparently activated. Her muscles tensed, her eyes glowed with supernatural intensity. So fast that she was barely perceptible to the eye, she rushed towards the wyvern. Her axe struck the monster's scales with the force of a hammer blow, and the wyvern roared in pain.

“Support Garush!” Naghûl shouted as he prepared one of his most powerful spells.

Kiyoshi, still unarmored, used his dragon powers again and breathed a ray of fire at the beast, just as one of Sgillin's arrows flew towards it. Lereia quickly slipped out of her clothes to change into her tiger form. The wyvern rose to its full height, its roar shaking the walls and its eyes glowing with red fire. Garush moved with supernatural speed, her axe a blur of deadly steel. Each of her blows left deep gouges in the monster's scales. Naghûl stood a short distance away, his hands moving in complex patterns as he prepared his spell, blue flashes of energy dancing between his fingers.

Sgillin nimbly climbed one of the remaining pillars. From his elevated position, he shot arrow after arrow at the wyvern's most vulnerable spots - its eyes, its throat and the joints of its massive limbs. Then Lereia, back in her tiger form, leaped at the beast's flank and dug her claws deep into its flesh. The wyvern hurled her against a wall, but she immediately got back up, ready for the next attack. While Yelmalis unleashed a crackling bolt of lightning at the wyvern, Tarik apparently tried to use his psionic powers to influence the monster's mind and distract it. He seemed to be showing the beast illusions of other fighters, because it lunged at phantoms while the real attackers seized their chance. Dilae stood a few steps apart, healing wounds when necessary, while Sekhemkare sent a fire bolt at the wyvern and Jana a ray of frost.

The monster fought with wild desperation. Its tail swept across the ground, hurling debris through the air. Its breath, a cloud of acrid fumes, filled the room and made it difficult to breathe. Garush finally leaped onto the beast's back. With all her supernatural strength, she brought her axe down on the wyvern's neck. At that moment, Naghûl unleashed his spell. A hail of magic missiles, considerably stronger than his normal ones, struck the wyvern, directly in the gaping wound the amazon had inflicted. With a deafening roar, the beast reared up. Garush seized the moment, lunged out one last time and drove her axe deep into the monster's skull. The Abyssal wyvern collapsed, and its fall shook the entire room. Dust and debris swirled as its massive body hit the ground. Panting and exhausted, the Chosen stood around the fallen beast, still unable to believe that they had won this battle. Sgillin carefully picked up the golden key, which still lay on the floor amidst the chaos caused by the battle.

“That,” Jana said, pale as death, “was definitely too close.”

Naghûl nodded wordlessly. He felt that he had no energy left to cast even a single spell. A quick glance at Jana, Yelmalis and Sekhemkare told him that they felt the same way. Even Dilae did not look as if she could heal any more wounds. But what caught the Sensate's eye most was Garush's condition. The amazon tucked her axe back to her weapons belt with a trembling hand and held on to the stone altar, breathing heavily. Yes, using her gift probably exhausted her, as was often the case with the other Chosen too. And she had already used her gift several times that day ... But Kiyoshi, Lereia, Tarik and Sgillin also looked exhausted.

“We need a rest,” the tiefling explained. “Otherwise, we won't survive another fight.”

“I second the honorable Naghûl-san's suggestion,” Kiyoshi replied calmly, but with a clear hint of exhaustion.

Jana nodded. “Yes, me too.”

As the others also signaled their agreement, Naghûl took a small object from one of his belt pouches. It resembled a flat, irregularly shaped piece of silver with an inlaid rune made of blue crystal. It was the focus for an Astral Shelter. He could have cast the spell without it, but he had used up his last arcane powers in the fight against the wyvern. That was why his factol, Erin, had given him this focus for emergencies, and in Naghûl's eyes, this was definitely an emergency. The focus also had the advantage of triggering immediately, whereas the spell took an hour to prepare. Time they might not have before the tanar'ri discovered them. So Naghûl held up the focus and spoke the names of all the group members to grant them access to the Astral Shelter. When he finished, an oval portal opened before them, and they hurried through it to reach the protective pocket plane.

After all the blood, dirt and fighting, it seemed unreal and like a dream to suddenly find themselves in a bright forest, flooded with soft, silvery light. The others looked around in amazement, and Naghûl smiled. He had not known what form the shelter stored in the focus would take, but this clearing was definitely a welcome sight. The tall trees had iridescent bark that shimmered in various shades of silver and mother-of-pearl. The leaves on their branches were a delicate, almost translucent green that glistened gently with every slight movement. The ground was covered with soft moss, and in the middle of the clearing was a crystal-clear pond. The still water lay there like a perfect mirror, reflecting the silver sky and the surrounding trees. Delicate white flowers grew on the shore, their calyxes exuding a sweet fragrance. Scattered around the pond were blankets and soft cushions for resting, and a large round table made of polished quartz stood a little apart, surrounded by enough chairs for the entire group. Plates of fresh fruit, loaves of sweet-smelling bread and jugs with clear spring water had appeared on the table by magic. The air in this astral refuge was pleasantly warm and filled with a peaceful silence, interrupted only by the gentle splashing of a small stream flowing into the pond. A light breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees, carrying the scent of flowers and fresh grass. At the edge of the clearing, they even discovered small, cozy huts made of light wood, perfect for an undisturbed sleep. The entire environment radiated peace and safety, a stark contrast to the dangers and darkness of the catacombs they had just left. Here, the Chosen could finally catch their breath, tend to their wounds and gather new strength.

Dilae looked around with a smile as they entered the clearing; Naghûl could see her relax at the sight of the trees and the small pond. “It's really beautiful here.”

“I agree,” said Kiyoshi, glancing appreciatively at Naghûl. “Impressive.”

Garush, on the other hand, looked around somewhat skeptically. “And no one can follow us here, right?”

“At least no one who's been chasing us in Broken Reach,” explained Naghûl as he knelt down at the edge of the pond to wash his face.

Yelmalis examined the trees with interest, almost inquiringly. “This works just like an astral ...”

The amazon immediately raised a hand. “Please don't, Yel. A simple yes or no will suffice. No offense.”

“I know.” The genasi smiled. “Scientific explanations aren't your thing.”

“I'd love to hear it,” Jana remarked with a smile as she settled down on one of the soft cushions.

Yelmalis looked at the sorceress, perhaps a little surprised by her interest in more academic arcane questions, but he nodded kindly. “Then I suggest we sit down together when this is over and exchange views.” He also took a seat on one of the blankets at the edge of the pond.

Sgillin laid his bow in the grass and washed the blood off his fingers in the water. “Nice work, Naghûl.”

“In this case, the credit goes to the spell focus and thus to Factol Erin,” the tiefling replied with a smile. “Get some rest, we're safe here.”

“Can we afford to do that?” Tarik asked with a sigh. “Even if the Illuminated have been driven away, there are still the tanar'ri. What if they find the sword before we do?”

“The sword has probably been lying there for a long time without the demons taking it,” replied Naghûl. “The real danger was the Illuminated, and they won't be back anytime soon after the losses they suffered. But if we don't rest and regain our strength, if we run out of spells and prayers, the next battle could be our last.”

“That's unfortunately true,” Garush grumbled. “We have to rest, whether we like it or not.”

Sekhemkare had leaned his staff against one of the rocks by the pond, but did not sit down yet. “I wonder,” he mused, “what the Illuminated were doing in Broken Reach in the first place. How do they know about the sword?”

Lereia sighed. “That's a good question.” She went behind one of the rocks to change back into her human form, then sat down at the edge of the small pond. She stayed a little apart from the others and just stared into the water.

Dilae looked over at her with concern and glanced questioningly at Naghûl, but the tiefling gestured that everything was fine. He knew Lereia better by now and her behavior did not surprise him. For one thing, she certainly needed to process the things she had seen in the Abyss. On the other hand, tigers were solitary animals, and being in a group for days on end might be exhausting for Lereia. So the Sensate sat down at the round quartz table and took some of the food. Sgillin, Jana and Garush did the same, while the others lingered by the pond to rest before eating. Dilae said a final prayer of healing for Garush and Sgillin, then went to some trees standing apart and prayed to Eilistraee for guidance and protection. Garush cleaned and sharpened her axe, while Sgillin fitted some of the arrows he had collected after the fight with new feathers. Yelmalis, Tarik and Sekhemkare spoke quietly about what they had experienced in the catacombs. Kiyoshi, however, sat down on the bank of the pond after eating and remained very still, with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He seemed to be meditating, probably to keep the newly strengthened dragon blood in his veins under control. He certainly did not want to allow himself another lapse like the one in the room with the golem.

A little later, Garush and Dilae chose one of the small huts on the edge of the clearing for their rest, while Naghûl and Sgillin shared another. Jana chose her own hut, as did Sekhemkare and Kiyoshi, while Yelmalis and Tarik also shared one of the small houses. Only Lereia remained outdoors, sleeping on one of the blankets by the pond under the canopy of silvery trees. Both, the tigress and the Eldath follower, obviously wanted to stay connected to nature for as long as possible. Although the Astral Shelter was well protected against intruders, Garush could not be convinced that resting without guards was safe. So they took turns, and several hours of deep sleep passed, thankfully undisturbed.

When Naghûl and Sgillin stepped out of the hut, they could still hear snoring coming from the small house next to them – Kiyoshi. This had not disturbed the Sensate's rest, but it had probably woken the half-elf with his more sensitive ears several times.

He now knocked vigorously on the door to wake the still slumbering soldier. “A kingdom for a silence spell,” he muttered.

Dilae also stepped out of her hut. “A good and true word ...”

Then she went to the pond to wash, where Lereia had just awakened and was scooping some water to drink. On the other side of the pond, Sgillin knelt on the ground and submerged his head completely under water to wake himself up.

Yelmalis was already sitting at the table, eating bread and fruit. When Garush, clearly not in high spirits, stepped out of the hut behind Dilae, he turned his head towards her. “How are you?”

“Fine,” the amazon replied curtly, almost harshly.

Yelmalis sighed. “I just wanted to be nice, you know. Polite.”

“I know.” Garush rubbed her forehead. “It's just ... it annoys me that using my gift takes such a toll on my body. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sure you'll get used to it,” said Sekhemkare, who had been on watch last and was sitting at the table together with Yelmalis.

“I certainly hope so,” grumbled the half-orc, taking a large piece of ham from the table.

While Jana, Kiyoshi and Tarik were the last to emerge from the huts, the others sat down at the table and ate some more of the meal that had appeared there. Naghûl felt more relaxed, in a much better mood, and more confident than before the rest. He nodded to himself. Going to the Astral Shelter had been the right decision. Now they could face the dangers that surely awaited them refreshed and rested. When everyone was finished, Sgillin took a small sip of schnapps and then picked up his bow. Lereia transformed back into her tiger form while Naghûl, Jana, Yelmalis, Sekhemkare and Dilae cast some protective spells and prayers. Then the tiefling spoke the magic word that activated the Astral Shelter's exit, and immediately the oval portal opened right next to the pond. Behind it was the gloomy room in the catacombs of Broken Reach where they had fought the wyvern a few hours earlier.

Dilae sighed with one last look at the trees. “I'd love to stay here.”

Naghûl understood this feeling well, and a glance around revealed that the others shared it too. But they had no choice; they had to keep going, find the sword Hope, and then get back to Sigil as quickly and alive as possible. As they stepped through the portal, the peaceful forest clearing around them faded like a passing dream. The silver trees dissolved into shimmering sparks, the clear pond disintegrated into glittering drops that hovered briefly in the air before they too disappeared. For a brief moment, the Chosen found themselves in a space of pure, silvery emptiness before the gloom of the catacombs enveloped them once more. Then they stood again in the devastated room where they had defeated the wyvern and the quasits. The sweet scent of astral flowers gave way to the heavy smell of dust and blood. The corpses of their enemies still lay where they had fallen, silent witnesses to the bitter battle. They looked around warily, but there was no one to be seen except the dead bodies. Sgillin cautiously approached the other door in the room, hoping that the golden key that had been lying on the altar would unlock it. Holding his breath, the half-elf inserted it into the lock. Sure enough, there was a soft click and the door opened.

“Ready?” he asked over his shoulder.

When the others nodded grimly, he pushed against the door, which slowly swung open, revealing a large hall. The room was significantly larger than all the previous ones, its ceiling lost in the darkness. Red crystals in the walls provided a dim light. The first thing that caught their attention were the two large pentagrams embedded in the floor. They consisted of a mosaic of various gemstones, which Naghûl identified as obsidian, red jasper and onyx. The lines of the pentagrams seemed to pulsate in the glow of Dilae's moonlight orb, as if animated by an inner force. The tiefling sensed an arcane energy emanating from them and signaled to the others to circle around the mosaics and not step on them. In the center of the room stood a wide stone platform with a series of steps leading up to it. At the top rested a massive sarcophagus made of dark stone, its surface covered with intricate carvings that they could not yet make out from below.

“This must be it,” Naghûl murmured. “The Tomb of Hope.”

The group entered hesitantly, their footsteps echoing softly in the vast hall. The air was heavy and stifling, filled with the smell of incense and something metallic, reminiscent of blood. It was quiet here, very quiet, silent as a grave ... which, considering the pedestal, it probably was. Sanguine smoke rose from large stone urns around the sarcophagus, and there was something hanging over the room ... a feeling that something ancient and powerful lay here in deep slumber.

“We're in the right place,” Kiyoshi whispered. “I'm sure of it.”

Lereia sniffed suspiciously. “I don't like this place. It smells of death ... and something else. Something unnatural.”

Yelmalis nodded in agreement. “The magical energies here are intense. We should be extremely careful.”

They slowly approached the platform, taking care not to step on the pentagrams embedded in the floor. The red crystals in the walls seemed to pulsate slightly.

“I have ... we have seen this room before, in one of my visions,” Jana whispered uneasily.

Dilae nodded seriously. “So have we – in a dream Tarik had.”

When they stood at the foot of the platform Naghûl took a closer look at the statues surrounding it – and he caught his breath. They were life-size statues of women in flowing robes, their faces hidden in their hands as if they were crying. The craftsmanship of the images was remarkable - even in the semi-darkness, Naghûl could see the fine details of the folded hands and the hint of tears. “Yelmalis,” he whispered. “Do you notice anything about the statues?”

The wizard also shuddered at the sight. “By the powers ...”

“What's wrong with the statues?” Lereia asked, alarmed.

Naghûl couldn't tear his gaze away from them. “They look exactly like the ones at the Hall of Pain in Sigil.”

All the others who had lived in the City of Doors for some time nodded uneasily. The Hall of Pain, the place where the Ritu al of Submission and D evotion took place once a year, was avoided by most of Sigil's inhabitants, and the square surrounding it was usually completely empty. Except on the Day of Pain, when the factols of Sigil entered the hall to perform the mysterious ritual, the purpose and nature of which no one knew. But every Cager knew one thing: Fifteen statues of mourning women surrounded the hall, and they looked exactly like the ones standing here. But why? Why were the same figures found in the catacombs beneath Broken Reach as on the Square of Pain in Sigil? It was a question that nagged at Naghûl, a question that would surely occupy his mind – but not one he could answer here and now. He could only note it with wonder as well as unease and focus on what lay directly before them: the sarcophagus - and hopefully the sword.

Sgillin cautiously examined the stairs leading up to the platform. “There are no traps here,” he said.

Slowly, they climbed up. The red smoke swirled lazily over the steps and around the base of the sarcophagus, seeming to recede in front of them only to gather behind them again, as if to cut off their retreat. Now they could also see the reliefs that ran around the outside of the sarcophagus. They showed a large city that seemed to stand on a disc, above which were three circles that might represent suns or moons – a bearded man in a long robe holding a kind of scepter – many people, a good two dozen or more, standing in a circle – three swords who according to their shape seemed to represent Hope, Memory and Sorrow - the same city as on the front side of the sarcophagus, but broken and in flames. Could this be Arendur from the last cycle? They stood around the sarcophagus, somewhat indecisive, no one daring to touch it or do anything.

Then Yelmalis seemed to notice something. “Wait ...” he said. “There's something written ...” He stepped closer to the pedestal on which the coffin rested, and sure enough, there was an inscription carved into it.

“Can you read it?” Tarik asked quietly.

“It's a pretty old inscription,” the wizard explained. “Another very early form of Common ... This is the tomb of Tolumvire ... where the White Sword rests.”

“Phew ...” muttered Sgillin, instinctively stepping back from the sarcophagus.

Naghûl also felt his hair stand on end and his tense alertness increase. “Here rests the guy who tried to prevent the downfall in the last cycle? And then failed? This room is supposed to be that old?”

Dilae also shuddered visibly. “And above all, how did his body get into this cycle? Unless this is just a symbolic burial site. But why here, underneath Broken Reach?”

Garush now stepped closer to the coffin. “The crucial question is: Is the sword inside, as Jana and Tarik saw it? So, shall we open it?”

“I'm in favor of it,” Lereia declared.

Jana nodded. “Yes, please.” However, she made no move to do anything. “But I can't lift the lid anyway, and I don't want to have anything to do with swords.”

Kiyoshi also hesitated, possibly fearing to anger the kami of this place, as he liked to put it.

“Let me try,” Garush said determinedly.

Naghûl also moved a little away from the pedestal. “Something's going to happen ...”

“I'm afraid so ...” replied the amazon, but she took a deep breath and climbed onto the stone pedestal to get a better grip of the coffin lid.

“We would look stupid if it wasn't in there now,” Sgillin remarked with a brief grin, although he didn't seem as relaxed and carefree as usual when he made his jokes.

Yelmalis couldn't help but laugh a little. “Yes, quite.”

Garush snorted briefly, and Naghûl almost thought that it sounded a little amused. Then she pushed against the lid, but it seemed to be very heavy because it didn't budge. She let go and lowered her head, took a deep breath, and pushed again, this time with much more force ... And the coffin lid moved. There was a crunching sound, the rough noise of stone on stone. With all her strength, the half-orc pushed the lid back until it tipped over and slid behind the coffin, where it remained leaning against it. Everyone flinched at the loud bang that echoed through the large hall and looked around in anticipation of an attack. But everything remained silent.

So they turned back and looked into the coffin, tense, curious, fearful ... They saw no embalmed corpse, no skeleton, not even remains. But on an almost decayed blue cloth lay a katana with a blade as white as ivory, covered with incredibly fine, intricate engravings. It lay there as if asleep. But now that everyone was looking at it, it seemed to awaken somehow. Naghûl hat the impression, that an invisible force was emanating from the sword ... And then it jerked slightly, sliding a little way through the coffin to the foot end. It rose, hovered ... hovered over the coffin and paused, as if searching, deliberating ... Then it flew with the hilt straight into Kiyoshi's hand, which he reflexively stretched out. The young man closed his fingers around the hilt, and then the White Sword lay quietly in his right hand. Naghûl watched with a mixture of tension, amazement and enthusiasm. He heard Jana breathe a sigh of relief beside him. So Kiyoshi was the chosen bearer of Hope.

“That settles it,” Sgillin said with a smile.

Garush nodded. “I agree.” She seemed neither disappointed nor surprised, as if she had never really expected to be the bearer of the sword.

Kiyoshi, on the other hand, stood motionless, staring at the mystical katana in his hand. His orange eyes were filled with awe and a hint of disbelief. “I feel ... confused,” he admitted. “But hopeful.”

“Hopeful sounds good,” said Yelmalis. “Then let's hope we get out of here unscathed.”

“Exactly.” Sgillin nodded. “I don't want to be a killjoy, but we should leave now.”

Naghûl patted the half-elf briefly on the shoulder. “No, you're right: let's get out of here.”

The others nodded in agreement, and they quickly descended the stairs leading down from the platform with the sarcophagus. But no sooner had they reached the bottom than there was a loud bang - the door they had come through slammed shut with a thunderous crash. They immediately ran over and tried to open it, using the golden key again, but to no avail. Sgillin and Sekhemkare tried to pick the lock, but even after destroying several lock picks, they were unsuccessful. There was a mechanism here that they couldn't possibly bypass or overcome. While the half-elf and the yuan-ti worked on the door, the others searched the great hall for another exit – also in vain.

Finally, Lereia turned her gaze to the two floor mosaics. “ I n the circle of pentagrams only a sacrifice will bring you back up. Those were the words in the book.“

Naghûl sighed. Yes, this was probably the only way out. And it sounded anything but harmless or pleasant. ”The sacrifice,“ he said, ”was described somehow, wasn't it?“

Lereia nodded. ” Over this sacrifice, the veil of silence shall be cast .”

Kiyoshi looked thoughtfully at the white blade in his hand. “Honorable companions, perhaps the sword Hope can protect us from the worst – in whatever way it can.”

“Well, we're definitely not sacrificing any of us,” Jana said firmly.

“Could the veil of silence also mean a silence spell?” Lereia wondered.

Garush growled softly. “I hate this kind of thing ...”

Naghûl looked over at Yelmalis, who was slowly and intently pacing around one of the pentagrams embedded in the ground. One could see that he was thinking feverishly, and he was the one in the group whom the tiefling trusted most to find a solution to this puzzle.

“Yelmalis, what do you think?” he asked him.

The wizard stopped and looked up. “I fear ...”

“Me too ...” hissed Sekhemkare. “Since the door is closed ...”

“Exactly ...” Yelmalis nodded to the yuan-ti. “That's exactly what I meant.”

“What do you mean?” Sgillin asked tensely, with a hint of impatience.

“I also fear our way out is via the two pentagrams,” the wizard explained. “As Lereia quoted, the text in the book says that this is the only way to get back up.” He gestured at the red runes embedded in each of the pentagrams' points. “That looks like a teleportation spell to me.”

“That sounds good,” said Garush. “And how do we activate it? What does this sacrifice mean?”

“Maybe once more with blood?” Dilae suggested. “Like at the door with the eye?”

Naghûl, like Yelmalis, could sense the arcane energy emanating from the pentagrams, but as an intuitive magic user, he was less skilled at arcane analysis than a wizard. He therefore left this to the air genasi.

“The spell doesn't seem very complicated,” Yelmalis explained. “So it possibly triggers when we step on the runes in the points. Maybe only when they're all occupied.”

Lereia nodded. “One person on each point sounds plausible, doesn't it?”

“Then let's go,” Naghûl agreed. “I have a feeling we should get out of here really quickly.”

So Garush, Yelmalis, Tarik, Dilae and Sekhemkare gathered at one of the pentagrams while Naghûl, Lereia, Kiyoshi, Sgillin and Jana went over to the other one. Intuitively, each of the two groups found their way to one of the pentagrams without having discussed it, without even exchanging gestures or glances. And just as Yelmalis had suspected, after Jana was the last to step on the rune in one of the points, a teleportation spell was triggered ...

Chapter Text

“The strongest of the pride are measured not by the steel in their hands but by the steel in their souls.”

leonin saying

Third Market Day of Mortis, 126 HR

When Amariel entered Prefect Fireheart's office to report, she was surrounded by a faint scent of weapon oil and sandalwood, reminding her of the leonin's Tharpuresian origins. The dignified tranquility here stood in stark contrast to the chaos and darkness of the previous day. The banner of the Planar Harmonium hanging on the wall opposite the door reminded the half-elf that the Barracks were her home, that she had friends here and would always find support and backing. Runako Fireheart sat behind his massive desk next to a large window that offered a good view of the Lady's Ward. His sand-colored fur shimmered in the glow of the light crystals, and his green eyes examined Amariel attentively. To her surprise, Killeen was also present. She saluted the prefect and then looked questioningly at her brother.

“The Lady's Grace, sister. I was just about to announce some good news,” he explained cheerfully.

“But of course, I don't want to interrupt an official report.”

He looked at Runako, and the impressive leonin nodded. “Well, as they say, good news doesn't run away. So let's hear what your sister has found out about the shadow thefts first.”

“Very well, sir,” Amariel replied. “As you know, I went to the Hive with the decurions Nallart and Verûsa because we had a lead. The following occurred ...” She reported the events near the Night Market in a matter-of-fact manner, but without omitting any important information. How they had found the house of the fence, who called himself the Shadow Ripper, which had been mentioned by their informant. How they had encountered Síkhara and Haer'Dalis there and how the suspect had managed to escape. She explained what the blood hunter and the Sinker had said that had ultimately persuaded her to join forces with them. How the two had shown them the secret laboratory of the shadow thieves. When she recounted how she had sent Nallart and Aranis Verûsa back to the Barracks so she could go to Rakalla alone with Síkhara and Haer'Dalis, Runako frowned. Amariel did not fail to notice that the prefect was not enthusiastic about her actions, but she took a deep breath and continued her report, recounting her conversation with the medusa and her discovery regarding the soul fragments in the shadow essences. However, she omitted the part concerning the Prophecy. She knew that Factol Sarin intended to inform the leonin about it. But that had not happened yet, so she withheld the detail for the time being.

When she had finished, Prefect Fireheart looked her over closely. “Thank you for your report, decuria,” he said in his deep voice. “I must admit, I am impressed by what you have discovered. The information that the stolen shadows contain soul fragments is a significant step forward.”

Amariel held his gaze and nodded, but said nothing. She knew that the praise was only the introduction. She was fully prepared to be reprimanded for her arbitrary acts during the investigation.

Runako leaned back in his chair. “However,” he continued, as she had feared, “I am also concerned about your methods.”

The half-elf took a deep breath. “I know that I joined forces with Síkhara and members of the Doomguard without permission. It was a risk.”

“Indeed,” Runako said seriously. “You say that Síkhara is a blood hunter. They are known for their unorthodox methods and their connections to shady characters. Haer'Dalis and Rakalla, on the other hand, are members of the Doomguard, a faction that is openly hostile to us. You have put yourself in danger, decuria.“

”I believe it was necessary, sir,” Amariel replied. A quick glance at her older brother revealed that he was equally concerned for her, but she also recognized approval in his eyes. The half-elf quickly turned her attention back to Prefect Fireheart. “Síkhara and her allies have information and skills that we need. And I am convinced that they are sincere in their desire to capture the shadow thieves. The shadow thefts are a threat to the safety of Sigil, sir, and we must do everything we can to stop them.”

Runako was silent for a moment, his green eyes studying Amariel intently. “I do not doubt your judgment,” he finally said. “But you must still balance your duties and your safety. Intuition is a good thing, an important thing. But you must not be guided solely by your instincts. There are certain rules for such missions, and they exist for good reason.“

Amariel nodded guiltily. ”I know, sir. I will try to observe these rules better in the future.“

The leonin sighed. ”You are a highly skilled and capable officer, decuria. But I get the impression that you are also sometimes impulsive and impetuous. Who does that remind me of?“

He gave Killeen a meaningful look, and her brother raised his hands defensively - but with a grin that made it clear he knew he was being addressed.

”I know that things can get dicey in situations like that,“ the half-elf said. ”I've been there more than once. And I've often acted impulsively and recklessly. Just like Sarin and sometimes even Tonat. But it would be a shameless lie to say that I haven't taken the biggest risks most of the time.“

Runako growled knowingly, a kind of confirmation, it seemed to Amariel.

”What I'm trying to say,” Killeen continued with a smile. “I can understand your motives, sister. I probably would have done the same. After all, we have the same blood running through our veins. Ultimately, of course, it's Runako's ...” He paused, bowed his head briefly to the prefect and switched to a more formal form of address. “... the decision of Prefect Fireheart on how to handle the matter.”

Amariel nodded. She was grateful for her brother's support. But she knew she had crossed the line, and Runako had made it clear that she was not allowed to do so again. She turned back to the majestic leonin and met his stern gaze. “I accept whatever decision you deem appropriate, Prefect Fireheart,” she said.

“I know that Sarin thinks highly of you,” Runako replied seriously, and Amariel couldn't help feeling a wave of pride and joy wash over her that she hoped didn’t show on her face. “I therefore do not want to be responsible for anything happening to you while you are working on a case that is under my supervision. Especially not if it can be avoided. But I also see that your methods, albeit unorthodox, have led to important progress in the matter. I therefore want you to continue investigating the case. But I insist that you adhere to the operational guidelines in the future.”

Amariel breathed a sigh of relief. Part of her had feared that Runako would take her off the case.

That would have been the worst possible outcome for her at the moment. “I'll be more careful in the future,” she said. “I promise.”

The prefect nodded contentedly. “Very well,” he said. “Now about your cooperation with Síkhara and the members of the Doomguard. I will allow you to continue with it for the time being. But ...” He raised a finger. “You will inform me of your every move. No more playing a lone hand. And you will not put yourself in unnecessary danger. If the situation becomes too risky, you will withdraw and inform me.”

Amariel nodded seriously. “I understand,” she said. “I will abide by your conditions, sir.”

“Good.” The leonin then turned his gaze to Killeen. “Legate Caine, you said you had good news.”

“Indeed.” The half-elf sat up straight in his chair and was clearly in a good mood. “It concerns Lord Valiant.”

“Good news about Lord Valiant?” Prefect Fireheart growled. “What kind of news could be good regarding that man? In my opinion, the only good news would be that he has left the city.”

Amariel couldn't hide a smile when Runako showed his displeasure with the Grand Inquisitor so openly. It was common knowledge that his relationship with Juliana's predecessor, Ulan Delazar, had been very tense. The leonin had voted for his dismissal at the time and had made no secret of it. So, naturally, he was not particularly fond of Lord Valiant either.

“Ha!” Killeen clapped his hands. “You hit the nail on the head, my friend.”

Amariel felt a sense of relief wash over her. “Lord Valiant has left Sigil?”

“It was about time,” Runako grumbled. “He didn't express himself very clearly when he told Factol Sarin that he intended to stay a little longer. How long has he been here? About a month?”

“Yes, a little more than four weeks,” replied Killeen. “That naturally caused quite a stir among us all. I've had a talk with our factol and told him that I would like to find out the real reasons for Valiant's presence in Sigil. Sarin agreed, so I tried to have some of our esteemed Grand Inquisitor's activities observed. I assigned the task to a woman of whom I am sure we can trust and who knows how to gather information discreetly: Lady Diana. She knows all too many faces in Sigil, but as an expert in disguise magic, she can prevent herself from being recognized.“

Prefect Fireheart nodded. ”Ah, that's why our concierge has been replaced by triaria Jostos so often in recent weeks. A clever move, legate. And did Lady Diana find out anything?“

”Not much, unfortunately,” Killeen explained. “Valiant didn't spend much time in the Barracks. Which was a blessing in one sense, but also a bit strange, wasn't it?”

“Indeed,” said Amariel. “After he had asked me about the shadow thefts, I was afraid he would start meddling everywhere. But in the end, he was hardly seen in the Barracks.”

“I wish I could say I'm happy about that,” Runako growled. “But unfortunately, I agree that it is pretty suspicious. Do we know where he's been hanging out instead?”

Killeen leaned back in his chair. “At least Lady Diana observed Valiant meeting with Estavan from the Planar Trade Consortium once. He was also away from Sigil for over two weeks. The portal he used to leave the city leads to Cornucopia. We don't know what he was doing there or if he stayed there the whole time, though.”

“The realm of Rosmerta, the Celtic goddess of trade.” Amariel nodded. “It's part of the Eternal Market, where the gods Zilchus, Sera, Waukeen and Shinare also have their realms. If you want to acquire anything rare or valuable, it's probably the best place to go besides the Great Bazaar or Tradegate.”

“Or if you're looking for information,” Killeen added. “In the planes, that's sometimes one of the most important commodities. I'm almost certain that's what he was searching for: knowledge. But what secrets he's after and whether he found any answers ...” The half-elf spread his arms to indicate that he hadn't been able to find out.

“Very ominous,” Runako remarked gruffly. “Especially that the Grand Inquisitor himself has deigned to conduct these investigations. It must be really important. But even without answers to these questions, I'm more than glad that he's back on Ortho.”

The half-elf nodded. “At least for now.”

“For now?” Amariel looked at her brother uneasily. “You mean he'll be back?”

Killeen sighed deeply. “I'm almost certain of it, unfortunately. His behavior is unusual, and something tells me that Sigil will attract his attention again. It's probably only a matter of time.”

Prefect Fireheart folded his arms, his green eyes sharp and sparkling like emeralds. “Our factol will be thrilled. And since Valiant is a member of the Octade, we can't even refuse him entry.”

“Yes, regrettably,” Killeen replied grimly. It was clear to see that this prospect made him anything but happy.

Amariel nodded gently. She knew that the tensions between Sarin, Tonat and Killeen on one side and Valiant on the other went back many years. That they had once been friends, but were now on very different political and philosophical sides. That some kind of change had occurred to Valiant, but even the factol and his two legates had never been able to figure out what it was.

“And what do we do now?” the half-elf asked cautiously.

“Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do for the time being,” her brother explained with a sigh. “As Prefect Fireheart rightly pointed out, we have little to nothing on a member of the Octade. We just have to wait and see what his next move is and be very careful. Valiant is a dangerous man, intelligent, charismatic and ruthless. He is willing to do anything to achieve his goals, whatever they may be at the moment. But we will watch him. We will follow his every move and try to find out what he is planning.”

Runako grimly tapped the table to signal his agreement, and Amariel nodded resolutely. She would do everything in her power to prevent Valiant from causing the Harmonium any more harm than he already had – or her factol ...

Chapter Text

“One dose of poison is worth twenty daggers.”

Red Shroud of Broken Reach

Third Market Day of Mortis, 126 HR

When the flash of light faded, Naghûl looked around watchfully. They were in another room ... an opulent but gloomy room that stood in stark contrast to the barren crypt. The walls were covered with red velvet wallpaper, on which golden patterns shimmered, and several paintings depicted erotic or gruesome scenes - often both at once. Against one wall stood an imposing dressing table made of dark wood, littered with flasks and jewelry. The frame of the large mirror above it was formed by writhing demon figures. Nearby were several upholstered armchairs and a low table with goblets and a carafe. But what caught Naghûl's eye most of all was the circular bed, covered with silken sheets in various shades of red and countless pillows. The bedstead was surrounded by a transparent black veil that seemed to float like smoke. The air was warm and heavy, filled with an almost tangible sensual tension.

Naghûl shook his head, as if to clear his mind of the exotic scents. Where were they? Why had the teleportation spell brought them to this room? He looked around, searching for the others to consult with them – and to his horror, he realized that three of them were missing: Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis were not there. Instead, he spotted several tanar'ri - a cambion, an alu and several kelvezu - grinning maliciously at them. Before Naghûl could recover from the shock or gather his thoughts, a circle of runes glowed in the middle of the room ... A blink of an eye later, a woman stood there, breathtakingly beautiful and – without any doubt - breathtakingly dangerous. She had reddish skin and curved horns protruding from her long, jet-black hair. Behind her back, two large, leathery wings spread out, and the deep red, gold-embroidered fabric of her dress shrouded enough to spark imagination, but also revealed enough to leave no doubt about the perfection of her body. Naghûl felt a wave of heat wash over him at the mere sight of her. A succubus, no question, but certainly not just any succubus. Her attraction was much stronger than that of the seductress they had encountered in the bar two days earlier. Could this be ...?

“Oh, how charming ...” The demoness looked at the group and then laughed. “It's been lying there for so many millennia, and now finally someone has come to get it.”

Naghûl wanted to reply, but uncharacteristically, his voice failed him. He couldn't even move, just stare at the beautiful woman who had appeared in the middle of the room. Was it a spell that had been cast on him? Or was it just her innate charms? The tiefling couldn't even look at the others to see if they felt the same way. He only noticed that Sgillin, standing opposite him, was apparently just as unable to take his eyes off the demoness.

“Welcome to Broken Reach,” said the succubus in a voice that seemed to flow like honey, smiling inscrutably. “I am Red Shroud, and I welcome you to my home.”

So it was her ... Red Shroud. The mistress of the Split Citadel herself. They were lost. They had nothing to counter the power of a daughter of two demon lords. But strangely, that didn't seem to matter right now. Looking at her was all Naghûl cared about at the moment. No, not just looking at her ... yearning for her ... The Sensate bit his tongue hard, hoping the pain would snap him out of her charm. In fact, for a moment at least, he was able to think clearly enough to remember that Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis were not there. To feel a rising panic.

Red Shroud slowly turned once to get a better look at everyone, then her gaze lingered on Kiyoshi. “So you're the chosen one? I don't know if I should congratulate you.” When the young man just stared at her with wide eyes, she smiled mockingly. “How cute. A brave, dutiful soldier.” Then she looked around again. “Now I wonder what I'm going to do with you. And I'm sure you're wondering the same thing. How about a little trade, hm?”

Naghûl stared at her, still unable to say anything. He wanted to ask about the three who had disappeared, but no words came out.

Red Shroud ran her fingers through her black hair. “I take that silence as a yes,” she said, clearly amused.

Naghûl could see Sgillin nodding weakly, and he himself was also unable to do something else.

“It's quite simple,” the succubus explained. “I have something you want: your three absent friends. And you may be able to get me something I want. Bring it to me, and you'll get your three lost sheep back. How does that sound?”

“Sheep?” Kiyoshi murmured dreamily.

Now, finally, for the first time since they had been teleported into the room, Naghûl was able to speak. He wanted to hurl back at her that she should go to an even deeper layer of the Abyss. But first she should hand over Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush. However, something completely different came out of his mouth: “Yes, mistress, we will bring you whatever you desire.”

“But mistress,” the cambion interjected hesitantly. “What about the sword?”

“The sword was never meant for this place!” the ruler of Broken Reach replied sharply. “At best, it was a source of unrest here. And it has a purpose - one that I may even want to see fulfilled. For the sword cannot bring me what I want. But these poor, lost souls ... perhaps.“ She turned back to Kiyoshi. ”The sword ... keep it. It will set things in motion that are meant to happen. I want something else.” She took a few steps towards the young soldier, her hips swaying sinfully.

“What do you desire, oh beautiful mistress?” Kiyoshi asked, apparently unable to break free from her charm, just as everyone else.

Red Shroud smiled. “A kiss.” She immediately raised her hand. “But not from you. What I want is a kiss from your factol.”

Her words reached Naghûl's ears, but it took a few seconds for his mind to comprehend the outrageous demand she had just made. Next to him, he heard Dilae groan in disbelief. A kiss from Sarin ... had she really said that?

“I'm afraid that's beyond my power, mistress,” replied Kiyoshi, still noticeably woozy. “As much as I would like to fulfill your wish ...”

Red Shroud laughed. “I know you would like to. But I also know you cannot make this decision. Tell him what I demand.”

“As you wish, beautiful mistress,” the young soldier replied as if in a trance.

“And if he asks you why ... an attractive man, a noble paladin, a loving husband and the factol of the Harmonium, all in one ...” She laughed again. “No, I can't resist.” Then she returned to the center of the room and spread her wings as she turned back to the entire group. “Tell him: one kiss from him and your friends will be free. If not ... Well, we don't want that, do we? You have my word, I won't hurt them until I have an answer.” She looked at the kelvezu. “Take them out unharmed so they can deliver my demand.”

A flash of red light and she was gone ... The charm of her ruinous arts of seduction disappeared with her, but it still took a while before Naghûl could think clearly again. He felt an overwhelming urge to attack the kelvezu, to send a hail of magic missiles at them. But he knew that would only have endangered the three prisoners. So he contained himself and, fists clenched, followed the guards who were now leading them out of the room. The others also broke free from their stupor and stumbled after him.

“Lereia ...”, Sgillin murmured, barely audible, as he took one last look back into the room.

Dilae pressed both hands against her mouth, trembling in every limb. “That ... that's madness,” she whispered. “He ... he'll never do that.”

“No,” Jana said bitterly. “Of course not.”

Tarik wordlessly reached for Dilae's hand, while Sekhemkare let out a frustrated hiss. “Their lives now depend on a kiss between a paladin and a succubus ...” the yuan-ti observed.

“And not just any paladin,” Sgillin replied grimly.

One of the kelvezu laughed maliciously. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Naghûl shot him a withering look but said nothing, knowing full well that he might not be able to contain himself if he engaged in a verbal exchange with a tanar'ri in this situation. So he followed the guards in silence, his expression almost as stony as Kiyoshi's. Thoughts buzzed around in his head like flies, thoughts of liberation, thoughts of revenge, anger, fear, dismay ... everything rained down on him at once. He struggled to keep his emotions under control so that he could follow the guards outside without incident. He was barely aware of which corridors and staircases they passed before they stood once again at the great gate of Broken Reach.

“Off with you!” one of the kelvezu barked at them. “Get lost! Deliver the message!”

Then the guards went back inside without paying any further attention to them, presumably assuming that the group knew what was best for their captured friends. Naghûl, dejected and worried, glanced at his companions. Sgillin looked grim, Tarik looked exhausted and helpless and Dilae was obviously quite shaken. While Kiyoshi's expression seemed even more stony than usual, Sekhemkare's tongue kept darting nervously between his lips. Jana hadn't spoken a word since they had left Red Shroud's chambers and had stayed close to Naghûl, looking pale and haggard.

“Let's go,” Sgillin said quietly.

Dilae nodded weakly, but Jana stood rooted to the spot. “We can't just leave. The others will probably be dead before we reach Sigil.”

“Yes,” the half-elf replied grimly. “If we wait here any longer, they will be for sure.”

Dilae agreed with him. “I don't think we're helping the others by staying here.”

“Well, we certainly won't help them in Sigil,” Jana said, undeterred. “And besides, do you have any idea what they're going to do to them?”

Naghûl shook his head. “I don't know if Red Shroud will keep her word not to hurt them until she gets an answer. But she could have killed us all with a snap of her fingers. I think she really wants that kiss. That's our only chance – and our friends' only chance.”

“That's right,” Kiyoshi explained. “I have to deliver a message and get new orders. I will set off.”

“I'm coming with you,” said Sgillin. “We can't help anyone here.”

Jana looked desperate but determined. “I don't know what we can do either ... not yet. But I'm not just going to leave them here, not without at least trying.“

”Your intentions are noble,“ Tarik conceded. ”But you don't even have a plan. Broken Reach is an incredibly well-guarded fortress. How are we supposed to get to the prison cells?“

”Right, that's madness,” Kiyoshi agreed. “Unprepared, without a plan, and alone. I will not support you. I have my orders, and I intend to obey them.” With that, he turned around and walked towards the lava dragons that were carrying down the visitors of Broken Reach.

Sekhemkare nodded. “It’s up to his factol now.” The yuan-ti followed Kiyoshi, and Sgillin joined them.

“But we can work out a plan,” Jana made one last attempt.

Dilae sighed. “I'd rather not work it out here, where all the walls have Red Shroud’s ears.” She gently placed a hand on the sorceress' arm. “Let's go to Plague-Mort first.”

Naghûl nodded at her words. He understood Jana's feelings – he himself would have liked nothing better than to storm the hellish fortress and free Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush. But he knew they would stand no chance and would only endanger the well-being or even the lives of their friends. When he joined Kiyoshi, Sgillin and Sekhemkare together with Tarik, Jana gave in. Alongside Dilae, she followed the others to the lava dragons. They were carried down and then walked the short distance to the portal to Plague-Mort in silence. When they returned to the gate town, they were scrutinized attentively and vigilantly, but allowed to pass.

A short distance from the Archlector's palace, Naghûl stopped at a street corner. “This is where we part company for now,” he said to Sekhemkare. “We will take our portal back, you will have your own way.”

The yuan-ti nodded. “So be it. We will inform our factols - and Mallin and Hashkar, of course.”

“Good,” said Naghûl. “I think we'll meet again soon. Lady's Grace.”

Tarik raised his hand in farewell. “Thanks for everything down there. We'll see each other and find a solution.”

“May Eilistraee always protect you,” Dilae added.

“May the kami keep you safe,” Kiyoshi replied.

Sgillin, exhausted and dejected, nodded to the dark elf. “Take care, Dilae.”

She smiled warmly. “You too.”

Jana, on the other hand, crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I find it despicable and cowardly to just leave the others to their fate.”

“Then tell us your plan,” Sgillin replied irritably, while Sekhemkare hissed in annoyance.

“Exactly.” Dilae eyed Jana seriously. “Tell us, in concrete terms, what you want to do.”

Kiyoshi also looked at the sorceress, clearly annoyed. “Give us a viable plan and we'll follow it. But those who rush forward blindly rush to their doom.”

Naghûl nodded gently. The young soldier seemed to have learned from his experiences in the Hive. And his basic training with the Harmonium, which he had now completed, had certainly done the rest.

“I don't have a plan,” the sorceress declared vehemently. “But if we find somewhere to stay for the night and make an effort, we'll come up with something!”

Tarik sighed. “What difference does it make whether we spend the night here or in Sigil? Except that we can ask our factols for advice there and will certainly get more help.”

“Exactly,” said Sgillin. “The plan is: we talk to those who are most likely able to solve this. We can't do anything here, unfortunately. No one just walks into Broken Reach if Red Shroud doesn't want them to, I'm sure of it.”

Jana looked completely distraught. “But my goodness, what do you think the demons will do to them?!”

Dilae's voice sounded hoarse as she replied. “They'll do that to them whether we're here in Plague-Mort or in Sigil.”

“I've said all there is to say.” Kiyoshi slung his naginata over his shoulder. “I'm returning to Sigil.”

Sekhemkare cursed in Yuan-Ti under his breath, then turned to Tarik and Dilae. “Come on, we don't owe the Lost any explanation.”

The dark elf nodded with a sigh, waved goodbye once more, then joined Tarik and Sekhemkare. When the three had turned the next street corner, Kiyoshi also set off towards the city gate.

“I still think it's cowardly,” Jana muttered.

Sgillin snorted in annoyance and followed the young Harmonium soldier, while Naghûl stopped once more and looked at the sorceress.

“Come on,” he said wearily. “We'll sort this out in Sigil.”

She didn’t reply and followed him, but they walked to the portal in icy silence.

Chapter Text

“It Is Wrong To Consort With Demons.”

ninth principle of the Pax Benevola from the Book of the Harmonium

Third Market Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Factol Erin was on her way to the premiere of a new play at the Elloweth Theater when a messenger of the Harmonium with urgent news was announced. The young officer had apparently arrived on a griffon - a clear sign that the matter was serious. For this reason, she immediately received the half-orc and listened to what he had to say. He informed her that he had come directly on Sarin's orders and asked her to meet the paladin at the Barracks immediately – a group that included a member of her faction had returned from an important mission and not everything had gone according to plan. Erin's heart sank when she heard the last part of the message. It could only be about the Chosen and their mission in the Abyss – and apparently something had gone wrong. She briefly told her consort and deputy Da'nanin about it, asked him to go to the premiere in her place, and then made her way to the Barracks as quickly as possible.

In Sigil, as quickly as possible usually meant by air. Erin therefore had her flying carriage prepared. The open gondola consisted of a huge shell, but as a cool rain was falling in the Cage that evening, she activated the magical barrier that formed a transparent roof. Four Arborean pegasi pulled the flying vehicle swiftly but safely across the already darkening sky of Sigil. Da'nanin's assistant, a pink-haired gnome named Amoretta Twinklefern, steered the vehicle. They quickly left the Festhall District behind, flew over Thespia Square, and soon over the Great Gymnasium. Erin suspected that her colleague Rhys was also on her way to the Barracks. Even though Morânia had not gone to the Abyss for understandable reasons, the factol of the Ciphers had surely been invited as well and wanted to hear what unexpected events had occurred during the mission. As the Guildhall Ward merged into the Market Ward and they approached the Great Bazaar, Erin drummed her fingers impatiently on the mother-of-pearl rim of the large shell. What could have happened to make Sarin call for her so urgently? Patience was not one of her strong points anyway, and this flight, as fast as the winged horses raced across the sky, was pure torture.

As the Market Ward gave way to the Lady's Ward and the towers of the Barracks finally appeared below them, Erin's nerves were stretched to breaking point. Amoretta landed the flying carriage on the Griffon Tower, as the messenger had requested. Two officers immediately took care of the pegasi, while a third hurriedly led Erin to the upper floor of the Barracks and to Sarin's office. When she entered, Terrance and, as expected, Rhys were already there. They sat together with the exhausted-looking Chosen at the long conference table, while Sarin paced restlessly back and forth. Erin immediately recognized that only Naghûl, Kiyoshi, Sgillin and Jana were present - Lereia was missing. As relieved as the factol of the Sensates was to see her factotum, the absence of the weretigress filled her with dread. Startled, she looked at Naghûl, who, like the other Chosen, had stood up and bowed before her, and who nodded grimly in response to her questioning glance. Sarin bowed his head briefly in her direction, a greeting uncharacteristically curt for the paladin, and began to explain when the door opened again and Ambar entered.

“Sarin, I greet you,” he said. “I received your message and came as quickly as I could. What ...” He paused when he also noticed Lereia's absence. Concern and alarm appeared in his eyes. “What ... what is going on here? Where is Lereia?”

Sarin sighed deeply. “She is still in the Abyss,” he replied seriously.

Ambar's eyes widened in horror. “What do you mean, still in the Abyss? Is she ...” His voice died down, apparently unable to express the terrible thought that had crept up on him.

Erin also swallowed hard and eyed the paladin anxiously.

“She's alive,” Sarin assured him quickly. “But she's a prisoner of Red Shroud.”

“She ... what?!” The news seemed to throw the bard completely off track. “But how ... how did that happen?”

Sarin pointed to the Chosen sitting at the table with gloomy expressions. “We'll get a report in a moment.” Then his voice softened a little. “I'm sorry, Ambar. I promise we'll do everything in our power.”

He pointed to the empty chairs between Terrance and Rhys and pulled one back for Erin. She took a seat and Ambar sat down next to her, visibly shaken. It was unusual to see the otherwise eloquent and cheerful bard suddenly so quiet and distraught – and it clearly showed how much he cared about Lereia. Erin gave him a sympathetic look, and Terrance patted him comfortingly on the shoulder as he sat down. After Sarin had also taken his seat, he nodded to Kiyoshi, inviting him to report on the events in the Abyss. Only now did Erin notice that the young man had apparently grown wings and a dragon's tail in the Abyss. In her alarm over Lereia's absence, she hadn't realized it at first. He must have had another surge of dragon blood.

The young soldier now recounted the Chosen’s journey through the gate town of Plague-Mort and their passage through the portal to Pazunia. He apparently wanted to fall back into his usual attention to detail, but a glance from Sarin was enough to bring him back to the essentials. He reported how they had reached the fortress of Broken Reach, how they had managed to find a way into the catacombs and how they had met the other group of Chosen there. Erin was not overly surprised that the others had also found ways to learn about important things such as the Three Swords. Kiyoshi then gave a somewhat brief account of their journey through the catacombs, their discovery of the book about the Deus Machina – the copied pages of which were now in Yelmalis' possession in the Abyss – and finally he told how they had found the sword Hope . He immediately showed the white blade, placing it carefully, almost reverently, in the middle of the table. Then, with a serious expression, he recounted how they had been teleported directly into Red Shroud's chambers when they had left the catacombs – and that Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis had been missing.

At this point, Kiyoshi paused briefly to clear his throat before continuing: “Then she explained that she wanted something in exchange for the prisoners and made her demand ...” He paused once more and looked at his factol, visibly nervous, as it seemed to Erin.

“Now tell us,” Sarin urged him. “What does the demoness want?”

Kiyoshi took a deep breath. “She demands ... a kiss from you, honorable Factol.”

“What?!” Erin exclaimed in disbelief.

Sarin stared at Kiyoshi as if he hadn't understood his words - or as if he couldn't believe them. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. It was the first time Erin had ever seen him speechless. All the color drained from Ambar's face, Terrance looked genuinely surprised and even Rhys seemed astonished. Naghûl, Sgillin and Jana nodded grimly at Kiyoshi's words.

“She ... what?” Sarin finally found his voice again, clearly stunned. “Repeat that! I must have misheard, right?”

Kiyoshi lowered his gaze. “Honorable Factol, I'm afraid I must inform you that your hearing is excellent.”

“That's insane!” Ambar exclaimed. “What kind of crazy demand is that?!”

Sarin knit his dark brows. “What ... whatever gave her that idea? What’s the point of it? Why would she want something like that?”

“Yes, why?” Ambar ran his fingers through his red hair, clearly in a state of agitation. “What kind of farce is this?”

“Red Shroud is a succubus,” Naghûl replied, uncharacteristically serious and dejected. “Her purpose is to seduce and lead people astray. It would be an immense triumph for her if she could get someone as respected and of such high standing as Factol Sarin to kiss her.” He sighed and then addressed the paladin directly. “Factol, you are a loving husband and father, a paladin of a good and lawful goddess and the head of the Harmonium. Any one of these qualities alone would be reason enough for a succubus to want this kiss, but you embody all of them. You would therefore be a welcome ... trophy for Red Shroud.“

Sgillin nodded grimly. ”Not to mention the potential dependence that could follow."

At the word trophy and Sgillin's final remark, Sarin's expression changed from stunned to angry. “It's outrageous to even make such a demand!”

“I understand your concerns,” Ambar replied unhappily. “But what will become of the prisoners? How will we get them back?”

“I want to free them too,” the paladin assured him earnestly. “But without becoming one of Red Shroud's victims.”

Sgillin, who had obviously been pondering for a while, now sat up straighter and apparently made up his mind. “Perhaps you won't have to, honorable Factol.”

All eyes now turned to the ranger in surprise.

“Do you have a plan?” Sarin asked, no less astonished.

Sgillin nodded. “Perhaps ... if it works. I mean, if I manage to use my gift on you, then ... in truth, I would be the one she kisses, not you.”

When the half-elf made this suggestion, a silence fell over the room, partly astounded, partly respectful. Erin had to admit to herself that she was surprised that Sgillin had made such a proposal. On the one hand, because he and Sarin were not exactly on friendly terms due to the recent revelations, and on the other, because the idea was actually out of the question due to the factions the two of them belonged to.

Sarin seemed to feel the same way, raising his eyebrows doubtfully. “You want me to ... swap bodies with an Anarchist? Do you know what you're suggesting?”

“Yes, I do,” Sgillin replied seriously. “I'm open to alternatives.”

Erin was torn. On the one hand, the ranger's suggestion was selfless and did not fit a group in which most members would certainly prefer to watch Sarin kiss Red Shroud rather than put themselves in danger for him. On the other hand, she could understand Sarin all too well. The mere fact that he had shown leniency towards Sgillin's Razor Angels membership was not something that could be taken for granted from someone in the Harmonium. Even less so from the factol. But swapping bodies with an Anarchist - willingly and knowingly - could cost him his office if anyone found out. As could the requested kiss ... a more than messy situation.

“I can't just swap bodies with an Anarchist,” Sarin explained. “As much as I appreciate the gesture ... I am the factol of the Harmonium! There are rules – rules that bind even me! Especially me!”

“By the Lady!” Tension and growing desperation resonated in Ambar's voice. “Can’t you just take a leap of faith? After all, Lereia's life and the lives of the others are at stake!”

Sarin glared at him. “Easy for you to talk. You are not supposed to kiss her.”

Rhys raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Please, gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere. If we start attacking each other, Red Shroud has already won half the battle.”

Terrance nodded. “Yes,” he agreed with the factol of the Ciphers. “That’s true.”

“As I said, I'm open to alternatives,” Sgillin interjected. “I'm not exactly eager to kiss her either.”

“Sarin, please.” Ambar visibly struggled to keep his tone of voice calm. “Can we at least consider the plan? I mean, what are the alternatives? Storming Broken Reach?”

Sarin leaned back and sighed deeply. “That would most likely fail. And even if we managed to do it, the prisoners would certainly not survive such a frontal attack.” He buried his face in his hands for a moment, then fixed his gaze on Sgillin. “What ... would you have to do?”

Sgillin, who had been staring thoughtfully at the tabletop, raised his head. “You have to ... well, how should I put it ... open up to me. Allow the swap. Last time, you repelled me effortlessly. But my attempt wasn't intentional then. The decision was made by my mind, so to speak. But I could try to control it consciously this time.“

”But I wasn't aware that I was repelling you at the time,“ Sarin objected.

Sgillin nodded. ”I think that has to do with the fact that you have a very strong mind and a very strong soul. Similar to Factol Ambar, with whom the swap also failed.”

Ambar sighed. “If the situation weren’t so serious, I’d find this very exciting.”

“Be careful with your soul experiments,” Terrance admonished his friend matter-of-factly.

The bard raised his hands defensively and Sarin took a deep breath. “All right ... Try it. And don’t get any ideas if it works.”

Erin felt relieved, but also somewhat surprised that the paladin was really willing to take this step - as well as Sgillin. It spoke for both of them that they were willing to do everything in their power to save the prisoners.

“You want to try it right now, Factol?” Sgillin seemed a little taken aback by Sarin's quick agreement.

The factol of the Harmonium nodded. “Yes, I'd rather get it over with.”

“All right.” The half-elf sat up a little straighter. “Try not to close your mind.” Then he concentrated on Sarin and his expression became vacant ...

Everyone present watched the scene with bated breath – Erin herself, Naghûl and Jana with excited interest, Rhys and Terrance composed and calmly, Ambar with a certain tension and Kiyoshi with a stoic expression that nevertheless betrayed a hint of concern. Sarin apparently tried to relax, but after a short while, Sgillin was literally thrown back into his chair.

“Ouch!” the half-elf exclaimed.

Erin flinched and everyone looked at Sgillin in alarm.

The paladin, however, raised his hands apologetically. “I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to.”

Sgillin's gaze cleared and he briefly shook his head. “You ... you noticed?”

“Yes, I did,” Sarin confirmed. “I apologize if I hurt you.”

“No, it's fine,” the ranger assured, although he looked a little pale around the nose. “I had my hand on the door handle … so to say. But then you threw me out.”

Sarin cleared his throat. “I briefly felt that this is too dubious after all.”

“Yes, that feeling must have been the problem,” Sgillin said thoughtfully.

Rhys eyed Sarin intently. “You have to let it happen,” she explained with a slight rebuke.

“Oh, really?” the paladin replied, a little irritated. As Ambar took a deep, controlled breath, he rubbed his temples briefly and nodded. “All right, one more time.”

Sgillin concentrated again, his expression once more becoming vacant, but then he opened his eyes and shook his head. “It's not working,” he said, downcast. “Your mind was open, but the swap wasn't possible. Something else is blocking me. Perhaps your entire attitude to life ... your alignment, so to speak.”

Erin nodded thoughtfully. “You are quite opposing souls.”

“That may well be,” said the half-elf, then he looked at Sarin, genuinely dejected. “I'm very sorry.”

With a sigh, the paladin leaned back in his chair. “I don't know whether I should be disappointed or relieved.”

“Relieved?” A hint of indignation crept into Ambar's voice.

Sarin shot him a dark look. “Stop it, Ambar! I'm not holding Lereia captive.”

Rhys raised her hands again in a conciliatory gesture. “Gentlemen ...”

The bard immediately made an apologetic gesture and then ran his hands desperately over his face. “But what now? I mean ... we have to do something!”

Naghûl, sitting opposite Erin, spoke up softly, almost hesitantly. “I might have an idea.”

Sarin raised his head. “Speak.”

“When two extremes collide,” the tiefling explained, “it doesn't necessarily mean that only one side gets hurt. Might there be a way to turn the tables here?”

“Should I kiss her and send her a blast of holy energy?” A hint of cynicism was clearly perceptible in Sarin’s voice.

Naghûl smiled weakly. “Actually, I was thinking of something like that. The consequences would harm her, not you.”

Sarin eyed him seriously. “So your suggestion is that I kiss her?”

“I would prefer the word punish her, Factol.”

Now Sarin actually had to grin briefly. “Nice try to make it palatable to me.”

Ambar, however, remained concerned. “But ... wouldn't that be dangerous? I mean, for the prisoners?”

Erin nodded. “You mean what Red Shroud will do if she is harmed by the kiss? A good point, and one we should not underestimate.”

As she had been doing for a while, Jana stared at the tabletop in discouragement. “No matter what we try, it's going to be a risky game.”

Erin looked at Sarin and could clearly see how torn he was. There was no question that he wanted to help the prisoners, but Red Shroud's demand was not only outrageous, it was also extremely dangerous. This kiss could cost him his status as a paladin as well as his position as factol. But what was even worse: if the demon princess gained influence over him, his family would suffer as well.

These very thoughts seemed to cross the paladin's mind, for he sighed heavily. “Apart from the fact that kissing her is not really up for debate here ... How do I protect myself from her? Red Shroud is very old and powerful, dangerous things could happen.“

The factol of the Sensates cast a hopeful glance at Terrance, and indeed, the high priest nodded. ”There are certainly a few ways to protect you.“

Sarin looked at him seriously. ”Protection you can guarantee, Terrance?”

“Absolute guarantee is something I cannot offer, unfortunately,” the Athar’s factol admitted.

Ambar eyed the two of them tensely. “So ... is the kiss still on the table, or what am I supposed to make of that?”

“I ... no.” Sarin buried his face in his hands in despair. “I don't think so. I ... I'm not sure.”

Rhys gave him a sympathetic look. “I think we should first go through all the options we have and discuss what would be the most sensible and promising course of action.”

Terrance nodded. “Good. So, a frontal attack is out of the question, we agree on that, right?”

“Even though I'd like to say otherwise ...” Sarin sighed. “But yes, I think that's one of the least sensible plans.”

“Maybe a secret rescue mission?” Naghûl considered. “Sneak in? One by one, one here, one there. Just a small but powerful group.”

Kiyoshi thoughtfully shook his head. “Forgive me for saying so, but I'm afraid I'm a terrible sneaker.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Erin couldn't help but smile a little at this remark, but then she became serious again. “A risky game.”

“Yes, we could easily be killed,” the young soldier stated matter-of-factly. “But there is no shame in an honorable death in battle.”

Sgillin frowned. “Why do you always want to die?”

“I don't want to die,” Kiyoshi clarified. “But in the face of all these powerful demons, it seems more than just a possibility.”

Sarin sighed. “Don't get me wrong: I'm quite willing to die for some things ... if it makes sense.”

“I don't know Red Shroud very well,” Erin interjected. “But I met her once in Sigil and got a certain impression of her. I think she's a woman who is prepared for many things. She's also evil and chaotic, of course. I suspect - just my gut feeling of course - that she would destroy something she can't have or that compromises her rather than give it up. In other words, I could imagine her killing the prisoners at the first sign that something is going wrong with her plan.”

Ambar took a deep breath. “I ... I think she's capable of that, yes.”

Rhys nodded seriously, and Sarin leaned back in his chair with resignation. “As Jana rightly said, everything we try will be risky. And besides ... we should discuss this with Mallin and Hashkar. Garush and Yelmalis are also held captive in Broken Reach. If we don't talk, we might end up planning rescue operations that thwart each other.”

“Unfortunately, that's true,” Ambar admitted.

Erin sighed inwardly. She had resisted working with the Mercykillers and the Fated so much – and after Mallin's aggressive behavior, she had even believed in her victory. But this situation changed everything, of course. She understood Sarin, but she couldn't give in without at least making her position clear. “Despite all that, I'm reluctant to sit down at a table with Rowan Darkwood,” she stated. “I deeply distrust that man.”

“I understand your point of view,” Sarin explained. “But right now, I only want to talk to Hashkar and Mallin.”

“What they learn Rowan Darkwood will most likely learn, too,” Erin replied seriously. “I just wanted to say that.”

“You all have some nerve!” A certain displeasure now crept into Sarin's gaze and voice. “You want me to kiss a succubus and wouldn't let me talk to Mallin and Hashkar about it.”

“I didn't say you should kiss her,” Terrance remarked calmly.

“And I didn't say I was completely against talking to Hashkar and Mallin,” Erin conceded. “But we shouldn't forget what Mallin did.”

Sarin sighed when the subject came up. “I'm partly to blame for that because I fobbed him off several times.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Ambar said angrily. “Now you should be to blame for this outrageous behavior? Come now!”

“I said partly to blame,” the paladin replied irritably.

Erin was downright grateful when Naghûl spoke up again, defusing the tense situation a little. “What happened was indeed outrageous. But in Garush's defense, she was always one of the first to fight and protect all of our lives. We were in the Abyss, where you grow together and other mistakes somehow lose their significance.”

Sgillin nodded in agreement. “And she pulled Lereia out of that trap. I won't forget that.”

“Thanks.” Sarin looked over at the tiefling and the half-elf. “At least two people support my opinion here. Besides, Harmonium, Guvners and Mercykillers are close allies. It can’t go on like this in the long run anyway. And Yelmalis pleaded Jana’s cause - well, that's more of a doubtful honor ...”

The paladin glanced apologetically at Terrance, but the factol of the Athar waved it off. It was clear that he, too, was still not enthusiastic about Jana's actions. The sorceress cleared her throat quietly and lowered her gaze.

“So ...” Ambar ran his fingers through his red hair, his despair and helplessness clearly visible. “Let's go over our options again. A frontal attack is out of the question. A body swap is also out of the question. Sneaking in secretly ... very risky.”

“Body swap might not be completely out of the question,” Sgillin interjected.

Sarin frowned. “How so?”

“If it doesn't work with one side ...” The ranger swayed his head thoughtfully. “Maybe it will work with the other.”

The paladin didn't seem particularly enthusiastic. “And if it doesn't ... I'll look pretty stupid.”

Sgillin sighed. “I admit, the plan isn't without risk.”

“But it might be a good idea to focus on Red Shroud,” Erin considered. “Maybe there's something we can use to extort her just as viciously. I can't think of anything off the top of my head, but I'll make some inquiries, of course.”

The others nodded in agreement, then a thoughtful and helpless silence fell over the room for quite some time.

Finally, it was Rhys who spoke again. “I have a suggestion,” she said with her usual calm. “Let’s pause the meeting, take some time to think things through on our own, and consider possible solutions. Then we’ll meet again, and I’m sure we’ll come up with a promising strategy.”

Sarin nodded. “You're right, Rhys. It's late, our Chosen are exhausted and we're all more than a little shaken right now. This is no time to make good decisions. I ... need to talk to my wife. Naghûl surely wants to tell Morânia about everything that happened. And I'm sure everyone else also needs some time to think things over. Let's sleep on it and meet again tomorrow.”

“As much as I would like to find a solution right now ...” Ambar sighed. “But you and Rhys are right.”

The paladin pushed his chair back to go to his family quarters, but paused and placed a hand on the bard’s shoulder. “Ambar, I promise we will do everything in our power.”

The half-elf nodded gratefully, then they all left Sarin's office to give the situation some thought and process what had happened.

Chapter Text

“Strength is what we gain from the madness we survive.”

Curran, former factol of the Believers of the Source

Third Guild Day of Mortis, 126 HR

When they had decided to venture into the Abyss to search for the sword Hope , Lereia had asked herself a few questions. What will we see there? Will we ever come back? Is it really as horrible as everyone says? Does the Abyss change you?

Lereia sat on a cot in their cell with her knees drawn up. Due to lack of space, she had transformed back into her human form. As a white tiger, she would have taken up half the cell. There were three small, uncomfortable pallets, all of them dirty and foul-smelling. In one corner of the cell stood a bucket, which everyone had tried to avoid - yet. A night had passed and none of them had slept. The first evening, Garush had spent some time hammering at the iron bars of the cell in anger and shouting, mostly in Orcish. No one had stopped her, not even the guards. After venting her anger to some extent, she had laid down on one of the cots, and stared grimly, even murderously, at the bars. Yelmalis had watched her with concern, but seemed to know her temper well enough. He had sat on his pallet, staring at the floor in resignation, probably contemplating. Overall, he had been rather uncommunicative. Lereia had tried to talk to him a few times, but he seemed to be far away in his thoughts. She didn't know if he was making plans, had given up or was meditating. But then she hardly knew him. Even now, hours later, he was still sitting there, almost motionless. Garush lay on her back on the cot, staring angrily at the ceiling. Every now and then, she struck her already bloody and bruised fist against the stone wall; apparently, that was the calmest position the amazon could assume in this situation.

Lereia herself was simply scared. Suddenly they were in this cell and no one spoke to them. All she had were the impressions she received. Once, three bowls had been pushed through the bars, filled with an indefinable mush that smelled terrible, like old meat and rotten vegetables. None of them had touched it yet. But they were spared worse. The other prisoners were interrogated and tortured, prepared for the slave market or ordered to carry out menial tasks. Some of the captives, both women and men, were even forced into prostitution. But the three Chosen were ignored, one might even say spared. Why? The young woman had terrible thoughts about what might have happened to her friends. Were they already dead? Had they managed to strike some crazy deal so that Garush, Yelmalis and Lereia herself had not yet been physically harmed?

Another scream. From a room where Lereia suspected a torture chamber. She lay back and felt something pressing into her hip bone. The guards had taken most of their belongings, especially Garush’s axe and Yelmalis’ spellbook and components, and thrown them into a separate cell. But she still had her belt pouch. She pulled out a ring, turned it between her fingers and felt a pain in her chest. Factol Ambar had given her this ring, along with a few other valuable items. They were to be used for possible negotiations or bribes in the Abyss. He had told her that he had forged the ring himself. She stared at the piece of jewelry and was angry with herself. She had spent her last evening in Sigil with Ambar at an exhibition opening in the Festhall. Now she regretted that she had not told him how she really felt. That he had become more important to her than anyone else and that she felt she hadn't known what she had been looking for until she had met him and got to know him better. She had hesitated to tell him all this or to show it more openly. She clutched the ring tightly and bit her lower lip to hold back the tears. If only he were here. But now she wasn't even sure if she would ever see him again. Or any of the others. Naghûl, Sgillin or Morânia, who were like family to her. Jana and Kiyoshi, whom she would love to get to know better and already felt close to. A terrible fear crept up inside her. She could maintain her composure and keep her emotions in check, but she couldn't suppress her feelings. It had grown quieter in the cells. Lereia closed her eyes and clutched the ring, her thoughts in Sigil, in her house, at a certain dinner ...

Suddenly, there was a loud bang at the cell door and she startled. A mane. It grinned stupidly and moved on, striking against the next cell doors with a piece of metal. Apparently, it didn't want to let the prisoners sleep, trying to dampen their spirits and make them lose all hope. Disgusting creature. For a brief moment, Lereia felt the urge to rip its soul out ... Does the Abyss change you? I think so.

Chapter Text

„Sometimes the hardest decision and the right decision are the same.“

Arcadian proverb

Third Guild Day of Mortis, 126 HR

When Amariel entered the reception hall of the Barracks, Lady Diana was sitting behind her large desk, as usual. She was sorting some letters, and the day's mail was precisely the reason why Sarin's adjutant had sought out the concierge. Her factol was expecting a letter from Lady Erin, and Amariel wanted to ask if a courier had already arrived from the Festhall. The Chosen had returned from the Abyss the night before – but without Lereia. Amariel's shift had already ended, so she hadn't heard about the events, but Sarin had informed her the very next morning. About the discovery of the sword Hope, but also about the unfortunate fate of Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis, as well as Red Shroud's outrageous demand for a kiss from him. Amariel hadn't believed her ears. The succubus might be a demon princess, might rule over one of Pazunia's most important fortresses, but this request was so presumptuous and bold that she had been at a loss for words. Sarin, who had had a night to sleep on it, seemed upset, but also exhausted and pensive. On the one hand, he certainly hadn't had much rest, and on the other, he was now under immense pressure, as the lives of the three prisoners depended on his decision and his next steps. Kissing a succubus would be a risky undertaking for anyone, but few could lose more than him. Amariel was only too aware of this, and it cut like a red-hot knife into her heart to see her factol in such a situation. She therefore hoped all the more that Lady Erin's letter would contain something that would help Sarin and the prisoners.

She took a deep breath and then walked over to Diana's desk. “Lady Diana, the Lady's Grace,” she greeted her. “The factol sent me. I am to ask if a courier from the Festhall has been here and delivered a letter for him from Factol Erin.“

The concierge nodded immediately. ”Yes, indeed. A young gnome lady was here and handed me a letter.“ She pulled an envelope decorated with the Sensates' symbol from a pile of letters in front of her. ”Here it is.”

“Very good,” Amariel replied with relief. “Factol Sarin will be very happy to hear that. I'll carry the letter to him myself.”

Diana nodded gently and handed her the envelope, eyeing the half-elf thoughtfully. “Disturbing things are happening right now, huh? I met Sarin this morning and he seemed ... well, let's say he looked a little tired out.“

Amariel smiled at Diana's tactful and diplomatic observation. ”To be honest, yes,“ she replied. ”These are turbulent times and quite a few things are on the factol's mind at the moment.”

The concierge nodded, discreet as ever. “I see. Then I hope everything will calm down soon, and I'm glad to know he has your support.”

“That's very kind of you, Diana,” Amariel said gratefully. “I'm doing what I can to be of help to him.” She was already on her way to the door, but turned back once more. “There’s no letter addressed directly to me among today's mail?”

Diana went through the stack of envelopes on her desk once more, then looked up and shook her head. “Unfortunately not, decuria. Is it urgent?”

“It's about the case I'm currently working on,” the half-elf explained. “One of my informants wanted to contact me as soon as she had any news. But apparently there's nothing yet.” As much as Amariel had hoped for a message from Síkhara, she knew she would have to be patient. After all, it had only been two days since her meeting with the blood hunter, Rakalla and Haer'Dalis.

The concierge nodded. “I understand, decuria. I'll let you know as soon as a letter arrives for you.”

“Thank you, Lady Diana,” the half-elf replied, then she hurried back upstairs and to the factol's office.

Sarin was not sitting behind his desk, but pacing up and down the room, radiating a certain restlessness that was uncharacteristic of him.

“Sir,” she said as soon as she had closed the door behind her. “As you suspected, a letter has arrived from Factol Erin.”

“Very good, decuria.” He sat down, but did not take the letter, instead motioning to her to open it.

She carefully broke the lavender-colored seal and looked questioningly at Sarin. He usually read his mail himself instead of having her read it to him.

This time, however, he nodded to her. “Please read it aloud, decuria. I am curious to hear what my esteemed colleague has discovered.”

Amariel nodded, took the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. The fine sheet of paper was decorated with elaborate drawings of irises and bracken fern along the edges. Erin's delicate handwriting covered the page, graceful yet easy to read. Amariel cleared her throat once before reading the contents of the letter aloud:

“Most esteemed colleagues Terrance, Rhys, Sarin and Ambar, honorable factoti Morânia of Wolkenfels and Naghûl Ka'Tesh, honorable lady Jana Wetter, honorable gentlemen Kiyoshi and Sgillin,

as announced yesterday evening, I spent last night and this morning utilizing my faction's numerous connections and sources of information to learn more about our current adversary, Red Shroud. It was surprisingly difficult to uncover anything beyond the commonly known facts. Although the Mistress of Broken Reach is both old and well known, it proved challenging to obtain more in-depth and therefore valuable information. Red Shroud is apparently a master at keeping herself and her affairs in the dark, but in return she knows a lot about her opponents. Her skills in this area are truly admirable – it's just unfortunate that she's a tanar'ri.

Red Shroud is a demon who enjoys a formidable repute both within and outside the Abyss. To be precise, she has a triple reputation: First, she is the undisputed Mistress of Broken Reach, the Abyssal gate town to the Outlands. Second, she is a highly experienced expert in poisons of all kinds. Third, her reputation is also based on the fact that she has a considerable network of spies, is involved in several important, albeit dubious, planar organizations, and has access to numerous sources of rumors and information. Of course, the fact that she controls the only known source of black mithral in the entire multiverse also contributes significantly to her position of power.

Rumor has it that Red Shroud is the daughter of Malcanthet, the Queen of Succubi, and the demon prince Pazuzu. I have not been able to find clear evidence to support this claim, but the story seems plausible to me. The following information is also frequently repeated, but ultimately unconfirmed rumors: Red Shroud is almost two thousand years old and was the consort of several lesser demon princes during her first centuries before entering the service of the Dark Prince Graz'zt. She allegedly betrayed the demon prince, but it is unknown whether this was done at the behest of her presumed mother, Malcanthet. She had to flee to Pazunia, the first layer of the Abyss, or was banished there. Her alleged father Pazuzu has some influence on this layer. Whether with his help or through her own considerable talents, she managed to bring the fortress Broken Reach under her control, which until then had been ruled by Kordigon, a minion of Baphomet. Red Shroud apparently gained power quickly. She succeeded and continues to succeed in defending the highly coveted fortress against troops of Blood War mercenaries, but also other tanar'ri, even demon princes. Some go so far as to say that she has since become a lesser demon princess herself. Red Shroud is a cunning manipulator who uses her arts of seduction as well as her contacts and financial resources to achieve her ends. She takes great care to ensure that Broken Reach remains a hub of lower planar trade. As a result, the fortress is one of the few places in the Abyss where non-tanar'ri can move about relatively freely and without reprisals.

Like most succubi, Red Shroud has already begotten several sons and daughters. Among them are pure-blooded succubi or incubi, who were conceived with lesser demon princes, as well as various cambions and alu from mortal men. I urgently request that the following information be kept absolutely secret: Fall-from-Grace, member of the Sensates and owner of the Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts, is one of Red Shroud's daughters. She was once sold into slavery by her mother – not an uncommon occurrence among succubi. Grace has had no contact with her mother for a long time, even before her rising, but she probably knows quite a bit about her. I will meet with her later and try to persuade her to give us some information. She does not like to talk about this part of her past, but I am sure she will make an exception in this case.

The organizations with which Red Shroud appears to be in close contact include: the Temple of the Abyss, the Iron Ring and probably some Golden Lords of Sigil. I also found out something that only a few people know. Please keep this information secret for now. I don't mind if our enemies underestimate our knowledge. Red Shroud is a member of an organization of succubi called the Original Sins Cartel. She may even be its leader. Chiryn, the Mistress of Pleasure and Pain, and Maretta, Lady of the Counting House and a concubine of Graz'zt, also belong to this cartel. I am in the process of finding out more about this organization and will inform you as soon as I know something of note.

May She Who Rules in Silence not cross your paths.

Lady Erin Montgomery, Factol of the Society of Sensation”

When she had finished, Amariel lowered the letter and looked at Sarin. He had obviously been listening very attentively, and now his expression showed a mixture of distaste, exhaustion and appreciation, the latter apparently for the fact, that Erin had obtained the information so quickly.

“Impressive,” he said. “I never cease to be amazed by Lady Erin's connections. So ... Red Shroud is as dangerous as we feared - or even more so. The Original Sins Cartel ... how fitting.” His dark gaze and gruff tone made it clear what he thought of it.

Amariel nodded with a sigh. “Yes, it's certainly as disreputable as one might imagine ...” She cleared her throat. “But it's good to know who we're dealing with. The information about Grace could be particularly useful. Perhaps we can use her knowledge of her mother to find clues about Red Shroud's possible weaknesses.”

“Indeed,” Sarin replied seriously. “However, we must be very careful not to put Lady Grace in danger. She obviously has suffered enough because of her mother, and I don’t want to drag her into this.” He stood up and began pacing up and down again. “The question is how we can use this information to free Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis without giving in to Red Shroud's demands.”

Amariel nodded. “Absolutely, Factol. I agree with you wholeheartedly that it would be far too risky to kiss her ... I mean, it would go against everything you ... There has to be another way.” She fell silent when she realized she had gotten a little tangled up in her words.

But to her relief, Sarin smiled, albeit pained. “First the Prophecy, and now this. I fear, decuria, that you have entered my service as my adjutant at a very challenging time. Believe me, I know how stressful such phases can be. But I appreciate your support and advice.“

Amariel felt that she was blushing heavily at his words. ”I am only doing my duty, sir,“ she replied. ”And I am always there for you.” She quickly lowered her gaze to hide her feelings.

Sarin didn't seem to notice, however, but stepped to the window and looked out at the city. Relieved that she didn't have to look him in the eye, Amariel straightened herself a little and placed Erin's letter on the desk.

“We have to find a way to free the prisoners,” she said. “There's no question about that. But we can't allow Red Shroud to extort you. That would not only create a critical precedent, it would also put you in a very dangerous position.”

He sighed deeply. “Only too true, decuria. And yet I'm not entirely sure that we can achieve one without the other. I've called a meeting for tomorrow, which Hashkar and Mallin will also attend. Perhaps we can come up with something.”

“We'll find a way, Factol,” Amariel reassured him. “Shall I inform Killeen of the current situation?”

“Yes, do that.” Sarin nodded. “I've already spoken to Tonat about it, and Killeen should also be in the picture. Just in case ... well.”

He didn't elaborate, but Amariel could clearly feel the pressure weighing on his shoulders. She would inform her brother and make preparations for the meeting the following day. But while she focused on the tasks at hand outwardly, she felt a mixture of determination and deep concern. She wanted to do everything in her power to help Sarin both free the prisoners and avert the threat posed by Red Shroud. But she also knew that dangers and difficult decisions lay ahead for her factol. Deep in her heart, she feared that Sarin might ultimately be forced to make a choice that would change his life - or even himself - forever. And she sensed that she feared this decision even more than she had feared the Day of Pain.

Chapter Text

“I will learn the weight of my sword. Without my heart to guide it, it is worthless - my strength is not in my sword, but in my heart.

If I lose my sword, I have lost a tool. If I betray my heart, I have died.”

first tenet of the paladin code of Iomedae

Third Clerk's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Erin strolled along the Great Gymnasium’s main hall, hearing the cheerful cries of bathers and smelling the scent of jasmine blossoms from the café near the entrance. But while the Gymnasium was usually a place of relaxation and well-being, often together with her consort Da'nanin and in the company of Rhys, today she visited it in a solemn mood. The day before, she had gathered various information about Red Shroud and sent a letter about it to Sarin, Ambar, Rhys and Terrance. The letter had also been addressed to the Chosen, and her colleagues had informed their respective faction members accordingly. She had, of course, informed Naghûl herself and told him that he was allowed to pass the information on to Sgillin. Anarchist or not, they were in this together, and the half-elf had even been willing to swap bodies with the factol of the Harmonium. The same was true of Sarin himself, which had surprised Erin. It spoke volumes about how much the paladin and the ranger both cared about freeing the prisoners. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked, and the other plans they had considered were also unlikely to succeed.

Together with the Chosen, she and her fellow factols had discussed the information about Red Shroud in the Great Gymnasium and consulted on possible questions to ask the Envoy. After that, they had taken a short break and now wanted to meet with Mallin and Hashkar, in the hope of finding a way to help Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis without exposing Sarin to the considerable risk of the demanded kiss. They had chosen the Great Gymnasium as location for this meeting because it was accepted as neutral ground for negotiations by all of Sigil's factions. Rhys had agreed, of course. When Erin entered the Moon Crystal Room, the other factols were already present. Although there were usually only carpets and seat cushions on the floor, twelve chairs been arranged in a wide circle for today. Given the serious nature of the meeting, Rhys had thought a more formal setting would be appropriate. Sarin seemed pensive and a little withdrawn, and since the latter was rather uncharacteristic of him, Erin was quite concerned. On his right sat Mallin and Hashkar, the paladin of Hoar with a grim and somber expression, the old dwarf calm but serious. The seat directly on Sarin's left was still empty, with Rhys sitting one chair over, looking composed and even-tempered as usual, although she too seemed somewhat thoughtful. Ambar, sitting next to her, appeared tense and restless, a striking contrast to his usual cheerful demeanor. Terrance had taken the seat next to him.

Erin suspected that Rhys had deliberately left the chair on Sarin's left empty. As she nodded warmly to Sarin and sat down next to him, she wondered whether the friendly approach between her and the paladin was too obvious. It was clear that the factol of the Ciphers had noticed, but would it be wiser not to show the warm relationship she had with Sarin by now too openly? She certainly didn't want to compromise him. On the one hand, she didn't want to weaken his position for pragmatic reasons, but on the other hand, she genuinely appreciated him. However, there had always been a lot of gossip in Sigil, and her lately regular meetings with Sarin would be enough to give people notions. On the other hand, their two factions could certainly benefit from their recent rapprochement, and Sarin surely saw this too, otherwise he would not have allowed it. Although he always emphasized that he wanted nothing to do with the intrigues of the kriegstanz, he was surprisingly good at it. So, within a few seconds, she decided that the developing friendship between Sarin and her was only to their advantage, and all the more so if it was visible to the outside. The Cadence of the Planes seemed to have told Rhys the same, and so she nodded to her gratefully as she took her place next to Sarin. The tiefling woman watched with a knowing smile and the paladin greeted her in a friendly manner.

Shortly thereafter, the door opened again and Naghûl, Kiyoshi, Jana and Sgillin entered. Morânia was not with them, however; the bal'aasi would join them later. The Chosen took the remaining seats, and an expectant silence fell over the room.

Sarin turned to Rhys. “Well, you are the hostess. Therefore ...” He made a brief, inviting gesture.

“Too kind,” the factol of the Ciphers said with a hint of amusement.

“What was wrong now?” the paladin replied, his tone noticeably irritated. Although he was often rather forthright, this went beyond his usual directness and was certainly due to the taut situation.

Rhys raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Just a little joke. I sense a very unpleasant tension in this room.”

Hashkar stroked his long white beard and sighed thoughtfully. “Given the facts, this is not surprising. Of course, this tension could well be exacerbated by further negative facts.“

Ambar looked over at his colleague from the Guvners and took a deep breath before forcing a smile. ”Exactly.”

Whether Hashkar didn't notice his tension or simply ignored it, he smiled kindly at the bard before turning back to Rhys. “Oh, forgive me, esteemed colleague, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Never mind.” The factol of the Ciphers waved it off with a placating gesture. “First of all, I would like to warmly welcome everyone present, especially the two guests who are honoring us with their presence today: Factol Hashkar and Factol Mallin.”

Mallin nodded seriously, and the old dwarf this time contented himself with a silent glance at the others.

“In addition to Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis are also trapped in the Abyss,” Rhys continued. “Therefore, at the urgent suggestion of Factol Sarin, we have decided to meet today in the hope of finding a solution together.”

Mallin gave Sarin a brief nod, a gesture that apparently expressed gratitude for putting their recent differences aside for this important matter. Sarin nodded back just as briefly.

“We all know what is the issue here,” Rhys explained matter-of-factly. “Three of the Chosen are Red Shroud's captives, and her demand is very clear: a kiss from Factol Sarin.”

An awkward silence fell over the room after the factol of the Ciphers had stated the tanar’ri’s outrageous demand so clearly. Erin saw Naghûl press his lips together, and everyone else's discomfort was clearly visible too.

Finally, Hashkar nodded seriously. “A truly unpleasant situation and a demand that is as outrageous as it is presumptuous, and one that simply cannot be made on the basis of any guidelines on diplomatic negotiations and interplanar parliamentary law.”

Erin knew Hashkar's long-winded and convoluted way of expressing himself all too well from the Hall of Speakers, but she could see that the Chosen were surprised, even startled.

“That’s true,” Terrance replied calmly. “Unfortunately, Red Shroud doesn't care about diplomacy or guidelines of any kind.”

Hashkar raised his index finger and was about to reply, but then lowered his hand. “That is correct, my dear colleague.”

When Naghûl, still somewhat hesitant, requested to speak, Rhys nodded to him kindly. “You wish to say something, factotum?”

The tiefling nodded. “Yes, thank you, Factol. I just wanted to point out that this is clearly extortion. Despite the seriousness of the situation, we must also consider that we should not make ourselves vulnerable to any kind of coercion.“

Ambar's expression was worried and gloomy. ”In principle, I understand and share this point of view. However, I still consider the situation in this case a unique and special one.”

Erin nodded in agreement, and Jana cautiously raised her hand.

“I am Jana,” she explained at a gesture from Rhys. She looked at Mallin and Hashkar. “I am the Prophet. I see things, such as the sword in the demon fortress. I believe I have found a way to consciously trigger my visions and would like to try to use them purposefully.”

This statement surprised Erin, and apparently everyone else present, factols and Chosen alike. It was new information that Jana was able to consciously bring about her visions. However, Erin was confused that even Terrance frowned briefly at the sorceress' words.

Mallin also raised his eyebrows skeptically. “We know who you are,” he said. “Would you be able to see anything that could help us?”

“With a lot of luck, perhaps a way to free the prisoners and checkmate Red Shroud.” Jana cleared her throat when Terrance shot her a warning glance. “But probably just an image or a short scene,” she then toned down. “I ask permission to speak with the owner of the Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts to get as accurate a picture of Red Shroud as possible.”

Erin couldn't help her eyes widening briefly. She drew in a sharp breath and struggled to regain her composure. Hadn't she clearly stated in her letter that the information about Red Shroud and Fall-from-Grace was to be treated as strictly confidential? A glance at Terrance told her that he was just as surprised and indignant as she was by Jana's statement. Sarin, Ambar, Rhys and the other Chosen also flinched briefly at Jana's words, while Mallin and Hashkar listened attentively of course.

“Why?” asked the factol of the Guvners. “Does Lady Grace have close ties to Red Shroud?”

Jana now seemed to realize her slip and began to stammer. “I only saw Red Shroud for a brief moment in the Abyss. But I think if I imagine her intensely enough while triggering the vision, I might ...”

“Jana ...” Although Terrance was certainly less than thrilled that the sorceress had just divulged strictly confidential information, he managed to keep his tone more indulgent than angry so as not to arouse further suspicion.

“I mean ... I'd rather be quiet now.” Ruefully, Jana stared at the floor between her feet.

Mallin, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow and looked at Erin. “So, if I understand correctly, Fall-from-Grace, a known member of the Sensates, has some connection to Red Shroud?”

Erin had long since regained her composure and smiled charmingly. “Jana seems to have misunderstood something,” she explained. “Red Shroud has been in the brothel once, years ago when she visited the Temple of the Abyss. That's why Grace might be able to describe her in more detail. But I don't think we can gain much from that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Sarin shot a piercing glance at Jana and Terrance. Although he hid it quite successfully, she knew him well enough by now to know that his self-control was hanging by a thread.

Mallin eyed Erin thoughtfully and then nodded. “All right.” It was hard to tell if he believed her story. But he seemed willing to leave it at that. “Are there any useful plans yet?”

“Perhaps we should eliminate the impossible first,” Hashkar said seriously. “The solution must lie in whatever remains, no matter how inconvenient or improbable it may be.”

“Yes, why not?” Rhys nodded and resumed the moderation. “That's not a bad approach. I'll list what we've ruled out as impossible so far. If anyone has any objections, please speak up. A direct attack, storming Broken Reach to free the prisoners, is out of the question. Correct?“

Sarin sighed. ”Correct. It would be an insane undertaking. Even if we succeeded, not just hundreds or thousands, but at least tens of thousands would die – including the prisoners. The price would be too high.“

”That's true.” Ambar nodded, disillusioned. “As much as I would gladly go there myself right now, it would be pointless.”

“The body swap is also out of the question,” Rhys continued. “Because Sarin won't let Sgillin do it, or because it's simply not possible.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” the paladin asked irritably. “I have tried.”

Sgillin nodded. “I guess, it just doesn't work.”

“I think so too,” Erin came to their aid. “Neither Sgillin nor Sarin can help it; it seems to be given.”

“It seems so,” the factol of the Ciphers agreed. “So, that's also out of the question. Option three: sneak in with a small group and free the three prisoners. Any thoughts?”

Mallin didn't seem enthusiastic. “Even though I hate to admit it, I think that's still more realistic than a direct attack. But that doesn't mean I deem it promising. A lot can go wrong with a plan like that, and it would endanger the prisoners' lives.”

Hashkar nodded. “A lot of individual factors would have to be carefully weighed and all possible variables taken into account.”

The factol of the Ciphers looked at Naghûl, Kiyoshi, Jana and Sgillin. “What do the Chosen think?”

The tiefling swayed his head. “I also think that would be a more realistic approach than a direct attack. But one thing is clear: I don't believe that the Chosen alone can accomplish this.”

While Ambar had seemed very tense since the beginning of the conversation, Terrance glanced warily at Jana from time to time, but otherwise listened quietly. Sarin, on the other hand, seemed strangely absent-minded, which was very uncharacteristic of him.

When he didn't express an opinion about the suggestion, Rhys spoke again. “The advantage of the plan would be that Sarin wouldn't have to kiss Red Shroud, and not many people would die, even if it went wrong. The disadvantage: If something goes wrong, we'll probably never see our friends again. Are there any other suggestions?”

A certain helplessness was palpable in the room, and general head-shaking was the answer.

Rhys nodded gently. “To take every opportunity we have, I have asked Morânia to meditate in the next room and prepare for a conversation with the Envoy. Kiyoshi, would you be so kind as to ask her in?”

The young soldier stood up and disappeared briefly, only to return immediately, followed by Morânia. The bal'aasi bowed low to the factols, smiled briefly at her husband Naghûl, and then looked at Rhys.

“Morânia, I greet you,” said the factol of the Ciphers. “Are you ready to wake the Envoy?”

“I am ready,” the bal'aasi replied. “I don't know how many questions she will answer, but I am sure I can wake her.”

“Thank you, Morânia. We have already thought about some useful questions and, with the agreement of our colleagues Hashkar and Mallin, the Chosen and Sarin will ask them.”

The two factols nodded, and Erin noticed how the two men eyed the bal'aasi with interest, eager to see this demonstration of her gift. Morânia took a seat on the last empty chair to be on the safe side, closed her eyes and seemed to lose herself in contemplation. Then, shortly thereafter, she opened her lids again and her eyes shone with a white light, just as Naghûl had always described. However, it was the first time Erin witnessed the Envoy awakening, and she felt a corresponding sense of excitement at the experience.

When Morânia spoke, her voice had a slight reverberation, like an echo inside a cave. “Ask, and you shall be answered.”

As agreed, Sgillin asked the first question. “Honorable Envoy, is my gift strong enough to swap bodies with a chaotic evil being?”

“Possible,” the angel's soul replied through Morânia's lips.

Unfortunately, this was not very specific information, perhaps due to the fact that there were so many different and differently powerful chaotic evil beings. Ambar shook his head with concern.

Naghûl turned to his wife to ask the next question. “Is the plan to secretly free the prisoners likely to succeed?”

“Uncertain,” replied the Envoy.

Erin sighed softly. Once again, unclear information – and yet it was helpful. Because if the plan for a secret rescue mission was uncertain at best, then it was too risky. At least that was how she saw it, and she was sure that the others would agree. Naghûl also seemed little surprised, having probably expected such an answer. Then he looked at Kiyoshi.

The young soldier stood up and bowed to Morânia before asking his question. “Honorable Envoy-sama, is it possible to obtain a construction plan of the fortress of Broken Reach from the archives of the faction of the venerable factol Hashkar-heika or in the Halls of Record?”

“No,” replied the Envoy.

“Why don't you ask for this in the archives?” Hashkar interjected, confused.

“Because they are so extensive that it would probably take days to get such an answer, venerable factol Hashkar-heika,” Kiyoshi replied with a bow. “This saves us time that we may not have.”

The old dwarf frowned and swayed his head, but then gestured that he had nothing more to say. This was a rather unusual reaction for the loquacious scholar, as Erin knew, and thus a clear sign that he too was very eager to hear the next questions for the Envoy. Two more, if she would answer five questions again.

Now Sarin sat up in his chair. Erin knew what he was going to ask, and it was wise to seek this information. “Honorable Envoy,” said the paladin after taking a deep breath. “Would the requested kiss pose a danger to me on a spiritual level?”

“Yes,” Morânia replied without hesitation.

Erin bit her lip and Sarin sighed softly, though he didn't seem surprised. He leaned back and crossed his arms. Jana now glanced briefly at Terrance with a pleading look. After her previous misstep, she obviously wanted to get his permission to ask the question they had discussed. The high priest eyed her sternly, as if to tell her not to do anything stupid, but then nodded. Ambar gave Jana a look, that made it clear that his patience was wearing thin today.

Jana took a deep breath before turning to Morânia. “Honorable Envoy, is Red Shroud or her actions part of the Prophecy?”

“That was a question with or ...” Ambar interjected indignantly.

Erin nodded. Since the Envoy tended to answer questions with yes or no, they had agreed not to ask questions that included or. The question should have been whether Red Shroud was part of the Prophecy, nothing more. When Jana realized her mistake, she blushed from embarrassment and looked guiltily at Terrance, who shook his head and ran his hand over his face. Sarin obviously struggled hard not to snap at the sorceress. Fortunately, Morânia did not answer, and the Envoy seemed to be waiting ... Since Jana's question apparently could not be answered, they had not wasted it.

“Is Red Shroud part of the Prophecy?” Sgillin asked quickly.

“Yes,” replied the Envoy.

That had been five questions and five answers, but the white light still shone in Morânia's eyes ...

“Can I swap bodies with a bulezau?” Sgillin hurriedly added another question, no doubt with the intention of narrowing down and clarifying the first one.

“Yes,” Morânia replied, then the light in her eyes flickered and faded.

Exhausted, the bal'aasi sank back into her chair and Naghûl sitting next to her took her hand and squeezed it. Erin watched with a smile. It was obvious that he was very proud of his wife, and that warmed her heart, all the more so in these difficult hours. Then she looked at her colleagues, but before they could discuss the answers given by the Envoy, there was a knock at the door. Erin glanced at Rhys in surprise, but the tiefling shook her head to indicate that she wasn't expecting anyone.

Kiyoshi's gaze wandered to Sarin. “Honorable Factol Sarin-gensui, shall I see who it is?”

When the paladin nodded, the soldier rose and opened the door. Standing there was a young decurion of the Harmonium who looked a little overwhelmed.

He peered into the room and saluted when he spotted Sarin. “Factol, there is a tanar'ri here who claims to have a message from Red Shroud. We didn't know what to do, but your adjutant Amariel said it could be very important. So we brought her here.”

Erin could see that her colleague from the Harmonium was struggling to retain his composure. However, he nodded to the decurion. “Let her in.”

The young man stepped aside, and a kelvezu entered the room, with deep red skin and two curved horns. She carried something large and flat in front of her, covered with a cloth.

Then she bowed as best she could with the object in both hands. “I present compliments from my mistress, Red Shroud, ruler of Broken Reach,” she said. “I have a message for Factol Sarin.”

The paladin crossed his arms. “Do you,” he replied grimly.

“Indeed.” The kelvezu grinned a little. “If you will graciously allow me, my lord, I will deliver the message.”

Sarin signaled to Kiyoshi to close the door. “Very well. Let me hear your mistress' message.”

Mallin had risen and stepped beside the tanar'ri, as if to make it clear that she should not dare to do anything foolish. One of his hands lay lightly on the hilt of his sword, but otherwise he stood calmly beside her. The kelvezu set down the object she had been carrying and pulled away the cloth. A large mirror in a dark metal frame appeared. Sarin rose and stepped a little closer to the mirror. Erin sat up straight in her chair, holding her breath to see what would happen next. The kelvezu spoke a command word, and the mirror glass lit up briefly. Then an image of Red Shroud appeared in it – in all her almost painful beauty. The mane of jet-black hair flowing down her back, her full lips and high cheekbones combined with her reddish skin, curved horns and large, leathery wings created a breathtaking sight. The black, gold-embroidered fabric of her dress revealed enough to showcase the perfection of her body, but still concealed enough to spark the imagination.

The mere sight of her surely was enough to send a wave of heat through the men present, and Erin realized that neither she herself was entirely immune to it. Red Shroud's mere image in the mirror seemed to warm up the room a few degrees. The factol of the Sensates saw that Sgillin in particular was staring at the mirror as if spellbound. The other men made more of an effort to hide their fascination, but it was clear that no one remained completely unmoved at the sight of the demon princess. As Sarin stepped closer to the mirror, it was evident that the succubus staring back at him was making a certain impression. It was hard not to think about the demanded kiss at that moment.

“Factol Sarin, I greet you,” she said with a smile that was both sweet and suggestive. “I am sure you have already received my message and my request. Of course, you are probably working on a plan right now - who wouldn't? A plan to evade all this and still get back your valuable faction members - who, strictly speaking, are not yours at all.”

Sarin briefly twisted his mouth as she accurately guessed what was happening in Sigil.

With a playful expression of reproach, she raised her index finger. “I would amicably advise you against it, even though I know it will be of no avail. I would like to offer you my conditions for our meeting. Of course, I don't expect you to come to Broken Reach, and certainly not alone. And you can't possibly expect me to come to Sigil.”

Sarin crossed his arms. Since it was a message recorded in the mirror, to which he could not reply, he had no choice but to listen to her conditions.

“I therefore propose a meeting on neutral ground,” Red Shroud declared, now more serious. “Everyone brings only a reasonable entourage. You ten people and me ten people. That's all.

No armies, no legions of bodyguards. You also give me your word that you will not try to betray me in any way, your word as a paladin. I get a kiss, you get Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush. I assure you that they are well and no one has harmed them - yet. That's how it shall stay, isn't it?”

A sigh of relief could be heard, especially from Ambar and the Chosen. Erin suspected that Red Shroud was telling the truth. Since she still needed the prisoners as lever, they were probably safe, for now.

“But I have to warn you,” the demoness continued. “And all those who are undoubtedly working with you on this matter. Should there be any sign of treachery, the three prisoners will die. I will always keep capable demons close to them who will end their lives if you try to betray me. But that goes without saying, doesn't it?“ She smiled grimly. ”So, to sum up: We'll meet on neutral ground, everyone will bring a maximum of ten people, no matter who they are. You kiss me, then you get the prisoners I'll bring with me. If anything goes wrong or if I even suspect treachery, the three will die. A simple agreement, isn't it?”

Erin saw Sarin's hands slowly clench into fists. The unholy but no less powerful attraction of the beautiful demoness, combined with her outrageous demand and brazen extortion, was certainly not easy to bear, even less so for a paladin and happily married husband. But he contained himself and listened to the message until the end.

“Send me your answer by tomorrow evening in this magic mirror or by any other means of your choosing,” Red Shroud demanded. “Don't take any longer, or I will kill one of the prisoners! I’ll still have two left, who I'm sure are also dear to you. I don't know yet who will be the victim. I'll decide on whim. Give the mirror to my courier tomorrow. Or kill her and send another messenger, I don't really care. I wish you the Lady's Grace, Factol Sarin, and look forward to meeting you.”

Then the image faded and Sarin stared at his own reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he looked at it with a grim expression, then clenched his left hand into a fist and struck the glass with his right. He had used only the heel of his hand, but the mirror shattered and broke. He would have to convey the answer to Red Shroud in another one. Startled, the kelvezu took a step back.

“Kiyoshi!” Sarin said in a harsh voice. “The men outside are to arrest this demon and imprison her in the Barracks.”

The young soldier nodded briefly, opened the door again and looked outside. “Comrades, orders from the factol: the demon is under arrest.”

The decurion saluted. “Of course!” He and another officer led the kelvezu away, who made no attempt to resist.

When Kiyoshi closed the door again, Mallin let out a fierce growl. “Charming.”

Sarin rubbed his temples as he returned to his chair, visibly struggling to regain his composure.

“If the kiss is not to take place in Broken Reach,” Sgillin now interjected cautiously, “then perhaps that opens up new possibilities for us.”

Erin gave him a friendly look to make it clear that they were all in the same boat now and that his faction allegiance was irrelevant to her, at least for the moment. “In what way, Sgillin?”

“We bring ten people and they bring ten,” the ranger explained. “But we still have the three prisoners, so we're already thirteen. And we're on neutral ground, which greatly improves our chances, unlike in Broken Reach. Furthermore, we have the opportunity to use our gifts.”

“Didn't you hear what that woman just said?” Ambar interjected emphatically. “That she'll kill the prisoners at the first sign that something's wrong!”

Sgillin nodded. “Right. But assuming that I manage to swap bodies with the demon guarding the prisoners ...”

The bard shook his head. “And what if there's more than one guard? Which I think is likely.”

“Then I could use the element of surprise,” Sgillin suggested. “If she reacts quickly enough, Lereia might use her gift to take out at least one guard. And I don't think Garush will stand back either.”

“That's a lot of ifs,” Ambar said skeptically. “The risk of the prisoners being killed in such an action is very high!”

Morânia apparently shared the bard's concerns. “We must also not forget that Red Shroud is a master of poisons,” she said. “She certainly has access to substances that would make it impossible to heal and thus rescue the prisoners.”

Sgillin nodded and his shoulders slumped a little. “But the alternative is only the kiss ... or a rescue mission in Broken Reach itself.”

Ambar took a deep breath and looked at Sarin. “May I ... ask the blasphemous question ... whether the kiss ... is in any way an option?”

The paladin looked up. “I've been waiting for that question for quite some time and I'm surprised it wasn't asked sooner.”

“So you're considering it?” The half-elf seemed to hold his breath.

Sarin eyed him seriously. “Do you know what that could mean for me, Ambar?”

“Yes,” the bard replied quietly. “Of course.”

There was silence for a moment, then Terrance spoke. “If you fear Red Shroud's influence - and rightly so - there are ways to protect you.”

Sarin sighed deeply. “But it's not just about the consequences of this kiss and how I protect myself. Do you realize what you're asking of me? To kiss such a powerful succubus? Do you understand what that could mean for me?“ He was visibly torn, and Erin felt for him. It was a more than difficult decision.

Terrance nodded. ”Yes,“ he replied, more curtly than usual. ”That's clear, this is especially problematic … for a paladin.“

He was clearly trying to keep his tone neutral, but of course he had hit a sore spot with Sarin, so it was no surprise that the paladin took offense.

“I know you don't care about my religious conviction,” Sarin growled. “Athar ...”

Erin looked alarmed at Rhys, who was also watching the two men with concern. The danger of an unpleasant confrontation was in the air.

Terrance leaned back. “I didn't say I don't care. But I think the core problem is not what I just said, but that it bothers you that I have clerical power without believing in the gods.” His voice was calm, but his statement was obviously fuel for further conflict.

“Yes!” Sarin replied vehemently. “Yes, it bothers me immensely. Because it is wrong!”

“Wrong?” Now, for the first time, there was displeasure in Terrance's voice. “And who decides what is right and wrong? You? The Harmonium? By the Lady, you are at your best today. Sometimes, Sarin, you really grate on me.”

Erin could see Naghûl shrink a little in his chair while Mallin shot the Athar's factol a withering glance.

“Likewise,” Sarin snapped at the high priest of the Great Unknown. “But what kind of understanding did I expect from a man who betrayed the goddess to whom he owed everything?”

Terrance's eyes darkened. “What I have achieved in my life, I owe to myself! And how dare you claim that I betrayed my goddess? My beliefs have changed, and when I realized that, I had enough honesty and decency to resign my office immediately!”

Erin felt the urge to step between the two men, but she held back. There simply were profound philosophical differences between Harmonium and Athar, and it was not for her to belittle the position of one – or both – of her colleagues by downplaying their dispute. Only if they came to an agreement on their own, it would permanently strengthen their alliance. None of the others present intervened either; the room seemed to hold its breath.

Terrance still glared at Sarin. “So stop using a word like betrayal in this context! You're frustrated that you can't act as you might think is necessary because your goddess forbids it. I am not subject to such restrictions and yet I possess the same power. And that is what bothers you.”

“Yes!” Sarin snapped at him. “Yes, that and your whole faction of embittered, blasphemous, god-despising would-be saviors!”

Erin bit her lip in the face of Sarin's barely suppressed anger, but contrary to her fears, Terrance now calmed down again.

“Thank you for telling me so frankly what you think of me,” he said dryly. “I would certainly feel the urge to withdraw from this matter, but my conscience stands in the way.” He leaned back, crossed his arms and fell silent.

Erin could see that Sarin was already regretting his outburst, because he closed his eyes, probably in an attempt to regain his composure as well.

Rhys cleared her throat, apparently deciding to intervene after all. “We should postpone this particular topic ... or drop it altogether, I suppose.”

Erin reached out and placed her hand gently and carefully on her colleague's forearm. “Sarin, everyone in this room, without exception, understands if you don't want to or won't do that.”

“It's not that I don't want to help ...” the paladin replied, but he paused when a soft groan came from Jana's direction.

The sorceress slid off her chair and sat down on the floor in front of it, then her eyes turned milky white and her head fell back. As she slumped down, Terrance, sitting next to her, quickly leaned forward and held her by the shoulders so she wouldn't fall to the side.

Hashkar raised his bushy white eyebrows and watched the scene with interest. “Is she having a vision?”

Ambar nodded. “It seems so.”

Jana sat there quietly for a while, only her eyes moving back and forth. Everyone present watched her intently, but no one said anything, as if not to disturb the vision – even though this probably would not have had any effect. After about a minute, Jana came to herself again and gasped for air.

Terrance leaned forward. “Are you all right?” he asked, clearly concerned despite his earlier annoyance over the matter with Grace.

“Yes, Factol,” the sorceress murmured. “Thank you.” She hurriedly stood up and sat back down in her chair.

Mallin was the first to break the ensuing silence. “Don't keep us in suspense,” he urged impatiently. “What did you see?”

Jana glanced at Terrance, who nodded encouragingly, not without shaking his head reproachfully at Mallin's brusque manner.

“There was a room,” the sorceress explained. “It was round and had a fairly high ceiling. I saw several people there. I can't remember all of them, but I recognized Factol Ambar, Factol Terrance and the Chosen gathered here. Then Factol Sarin entered the room, dressed in precious garments, and spoke to you for a moment, Factol.” She looked at Terrance. “Factol Ambar also said something, but I couldn't understand it. Then everyone disappeared from the room, as if there was a time leap, and for a brief moment, Red Shroud was visible. Then she too disappeared and I saw Factol Sarin again, together with his wife.”

Sarin raised his eyebrows. “With my wife?”

Jana nodded. “You ... were holding her in your arms, Factol,” she replied quietly.

“Was I?” the paladin murmured.

“You didn't seem … particularly happy,” Jana explained, looking quite distressed.

Sarin eyed her for a while, then nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

Hashkar frowned. “Does that mean ...?” Uncharacteristically, he didn't finish the sentence, clearly unhappy.

“We don't know,” Terrance explained calmly. “We only know what Jana saw.”

For a while, a deep silence hung over the room. Everyone seemed to be lost in thought, trying to figure out what Jana's vision, combined with the Envoy's answers and Red Shroud's message, could possibly mean.

Finally, Terrance looked up and turned to his colleague from the Harmonium. “I want to apologize, Sarin. I was a little harsh. I know your faith means a lot to you. I didn't mean to belittle it.”

Sarin actually smiled at these words and waved it off with a hint of exhaustion. “It’s all right. And I shouldn’t have used the term betrayal. I ask your forgiveness.”

“You said what you think,” the high priest replied matter-of-factly. “That’s how it is with Athar and paladins.”

There it was, the common ground Erin had hoped the two men would find by themselves. She had been sure they would find. She was relieved that, even in this difficult situation, the new alliance between their factions did not threaten to splinter.

Mallin, on the other hand, grumbled impatiently. “How nice that you understand each other so well. However, it doesn't solve the core problem. How do we deal with Red Shroud? The kiss? The secret rescue mission? Open combat?“

”Surely Red Shroud has enough enemies,“ Naghûl pointed out. ”Even such who would love to attack Broken Reach. It would be difficult to relate them to us. But amidst such chaos, a rescue attempt could be successful.”

Ambar frowned. “I thought we had ruled out a direct attack.”

As rare as it was for Godsmen and Mercykillers to agree, in this case Mallin concurred with the bard. “I don't think we have time to forge a quasi-alliance against Broken Reach with other shady elements. Red Shroud wants an answer tomorrow and ...“

”I will do it.“

All eyes turned to Sarin, who had sat up in his chair and was looking around seriously.

Mallin faltered at his interjection. ”Sarin ...”

Erin felt her heart sink and saw Naghûl and Morânia exchange worried glances across from her.

But Sarin looked at Mallin. “It is as you say: Red Shroud won't give us time for such plans.” He raised his hand to prevent his colleague from responding. “No, seriously. I will do it.”

Terrance was clearly surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Sarin replied seriously. “Otherwise I wouldn't have said it. And I will explain why. I think a direct attack is absolute madness. Red Shroud has defended her fortress against many a demon prince, successfully. Besides: her threat to kill the prisoners as soon as she suspects the slightest sign of betrayal ... I take that very seriously. She hasn't been in the Abyss for so long and is still alive and powerful for nothing. I wouldn't put it past her. I'm not saying it's impossible to save the prisoners' lives. But it's just as possible that they'll die during a rescue attempt. As Lady Morânia said it, Red Shroud is a master of the most unimaginable poisons. Who knows what she has up her sleeve. It could happen incredibly quickly. And we know from Yelmalis that the past cannot always be changed ... or the future. It's a very special situation and the risk for the prisoners is extremely high. If we were facing a bunch of gnolls, I would say: Go for it. But this is Red Shroud, that's a different league. I ... I talked to my wife about it. She's the only person I'm accountable to in this matter, and she agrees.” With that, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the floor in front of him, his expression that of a man who has accepted something inevitable.

The silence in the room after this statement was almost tangible. Erin felt a mixture of relief and deep concern, a mood that was apparently shared by Ambar, Naghûl, Morânia and Kiyoshi. Jana, on the other hand, seemed just as relieved, but not concerned, rather satisfied with Sarin's decision - possibly precisely because it jeopardized his status as a paladin. The factol of the Sensates sensed that Jana's reaction annoyed her, partly because she herself cared a lot about Sarin, but also because she found such behavior inappropriate within a joint alliance. Sgillin, by contrast, seemed genuinely surprised and, despite the quarrels between him and Sarin, clearly concerned. Terrance's reaction was similar. Rhys appeared calm and composed as usual, but seemed more serious and thoughtful. The same was true of Hashkar, while Mallin didn't hide that Sarin's decision made him anything but happy.

Erin looked at the paladin sitting next to her and resisted the temptation to put her hand on his arm once more. “Sarin ...” she said slowly instead. “I ... well, this is a very risky thing to do. The Envoy explicitly said ...”

“It is what it is,” the factol of the Harmonium replied curtly, but not dismissively.

Mallin eyed him seriously. “Sarin ... I really care about Garush and I want her back safe and sound. But still, I'm not sure you should do this.”

Sarin shook his head as if to prevent further discussion. “I believe somehow ... this is how it shall be.”

“I think I know what you're thinking ...” said Rhys.

Naghûl sat up straight in his chair. “I think Factol Sarin is right,” he stated seriously. “It seems there is no other way.”

Hashkar sighed deeply. “That thought does not make me happy.”

“Me neither, my dear colleague,” Sarin replied. “But based on the facts at hand, there seems to be no other option. Red Shroud wants an answer tomorrow, and she'll get it. That leaves several questions: Where and when exactly shall the kiss take place? She will let me know soon, I'm sure, and I suspect she won't want to wait long. So we should prepare ourselves for the possibility that it could happen within the next two or three days. The next question is who will accompany me. I will think about that during the course of the day. And finally ...“ He looked at Terrance. ”Finally, there is another very important question: Can you protect me from this woman's influence?“

This direct and open question surprised Erin, and Terrance also raised his eyebrows in surprise. ”Me? Are you sure?”

Sarin frowned. “I would like to say that I am sure to be strong enough on my own. But I don't want to risk falling for a succubus' charms out of false vanity.”

A certain sarcasm crept into Terrance's voice, but it was more self-deprecating than cynical. “The factol of the Athar is helping the factol of the Harmonium so that he doesn't lose his paladin status? By the Lady ...”

Sarin sighed. “Because this paladin is going to kiss a succubus, which he should never do, because of a Prophecy that we don't know where it will lead us. Both things are absurd enough, so at least they go together.”

Hashkar looked at his colleague thoughtfully. “An unusual logic, my friend, but one I can't argue with at the moment.”

When Sarin's decision was made, Erin felt the spark of hope for the prisoners' survival grow into a steady flame. But at the same time, that light was overshadowed by concerns and dark forebodings. If the kiss really happened, what might the consequences be? Even if the Envoy could have answered that question, Erin wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.

Chapter Text

“In the depths of despair, the seeds of hope are sown.”

Elysian proverb

Third Clerk's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

They had been in this cell in Broken Reach for about a day and a half now - at least, that was Yelmalis' estimate. He could only guess, because their equipment, including his pocket watch, had been taken from them and they couldn't see the sun here in prison. Not that the swollen, blood-red sun of Pazunia was particularly worth seeing. Once, an alu had brought them something to eat, but otherwise they had been largely ignored. Two bulezau guards had been stationed in front of the cell door at first, but they had left about an hour ago. However, it was reasonable to assume that there were more guards not far away and that the area surrounding their cell was well guarded. Garush had been very quiet since her initial outburst and only glanced at the cell door from time to time with a grim look. Lereia was also quiet, but seemed to be thinking a lot. At the moment, she was sitting on one of the cots with her legs drawn up and her head leaning against the wall.

Yelmalis himself had been brooding a lot over the past few hours, thinking about a possible escape plan and about what else might await them here in the Abyss. Since an anti-magic field surrounded the cells, the door was very sturdy and everything seemed to be well guarded, he had quickly discarded the question of an escape plan. A time leap was also not an option. Although his gift had recovered in the meantime and he could have used it again, it had been more than twelve hours since their capture by Red Shroud, and he could not travel further than half a day into the past. There was no way out, so they had to hope for their friends. But were they even still alive? He shook his head. Of course they were. There had to be a reason why Garush, Lereia and he himself had been left mostly alone so far, and he clung to the thought that it had something to do with their friends. He didn't dare think anything else at the moment. Because otherwise the fear and despair that lurked at the edge of his consciousness like dark wolves would take hold of him. Lying in wait, waiting for a moment of weakness and hopelessness, they would tear his thoughts, his feelings, his mind to pieces if he let them get too close. To distract himself, he placed a hand on his robe, gently feeling for the place where he kept something hidden that the guards hadn't taken from him ... a piece of paper. He stood up and went to the door to peek out. Since the bulezau were gone, perhaps now was the opportunity to talk to the others about something important.

Lereia raised her head and looked over at him. “See someone?” she asked quietly.

He watched the dimly lit space in front of the cell door for a while and listened. “No one. Everything is quiet.”

Even the whimpering from the opposite cell had stopped for the moment. A woman was locked up there, apparently injured, but now she seemed to be asleep. They had tried to talk to her, but she had not answered, only retreating to a corner of her cell.

“Isn't it strange that they're leaving us alone like this?” Lereia asked.

“They must have orders from Red Shroud herself,” Yelmalis surmised. “And she obviously puts value on us. She wants something.”

Lereia sighed. “I'm afraid so. I just hope the others haven't done anything stupid.”

“I trust most of them to remain level-headed, at least to some extent,” Garush growled. “If your Harmonium soldier hasn't had another dragon blood surge and your sorceress kept quiet ...”

Lereia nodded seriously. ”I have to agree with you. I also think those two are the biggest elements of uncertainty ...“

Yelmalis turned back to the two women. ”Even if Tarik and Dilae had any reckless ideas, Sekhemkare probably talked some sense into them. Every now and then, this rationality, which usually comes across as rather cold, can be quite useful.”

As if she had read his mind, Lereia now seemed to think of something. “Did they take the transcript from you?”

Yelmalis turned back to the door and peered out. Only when he was sure that no one was watching them did he turn back, reached into an inside pocket of his robe and took out a carefully folded piece of paper. He sat down on one of the pallets and beckoned the two women over, who took a seat to his right and left. Then he carefully unfolded the paper. “This is the passage that Jana, Sekhemkare, Tarik and I copied and translated from the old book,” he explained quietly. “The text starts in the middle of a sentence. I'll read it to you.

... which may even date back to the time of Arendur. The ancient tome ”Deus Machina" by Tolumvire suggests that the so-called God Machine is a machine-like mechanism that is directly integrated into the architecture of Sigil. The book contains a comprehensive theory of the Deus Machina, and one of the last copies is said to be in the Archives of Arendur, in the Library of the Keeper. According to Tolumvire, components of what could be the most complex dream machine in the multiverse still exist, embedded into the ancient architecture of Sigil. If activated, it could alter and shape space, time and all reality. The presumed components of the God Machine are described below. Primary components - The Wheel: The Wheel is a network of ley lines that connect all other components of the Deus Machina. In this way, all Pillars and God Stones are linked together. The Wheel is often used as a synonym for the Deus Machina. - The Four Pillars: The Four Pillars are the nodes or axes of the Deus Machina. They channel the energy of the God Stones through the Machine. The Pillars probably shape the raw energy of the God Stones into something constructive. The Four Pillars are CADE (body), MENO (mind), ANI (soul) and FATI (fate). - The God Stones: They provide the energy that powers the Machine. Each God Stone is linked to a specific moral concept. It is therefore assumed that the God Stones serve as a kind of moral compass for the God Machine. In this way, the God Stones determine the intention and feelings behind the changes in reality brought about by the Machine. The number of God Stones is ...”

Lereia frowned. “Yes?”

“That's the end of the translation,” Yelmalis explained, lowering the piece of paper.

“That sounds complicated ...” said Lereia. “Arendur was a city similar to Sigil, wasn't it?”

Yelmalis nodded. “Yes, the Axial City of the last cycle, according to the Prophecy. And Tolumvire was apparently a wizard of unimaginable power who lived in Arendur a very long time ago.”

“Yes, I remember.” Lereia frowned thoughtfully. “The God Stones ... could that be us?”

“Us?” The thought surprised Yelmalis. “I hadn't thought of that ... To be honest, I have no idea.”

“Most certainly, we are no stones!” Garush growled discontentedly.

Yelmalis couldn't suppress a brief smile. “That's more of a metaphor.”

Impatiently, the amazon waved it off. “That's not really my thing.”

“The text explicitly mentions the number of stones,” Lereia pondered. “It seems to be significant.”

Yelmalis nodded with a sigh. “Unfortunately, I wasn't able to write down the number.”

“You don't remember either?”

Regretfully, Yelmalis shook his head. “It would have been on the next page, but we couldn't turn the page. Without Kiyoshi's words, the book had started to become unruly again.”

“I see,” said Lereia. “If we make it out of here, we should ask the Keeper about her library.”

Yelmalis noticed that she used the word “if” and not “when,” but he let it pass without comment. Just don't let the wolves get too close ... “I'm just confused that it says it's supposed to be in the Archives of Arendur. Arendur doesn't exist anymore, does it?”

Lereia nodded, frowning; the question seemed to confuse her as well. “Perhaps ‘archives’ refers to all remaining books and writings, rather than Arendur as a place. Perhaps Arendur is a thematic section in this library.”

The air genasi watched as a light blue butterfly landed on the sleeve of his robe. “But as I understood it, there are no records from that time. Very strange ... Did the Keeper mention a library to you?”

“Not that I remember,” Lereia replied. “Maybe she doesn't know yet?”

Garush, who had been listening silently the whole time, now let out an annoyed snort. “That wouldn't surprise me.” Then she stared back at the cell door, clearly not in the mood to continue discussing the Prophecy and the God Machine.

Lereia, on the other hand, twisted a strand of white hair around her index finger, deep in thought. “Could it be that remnants of Arendur still exist somewhere?”

“I've wondered that myself,” Yelmalis explained. “At least, Factol Hashkar hasn't found any records of it. If they do exist, then such ruins must be very well hidden and secret.”

“We should definitely talk to the Keeper,” said the weretigress. “Maybe she has a clue. Or we could focus on the city. Who knows, maybe there are archives hidden somewhere.”

The air genasi looked again at the densely written sheet of paper. “I find it very interesting that the God Machine is not a single object, but embedded in the architecture of Sigil. That also implicates certain difficulties.”

“Indeed,” said Lereia, raising her eyebrows. “Who knows if we would even recognize it. Perhaps we already know some of its components and just don't realize it.”

Yelmalis nodded. “Yes, that may well be. And that makes it difficult to control it, I suppose.”

Lereia also looked at the text and seemed to read it once more. “The God Stones power the Machine ... What was the explanation about the Chosen? I mean, in the Prophecy. What role do we play?”

Yelmalis thought hard, but then shook his head. “If I remember correctly, the Prophecy only mentions that the Chosen have awakened. And that it begins when the Chosen awaken.”

“We've thought about that too,” said Lereia. “Perhaps the Machine can be activated by us, or rather by the energy of our gifts.”

“That’s possible,” Yelmalis replied. “The moral compass aspect is interesting, isn’t it?”

Lereia ran her fingers across her forehead. “Moral compass. Hmm ... Could that refer to alignments? We know that all gifts relate to the soul.”

“Somehow, I think.” Yelmalis pointed at the passage where the God Stones were mentioned as the moral compass of the Machine. “What I'm thinking is this: if each God Stone is linked to a specific moral concept, and they together form the moral compass of the God Machine, wouldn't that mean you can not do with it whatever you want?”

“That gives me a headache,” growled the amazon.

Lereia sighed. “I'm afraid not just you, Garush. I'd say it sounds like it can be operated or controlled. If it's something mechanical, it doesn't work on its own or of its own free will.”

“Right,” Yelmalis confirmed, unimpressed by the half-orc's dark glances. “And it says: In this way, the God Stones determine the intention and feelings behind the changes in reality brought about by the Machine. So the God Stones determine that, and not the user? Fascinating thought ...”

“Unless the stones are the user,” Lereia interjected.

“Exactly!” Yelmalis felt the excitement and enthusiasm of academic research well up from deep down. “But in that case, they would be determined by their own nature and have ... no real free will?”

Lereia rubbed her temples, and he could see that these theories were gradually becoming a bit too much for her as well. “Unfortunately, nothing is known about the user or users ...”

“Who are you, anyway?” Garush suddenly interrupted, the question apparently directed at the weretigress.

Lereia looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Garush smiled slightly, for the first time in this cell. “Each of us has a name in the Prophecy, don't we? I am the Huntress.”

“I see.” Lereia nodded and smiled a little too. “The Creator.” Then she looked questioningly at Yelmalis.

The air genasi bowed slightly. “The Thinker.”

“Oh, that's fitting,” Lereia said with a smile. “The Thinker was also mentioned by the voice when we were in the house for the first time.”

Garush bared her tusks with a grin. “Yes, Yel's name fits like a glove. And mine kind of does too. But what do you create?”

The air genasi decided to ignore the unwanted shortening of his name and shook his head a little reproachfully at the amazon's overly direct manner.

But Lereia didn't seem to mind and sighed a little. “I'm not entirely sure. It seems I can transform fragments of a soul into matter.”

“That sounds complicated,” Garush said, impressed.

Yelmalis nodded. “And very exciting.”

“I find it rather eerie,” Lereia admitted. “At first, I could only perceive signatures that seemed to mirror a person's soul. Then I managed to transform these signatures into matter ... to weave them, as the Prophecy says. But it also says that I could weave future and destiny from matter. I don't quite understand that yet.“

”To be honest, I can't imagine what that means either,“ Yelmalis said thoughtfully. ”But it sounds pretty important.”

Since they had started talking about her gift, Lereia seemed a little more downcast again. “I learned in Elysium that one day my gift could decide the fate of the Chosen. I'm not really the kind of person who likes to influence the fate of others ... And testing my gift is proving to be difficult. My convictions do not allow me to experiment on the souls of others. And you? How much do you already know about your gifts?”

“Factol Hashkar has encouraged me greatly to explore it,” replied Yelmalis. “Which I did, among other things, by studying the otherwise forbidden school of chronomancy - with special permission, of course! Now I can consciously and willingly travel through time, up to twelve hours into the past or future. I can even take someone with me.” Of course, he couldn't help thinking about the events in Excelsior when he had traveled through time with Factol Sarin to prevent the assassination of Archbishop Juliana. When he had pushed his gift to the limit to change a fixed point in time. When he had enabled the factol to use part of his destiny as a pledge. As relieved as he had been about Lady Juliana's rescue, he was still uncertain about the consequences of this act. He had explained this to Sarin. But the paladin had wanted to save Juliana at any cost - only too understandable as he obviously loved her like a mother. And so he had allowed fate to take its course ...

Lereia, who had been there at the time, seemed to sense what was crossing his mind, for she smiled encouragingly. “That's impressive. And certainly one of the most efficient gifts.”

He waved it off, a little embarrassed by her praise. “It can be quite helpful at times.”

“I have the feeling,” Lereia said thoughtfully, “that your gifts are somehow ... more active.”

Yelmalis swayed his head. “It depends on the gifts, I think – but perhaps also on how far they are developed. What Kiyoshi does with his words in the Old Tongue, for example, seems to have great potential.”

“That's true.” Lereia nodded. “I think we need to practice more and explore them. I've been a little cautious lately, though.” A certain uneasiness was evident in the young woman's words. Even though she didn't say it directly, it seemed as if she had had a bad experience with her gift.

“I think that's understandable,” Yelmalis replied sympathetically.

Garush's question, on the other hand, was direct and to the point. “Can you use your gift on anyone?”

“At first, I couldn't sense any signature on the Chosen,” Lereia explained. “But since the Keeper and the Proclaimer revealed the Prophecy to us, I can sense one on us as well. With Yelmalis, it's gently falling snowflakes that float down slowly and silently. And with you, Garush, I sense black sand surrounding rocks of steel. I don't know if this weaving matter thing would work, though. I tried it once in self-defense, but I couldn't concentrate enough at the time.”

Yelmalis smiled as Lereia described his soul signature. It sounded peaceful and beautiful, and he thought it suited him well.

Garush also nodded, apparently quite satisfied with how her soul was perceived. But then the amazon had a thought. “Wait a minute ... You've only been able to sense a signature on the Chosen since the Prophecy was revealed?”

Lereia nodded. “Yes, when Elyria and Lorias told us who we were, I perceived the Chosen's signatures for the first time. And since then, I can also sense yours.”

“As if we got a soul only then?” Yelmalis asked, frowning. “That's strange.”

“To be honest, I don't understand it either,” Lereia admitted. “Maybe it was some kind of ... protection before?”

“I find that really creepy,” Garush growled. “And that rarely happens to me.”

“Creepy?” Lereia looked at her questioningly.

“Sure,” said the amazon. “Does that mean I was born without a soul? That's grotesque ...”

“Unfortunately, I still can't perceive anything on myself,” Lereia explained. “But at the meeting with Elyria and Lorias, I had the impression to sense a fresh wind, as if something that had been gone for a long time and that I had missed had returned to me. But I can't really imagine that we didn't have souls before. Maybe a kind of veil that had been covering them was lifted.”

“Crazy ...” Garush muttered. “But the feeling you describe ... we all felt that when the Prophecy was revealed. By the way, I couldn't use my gift against Factol Mallin. Not that I seriously wanted to. It was just for practice, but it didn't work.”

“It was the same with Sgillin,” Lereia reported. “He can't do it with everyone. I did the same thing ... practicing with my factol ...” Her expression darkened and she lowered her gaze, looking downcast. “I wish I hadn't been able to use my gift.”

Yelmalis nodded gently. So he hadn't just imagined that the young woman had had a bad experience in this regard.

But she was already straightening up again, obviously unwilling to pursue the subject. “Do you know why you couldn't use your gift, Garush?”

The amazon shrugged. “No, not really.”

“But I suspect it has something to do with the nature of souls,” Yelmalis interjected.

“That some souls are more receptive?” the weretigress asked.

Yelmalis nodded. “Perhaps, yes.”

“At least I don't think it's because of how close you are to someone,” said Lereia. “But we haven't found a real explanation yet, and ...” She paused and nodded gently towards the cell door.

A cambion entered. They had seen him before when he had picked up a prisoner who had probably been sold as a slave. He glanced briefly at them, then shrugged and headed for the opposite cell. It was the one where the wounded woman was locked up. Garush immediately stood up and stepped to the barred door, watching the cambion warily. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, unlocked the other cell and went inside. He laughed and said something in Abyssal.

“Don't touch her!” Garush struck hard against the bars.

Lereia peered anxiously at the door. “What did he say?”

“My Abyssal isn't very good,” the amazon growled. “But I'm sure it was something stupid.”

Yelmalis also stood up and looked over at the other cell with concern, a bad feeling in his stomach. It was hard to see clearly because of the distance and the dim light, but the cambion seemed to be opening his belt buckle ... Yelmalis swallowed hard and saw Lereia's eyes widen.

Garush, however, struck violently against the bars again. “I'll kill you!” she yelled wildly. “You're dead, you filthy demon!”

Yelmalis pressed his lips together, furious at their helplessness.

The cambion looked over his shoulder at Garush. “Shut up, amazon. I'll be happy to come over afterwards and have it off with you if you really want me to.”

He grinned lewdly before turning back to the woman lying on the floor. Garush hit the bars once more. But Lereia suddenly tensed, seemed to focus on the cambion ... She closed her eyes, apparently concentrating. Just as Yelmalis was wondering what she was up to, the demon flinched and cried out in pain. Lereia stared down at her hand, and when the air genasi followed her gaze, he saw that she was holding two thistles. His eyes widened in surprise. Had she just ripped out a piece of the cambion's soul? Garush hadn't noticed in her rage, but Lereia and Yelmalis now held their breath and looked tensely at the other cell.

The cambion gasped, pained and confused. “What was that? Damn, I should take less of that stuff ...” He rubbed his forehead, but then leaned over the woman again ...

Lereia snorted angrily and focused on him again. The demon groaned in pain, and Yelmalis could see that the weretigress was biting her lower lip as if to maintain her concentration at all costs. Then she held red sand in her other hand, which trickled through the fingers of her clenched fist.

“Ouch, damn it!” The cambion cried out again and writhed in pain.

Lereia quickly stepped back to the cot, sat down and placed both hands behind her, holding sand and thistles.

“What kind of witchcraft is this?!” the cambion shouted angrily, now staring at them. “Was that one of you?”

Yelmalis also stepped back a little while Garush rattled at the bars. “Come here!” she growled. “Then you'll find out!”

“I warn you!” hissed the demon. “Even if you are valuable to Red Shroud, don't carry it too far!”

Garush craned her neck so that her tusks protruded more clearly from behind her lower lip. “Didn't you want to come over? Well, what now? Don't feel like it anymore? Not so manly, after all, huh?”

Yelmalis flinched. “Garush, damn it ...” he whispered.

Lereia also gave the amazon a warning look, but the half-orc paid no attention. She was focused solely on the cambion. He was now actually coming over to their cell – unfortunately not without leaving the keys on the table in the middle of the room. Damn ...

Then he stepped up to the bars and looked Garush straight in the eye. “Who do you think you are, you slut?”

“We're tired and at the end of our tether,” Lereia said quickly. “It's normal that someone loses their temper.”

Garush didn't answer, but the moment the cambion got close enough, her arms shot through the bars, grabbed his head, and with a quick, violent jerk, she broke his neck.

“Garush!” Lereia jumped up in horror.

“He won't abuse any more women.” The amazon spat through the bars and onto the corpse.

Yelmalis had flinched, but he wasn't really surprised by Garush's actions. He had known her for a while now, and the cambion had tempted fate, without realizing it, of course.

“I am a Mercykiller and a daughter of Varuskias,” the amazon declared proudly. “No court in this cursed place would ever convict this scum. Therefore, it is up to me to administer justice.”

Lereia nodded slowly, though she was still a little pale. “I ... cannot disagree. Even if I am afraid of the consequences.“

”I understand,“ replied Garush. ”But justice must always prevail and stand above all else.” She explained it as matter-of-factly as if she were simply stacking a pile of wood.

Yelmalis hoped that they were more important to Red Shroud than the cambion Garush had killed and that there would be no retaliation. That was probably the case, as simple prison guards were surely just interchangeable figures to a demon princess. By contrast, there had to be a valid reason why they had not been hurt or tortured yet. They stared silently at the corpse for a while, then Lereia seemed to think of something.

She raised her hands, still holding the thistles in one and red sand in the other. “What happens to the soul of a fiend after it dies?” she asked.

“The soul becomes one with the plane itself,” Yelmalis explained.

Lereia nodded. “These are fragments of his soul, I think. Perhaps we can observe what happens to them?”

“That's a very good idea,” said the air genasi. “I'm not a cleric, but from what I know, a soul only returns to its plane of destiny after two or three days. I don't know how it works with fiends, who are manifested souls. And besides, he was a half-fiend.“

”Then I'll keep an eye on it.“ Lereia carefully placed the thistles and the red sand in a dark corner under her cot. Then she looked over at the other cell. ”At least I was able to save the woman from something really bad.”

Garush nodded to Lereia with approval. “Yes, that was very good. You are a proud fighter. Impressive in your tiger form, but also determined and brave when it comes to your gift.”

“Thank you very much.” Lereia smiled slightly at Garush's praise, but then became serious again. “I don't want to hurt anyone if I don't have to. But when it comes to protecting someone weaker, that's a different matter.”

Yelmalis smiled. “Aha, it almost sounds like I'm here with two amazons now. Should I feel safer or scared?”

Garush grinned. “Both would be appropriate.”

With a short laugh, Lereia shook her head. “I can say with certainty that you can feel safe, Yelmalis.”

“Good to know,” he replied with a warm smile.

He had to admit that the presence of Garush and Lereia did make him feel better, much safer than if he had been sitting here alone. Of course, it was terrible that they were also trapped here – but at least he wasn't without friends in the cells of Broken Reach.

Chapter Text

“The dead are more reliable than the living.”

Hissboda of Naratyr, priestess of Kiaransalee

Third Clerk's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

The workshop of Krixxi and Figaro was like an embodiment of Xaositect philosophy. As soon as Síkhara had entered, she had been hit by the smell of lubricating oil and molten metal, but on this day there was also the distinct scent of Limbo licorice – a candy that changed color and flavor at irregular intervals. The blood hunter had quickly noticed that Krixxi loved sweets, so it was no surprise to find bags of candied dragonfly wings and small chocolate mephits scattered among the workbenches and boxes full of screws and wire. But above all, tools were piled up everywhere, gears gleamed in open crates and unfinished apparatus filled several shelves. On a table in the middle of the room was a huge collection of wires, tubes and other small parts that apparently only Krixxi and Figaro could make sense of. But despite - or perhaps because of - the chaos, a feeling of unbridled creativity filled the room, which never ceased to fascinate Síkhara.

In the midst of this chaos sat Krixxi, turning a complicated component between her small green fingers. Her yellow eyes glowed behind protective goggles consisting of two magnifying glasses connected together, her clothes were smeared with oil and several strands of her pink hair had come loose from the two pigtails that were probably an attempt at a hairstyle. Next to her, on the top rung of a rickety ladder, the awakened rooster Figaro was balancing. He wore green welding goggles and his comb bobbed slightly as he intently watched Krixxi's examination of the component. Síkhara knew by now, of course, that he was not just a familiar or even a pet. No, Figaro was a true friend and partner to the goblin woman, whose intelligence and skills were often underestimated – but usually only until he stunned someone with an unexpectedly sharp remark. On a workbench covered with felt stood the two shadow-catching devices that Síkhara, Rakalla and Haer'Dalis had salvaged from the laboratory in the Hive. They were strange objects that made even the experienced blood hunter feel uneasy: a kind of cage made of polished steel and reinforced with runes etched into the surface of the bars. Inside was a blackened metal cylinder, also engraved with symbols unknown to them, which glowed faintly in the dark. The devices radiated an unsettling aura of emptiness.

“Interesting, interesting ...” Krixxi muttered as she took one of the apparatus apart with a set of homemade pliers. “The construction is ... exciting, if I may say so.”

Figaro nodded in agreement and picked at a shimmering crystal embedded in the black cylinder. “Yes, a clever combination of night steel and spectral quartz, if I'm not mistaken.”

Síkhara, who, like Krystall and Haer'Dalis, kept a respectful distance from the devices, felt a mixture of fascination and aversion. She had seen many things, both wondrous and repulsive, but devices that could suck out a piece of a living being's soul were new even to her. Rakalla, on the other hand, had stepped a little closer to the workbench and was eyeing the contraptions with the academic curiosity of a scientist.

Haer'Dalis leaned casually against a shelf next to Síkhara and examined the shadow-catching devices with interest. “Night steel ... spectral quartz ... stolen shadows ... severed pieces of souls ...” He brushed a strand of his blue hair behind his ear. “A gruesome melody these shadow thieves are playing. I wonder what kind of performance they have in mind.”

Krystall, who was usually so unshakable, looked thoughtful. “You know, it's the malice of the intent that bothers me about this case. Not just the theft, but the feeling of emptiness the victims feel. Stealing gold, fine. But souls? That's wrong.”

Krixxi set aside a spiral wire mesh that had connected the black cylinder to the cage bars. “Yes, the creators of these things are no ordinary thieves. They are either masters of shadow magic or they paid someone who is.”

Figaro tapped the shimmering crystal again. “This stone is the key, a kind of focus. I'm sure it strengthens the connection to the Plane of Shadow and sucks out the soul essence. But don't ask me how exactly they do it. I'm sure they've been researching it for years. We can't figure it out completely in such a short time.“

Krixxi nodded eagerly. ”And the key point is: the device leaves no detectable arcane signatures that would lead directly back to the user. It ... somehow masks itself. An extremely clever design.” She held up another component that looked like a tiny crystal hourglass. “And this little pod here ... it stores the stolen essence. You could say it's a ... soul battery.”

Síkhara's gaze wandered from Krixxi to the devices. Soul batteries. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. Who needed so many stolen soul fragments? And what for? The answers, the blood hunter knew, would hardly be pleasant - but she had to find them. The air in the workshop was filled with the soft clinking and clanking of tools as Krixxi and Figaro delved deeper and deeper into the mechanics - and thus the secrets - of the shadow catching devices. Rakalla stood curiously at the workbench, her snakes hissing softly and her eyes examining the individual parts and components, occasionally asking a question or making an observation. Síkhara felt that she couldn't contribute much here at the moment: technology was not her forte. Krystall and Haer'Dalis seemed to feel the same way, so they left the field to the experts and just watched them work in silence.

Suddenly, the fire genasi felt a slight movement at her long, flaming red hair, so gentle that she almost mistook it for a draft of air. She glanced to the side and spotted a small, winged creature landing on her right shoulder. It was a moth, no bigger than her little finger, but its wings were not made of chitin, but of finely folded paper. The edges were slightly charred, as if it had flown too close to a street lamp. Síkhara knew what that meant. Someone was sending her a message. So she stretched out her left hand, and the paper moth rose into the air again, only to land gently on her palm. Síkhara felt a slight chill emanating from it and a sensation as if a soft whisper was reaching her from afar. She was familiar with such messages, so she gently reached for the moth and carefully unfolded the paper insect. She unrolled the narrow strip, revealing a brief message written in elegant, curved handwriting.

“Síkhara,

come to the Mortuary. I have learned something important. The dead don't lie.

Zamakis”

A slight smile played around the genasi's lips. Zamakis. The vampire's gift was as macabre as it was useful. To speak with the dead, sometimes even to learn things from them that they would never have revealed in life - as a blood hunter, she would also have welcomed such an ability.

She went over to Krystall and Haer'Dalis and showed them the message. “Zamakis obviously came to know something.”

The bard raised his eyebrows. “Well, if anyone can pull secrets from the shadows, it's her. Shall we accompany you to the Mortuary, my fire bird?”

“Gladly,” the blood hunter replied. “Six eyes are better than two, and who knows where this clue will lead us.” She turned to Rakalla. “Or eight eyes. Are you coming with us?”

The medusa glanced briefly at the tiefling and hesitated for a moment. Síkhara understood. She obviously knew about her and Haer'Dalis' former liaison. At the same time, it was hard to miss that something was growing between Rakalla and the bard. Síkhara was fine with that. Haer'Dalis was, above all else, a good friend. They had been through things together that would connect them forever, things that went beyond the passion of a brief romance, however intense it may have been. She wouldn't turn down an occasional night together in the future, but ultimately that would depend on Rakalla's consent, should she and the bard get together. And if her relationship with Haer'Dalis were to be limited to a close friendship in the future, she would be able to accept that. Of course, the medusa couldn't know that, so Síkhara understood her hesitation. A quick glance at Haer'Dalis told her that he was thinking the same, so she gave him a slight nod.

“Come, my jungle viper,” the bard said, winking at Rakalla. “Let's hear what the dead have to say.”

Rakalla smiled - relieved, it seemed to Síkhara - and then picked up her cloak, which she had hung over a pulley.

“Yes, go ahead,” Krixxi said without looking up. By now, several dark oil stains were visible on her cheeks. “We're dismantling the shadow thieves' equipment here and want to see what secrets those devices hold.”

Figaro adjusted his welding goggles with his mechanical leg. “That's right. And be careful should you follow any more clues.”

Síkhara smiled. “We will.”

Then she let a small flame flicker from her fingertips and burned the unfolded paper moth to ashes. The fewer traces there were that could be traced back to them, the better.

On their way from the Chaos District to the Mortuary, Síkhara, Krystall, Haer'Dalis and Rakalla crossed the Madhouse District and walked across the Hive Market towards Ragpickers' square. Here, in the Gray District, the atmosphere was heavily influenced by the faction philosophy of the Dustmen. There were only a few market stalls left, and even thugs and prostitutes were scarce. Instead, an oppressive silence hung over the alleys, interrupted only by the wind whistling through the street canyons and the soft crunch of rubble under their boots. The sky above them was an impenetrable, dirty gray that made the already dreary buildings appear even bleaker. This was fitting for Mortis, the month of the Dustmen, and Síkhara suspected that the cold wind could soon develop into a so-called ghost storm. This weather phenomenon, unique to the month of Mortis, swept icily and relentlessly through the streets, carrying with it the lost voices of the dead. Often, apparitions appeared in the wind, sometimes the ghosts of the recently deceased, sometimes also of those who had been dead for a long time. Sigil was full of ghostly appearances these days. Interestingly, however, there were only ghosts of the deceased who had not been buried outside the city. The ghost storm was often accompanied by hail, with the hailstones looking like small skulls, some humanoid, but also those of monsters or animals. To escape the unpleasant weather, the four hurried to reach the Mortuary as quickly as possible.

The large, dome-shaped headquarters of the Dustmen dominated the entire Gray District, crowned by twelve huge metal wings and surrounded by massive towers topped with blades. The outer walls were decorated with reliefs of bones, skeletons and skulls, and at the gate stood two large bone golems, completely immobile but ready to protect the Mortuary, the faction members and the mourners at any moment. Two Collectors in tattered robes were carrying a corpse on a bier into the hall. Judging by the hanging arm, it might have been a half-orc. The two guards at the gate let them pass unhindered, and as they entered, a spacious hall of gray stone stretched out before them, supported by mighty pillars and columns and vaulted by a high ceiling. In the middle stood a statue in a dark robe, a symbolic representation of death. Except for a few undead workers, a skeleton and two zombies, the large entrance hall was almost empty. Síkhara heard Krystall sigh beside her. Yes, the leader of the Razor Angels might be a paladin of a chaotic goddess of rebellion and revolution, but she was still a paladin. The strong presence of all the undead here was certainly not pleasant for her, even though she had lived in the Hive for a long time. She seemed more serious than usual, her expression rigid and focused. Even Haer'Dalis was quieter than usual, which did not surprise the blood hunter. The Mortuary was a symbol of decay and decline, and as a Sinker, the bard knew how to face this aspect with a certain reverence and unusual seriousness.

“I've played in dark taverns and gloomy alleys,” he remarked in a subdued voice. “But this place has its own macabre melody.”

The air was cool and dry, enriched with the typical smell of a Mortuary. One might have thought that because of the undead, especially the zombies, there would be a horrible stench of death and decay, but that was not the case. It smelled a little musty and dusty, but above all strongly antiseptic, an aroma emanating from the undead, who were carefully maintained by the Dustmen. In addition, the scent of incense, embalming oil and wilting flowers hung over the place. All in all, the large building had an eerie but also awe-inspiring atmosphere that reminded Síkhara of the burial chambers of ancient kings.

“If Zamakis is working right now, she might be in the embalming chamber one floor up,” Rakalla explained, her voice little more than a whisper.

Since the medusa had been here several times before and knew the way, Síkhara let her go first. She led the others from the entrance hall through several wide corridors and two medium-sized rooms. Faint, bluish light sources in the form of magical crystals cast long, trembling shadows, and the sound of their footsteps echoed unpleasantly in the corridors. Once, they heard soft singing coming from one of the side rooms – a funeral ceremony was probably taking place there. Occasionally, they saw Dustmen, mostly dressed in simple gray robes, quietly going about their work, transporting corpses, accompanying mourners or carrying grave goods to their destination. None of them spoke a word as they followed Rakalla deeper into the heart of the Mortuary. Involuntarily and without consulting, they tried to keep their presence as quiet and inconspicuous as that of the dead themselves.

Finally, Rakalla led them up a narrow spiral staircase, and after following two more long corridors, they heard a faint noise coming from one of the side chambers - a slight scraping, followed by a damp gurgling sound. The medusa led her companions to the door from which the noises were coming. The embalming chamber was smaller and warmer than the halls on the ground floor, the dim, bluish light giving way to a brighter, yellowish glow emanating from several carefully placed lamps. The walls were lined with shelves full of glass vessels filled with liquids of various colors - amber, crimson and deep green - and dried herbs hung from metal hooks, their scent mingling with the heavy smell of embalming oil. Various tools lay ready on a small table: scalpels, forceps, saws and needles, all clean and neatly arranged. In the middle of the room, on a long stone table, lay the corpse of an elderly male whose skin had an unnatural, waxy sheen. And bent over the dead man, Síkhara saw the vampire Zamakis. As usual, she wore an elegant black frock coat, over which she had pulled a gray apron. The sleeves of her coat and shirt were rolled back, revealing her delicate fingers and slender wrists. Her pale skin appeared almost alabaster in the light of the chamber, and her long black hair was pinned up so that it could not fall into her face. The undead woman's red eyes were fixed on the corpse in front of her with cool, matter-of-fact concentration. She was just inserting a fine needle into the dead man's skin to close a fresh incision. The soft scraping and gurgling sounds they had heard apparently came from the vampire's instruments, the embalming oil and the internal organs that had been carefully placed in a bowl at the foot of the stone table.

Síkhara cleared her throat softly. “Zamakis,” she said, although she was sure the undead had noticed her long ago.

The vampire did not look up or pause in her work, but her movements slowed slightly for a moment. “Síkhara,” she said, her voice as cool and even as ever. “I knew you would come here shortly after receiving my message.” Then she carefully set the needle aside and wiped her fingers on a cloth.

“A fascinating workplace,” remarked Haer'Dalis, his voice respectful, even appreciative. He gazed with fascination at the organs removed from the corpse and the rolled-up cloth bandages that were already laid out, ready to wrap the dead body.

Krystall was clearly less impressed by her surroundings, as she remained a good distance away from the embalming table, but she took off her feathered hat as a sign of respect for the dead man. Rakalla, on the other hand, seemed to share Haer'Dalis' curiosity and let her gaze wander over the glass jars on the shelves.

Síkhara stepped closer and briefly examined the corpse. “Who is our friend here? Is this the dead who spoke to you?”

Zamakis nodded. “This man, Kalik, was a scribe of the Signers who was found murdered three days ago. It looked like a robbery and was recorded as such in the death certificate. But Kalik had a lot to say after his death.“

Krystall craned her neck a little, but did not step closer. ”What did he tell you?“

”Kalik was one of the shadowless,“ Zamakis explained. ”One of those whose shadows were stolen. He was desperate. He was looking for answers - and revenge. And he found what he was looking for. He was on the perpetrators' trail. That's why they silenced him.“

”Oho!“ Haer'Dalis took his eyes off the removed entrails and turned his full attention to the vampire. ”That sounds like a very important clue. Did he also reveal who the perpetrators are?“

”Yes, now it's getting really interesting,” Zamakis explained. “He said it was a sect. They call themselves the Illuminated.”

“The Illuminated?” Rakalla's snakes hissed excitedly. “The same ones who infiltrated your faction about nine months ago? With the help of this Toranna?”

Síkhara nodded knowingly. Krystall had mentioned it when she had told her about the Prophecy. A sect headquartered in the gate town of Plague-Mort had turned allegedly dead people into a kind of sleepers with dormant personalities. To do this, they had placed an old ifriti fortress behind the portal that led from the Mortuary to the Plane of Fire, through which the corpses destined for cremation were sent.

Despite her usually stoic nature, it was clear that Zamakis did not like to be reminded of this incident. She nodded briefly. “The same.”

“The ones with the Shadowknave?” Rakalla went on. “The ones who slipped you seemingly dead bodies that were then experimented on? The ones with the fortress behind the portal?“

”Yes, exactly,“ the vampire answered curtly.

”When that happened to Eliath? And when the other Chosen were snooping around here on Sarin's orders, together with Sgillin?“

”Yes, indeed!” Zamakis replied, now with a clear hint of impatience.

Rakalla raised her hands defensively when the vampire snarled at her, as if she didn't understand what the problem was.

With a smile, Krystall signaled to her to let it be and then turned to Zamakis. “The Illuminated, huh? That's pretty steep. After the Hive Wrangler Murders back then, I hoped we'd never hear from them again.”

Síkhara nodded. “I wasn't in Sigil at the time, but I'm not keen on these berks either. The question is, what do they suddenly want with shadows?”

“Good question,” said Rakalla. “The sect believes, much like the Godsmen, that there is a divine spark that can grow and turn you into a god if it is strong enough. Unlike the Godsmen, however, they believe that not everyone possesses this spark, but only a select few. Among them, of course, are themselves, oh surprise.“

She grinned mockingly, and Síkhara had to laugh. ”I'm not particularly fond of any faction, but I like the Godsmen approach better. Well, I understand that the spark probably corresponds to the soul. And there were soul fragments in the shadow essences. But why the shadows?“

Haer'Dalis ran his fingers thoughtfully over the hilt of one of his short swords. ”What if the stolen shadows are just a side effect? Maybe the Illuminated are actually after the souls and the shadows are simply severed along with them.”

“Hmm, that's not such a far-fetched idea.” Krystall stepped a little closer to the embalming table. “Maybe they want to get the soul fragments to strengthen their own sparks or some nonsense like that.”

“Let's hope it's just nonsense,” Síkhara replied seriously. “These people should not be allowed to gain power in this way.” She turned back to Zamakis. “Did the dead man tell you where the Illuminated are operating?”

“Unfortunately, Kalik was vague about that,” the vampire replied. “He spoke of a secret meeting place, an old temple in Undersigil.”

The blood hunter frowned. The undercity was a labyrinth of catacombs, sewers and forgotten ruins that stretched for miles beneath the surface of Sigil. Finding an unnamed, abandoned temple there would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. “Did he describe it in more detail?” the fire genasi asked.

“Unfortunately not.” Zamakis went to one of the shelves and took out a large clay jug. It was apparently a canopic jar, intended to hold the innards of a deceased person. “The dead often speak incoherently or in riddles. But he mentioned something else that might give us a clue as to its location: he spoke of tears of darkness. They are supposed to be near the temple. But unfortunately, I don't know what that means.” She placed the canopic jar on the small stone table with the removed entrails and carefully put an organ wrapped in thin linen cloths inside, judging by its size and shape probably the lung.

“Tears of darkness doesn't ring a bell either,” Krystall replied. “But the Razor Angels will try to find out more.”

Síkhara nodded. “That's a start. Much more than we had before. Thank you very much, Zamakis.”

“I’m doing what I can,” the vampire said matter-of-factly, glancing briefly at Kalik’s corpse. “His soul couldn’t rest while the truth remained hidden. I’m giving him the chance to bring it to light.” She closed the canopic jar with a lid shaped like a monkey’s head.

Síkhara, Krystall, Haer'Dalis and Rakalla watched silently as Zamakis took another canopic jar from the shelf, then tore their eyes away from the morbid yet fascinating process of mummification. They said a quiet goodbye to the vampire and the now silent witness and left the Mortuary. The trail would lead them deep beneath the City of Doors, into the hidden corners of Undersigil, where the sect of the Illuminated was up to no good. Síkhara wondered whether she should send Amariel a message about this. But she decided to wait until she had something concrete before contacting the decuria.

Chapter Text

“My path is my own, and one of free choice, not punishment.”

Fall-from-Grace

Third Clerk's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

When Naghûl entered the Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts, he was greeted by an atmosphere of quiet contemplation. Unlike most brothels, the entrance hall was not decorated with erotic paintings, but with abstract works of art that encouraged reflection. Dim light fell through intricately designed stained glass windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscopic glow. Compared to the rest of the Festhall District, this place seemed almost reverent. The furniture was simple but comfortable, with upholstered armchairs and sofas inviting guests to linger. A large, open fireplace crackled quietly in a corner, its warm light dancing on the faces of the visitors. There was a gentle scent of old parchment, warm beeswax and a hint of incense in the air - a calming, almost sacred aroma. Instead of loud music, vulgar jokes or even more inappropriate noises, only quiet scraps of conversation drifted out of the various rooms, the rustling of paper, the soft music of a piano from a distant room. Every now and then, a soft laugh or a short exclamation of understanding could be heard. Naghûl saw a small group of githzerai monks engrossed in a profound philosophical conversation. A tiefling and a dwarf sat in a corner discussing the ethical implications of the latest inventions in Sigil, while in an armchair standing apart, a human scholar read a book and sipped herbal tea with relish.

As always when he was here, Naghûl found the mood relaxed, even reverent. There was an atmosphere of respect, intellectual curiosity and open exchange. Grace's brothel was a place where the mind was stimulated and new perspectives could be gained, quite different from the superficial pleasures offered in other establishments in Sigil. This was about more than just satisfying desires - it was about expanding consciousness. But as much as Naghûl would have liked to join the lively conversation about the art of gastronomy between an older half-elf lady and a halfling, he was here for other reasons today. He urgently needed to speak to Fall-from-Grace, the brothel's owner. He found her in the central garden, near the pavilion with the beautiful stained-glass windows. She was a succubus, and her beauty was of course overwhelming. However, unlike the allure of her dark sisters, her appeal never seemed intrusive. Grace's long, honey-blonde hair was loosely pinned up that day, and she wore a light tunic in blue and purple. Her wings were slightly outstretched, and she was cutting one of the rose bushes growing by the fountain.

“Grace,” Naghûl said cheerfully. “I greet you!”

She turned to him and a warm expression appeared in her azure eyes when she saw him. “Oh, Naghûl. The Lady's Grace.”

The tiefling approached her and bowed politely. “As enchanting as ever,” he said with a smile.

She chuckled. “And you as charming as always.”

He laughed and then offered her both hands in greeting. Grace had been a factor in the Society of Sensation for many years, and they knew each other well, maintaining a warm, friendly relationship. The succubus took his hands, but her eyes examined him intently. Yes, she had already recognized that something serious was on his mind that day.

“Grace, dear colleague,” he said immediately. “I need to talk to you. It's a very sensitive matter.”

“Oh.” She nodded and placed the garden shears on the edge of the fountain. “I understand. Then we should find a place where we can talk undisturbed. Let's go to my quarters.”

Grace always radiated an aura of wisdom and calm that one would not necessarily expect, even from an ascended demon. She was truly a rarity, even in the infinity of the planes. With calm but firm steps, she crossed the beautiful garden in the brothel's courtyard and led Naghûl to a door that opened as if by magic. Behind it was a narrow corridor, at the end of which were Grace's private quarters. For a factor, it was a surprisingly simple room, imbued with an aura of discreet elegance. In one corner was a bed surrounded by lavender curtains, and a large dark wood desk stood against the opposite wall. It was littered with books, scrolls and writing utensils, and an ornate lamp cast a warm light on the desktop. In front of a small fireplace were two comfortable armchairs, between which a teapot steamed on a side table.

The room was decorated with personal items that Naghûl had already examined with interest on his previous visits: a collection of masks from different cultures, a series of books on philosophy, ethics and psychology, and a small aquarium with brightly colored fish. Naghûl knew what the small, carved box filled with dried flowers was all about: each flower was associated with a special memory, and all the blossoms came from different planes and worlds that Grace had visited. In keeping with the theme of the brothel and her personal ascension, her quarters were not a place of sensual seduction, but a retreat for the mind and soul, a reflection of Grace's inner transformation, of her rejection of evil in favor of a life of understanding, wisdom and empathy.

She offered Naghûl one of the armchairs and took a seat in the other herself. “Well, then tell me what's bothering you,” she urged him, pointing questioningly at the teapot.

The tiefling declined with thanks; he was too tense and agitated to enjoy a drink – and that was saying something. “It's a very delicate matter,” he explained. “And it concerns you too. I know it's a very big favor I'm asking of you, but it's necessary. I can imagine that it's not pleasant for you to talk about it.”

Grace frowned. “Well, that's an unusually serious tone from you. Now I'm really curious to know what it's about.”

Naghûl felt as if he had to overcome an inner barrier, but he gave himself the necessary push. “It's about your mother.”

She visibly struggled not to let her facial features slip, but she didn't quite succeed. “Excuse me?”

The tiefling lowered his gaze. The subject was unpleasant, even embarrassing, and he was genuinely sorry to have to burden her with it. “I really hate to confront you with this,” he assured her. “But it's extremely important, because Red Shroud ... is extorting me and others with the lives of innocent friends.”

Grace still looked at him in surprise, serious but also a little sad. “I understand.” She nodded slowly. “How do you know? From Lady Erin herself, huh?”

“She wouldn't have told me if we weren't desperately searching for a glimmer of hope,” Naghûl assured. “We have reached a bitter and sad boundary, and I hope you can tell me something that will overcome that boundary.”

“Oh, by the Lady.” Grace leaned back in her chair and sighed deeply. “That ... everything that has to do with my mother ... is something I have pushed far away. Very far. From that point of view, however, I understand your request. And what ... what do you expect from me?“

Naghûl slumped his shoulders a little. ”I'm not quite sure. Maybe I was hoping you would just give me a letter containing something confidential but clever, and everything would be fine.”

“A letter?” Grace had to laugh briefly. “I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. It won't be that easy.”

He nodded, smiling slightly at his foolish thoughts. “But maybe you can tell me something we can use against her? A weak point? A certain event in her past we can use to get to her?”

“Oh, Naghûl.” Grace sighed. “As you can imagine, I don't have a very close relationship with my mother. On the one hand, I turned my back on her, the Abyss and the tanar'ri a long time ago. On the other hand, it's a great shame for her that one of her full-blooded daughters has risen - regardless of the fact that she sold me into slavery. And as a result, there's naturally very little I know about her now.“

”I was afraid of that.“ Naghûl smiled a little, but it was clearly gallows humor. ”That woman is a mystery to me. There's hardly anyone who can cover their tracks so well. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out where her weak point might be. There has to be one.”

“There's definitely one, but ...” Grace raised her hands apologetically. “I'm sorry, but I don't have any kind of all-powerful secret information that will allow you to checkmate her. However ...” She stood up. “Wait a minute.”

Naghûl watched her hopefully as she gracefully walked over to the chest of drawers next to her bed.

She took something out, then she returned to the fireplace and held a vial containing a blue liquid.

“What's that?” Naghûl asked curiously.

She held the vial up as she sat down again. “As you know, my mother is a true master of poisons. The rarer, the more exotic, and the more deadly, the better.“

The tiefling nodded seriously. ”Yes, I know. A rather ... unconventional hobby.“

”Indeed.“ Grace smiled. ”Of course, I don't know all of her poisons. But I know of one that she likes to use when an attack needs to be quick and absolutely deadly. The poison of the skull orchid, improved according to her own recipe. This poison is so strong that it outmatches even some of the poisons of the Plane of Ooze. The malicious thing about it is that it cannot be cured by clerical power. It overcomes all resistances and affects all known races. It is extremely dangerous.” She pointed to the vial. “But I have the antidote here. Certainly one of the few doses outside Broken Reach that exist at all.”

Naghûl stared at her and suddenly a thought occurred to him that he hadn't considered before. A terrible thought. “Grace, that's it! She doesn't want to corrupt his mind, his soul. She knows he can protect himself from that. I'm such a berk! She wants to get to him so she can kill him! Grace, I love you!“ He jumped to his feet and hugged her tightly.

Grace let him do it, but seemed a little taken aback. ”Aha ...”

Naghûl kissed her on the cheek and shook his head in agitation. “Now I understand - or I've completely lost my mind. Either way: Ha!”

Grace handed him the vial with a frown. “Um, you should still take this - or maybe especially because of your sudden thought. I have no idea what you're talking about. But you must have your reasons.”

Naghûl took the vial very carefully. “Grace, I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me. Never let it be said that one can’t find muse here.”

“Who would say such a nasty thing?” the succubus asked, laughing.

“Um, I guess no one.” Naghûl suddenly felt light as thistle fluff, despite his terrible suspicion. But the antidote in his hand made the sun rise in his heart. “I'll invite you to dinner as soon as possible, and afterwards we'll go to the theater and then dancing ... I'll bring Morânia and you ... whoever you want.”

Grace smiled and shook her head almost indulgently at his enthusiasm. “Agreed. I'll think about who I'll bring once you've dealt with my mother.”

Naghûl took a deep breath to ground himself. “Thank you so much, Grace. And I'm sure there will be many other people who will be grateful too. But I have to go now, I still have a lot to prepare. Will you forgive me for leaving so quickly?”

She smiled. “Only on condition that you tell me how it turned out.”

“I'd love to,” Naghûl promised. “You'll have to be our guest and listen to Morânia's truthful version and my flowery one.” He grinned and winked playfully at her.

“I accept your invitation,” Grace said with a laugh.

“I'm delighted!” the tiefling replied. “And I'm sure I can speak for Morânia here too. But now please excuse me, I still have to upset an apple cart.”

“I'm afraid so,” said the succubus, now a little more serious again. “I wish you and everyone else involved in this unpleasant story the Lady's Grace.”

Naghûl bowed low to her to express his gratitude once more. “The Lady's Grace and all the best, my friend.”

As he hurried to the exit of the brothel, thoughts raced through his head like a swarm of flies. He had to tell the others about his new suspicion immediately.

Chapter Text

“The bond of love is stronger than the bond of blood.”

tenet of Orbona, Olympic goddess of orphans

Third Hive Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Sarin walked across the courtyard of the Barracks together with his adopted daughter Yaëlla. Legally speaking, she was still his slave, not his child, but in their hearts, he and his wife Faith had never seen her as anything else than their daughter. The beginning of this story lay almost nine years in the past, when he had been a prefect under Factol Delazar and Yaëlla, then eight years old, had been a slave to a cambion prince and favorite of Graz'zt. The cambion had been doing business in Sigil and had brought some of his slaves with him, including Yaëlla. The tiefling girl had used her stay in the city to escape. Unfortunately, she had been recaptured - by a decurion under Sarin's command. For slaves, escaping was usually punishable by death in the Abyss, and demons cared little whether they were children. Sarin, of course, could not reconcile with his conscience that a child should die because one of his officers was doing his duty. So he had done the only thing possible to save the girl: he had bought Yaëlla outside Sigil, as slaves brought into the City of Doors were not allowed to be resold there. Fortunately, the cambion had no longer been interested in the rebellious child, and since the sum offered by Sarin had significantly exceeded the girl's value in the Abyss, the demon had agreed.

Faith and Sarin had wanted to release Yaëlla, but the laws of Sigil did not allow this without further ado – so as not to encourage people to buy slaves on a large scale and bring them to Sigil. A period of ten years had to pass before a slave acquired outside the Cage could be released in Sigil. And so the bizarre situation arose in which he and his wife Faith owned a slave. Officially, she was the nanny for their younger children - and unofficially, she was their adopted daughter. They had let Yaëlla grow up with their own children, she had the same tutors and was involved in all family activities. In about a year, the deadline would expire and they would release and adopt her. But that was unofficial and not even within the faction did the common soldiers or lower-ranking officers know about it - even if many suspected it. In the Barracks, Yaëlla was sometimes called Sarin's tiefling daughter, which of course did not escape his notice. He didn't like to hear it because it carried the risk that it could become known that he and Faith were only formally complying with the law in this matter. On the other hand, he appreciated that the members of his faction suspected the real reason for this rather unusual constellation.

That late afternoon, Yaëlla had come down to the courtyard to talk to him, and luckily he had been able to spare the time. The Barracks' courtyard was as busy as ever, a jumble of soldiers doing combat drills, messengers arriving or hurrying away, blacksmiths repairing equipment and griffons flying back and forth across the courtyard to the Griffon Tower. But Sarin was able to block out all the ambient noise as he walked beside Yaëlla. She was a year younger than his eldest daughter Marinda and now almost as tall as Faith, a delicate yet resilient girl he had watched grow up over the years. She had fair skin, purple hair and violet eyes. The most distinctive feature of her tiefling heritage were her long ears, reminiscent of a goat's. She had just told him her plans for further education after completing her final year of school.

“The Apollonian Academy of Arts, then.” Sarin nodded, not particularly surprised. Yaëlla had always had a great love of painting and had made considerable progress in recent years. Some would say she had talent. Undeniably, but Sarin knew that a lot of practice had gone into it. He himself was not an artist, but a warrior, yet he knew that if one was really good at something, whether it was with a brush or a sword, it didn't just drop into one's lap. One had to work hard for it.

He realized that he hadn't answered her question, but only repeated it, when she looked at him with her violet eyes, a little worried. “I know that painting may not be what you had in mind for me,” she said. “But it's what I want to do.”

Sarin stopped and looked at her. “Yaëlla, it doesn't matter what I imagined for you. If you want to enroll at the Apollonian Academy and it makes you happy, then of course you can do that. I mean, if art is calling you, who am I to stop you?”

His smile as he said the last words made her beam with joy. Sarin felt a brief stab in his heart. She had experienced so much darkness, so much suffering in her young life. She had seen the horrors of the Abyss and the cruelty of demons. And yet she had managed to keep an unbreakable soul that yearned for beauty and creativity.

“Oh, thank you, papa!” she said. He could see that she would have liked to hug him, but didn't dare in the relative public of the Barracks' courtyard. He felt another twinge inside. But that would soon be over ... Instead, she just smiled at him. “I didn't really think you'd mind. Mama said it would be fine.”

“Oh, I see,” he replied, amused. “So you already arranged it with Faith beforehand?”

“Not really,” she assured him quickly. “We just talked about it. Of course, you both have to agree!”

“Yes, all right.” He waved it off with a laugh. “When is the matriculation?”

“Not for a few months,” Yaëlla explained cheerfully. “I just wanted to ask you now to make sure everything works out.”

He remembered the day he had rescued her from the clutches of the cambion, a frightened, intimidated child. Now she had grown into a strong and confident young woman. “Yes, you’ve always been well organized, unlike some of my other children,” he said with a smile. “Just let us know when the time comes. I’m sure you’ll be able to develop your skills there.”

“I definitely want to,” she replied. “And I want to use my art to ... help in some way, you know? To show the beauty that exists even in the darkest corners of the planes. To give hope.”

It was all the enthusiasm of a seventeen-year-old that spoke from her words, and Sarin had to smile. “I'm sure you will achieve that. But don't pressure yourself too much. Lady Erin would probably say that art can exist for its own sake. You don't necessarily have to save the world.”

“Well, I'll do my best to do both,” the tiefling girl replied resolutely.

Sarin put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her briefly, public or not. “I'm sure you will, Yaëlla.”

They continued their walk, and Sarin watched his foster daughter out of the corner of his eye. He thought about the challenges ahead, about the dark forces gathering in the shadows. These days, he sometimes wondered if he would be able to protect her and his other children, to give them the future they deserved. He would certainly do everything in his power to do so. Then he paused as someone approached them - a woman with golden blonde hair and white feathered wings that clearly showed her celestial heritage. Sarin recognized her immediately as Lady Morânia of Wolkenfels. As she drew nearer, her curved horns were also visible, reminding him of her succubus ancestry. Sarin didn't usually think about it, but in light of current events, the thought briefly crossed his mind. He wondered what kind of relationship Morânia's mother, an alu, had with her own mother. Whether Morânia even knew her tanar'ri grandmother, whether she had ever met her. He decided to ask the Cipher about it one day, when the situation arose and the topic didn't seem too intrusive. But that day was certainly not today. He waved Morânia over and could now see that she was wearing knee-high boots with light-colored pants, a simple tunic and a frock coat embroidered with suns and moons on the lapels - the suns symbolizing her god Lathander, the sun and moon together symbolizing her faction.

“Factol Sarin.” The bal'aasi bowed low before approaching. “It was very spontaneous that a reason arose to disturb you. Am I inconveniencing you?” Her gaze wandered briefly to Yaëlla, who nodded in a friendly manner.

“Of course not,” the paladin replied amiably. Since he had made his decision about the kiss, he felt a little fatalistic, but also more composed and calm.

Yaëlla, however, gave him a worried look. Faith and he had not yet spoken to the older children about what was going on behind the scenes, but of course they instinctively sensed that something was wrong. Children always sensed such things.

“Yaëlla, I must excuse myself,” Sarin said, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “I have a private conversation to attend to, it seems.”

“Of course, Factol,” the girl replied, curtsying.

For such a long time now they had been feigning that she was only his slave, and Yaëlla was so used to it that it came quite naturally. But Sarin was gradually growing tired of it, and it was only a few months until Faith and he could adopt her. So he gently held her back. “It's all right,” he said, stroking her violet hair briefly. “Lady Morânia will find out soon enough.”

She smiled. “Yes, father. See you later.”

Her words made him realize how important it was to him that she would soon be able to say that in front of strangers. Once more, she nodded to Morânia, who stood at a respectful distance, and then strolled away across the Barracks' courtyard.

“Yaëlla grew up with my own children,” Sarin explained. “She is like a daughter to my wife and me. In a few months, we will be able to release and adopt her. But until then, not everyone should know.”

Morânia smiled warmly. “Of course, Factol. I won't tell anyone.”

Sarin nodded gratefully and led the visitor across the courtyard to a small group of trees with some wooden benches underneath. When he asked the bal'aasi to sit down, he got the impression that she looked a little exhausted.

She took a seat, and when he eyed her expectantly, she cleared her throat. “I'm here because of ... well, because of that matter. We've learned some news that might be important.“

Sarin immediately guessed what she was referring to. ”From one of Jana's visions or from the Envoy?“ he asked.

”The second,“ the Cipher replied. ”As for Jana's gift, she's currently experimenting with the blood of bullfrogs from Cathrys because of its hallucinogenic properties. She hopes to trigger her visions intentionally. But I think her formula still lacks something. She wants to extract the active ingredient and either enrich it or bind it to a carrier substance, if I understand correctly.”

The factol frowned. “I'm not sure whether that kind of experiment is advisable. But that's for Jana herself and perhaps Terrance to decide. At least for that I'm not responsible – and glad about it.”

“That's understandable, my lord,” Morânia replied. “And because it didn't work, I woke the Envoy again. We were in the House of Visions, and she answered seven questions.”

“Seven?” Sarin raised his eyebrows in amazement. That was two more than the usual five, which might explain why the bal'aasi looked so exhausted. “Are you all right, Lady Morânia? To tell the truth, you look as if you’ve overexerted yourself.”

“I have,” she admitted. “But we thought it made sense, and I wanted to do what I could to help Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush on the one hand, and you on the other.”

He nodded seriously. “I thank you, Lady Morânia, I really appreciate it. And what did the Envoy reveal?”

“We first asked whether the kiss and its possible effects could be undone by means of time travel. The answer was: Unlikely.” She looked at him apologetically, as if she herself were responsible for the answers given and the facts associated with them.

However, this information did not surprise him. “I was afraid of that,” he said with a sigh.

“And I should probably stay away from messing with time again. I don't even know what the consequences of the last intervention will be.”

Morânia nodded sorrily. “Even though I don't like it, I agree with you, Factol. Based on that answer, we then asked whether the kiss is necessary for the Prophecy to be fulfilled. And the answer was: No.”

This answer was more surprising. Until now, Sarin had assumed that the kiss demanded by Red Shroud and the Prophecy were connected, especially since Hope had been found in Broken Reach. On the other hand, there was the question what the Prophecy to be fulfilled actually meant. Basically, they didn't know. And it didn't change the fact that the lives of the three prisoners depended on this kiss. But before he speculated, he wanted to hear what Morânia had to say, so he signaled her to continue.

“We then asked if the prisoners will be poisoned,” reported the bal'aasi. “And whether an antidote will be Red Shroud's reassurance. The answer was: No. The Envoy confirmed that the prisoners will be unharmed when handed over. However, and this is the worrying part, the Envoy also explained that Red Shroud will only partially abide by the agreement.”

Sarin snorted indignantly. “Well, what a surprise. Were you able to find out more about what partially means?”

“Unfortunately, only rudimentarily,” Morânia explained with regret. “The Envoy said that Red Shroud will not hand over the prisoners within an hour after the kiss and that it is uncertain whether she will do so voluntarily. We couldn't ask any more questions after that. But these answers naturally led to a lengthy discussion. And the result, my lord, is that we now consider this kiss even more risky than we did before.“

Sarin had an idea how this debate had unfolded, but he didn't want to forestall Morânia. ”And what led you to that conclusion?” he asked calmly instead.

“It is unclear whether the kiss will lead Red Shroud to voluntarily hand over the prisoners,” Morânia explained. “Moreover, it apparently has nothing to do with the Prophecy. You will probably not be able to undo the kiss with Yelmalis' help. In conclusion, we may have to resort to other means anyway. We therefore ask you to reconsider your decision in this matter.”

“But there's a problem,” Sarin replied seriously. “I promised Red Shroud this kiss. And if I suddenly change my mind, she won't bring the prisoners to the neutral meeting place. Then they'll remain in Broken Reach - and most likely die.”

Morânia nodded. “It seems undisputed that we must meet with her as agreed. But we still need some kind of trump card to play against Red Shroud. And we might even have one. Do you know a plant called skull orchid?“

”No,“ the paladin replied skeptically. ”But it doesn't sound like something you'd find on the Upper Planes.“

”Unfortunately, that's true,” the bal'aasi admitted. “This plant can be used to make one of the most deadly poisons in the multiverse. It cannot be cured, not even by powerful clerics.”

“That's just what I'd expect of this ... woman,” Sarin growled, ill-humored.

Morânia couldn't help but smile briefly. “Unless ... you have the antidote, which is almost impossible to find outside Red Shroud's chambers.“

”Now I'm impressed,“ admitted the factol. ”I'd better not ask where you got it.“

”We would be very grateful,“ Morânia explained. ”But I promise, everything was above board.”

At this hastily added assurance, Sarin couldn't help but smile a little. “That's not what I was aiming for. But it's good to know we have it.”

Morânia nodded. “We have to consider the possibility that she will use this poison. Do you want to take the antidote?”

Sarin shook his head. “Keep it. If anyone is going to be the center of attention in two days, it's me - unfortunately.”

“Thank you for your trust, my lord,” the bal'aasi replied. Then she hesitated, and it was clear that there was another unpleasant point to address. For a few moments, she let her gaze wander over the courtyard of the Barracks, then she pulled herself together. “There is one more thing, Factol. It has to do with the poison of the skull orchid I just mentioned. Or rather, obtaining the antidote gave my husband Naghûl an idea. He is convinced that Red Shroud does not want to corrupt your status as a paladin or gain influence over you, but rather to kill you.” She visibly struggled to maintain a matter-of-fact tone, but was not entirely successful.

However, Sarin sensed that he was more annoyed than shocked. “This is getting better and better,” he growled. “And how did your husband come up with that?”

“His theory is based on the following points: For one thing, you are a powerful paladin and she knows that you have powerful allies. So she won't rule out the possibility that you could protect yourself against her influence. For another thing, your deed is pure and good. You don't want to kiss her because you crave her, but because you must in order to save the lives of others. You are a paladin, so you do what your goddess would consider right.“

”At least, I hope so,” Sarin muttered.

This was precisely where he had felt an uncomfortable sting of doubt ever since his decision in the Great Gymnasium. Would Iomedae approve of his actions? He hadn't asked her for a sign in prayer - perhaps because he feared the answer ... So he said nothing more, but signaled to Morânia to continue. Judging by her expression, the bal'aasi had noticed his feelings and interpreted them correctly. But she was too discreet and too much of a Cipher to touch on a subject he clearly did not want to discuss.

She continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “Then there is what the Envoy said: It is possible that Red Shroud will betray you. At first, we thought she just wanted to extort you or us further. But perhaps it is not the kiss she wants so badly, but something else entirely: your death. At least, that is my husband's theory, and he asked me to set it out to you.“

Thoughtfully, Sarin shook his head. ”But what would she gain from that? Another factol would succeed me - one over whom she would certainly have no influence.”

“That's true, on the one hand. But who can claim to have brought the factol of the Harmonium to his knees, successfully extorted him and then killed him?” Morânia raised and lowered her white-feathered wings, which seemed to be an apologetic gesture. “I am quoting my husband, Factol.”

Sarin could understand Naghûl's line of thinking. It wasn't entirely unreasonable. But he wasn't sure if the Sensate had correctly interpreted the motives of the Mistress of Broken Reach. “Or maybe Red Shroud would rather damage me than kill me. Hoping that I lose my status as a paladin. Or that the story becomes known and my reputation suffers so much that I am no longer acceptable as factol. And that this would cause even more chaos than my death. We should also remember the verse that Elyria and Lorias revealed to me. Begin to dare means: fall and yield. And falling can mean many things for a paladin.”

Morânia nodded seriously. “Yes, Factol, that is true. And that verse ... it occurred to us as well, of course.”

Sarin smiled, albeit with a hint of exhaustion. “Thank you, Lady Morânia, I appreciate your concern and all your efforts. But whatever happens, it will most likely be impossible to prevent. Perhaps because of my actions in Excelsior.“

”I wish I had an answer to that,“ the bal'aasi said regretfully. ”But my gut feeling tells me that not even the Envoy could give us a definitive answer. I hope our theories haven't upset you too much?”

Sarin sighed. “I'm also considering the possibility that Red Shroud is trying to kill all of us. I'm considering pretty much every hopeless situation and misfortune in this matter. Insofar, no, not really. But the antidote gave me some reassurance. Since you're here, I will give you the details of the meeting. It will take place in an abandoned palace at the border of the Court of Light.“

”The realm of the goddess Shekinester.“ Morânia nodded in understanding. ”On neutral ground.“

”Yes, the nagas who inhabit the realm rarely interfere in the affairs of others. The meeting will take place in two days, so we don't have much time. On the other hand, I prefer sooner rather than later. Terrance, Ambar, Mallin and my wife Faith will accompany me. I also want Kiyoshi, you, your husband Naghûl, Jana and Sgillin to attend. Yes, Sgillin too. I think the Chosen have a role to play here, despite the Envoy's answer that the kiss and the Prophecy are not dependent on each other. That would make a total of nine people. But we should also take one of the other group's Chosen with us. After all, two of the hostages are theirs.“

”That's true,“ Morânia agreed. ”Perhaps Tarik? His abilities as a psion could be helpful.“

”Certainly.“ Sarin nodded. ”But the gifts of the others also play a role. However, we don't know in detail what Dilae and Sekhemkare are capable of. I'll find out, but ultimately the decision on who to send with us is up to the other group. I will meet with Mallin later, and that will be one of the topics we discuss.“

”Oh, I wouldn't want to interrupt that conversation under any circumstances,” Morânia assured, a little too emphatically.

Sarin had to laugh at her reaction, and even the bal'aasi herself smiled when she realized that she had unconsciously stood up from the bench when Mallin's name had been mentioned. “Then I will go to see Rhys and tell her everything,” she said. “It's a breach of protocol that I came to you first. But I felt that in this particular case, you should be the first to know.“

Sarin also rose. ”And I thank you for that. Please ask your factol to forgive me. You can explain that it was my manner in general and my current tense situation in particular that made you think it appropriate to come to me first.”

Morânia smiled. “Then this is exactly what I will do, Factol. The Lady's Grace be with you.” She bowed in farewell and then walked away across the courtyard.

Sarin remained standing under the trees for a while. The Last Light had now given way to the night, and many windows in the Barracks were lit. He looked up at the Griffon Tower, at the row of windows directly below the battlements. The rooms of his family's quarters were lit, too. The table was probably set for dinner by now, the younger children running up and down the hallway, while some of the older ones had to be called out of their rooms several times. He would go upstairs, Faith would jokingly admonish him for coming home so late again - everything would be as it always was. Tonight, tomorrow night ... but the day after tomorrow? After the kiss? Would everything still be the same? Or would something change? For him? For him and Faith? For his entire family? What would this fateful decision bring? He sighed deeply, pushed the thoughts aside and then headed towards the Griffon Tower. There was no point in worrying about it. Today, everything was still all right - and in case it wouldn't stay that way, he should enjoy it all the more.

Chapter Text

“Counting layers in the Abyss”

Cant for wasting time

Third Hive Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Garush leaned against the wall next to the barred door and peered over to the other cell. After she and Lereia had rescued the injured woman from the cambion's assault, she had thanked them in a weak voice. They had talked a little and learned that the woman's name was Darlynna. She had served in the baatezu Blood War army, not as a fighter, but as a simple cook. During a battle near Arkenfort, the tanar'ri had captured her and sold her here in Broken Reach. Darlynna was destined to be resold at the slave market as soon as her injuries had healed. But since no one here in the cells under Broken Reach tended to her wounds, Garush suspected that it might take a while. They had tried to encourage the wounded woman – there was nothing more they could do in their current situation.

A little later, two kelvezu had carried away the cambion's dead body without asking too many questions about his death. They did not seem particularly affected by his demise – who in the Abyss was outraged by a murder? Although Garush did not consider it murder. She saw herself as the executor of justice that this fiend had deserved. This was precisely why she had joined the Mercykillers back then in her homeland, the realm of the Tonoe amazons on Acheron: she wanted to hunt down those who preyed on women and children. This was the ultimate goal of the Daughters of Varuskias, a group of amazons of the Red Death who had formed in the capital of the Tonoe almost a hundred years ago. In this situation, and with Lereia's help, she had managed to save a woman in need from the clutches of a predatory demon. However, only the powers knew what the future held for her once she had been sold at the slave market ... Garush gritted her teeth and tried to push the thought aside. Here and now, she had done what she could. Everything else was out of her hands.

Her gaze wandered to the two thistles and the handful of sand that Lereia had hidden under her pallet – parts of the demon's soul that the young woman had ripped from him and turned into something tangible. At first, they had just lain there like ordinary matter. After a while – five hours and fourteen minutes, according to Yelmalis – the thistles had somehow lost their substance. They had not wilted, but had become partially transparent and unreal. Lereia's fingers had simply grasped through them, almost as if they were ghost flowers. The same thing had happened to the sand. The process continued, with the thistles and sand becoming increasingly immaterial and transparent. The parts of the materialized soul were probably dematerializing again in order to reunite with the plane itself. At least, that was how Yelmalis had put it in his academic way. Now the wizard sat on one of the pallets, restlessly tapping his foot. He had considered making a leap to the future to see if anything would change about their situation within the next twelve hours. But she had stopped him. She understood his urge to do so. It was certainly difficult not to time travel when one was able to. But at the moment, time travel would not change their situation, and he should save his gift for a more critical moment, should one arise.

“I've been thinking about all this for quite a while now,” Lereia interrupted her thoughts. “And I don't see the point of it. How long have we been here without anyone showing any interest in us? Almost three days?”

“That's true.” Yelmalis nodded slowly. “So I assume that Red Shroud is up to something. Maybe extorting the others.”

Lereia sighed. “Extortion, yes ... that would be a possibility. We're not a bad bargaining chip. But that would mean she knows more about us.”

“I fear so,” Garush growled. “It drives me crazy that we know nothing about the fate of the others. Tarik might be able to reach us through a dream. But apparently he hasn't tried yet ... Strange, why not? Could something have happened to the others?”

“Maybe because we're not getting enough sleep?” Lereia speculated.

Yelmalis nodded. “Yes, that would be my guess too. None of us has slept more than two or three hours straight so far. That will make it difficult for Tarik to reach us through one of our dreams.”

“That's probably true,” Lereia replied. “I just hope the others don't make any concessions. And our factols neither.”

Garush eyed the young woman thoughtfully. “Ambar might,” she remarked. When Lereia looked at her in surprise, she grinned a little. “I've read SIGIS.”

“Oh, that ... weird reporter at the exhibition opening.” The weretigress looked uncomfortable. “Terrible, these social entanglements. I'm not used to such things.”

Yelmalis smiled. “There's a lot of talk in Sigil. And about everything.”

“I've noticed that too,” Lereia replied with a sigh. “It creates the strangest impressions.”

Garush examined the young woman inquiringly. Lereia seemed abashed by the subject and also a little sad, which added to the half-orc's suspicion that there might be more between her and Ambar Vergrove than was customary between a factol and a faction member. However, she decided not to comment further on the matter so as not to embarrass Lereia.

The young woman glanced briefly at her hand. She wore a ring set with a purple stone. But quickly, she looked at Garush again. “There's a third group besides you and us, isn't there? Consisting of four people?” It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. “I have my suspicions about who the four are, but I think you know?”

The amazon played along and nodded. “We had dealings with them once or twice. Factol Mallin had some kind of arrangement with Skall, a kind of information exchange. But I haven’t heard anything for a while, so I don’t know if it’s still a thing.”

“Skall.” Lereia twisted the corner of her mouth. “Creepy.”

“He really is,” Garush admitted candidly. “It's best to stay away from powerful liches. So you know about the other four?”

The weretigress nodded. “I deduced their identities from their missing soul signatures at the time. But we only met them once or twice, so it's just an assumption. I'm guessing Zamakis from the Dustmen, the medusa Rakalla from the Doomguard, the minotaur Blackhoof from the Bleakers, and a goblin woman we saw at the Gatehouse once. Maybe a Xaositect?“

Yelmalis nodded as one of his butterflies settled on his lapel. ”Yes, you're right.”

Lereia nodded gratefully, clearly pleased to have her guess confirmed. “I'm gathering all the information I can. But I don't know all the names yet ... I mean, the names in the Prophecy.”

“While we're on that subject, who are your friends?” asked the air genasi. “I mean, their names and gifts.”

Lereia hesitated. “I ... would like to tell you. But after our first meeting with the Mercykillers, we promised each other not to reveal the gifts of the others without their consent. I don't want to destroy that trust. Even though I would love to share it with you.”

In Garush's opinion, it said something for the weretigress that she kept her word, also here in the Abyss. Especially here in the Abyss. She looked over at the air genasi and shook her head. “I told you, Yelmalis, they won't tell us anything. Maybe that's wise of them, maybe we're too open and trusting.”

Lereia smiled weakly. “I'm happy to tell you everything about myself. And the others would probably do the same in this situation, but I can't speak for them.”

Yelmalis shrugged, but didn't seem upset. “I think we’ll find out sooner or later anyway. I believe that the Chosen should know about each other. That’s always been our persuasion, at least of the two of us here and Tarik. But I understand if you feel differently.”

“I feel the same way,” Lereia assured. “But you have to understand that I always keep my word. At least as long as I can.”

“You're in good company with us.” Yelmalis laughed a little. “We follow two lawful factions after all.”

Lereia nodded with a faint smile. “I see, there are the right ones in the Abyss.”

Garush grinned. “The right one in that case would actually be Kiyoshi. Then the Triad of Order would be complete. But that's fine. Say, have you ever wondered what role Sir Lorias and Lady Elyria are playing?”

Thoughtfully, Lereia shook her head. “It seems to me that they have some kind of special status.”

Yelmalis nodded in agreement. “Yes, I got that impression too.”

As so often during the last few days, a heavy silence fell over the three of them when a loud scream was heard from another cell block. Lereia stared at the wall opposite her – then she closed her eyes, but opened them again shortly afterwards and looked cautiously at the door.

“What is it?” Yelmalis asked quietly.

“I was trying to detect soul signatures,” the young woman explained. “But apparently my gift is limited in range. I can only sense you and the woman in the other cell.”

Yelmalis also glanced briefly at the barred door. “So you have to see someone to sense their soul signature?”

“Apparently. I tried to sense the signatures of our friends to see if they were still here. There was nothing. Then I concentrated on other souls whose signatures I had sensed in Broken Reach.

Also nothing. Although I don't know whether it is visual contact ... Wait ...“ She got up from her cot and went over to Garush, where she stood behind the wall so that she could no longer see Darlynna in the other cell. After a few seconds, she nodded. ”Yes, I can still sense her signature ... a labelia.” Garush looked at her questioningly, and Lereia smiled a little. “It’s a small red flower with a tangy-sweet scent. Hmm, so it’s not just visual contact.”

Garush shrugged. As fascinating as Lereia's gift was, and as effective as the young woman had used it against the cambion, the amazon wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It seemed as elusive and complicated to her as Yelmalis' time hopping or Tarik's confusing dreams.

But Lereia blinked briefly and continued to stare at the wall behind which was Darlynna's cell. She took a deep breath and then closed her eyes as if concentrating intensely on something. When she lifted her eyelids again, she smiled a little. “Yelmalis,” she said softly. “How is Darlynna?”

The air genasi stood up and glanced through the bars. “I think she's fallen asleep. Thank goodness, she was completely exhausted. Did you have something to do with that?”

“Perhaps ...” Lereia nodded thoughtfully. “I was able to touch the woman's soul very gently, on a spiritual level. That apparently calmed her and she was able to fall asleep.”

“That sounds very nice,” Yelmalis said. “And more pleasant than what you did to the cambion.”

Garush grinned broadly and Lereia had to laugh a little. “That's true. But ... the sleep. I mean, if I can calm one of you and you fall into a deep, restful sleep, then ... Maybe Tarik is just waiting for an opportunity.”

Yelmalis nodded immediately. “Yes, an exciting thought!”

Garush felt a fundamental skepticism. “I don’t like anyone messing with my soul,” she stated emphatically. “I’ve told Tarik many times not to do that.”

“I respect that,” Lereia said seriously. “I just thought that if Tarik wants to contact you, I might be able to make it easier for him.”

Yelmalis was less defensive. “I would be willing to try. First of all, it didn’t seem unpleasant, and secondly, I wouldn’t mind getting some sleep.”

“I just tried it for the first time,” Lereia admitted. “But I think I’ve got control over whether I grasp a soul or not.”

Yelmalis raised his eyebrows and couldn’t hide a brief grin. “I certainly hope so.”

Garush shook her head. She herself had no desire for such soul experiments, sleep, dreams, and Tarik or not. She wasn't exactly thrilled that Yelmalis was about to try it either. On the other hand, it might actually be an opportunity and the air genasi was a grown man who made his own decisions. Even if she didn't always like them, she reminded herself that she had promised not to constantly treat him like a child. So she sat down on one of the pallets and just watched.

“I don't know if I need to concentrate on calming your soul the whole time,” Lereia said to Yelmalis. “And if so, how long I can do it. But it might be worth a try.”

The wizard smiled. “Once I fall asleep, hopefully it will be deep, long and restful. All right.“ He lay down on one of the cots. ”Do I have to do anything?“

”Hmm.“ A little helpless, Lereia shrugged her shoulders. ”I would say close your eyes and try to relax. Think of something nice. And should you feel anything unpleasant, tell me immediately.”

Yelmalis nodded and then slowly closed his eyes. While Garush watched the scene alertly and a little tensely, Lereia took a deep breath, sat down on the third cot and concentrated. The butterflies that always surrounded Yelmalis, currently three in number, floated gently around him. After a short time, they fluttered more slowly, and while their wings had previously been dark blue, almost black, they now lightened, turning azure blue, then light blue ... One of the butterflies settled on Yelmalis' belt, the second on his hand. Lereia breathed calmly and evenly, apparently deeply rapt in concentration. The butterflies turned a delicate light blue, then finally their wings were white ... When the last one settled on the air genasi's collar, Yelmalis had fallen asleep. It didn't seem as if anything negative had happened.

“Hm.” Garush hummed softly and gave Lereia an appreciative look.

The young woman took a deep breath, twirled a strand of hair back and looked a little exhausted, but at the same time calm and, for the moment, almost happy. “Now it's up to Tarik,” she said quietly.

Garush nodded. “Then let's hope our Dreamer can reach him. He has never done that across planes before. So I don't know if it will work.”

“If not, at least Yelmalis has found a peaceful sleep,” Lereia said confidently. “And we have tried something.”

The amazon grunted in agreement. “True. That's worth something too.”

Chapter Text

“Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.”

Hippokratos, Olympian healer

Third Hive Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Terrance stood at the window of his quarters and looked out over the Athar's Circle. The destroyed city blocks, silent witnesses to the Lady's long past wrath, surrounded the Shattered Temple like memorials and guardians at the same time. All day long, the sky had been the dark gray color of wet stone. Thin, low-hanging shreds of clouds had sailed through the Ring, like cobwebs caught by a sudden gust of wind. Under the frequent rain showers, the City of Doors had seemed cool and dreary. A normal day, in other words. Now darkness had fallen over the Ring, and at this time of day Terrance would usually be sitting in front of his fireplace with a book and a glass of wine. But today he was expecting a visitor, his longtime friend Elyria. The lupinal was a priestess of Mishakal and, like him, had long been active in her monastery Conclave Fidelis in Elysium. Terrance knew her from there; she had been the archivist of the Conclave when he had been patriarch. The memory of Elyria was like a warm ray of sunshine breaking through the gloomy fog of Terrance's thoughts. He could still see her in his mind's eye, weeding the medicinal herb beds in the peaceful gardens of the Conclave. He had helped her and they had talked. Rarely about their faith or Mishakal's principles. They had agreed on those anyway, back then. No, they had exchanged information about various medicinal plants and potion recipes, about books and stories, about life itself ... Now, many years later, he stood here, in the heart of the Shattered Temple, Factol of the Athar, a man who questioned the legitimacy of the gods. And yet, the warmth of their friendship had endured all these years, a silent promise that some bonds ran deeper than the gulf between ideologies. A soft knock jolted him out of his thoughts.

Jaya, his right hand in clerical matters and like a daughter to him, opened the door to his chamber when he gave the permission to enter. “Factol,” she said, curtsying slightly. She usually observed this remnant of etiquette even in familiar company, although he did not expect it. “You have a visitor.”

Behind Jaya, Elyria entered the room. Her silver-gray fur turned bright white at her throat, and she wore an elaborately embroidered dress in shades of turquoise and blue. A silver and malachite tiara adorned her forehead. “Greetings, Terrance,” she said in a warm voice. The sparkle in her emerald-green eyes seemed to dispel the evening shadows that had crept into the factol's chambers.

“Elyria,” Terrance replied happily. He embraced her warmly, a gesture of familiarity he otherwise shared only with Ambar and occasionally with Jaya. “It's good to see you.”

“I'm also glad to see you, my friend,” said Elyria, her gaze wandering briefly around the room.

Even though they usually met outside the Shattered Temple, this wasn't her first time here. She was therefore familiar with the sight of the desecrated religious artifacts that adorned Terrance's chambers, but she confidently ignored them. It was one of the rare moments when Terrance felt a brief sting of guilt about the furnishings. But he quickly shook off these feelings. The friendship between a priestess of Mishakal and the Factol of the Athar could not be entirely without rough patches. He motioned to Elyria and Jaya to take a seat in the armchairs in front of the fireplace. The lupinal sat down while Jaya went to the nearby shelf to fetch a carafe of water and a bottle of Bytopian white wine. As she placed six glasses on a tray and uncorked the wine, Terrance sat down next to Elyria and eyed her thoughtfully. She had been a good friend for many years, but her role as Keeper in the Ring Prophecy was still new to him - and to herself as well. After the fateful proclamation of the Prophecy, they had met again in private and, of course, discussed the mysterious verse that Elyria had revealed to him personally: Who called you to inherit the seal? In darkness you shall twist and turn, and sighing for a light to reveal, grow deaf, mute and blind as you yearn! Knowledge begins with death's ordeal. The end is fading in light in return. However, they had agreed that there was little point in racking their brains over it. They simply knew too little to be able to draw any meaningful conclusions from the mysterious text.

But Elyria had told him a little about her and Sir Lorias' role in the Prophecy. The gift of Keeper and Proclaimer was apparently difficult even for the two of them to explain and understand. It began with the fact that it was the only ability shared by two people. When the two learned something, Elyria had explained to Terrance, it was as if long-hidden memories were reawakened. At first, this knowledge existed only in Elyria's mind where it seemed to lie hidden and secret, guarded and protected. She knew secrets such as the Prophecy, but could not articulate or express them. Through a mental connection that existed between the Keeper and the Proclaimer since the awakening of their gifts, Sir Lorias was able to put this knowledge into words after it had awakened. Only then Elyria could also express what she had already known in her mind. This had happened when they had read a part of the Ring Prophecy for the first time. Suddenly, the knowledge of the entire Prophecy had awakened in Elyria. This had been all the more confusing because the two had only met by chance in a library in the City of the Star, where they had stumbled upon the fragment of the Prophecy. Elyria seemed to sense Terrance's thoughts, for she smiled knowingly as he looked at her. He cleared his throat apologetically, but she waved it off. Apparently, she understood the questions running through his mind all too well. Finally, Jaya returned to the fireplace, set down the tray with wine and water, and sat down as well.

Elyria reached for a leather shoulder bag with a flap shaped like a large ginkgo leaf. “You asked me for something,” she said to Terrance.

He nodded seriously. “You brought it?”

“Indeed.” She took a small object out of the bag and handed it to Terrance.

It was something thin and narrow, wrapped in soft, light-colored fabric. The Athar's factol took the package and opened it carefully. Inside was a bundle of dried stems with pale blue flowers. The petals were delicate and translucent, exuding a light, sweet fragrance. Terrance nodded gently. Elysian Moonweed. This plant was only to be found on the layer Amoria, so he had asked Elyria to bring him a few of the flowers to Sigil. Jaya had apparently recognized the flowers as well, but he hadn't told her what he needed them for. She probably assumed that it was nothing more than the routine brewing of a potion, of which Terrance made many, even now as a factol. Elyria seemed to suspect that there was a little more to it, but she was discreet enough not to ask any questions. Someday, Terrance might tell her what he needed the Moonweed for on this particular day. But for now, it had to remain a well-kept secret.

So he wrapped the blue flowers in the cloth again and placed them on the table next to his wine glass. “Thank you, Elyria. Did you get them from ...?”

She nodded gently. “From the gardens of the Conclave Fidelis. Cebulon sends his regards, by the way. He hopes you are well.”

“Thank you.” Terrance smiled warmly. “Please give him my warmest regards as well. The gardens of the Conclave are a part of my past that I remember fondly – just as the conversations I had with him.”

There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the fireplace.

Elyria gazed thoughtfully into the flames, then turned her gaze back to Terrance. “Do you miss Elysium?” she asked gently. “Do you miss the peace and certainty we had there?”

Terrance was silent for a long time. He thought of the green hills surrounding the Conclave, the balmy winds, the scent of Amorian wild roses. He thought of his friendship with Elyria and Cebulon and the feeling of unshakeable belonging. “Yes,” he said finally. “I miss it. Sometimes very much. But I can't go back, Elyria. I have chosen my path. And I don't regret choosing it.“

Elyria nodded. ”I understand,“ she said. ”I always include you in my prayers, Terrance. I hope you don't take offense. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something else besides the Prophecy that's bothering you, my friend.”

He sighed. “You know me too well. To be honest, it's about Jana. I'm ... worried about her.”

Elyria poured herself a glass of white wine and eyed Terrance intently. She knew about the recent events concerning Jana: that she had desecrated the Io Shrine and that she had had certain difficulties in her relationship with the other Chosen since she had revealed that she didn't trust them. The disagreement about how to proceed immediately after the capture of Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush had not been helpful either.

The lupinal nodded thoughtfully. “Her mind is in turmoil. But I believe, my friend, that you have experience in these matters.” Her gaze wandered over to Jaya, an apologetic expression in her green eyes.

But Jaya only smiled. She had made peace with her past and was not ashamed to talk about it openly. “When I came to Sigil back then,” she replied, “I was in a state that certainly justified putting me in the Gatehouse. Terrance had heard about me through one of our athaons who had met me in the Outlands. He visited me, wanting to see what kind of desperate young woman I was and whether the Athar's philosophy could help me. At first I was suspicious and withdrawn, but then I opened up more and more. For half a year, Terrance visited me every day, talked to me ... and slowly my mind became clearer again. In the end, I was able to leave the Gatehouse and follow him to the Temple.” She smiled warmly at the factol, her eyes showing the trust and affection that spoke of the deep, trusting bond they had developed since then.

Terrance returned her smile. “Today, Jaya is a capable priestess of the Great Unknown with firm faith and a strong mind, even my right hand in clerical matters. And yet ...” He sighed and became more serious. “And yet, here I sit again with a young woman whose mind is as confused and dark as Jaya's was back then. I've been observing Jana for a while now. She has told me some things about her past, but she has also kept some things to herself. Especially the dark things. She's an unusual young woman, not always easy to get along with. But she's grown dear to my heart, and I can see that talking alone may not help.“

Elyria nodded understandingly. ”What does Jana herself say about it?”

“She says she's fine. Better than she has been in a long time. She says the path ahead of her is clear, she feels liberated and full of devotion.”

Terrance saw Jaya shake her head at his words. Yes, as someone whose mind had once been in a very dark place, she knew only too well that the sorceress was deluding herself.

Elyria smiled gently, though she too looked concerned. “I think there is a lot of darkness in Jana's mind and a lot of confusion. It seems more like she is repressing it.”

“That's what I told her.” Terrance nodded. “She asked what would be wrong with repression if it gives her peace. I told her that repression only gives the illusion of peace, but not real peace. That it just blocks things out. But eventually, they will inevitably come back, and then they will be even angrier and more powerful, pulling one down to a dark place.”

Elyria examined him seriously with her emerald green eyes. She knew he was speaking from personal experience - and he was aware that she knew. The path that had led him from the Conclave Fidelis to the Shattered Temple had been long, winding and not without pain. However, his longtime friend was tactful enough not to bring it up.

“Terrible experiences shape the minds of mortals and immortals alike,” she replied instead. “Sometimes the soul heals - and sometimes it doesn't. But just like a broken body, a broken soul must be cured for the pain to go away.”

“We are all shaped by our journey,” Terrance agreed. “But Jana is damaged. She doesn't have scars. She has open wounds.”

Elyria set down her wine glass almost silently. “There are ways to face the hidden horrors that lurk in the mind and soul. And I know that you, my friend, are not only a masterful healer of physical ailments. You also know a lot about curing the soul.“

”I offered to help her,“ Terrance explained. ”But she believes it is her destiny to bear these wounds. She said, she is not just any person, she is the Prophet. She thinks it is the will of the Great Unknown.”

The lupinal sighed. As a priestess of a goddess of healing, it always saddened her when someone refused to accept the prospect of recovery. It was a sentiment Terrance shared, even now as factol of the Athar.

“I'm glad she finally recognizes her role in the Prophecy,” Elyria said. “You said it was a difficult path. But that makes it all the more important that her soul is not wounded and her mind is not confused.”

“She thinks it may be the pain that enables her to see certain things,” Terrance replied seriously.

“As a priestess of a goddess of healing, I doubt that.” Elyria's tone was more emphatic and energetic than usual.

Terrance nodded in agreement. “And as a man who remains committed to the principle of curing the body and the soul, I also have my doubts.”

“So she thinks her condition is the will of the Great Unknown,” Jaya said. “Forgive me for asking, Factol, but why does she believe she knows the will of the Great Unknown better than you? And if she trusts so much in the power of the Great Unknown, why does she have so little confidence in the high priest of the Great Unknown?”

Terrance smiled a little. Jaya's words left no doubt that Jana's lack of confidence in his healing arts confused the young woman. But he knew there was more to it than that. “I suspect the core problem is something else,” he explained. “She doesn't want to remember all the things she has repressed.”

“But remembering is the path to healing,” Elyria stated calmly. “We cannot escape our past. It catches up with us eventually, sometimes sooner, sometimes later. We can only try to face it and accept what happened. Lorias and I ... we are learning that right now.”

Jaya eyed the lupinal sympathetically. “Terrance told me what happened to Sir Lorias. I'm so sorry, Elyria. I ... can't even imagine what it must be like.”

The priestess of Mishakal nodded, and although she was clearly trying to appear confident, it was obvious that Sir Lorias' accidental transformation into an undead was weighing heavily on her. “It's not easy for him. For the past five months, he's been trying to come to terms with his ... condition. Some days are better than others. But I'm trying to be there for him and give him the strength to keep going. To make his peace with it, if that's even possible.”

Comfortingly, Terrance placed a hand on her arm. “Jaya is right, we can't imagine what Sir Lorias is going through. And since you two are close, you too. But I'm sure he'll get through this difficult situation, especially as you are by his side.”

Elyria gave him a grateful smile. “I hope I can be helpful. The fact that his god Nobanion has not abandoned him, that he is still a paladin of Lord Firemane, also gives him strength. I know this isn't necessarily the right place for such a remark ... but that's how it is.“ She made an apologetic gesture.

”No, it's fine.“ Terrance smiled reassuringly. ”I can handle it. Just like you can handle the interior design here. Otherwise, our friendship wouldn't have lasted this long. As for Jana ... There's too much fear in her life. You can face your fears and take away their power, but it's easier when you don't have to do it alone. I promised her she wouldn't have to do this all on her own. I think she will open up, but she needs a little more time.”

“No one can argue with that,” Elyria replied. “When the time comes, I'm sure you will be there for her just as I am for Lorias. And you will be able to help her.”

“Thank you for your kind words, dear friend,” said Terrance. “I hope so.”

The rest of the evening passed with conversations on other topics, such as the political situation in the gate town of Excelsior, the new exhibition of the medusa Magnum Opus at the Musée Arcane, and Sangariel, the newest of the four companions of Lebes, the lammasu mayor of Heart's Faith on Celestia. But Terrance's gaze kept wandering to the moonweed lying on the table. He hoped with all his heart that it would serve its purpose.

Chapter Text

“Who is the center of the multiverse? Me. You. Each of us.”

Factol Darius

Third Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Dilae was on her way to the Hall of Speakers together with Bria, the spokeswoman of the Free League. They wanted to meet with the other factols and the remaining Chosen of their group to decide who should accompany Sarin to the fateful kiss. The kiss that Dilae had been absolutely certain Sarin would never agree to. As a member of the Free League, she had to admit to not having a particularly high opinion of the Hardheads due to their constant friction with the Harmonium. Nevertheless, she shared the view of most of Sigil's inhabitants that Sarin was a man with a certain sense of honor. Even if one did not agree with his philosophy or rejected his convictions, he enjoyed a reputation in the City of Doors for being neither corrupt nor fanatic. Dilae had therefore assumed that Sarin would try to free the prisoners. But kiss the mistress of Broken Reach? Never, she would have said. She would have staked her life on it that the factol of the Harmonium would never agree to such an outrageous demand. But then Mallin and Hashkar had returned from the meeting in the Great Gymnasium and reported that Sarin would do just that. Dilae had been deeply astonished - and, despite her relief, also a little concerned. Sarin was married and had nine children. Not only did this kiss jeopardize his position as factol and his status as a paladin, but his family could also suffer as a result. The factol of the Harmonium had therefore thoroughly risen in her esteem, and Bria had probably felt the same way.

Once it was clear that, besides the other Chosen, Sarin would be taking his wife Faith and the factols Ambar, Terrance and Mallin with him, there was one place left, and it had to be decided who would take it. On their way to the Hall of Speakers, where they planned to discuss it, Dilae and Bria stopped at Yelmalis' apartment and picked up the monodrone F-45. The air genasi had left his familiar in Sigil for good reason. Taking a modron to the Abyss would have been downright irresponsible. But although it always insisted it had no feelings, Dilae was sure that F-45 was worried about its master. So she wanted to take it to the meeting so it could see that everything was being done to free Yelmalis, Garush and Lereia - and also so it wouldn't be alone the whole time with nothing to do but assort all the wizard's books … again. So the spherical monodrone now scurried between the two women as they approached the Hall of Speakers.

Bria was dressed in simple, practical clothes, as usual, and wore her wavy, reddish-brown hair loose over her shoulders. For someone in a leadership role, she was a surprisingly calm and quiet woman. Dilae knew that she preferred to inspire others rather than lead them, and let everyone do their own thing as long as they didn't harm anyone else. She usually only abandoned her reserve when she performed as a bard, mostly at the Red Lion Inn. Then there was a fire in her demeanor that she otherwise only showed in one other situation: when she spoke to her people and explained the injustices of the faction system. Dilae had always admired Bria for her commitment and shared her convictions. The fact that they were now working so closely with the very factions they had so often criticized was not without a certain irony, as both women were aware. But the mysterious Ring Prophecy and the special situation of their friends seemed to leave them little choice at the moment.

After a while, they reached the Hall of Speakers. The faction headquarters of the Signers was an oval, dome-shaped building made of bluish marble. Atop of it, an approximately hundred-foot-high spire of gold and brass clearly indicated where the Council of Factions gathered, where the laws of Sigil were discussed and decided. As a light drizzle began to fall, Dilae, Bria and F-45 made their way to the covered arcade that surrounded the Hall of Speakers. It offered shelter from Sigil's often unpredictable weather and led directly to the entrance of the hall. A colorful crowd bustled beneath the arcades, numerous inhabitants of Sigil who were either on their way to the Hall of Speakers or simply seeking shelter from the rain. Dilae noticed a githzerai standing silently by one of the columns, grimly watching an illithid float past. Here in the City of Doors, they were both allowed to stay and had to accept each other without resorting to violence. But that didn't mean that all hostilities had been resolved. Many conflicts were simply carried out more covertly. A little further on, a tiefling with green hair was trying to sell a book about the joys of chaos to an unsettled quadrone. Dilae smiled, but pulled F-45 protectively behind her, just in case the overzealous tiefling got the idea that Yelmalis' familiar might be a potential customer. The large gate of the faction headquarters, made of ebony and star silver, stood open, as it usually did between the First and Last Light.

When they entered, they found themselves in the spacious entrance hall along with many other residents. It was decorated with statues of former Signer factols, and a huge compass slowly rotated above them on the ceiling. The symbols of all the official factions, some of the more influential sects and the most important guilds of Sigil were depicted on it, and the needle moved steadily from one to the next. Tarik had once explained that this was meant to symbolize that all interests and philosophies were allowed to be heard in the Hall of Speakers. At the time, Dilae had of course been unable to refrain from pointing out that the symbol of the Free League was not depicted on the compass. It would be, if the League could bring itself to appoint a factol, the tiefling had replied with a laugh. Never, Dilae had retorted, laughing just as heartily. She sighed softly. Those had been happier times. In the center of the entrance hall, a kenku was trying to imitate the voice of Factol Darius, but a grumpy dwarf growled at her to give it a miss. In another corner, an argument between two minotaurs over the correct interpretation of a legal text seemed to have escalated, culminating in loud snorting and hoof stomping. Other visitors tried to calm the two wranglers, but the minotaurs were too heated to listen. Dilae exchanged a quick glance with Bria and couldn't help but smile. Same old in the City of Doors.

From the entrance hall, the two women and the monodrone turned into a wide corridor. On the walls hung paintings and tapestries depicting various famous debates and speeches that had taken place in the Signers' headquarters. Bria approached one of the doors leading off the long hallway with determination, knocked and then opened it quietly. As they entered, Dilae recognized their hostess, Factol Darius, who was already present. She had brown skin and gray eyes, but her hair was hidden under a headdress decorated with a fine veil. Dilae could not remember ever seeing the Signer's factol without it. Darius nodded to the three of them in a friendly manner as they entered. She did not have the energetic or attention-grabbing charisma that was characteristic of many other factols, but rather a gentle, less focused demeanor. Nevertheless, she always managed to hold the attention of others. Something in the fleeting moments of steadiness in her gaze and in the deliberate grace of her movements commanded respect. During previous meetings, Dilae had noticed that Darius was less egocentric than many members of her faction. Her main goal seemed to be a noble one: to promote the tolerance of the Sign of One for the greatest possible diversity in Sigil's society while improving the empathic abilities of the faction members. This was probably why Bria, out of all the factols in their small alliance, got along best with Darius.

The two women greeted each other warmly, and Dilae curtsied politely before nodding to Tarik, who was sitting next to his factol. He was dressed in light, bright robes in the Vedic style of his homeland Tharpura, and his red eyes showed concern and tension. Nevertheless, he smiled happily at Dilae when she entered. Next to Darius sat Rowan Darkwood, the factol of the Fated. He had to be between fifty and sixty years old, but Dilae often found it difficult to estimate the age of humans. In any case, his beard and shoulder-length hair had already grayed. The man who was often referred to as simply the Duke in Sigil was relatively tall and elegantly dressed in a long coat with fur trim on the collar and sleeves. Although the Fated and the Free League were politically close, there was always something about the Duke that made Dilae uncomfortable. He could be charming and charismatic - when he wanted to be. But something warned the dark elf that this man was more dangerous than he appeared. Rowan Darkwood was considered very ambitious and successful, but also brusque and undiplomatic. He had a fiery temper and seemed to care little about who he offended. Dilae had the impression that he was obsessed with success and power, a trait she neither understood nor appreciated. Next to the Duke sat Sekhemkare, not dressed in a waistcoat and frock coat that day, but in a green and red robe embroidered with intricate patterns. He greeted Bria with a bow and then nodded to Dilae. The dark elf had come to recognize the repeated darting of his forked tongue as a sign of tension.

Bria let her gaze wander briefly around the room. “We're still waiting for Mallin and Hashkar, I see?”

“As unusual as it is for the Free League to arrive before the Guvners,” Darkwood remarked amusedly. “But yes, that's how it is.”

However, they did not have to wait long, for soon there was a knock at the door – quite loud and energetic, Dilae thought. She therefore assumed that it was Mallin who had knocked.

“Come in,” Darius said with the slightest hint of amusement. Like everyone else in the room, she knew Mallin's gruff manner all too well, but hardly anyone was as good at bouncing it off as she was.

When the door was opened more vigorously than necessary, the factol of the Mercykillers entered, closely followed by his colleague from the Guvners. Mallin was very tall for an aasimar of human descent. At over six and a half feet, he towered over most humans. He was also very broad-shouldered, which was emphasized by his black armor. This and the scars that ran across his face made him a very impressive - and intimidating - sight. His hair was black with only a few gray strands, although he was certainly over fifty. The golden glow of his eyes was the only sign of his celestial heritage.

In striking contrast to Mallin's appearance was Factol Hashkar, who walked beside him. The scholar was relatively small even for a dwarf, his hair and long beard snow-white. He was dressed in a noble blue robe and seemed a little absent-minded and distracted - perhaps even more so than usual on this day. But Dilae knew that while Hashkar's appearance was rather modest, his intellect was all the more remarkable. He seemed to absorb information like a sponge, and his extraordinary knowledge in a wide variety of disciplines had quickly elevated him in the ranks of his faction over a century ago. Hashkar spent almost all of his time either reading or teaching. He often gave lectures and readings, both for members of the faction and for the general public. After the factols of the Mercykillers and Guvners had arrived, everyone took a seat around the round table in the middle of the room. Only F-45 remained standing – the design of monodrones was not particularly suited for chairs.

“So let's begin,” Darius opened the conversation. “I think everyone here is aware of the most important issues. Our esteemed colleagues Hashkar and Mallin were in the Great Gymnasium, consulting with the other group. And factol Mallin met again with Sarin last night, who informed him of the details of the meeting with Red Shroud. Now we must decide who among us, besides Mallin, should participate in this important and dangerous mission.”

“Right,” agreed Bria. “But first, I have another point to make, if I may.” She turned to Tarik, who was sitting next to Darius. “I wanted to ask if it's possible for you to contact our people in the Abyss by sending them a message through a dream?”

The tiefling nodded gently. “I can indeed reach others in their dreams, but only if they sleep long enough to have a suitable dream. Yes, and that ... seems to have been a problem so far.”

Dilae sighed. “I can well understand that they find little sleep.”

“We all can,” Bria concurred. “Still, we must hope. There are a few things they should know. Could you try to tell them, Tarik?”

“In principle, yes,” the tiefling replied. “But I'm not sure how exactly I can convey it ... if I can. I've never tried it across planes before.”

“We understand,” Darius reassured him in her own encouraging way - and with a reproachful glance at Rowan Darkwood, who had put on a less than enthusiastic expression. “For now, it's important that they know we haven't forgotten them. They should also learn what Red Shroud is up to and what purpose they serve.”

“I could probably convey that through a dream image,” Tarik said.

“Good.” Mallin nodded with satisfaction. “Let them know that they should be well rested and that there may be an attack in which they will need to use their gifts. But under no circumstances should they take any action on their own.”

Tarik looked a little overwhelmed and thought for a while, then nodded slowly. “I ... will try. Unfortunately, it's not as easy as writing a letter. Dreams work through images and metaphors, which makes everything a little more difficult. Besides, it will only work with Yelmalis or Garush. That's because I don't know Lereia well enough. I need either a close connection to a person or a very personal item to make contact through a dream.“

Tarik's explanation was clearly too long to Mallin's taste and he waved it off impatiently. ”They also need the time and place of the meeting.”

The tiefling looked at the factol of the Mercykillers like an ore merchant at the Great Bazaar would look at a customer who ordered black mithral. “Um ... this is getting very specific. Honestly, my lord ... I don't think I can convey all that information via a dream. And even if I could, I don't know whether the dreamer would understand it. I always try to explain that to Yelmalis, too. That this is not some kind of science, but something intuitive.“

Tarik looked a little desperate at the demands being put on him, and Dilae gave him a comforting look.

”Hmm, yes, intuitive ...“ Hashkar slowly stroked his white beard. ”Well, we don't want to ask for the impossible.”

“Right,” Darius agreed, giving their colleague from the Mercykillers a warning look. “Tarik is doing what he can. But some things may be beyond his capabilities.”

“All right,” Mallin grumbled. “I'm just saying what I think is important and hoping that as much as possible will reach our people.”

Tarik nodded cautiously. “As I said, I’ll try, of course. If I can reach Yelmalis or Garush, I can definitely convey something. I hope they will finally sleep down there.” He laughed briefly, but it sounded a little desperate.

“An air genasi can go about 78 hours without sleep before serious impairment sets in,” F-45 explained matter-of-factly. “For half-orcs, the figure is about 84 hours. Since Lereia is a weretigress and tigers need a lot of sleep, we can probably assume she can stay awake only 48 hours. However, master Tarik said that he would not be able to reach Lereia through a dream. The best option is therefore probably Yelmalis, and 89 hours and 32 minutes have now passed since their capture. This suggests that master Yelmalis must and will sleep very soon, or is already doing so.”

While Tarik and Darius smiled at the monodrone's remarks and Hashkar nodded approvingly, Rowan Darkwood raised his eyebrows in slight annoyance. “Why exactly did you bring the modron here?” he asked, looking at Dilae and Bria.

“But I think that was important information, my lord,” Dilae dared to object.

“I agree,” Hashkar supported her. “I'm sure Tarik will be able to reach Yelmalis through a dream and convey at least some of the information we consider important and relevant. However, so that he can concentrate on sending this dream as soon as possible, we should now turn to the second, no less urgent question: Who from this group should accompany our esteemed colleague Sarin on the dangerous mission into the realm of the naga goddess Shekinester?“

”As far as that's concerned, I think our group should be more involved,“ Bria explained. ”Especially since two of the hostages come from our ranks.”

To Dilae's surprise, it was Rowan Darkwood who shook his head defensively. “Under normal circumstances, I would also complain that everyone from the other group is allowed to participate and only two persons from ours. But since it is Factol Sarin who has to kiss the demoness, I think it's only fair. To each their own, as we say in my faction. Sarin has taken the decisional power in this matter and no one has challenged him. So I suppose he deserves it.“

Darius smiled. ”I must admit that I don't always understand your faction's philosophy right away,” she said diplomatically. “But in this case, I agree with you. So there will be one more person from this group to accompany Sarin tomorrow. Since our esteemed colleague Mallin from the circle of factols is coming along, we should also send one of the Chosen. Any objections?”

A general shaking of heads signaled that no one objected.

“Then the next question is who is best suited for the mission,” Mallin explained in his direct manner. “Tarik's psionic abilities are certainly useful, but his gift will be less effective in combat – no offense.”

“None taken,” the tiefling replied. “In fact, the gifts of Garush or Yelmalis would be better suited for combat. I care deeply about both of them, but it's a rather dangerous mission. I'm also unsure whether I would be the best choice.“

Dilae smiled warmly at him. ”Everyone has those doubts, believe me.”

She had to admit to herself that Sekhemkare didn't seem to harbor such doubts, but Mallin turned to her first.

“Dilae, your skills as a cleric and bard are certainly valuable. However, with Terrance and Lady Faith, we already have two extremely powerful priests, and with Sarin, Lady Morânia and myself, we have three paladins. And Ambar is a bard of considerable potential, even if I would never admit it to him. That leaves your gift. How do you assess it yourself? How useful would it be for the mission?“

Dilae swayed her head. ”I must admit, I'm not sure. I perceive the Music of Existence – the special melody of certain places. Through my dance, I can influence these places to a certain extent and also create illusions that become real for a certain time.”

“Hmm.” Rowan Darkwood leaned back in his chair. “That could be helpful in some situations. But can you use it quickly and effectively enough in combat?”

“That is a good and valid question, my lord,” Dilae admitted. “And I must confess, I am not sure.”

Hashkar now turned his gaze to the yuan-ti. “Sekhemkare, you have the ability to make contact with ... soul fragments, if I understand correctly. Fragments that, for whatever reason, wander around and are often old or powerful or both.”

The yuan-ti nodded leisurely, looking a little like a snake hanging from a branch and swaying back and forth. “You have described that correctly, Factol. I have already made contact with a few of these soul shreds, but I cannot say how many more there may be.”

Bria nodded, clearly interested. “And can you talk to them as you would to a living, thinking being? Or are they no longer capable of communicating in this way?”

“I can make contact with these soul shreds and connect with them,” Sekhemkare explained. “Sometimes this gives me abilities, physical or mental. Other times, I gain insights into the knowledge of that soul. But it's always different and difficult to predict and control. For example, being able to walk on water has proven very useful. And I also learned about the sword in Broken Reach from a soul shred.“

”Can you deliberately locate such a soul fragment?” Darius asked.

The yuan-ti nodded. “Among those I know, I can by now do so specifically, yes.”

“I vote for Sekhemkare to accompany me,” Mallin declared without further ado. “He can control his gift well, it is versatile and also useful in combat. Besides, he is a warlock and our arcane potential is less developed than the clerical.”

“I agree with that assessment,” said Rowan Darkwood.

Dilae was not surprised that the Duke was only too happy to send his own Chosen on the mission. But she had to admit that a lot spoke in Sekhemkare's favor. Hashkar and Darius seemed to concur, as they nodded in approval. Bria glanced briefly at Dilae, as if to be sure that she agreed with the decision. The dark elf nodded. She had confidence in Sekhemkare and his abilities.

“Good,” said Bria. “We agree as well. Sekhemkare shall accompany Factol Mallin.”

The yuan-ti's forked tongue darted out between his scaly lips. “Then I will do so. But if I may speak openly, I am not sure that cooperation between so many different factions can be successful in the long run. In this particular situation, though, it probably makes sense.”

Bria sighed. “I'm sorry to say this, but I share Sekhemkare's concerns. Even in a smaller circle, compromises are not always easy to find. But when open hostility between individual factols is added to the mix, it seems almost impossible to work together permanently.”

The bard's statement did not surprise Dilae. The Free League had often struggled to work with the Mercykillers, and now the Harmonium joined in, too. Since Delazar's factolship, tensions between the two factions had grown considerably, and even Juliana and Sarin had not been able to completely smooth the waters.

Rowan Darkwood nodded contentedly. “I am pleased to meet another realistic person. I am even certain that there will be problems in the long run.”

His remark was probably aimed more at the Sensates – his hostility towards Erin Montgomery was well known. But the Fated and the Harmonium were not exactly on friendly terms either. Dilae sighed quietly and said nothing. As much as she disagreed with the Duke in general, in this case she feared he might be right. The Signers, on the other hand, had differences with the Athar, as the splinter group The Will of the One wanted to resurrect the dead god Aoskar. Factol Darius did not support this movement led by the water genasi Prisine, but Factol Terrance was naturally less than enthusiastic about its mere existence. On the other side, Mercykillers and Sensates did not get along very well either. It was a more than difficult constellation, but the Ring Prophecy suggested that cooperation might be necessary in the future. In the present, it was definitely necessary in order to free Red Shroud's prisoners. And fortunately, everyone seemed to agree that this was the priority for now. Everything else would fall into place eventually – for better or for worse.

Chapter Text

“Trust is earned, not given.”

Celestial proverb

Third Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

When one of the guards outside his office announced Factol Terrance, Sarin felt relieved and tense at the same time. Given what lay ahead of him, he would certainly need the help of such a powerful priest. But if this cleric hadn't been an Athar, he would have felt more comfortable. In addition, the last heated argument between him and Terrance still hung like a shadow over the room. Sarin rose and motioned to the guard to escort the Athar's factol inside. Terrance gave him a serious but not unkind nod, and Sarin bowed slightly. Terrance was, after all, a high priest of good alignment, and he respected that, even if he could not understand his faith - or what he called faith. He asked the Athar’s factol to sit down and took his own seat again. For a few seconds, there was silence in the room.

“Thank you for coming,” Sarin finally said, clearing his throat. “Your support in this matter is very important to me.”

“I am as keen as you are for this matter to go smoothly,” Terrance replied calmly. “A lot could depend on it for everyone involved.”

The factol of the Harmonium hesitated briefly, then said it anyway. “I apologize for my somewhat ... impetuous words in the Great Gymnasium. Even though I cannot understand the path you have chosen, I should not have spoken of betrayal. That was a bit too much.”

Terrance smiled a little, with an openness that seemed sincere. “It's all right. My words weren't particularly diplomatic either. Our factions and philosophies are very different, which doesn't always make cooperation easy. Anyway, I think we've managed quite well so far.”

Sarin nodded with a sigh. “On that note, I'm curious to hear what you have to say. This kiss ... What are the dangers, how exactly does it work and what can you do about it?”

The high priest of the Great Unknown leaned back and interlaced his fingers, as he often did when he was about to give a lengthy explanation. ”The influence exerted by a succubus is mental and spiritual, triggered by a physical component. This means that once the demon has gained influence over a mortal through physical contact, this influence has a mental effect but is anchored in the soul. From then on, the soul bears a kind of demonic mark through which the succubus can reach and manipulate it. In general, however, such a connection cannot be caused by a simple kiss.”

“Yes, that coincides with what I know,” Sarin replied. “And I'm sure you're about to tell me what the catch is.”

“The good news is: I can tell you for sure that a sexual climax is a prerequisite for such a connection to be established.” Terrance explained it as matter-of-factly as if he were describing the architecture of the Shattered Temple. “The bad news is that old and powerful succubi can trigger it with a simple kiss.”

Sarin was quite uncomfortable having such an intimate conversation with Terrance. He wouldn't have been keen to talk about it even with a close friend like Killeen, and what he was hearing made the matter even more precarious. But he had no choice but to face this issue and prepare himself. The factol of the Harmonium briefly buried his face in his hands. “She can trigger it with a kiss?” He was pretty sure he couldn’t really hide his horror as he imagined the situation. “Can I prevent that somehow? Or you?”

“Yes, possibly,” Terrance continued in the same neutral tone. “Firstly, you are a powerful paladin, which offers you a certain protection. But it's no guarantee, if I may be so blunt. You wouldn't be the first paladin to fall victim to such a kiss. Secondly, as far as I am concerned: taking into account Red Shroud’s considerable power, I suspect that I can either protect you from her gaining influence over you. Or I can prevent that this …” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “… happens at all.”

”In this case I would prefer you to protect me from the latter,” Sarin admitted. “I definitely don't want that to happen. Just the thought of it is ...” He felt that he was blushing from embarrassment and fell silent.

“I understand,” Terrance continued calmly. “However, I think it would be best to protect you from both – in case something goes wrong, we should have several options. I had thought of your wife at first, but since you two are connected by a deep emotion, specifically the one that succubi prefer to corrupt, I consider your emotional bond to be a risk in this case.“

”That's what Faith said too,” Sarin muttered.

“I'm glad to agree with a high priestess of Iomedae. Because it shows that, in all objectivity, our assessment is probably correct. So I have another idea.” Terrance took out a vial containing a greenish liquid and placed it on Sarin's desk. “However, it would be a solution that involves some ... final aspects.”

Sarin leaned forward and examined the small glass bottle. “What is this?”

“The highly concentrated extract of the Elysian Moonweed. Certain constituents of this plant are known to strongly reduce the male libido.” A brief smile flitted across his lips. “Clerics and monks in Elysium who have taken vows of chastity like to use it in ... difficult times.”

Sarin briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. He was very grateful for Terrance's reserved, almost cool objectivity on this subject. Nevertheless, he wished he wouldn't have to discuss such matters in the first place. “And it works?” he then asked, just as matter-of-factly.

Terrance nodded. “Yes, it works. I have brewed a very highly concentrated extract for this specific purpose. If you take it shortly before the kiss, Red Shroud should not be able to arouse you so much that ...” Tactfully, he fell silent.

Sarin's dark eyes showed a mixture of exhaustion, skepticism and embarrassment. “Should?”

“There are no guarantees, especially since we don't know exactly what Red Shroud is planning. But in my opinion, it's the best chance we have. Because that way I can concentrate on blocking her influence on your soul should the extract fail. You would be doubly protected.“

Sarin nodded. “That sounds reasonable and is probably the best solution. You mentioned earlier that this extract has final aspects. What do you mean by that?”

Terrance remained as matter-of-fact as he had been since the beginning of the conversation. “The Elysian Moonweed not only lowers the libido, it also reduces fertility. With this high dose ... you would no longer be able to beget children.”

Sarin paused, but then smiled for the first time since the conversation began. “I understand. That is alright. I have nine children, and the twins weren't even planned anymore, so ...“ He paused once more. ”Um ... but it only affects ... fertility?“

Terrance nodded with a smile. ”I can assure you that your marriage - or a significant aspect of it - will remain completely unaffected.”

The paladin nodded, cleared his throat and looked away as he felt that he was blushing again.

Terrance noticed, of course. “Factol Sarin,” he said, his voice tinged with genuine sympathy. “I understand that this topic makes you uncomfortable. I feel exactly the same. But I swear by the Great Unknown that everything we discuss here will remain between the two of us. No one will learn anything from me, and I will never attempt to use it in any way to compromise you, no matter how tempting it may be politically. You have my word on that. Besides, there is nothing you have to be ashamed of.”

Sarin looked up, his gaze somewhat pained. “I'm not so sure about that. Actually, what I'm about to do is ... out of the question.”

Terrance eyed the paladin intently. “Then why are you doing it? No one really expected it. On the contrary, we were all a little surprised.”

Sarin sighed deeply. “Do you remember what Lady Elyria said to me when she and Sir Lorias revealed the Prophecy? Begin to dare means: fall and yield ...”

“But you don't know exactly what that means,” Terrance objected. “Besides, the Envoy said that this kiss is not necessary for the Prophecy to be fulfilled.”

Sarin laughed bitterly. “And what is the goal of the Prophecy anyway? That hasn't been said yet. We were told about the past and that the Chosen have awakened. And now? How is the Prophecy supposed to be fulfilled? By finding the God Machine? By using it? To what purpose? Or by destroying it? We don't know anything. Apart from that ... I have a feeling that this isn't about the Prophecy, but about me. Something deep inside tells me that I can't escape this bloody kiss. Believe me, under normal circumstances, I would never allow to be extorted in this way. But in this particular situation, I believe we have no other choice, because I take Red Shroud's threats very seriously. I think she knows more about the Prophecy than we assume, but she obviously doesn't care if the Chosen die - unlike us. The lives of three very important members of other factions depend on me. Factions with which mine is closely allied in one way or another. I can't just ignore that. Not in this particular case.“

Terrance nodded slowly. ”You've taken me by surprise, I admit. And I'll do what I can to support you. What does your church say about this?“

”Nothing,“ Sarin replied curtly. ”I haven't discussed the matter with anyone except my wife and Lady Juliana.”

Now the Athar's factol couldn't hide his astonishment. “Because you fear they would be opposed to it?”

Sarin's gaze hardened and he answered in the voice he used when giving orders in a bad mood. “Because I am the factol of the Harmonium and accountable to none.”

“Not even to your goddess?”

Sarin waved it off with a brusque gesture. “My goddess and my church are not one and the same. I am at peace with my goddess, and that is enough.”

Terrance's gaze became observant and interested for a moment, but he immediately leaned back again. “Very well. Shall we do it that way, then?”

Sarin reached across the table and pulled the vial towards him with determination. “Yes,” he replied curtly. “We'll do it that way.”

Chapter Text

“This is the creed of the Illuminated - to rule what we can;

to control what we can't rule; and to destroy what we can't control.”

Green Marvent, Sectol of the Illuminated

Third Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

With each breath, Krystall sensed that they were in Undersigil: the air was thicker, clammy and carried an unmistakable smell of damp earth and mold. After learning, thanks to Zamakis' gift, that the trail of the shadow thieves led to the undercity, they had not hesitated for long. A few hours of sleep and various errands later, they had met again in Krixxi's workshop the next afternoon to bring the goblin woman and the awakened rooster Figaro up to date. Then Krystall herself, Rakalla, Síkhara and Haer'Dalis had visited the Gatehouse. As a paladin of Milani, Krystall knew how to wield her rapier, and the blood hunter's fighting skills were beyond doubt. In addition to her gaze and blade, the medusa had many useful elixirs at her disposal, and the tiefling could use his short swords as effectively as his bardic magic.

Nevertheless, they had agreed that two additional strong arms would be reassuring for this type of undertaking. Fortunately, it didn't take much to convince the minotaur Blackhoof to accompany them. At a warning glance from his colleague Derioch, he insisted on helping to serve out the soup first. But after that, he joined the small group without further ado when Krystall quietly explained that they were looking for a trail to the shadow thieves. Since they didn't really know where to start their search, they had descended into the sewers at a point in the Chaos District where Krystall knew there was a half-buried entrance to the undercity. Fortunately, the sewage was flowing low that day, so the rickety wooden walkways were not flooded and they were able to reach the stairs leading down without getting their feet wet. The stone steps were wet and partially crumbled, so they had to be careful not to slip. Light was a rare luxury down here, usually only available in the form of luminescent mushrooms that grew in damp niches. Since she was the only one in the group who did not have darkvision, Krystall murmured a quiet prayer to Milani. As the goddess of uprisings and revolutions, the Everbloom granted her followers the ability to see in the dark, knowing full well that they often had to act under cover of the night.

When they all stood in the tunnel that led from the sewers to the undercity, Blackhoof's broad figure filled the entire corridor, his horns almost touching the ceiling. Just as during their search for the Keeper and the Proclaimer, his calm, unshakeable presence was reassuring. As good-natured and gentle as the minotaur was in his dealings with smaller, weaker beings, when someone threatened him or his friends, the full unbridled fighting power came to the fore that all members of his race possessed. They ventured a little way into the tunnel, and the only sounds were the dripping of water finding its way through the porous walls and the soft crunching of small stones under their feet. After about a hundred steps, the path forked, and Rakalla stopped.

“So ...” The medusa looked around, a little helpless. “How do we find an ancient temple we don't know in this ... cave system?”

“According to Zamakis, the dead man spoke of tears of darkness,” Síkhara said. “Perhaps it is some kind of shadow energy or materials that emit it.”

Haer'Dalis peered ahead. “I can try to sense such arcane energies. The devices from the lab have a very specific signature that resonates with the Plane of Shadow. I'm sure I would recognize this kind of magic - but only if I'm close enough.”

“Then let's go on and hope we find a lead,” said Krystall. “Let us know as soon as you sense something.”

The bard nodded, and so they ventured further into the depths of Undersigil, a maze of natural caves mixed with roughly hewn tunnels and forgotten ruins and vaults. The passage was relatively wide at first, its floor consisting of damp, trodden in earth. Irregular rock walls rose up on the left and right, with small niches and caves branching off here and there. Sometimes they heard the rustling of small creatures fleeing from them, sometimes just the sound of dripping water, which they could also feel on the back of their necks from time to time. Blackhoof had insisted on going ahead to shield the others from possible dangers. His broad hooves made a soft crunching sound on the ground, leaving indentations in the damp clay. Every now and then, his nostrils quivered slightly, as if he were sniffing for something - which was probably the case. Minotaurs had a very keen sense of smell. Síkhara walked behind Blackhoof, her flaming red hair glowing faintly in the shadows of the tunnel. The small sparks that occasionally flew from it were all the more visible here in the darkness. Krystall followed her, her hand alertly on the hilt of her rapier, while Haer'Dalis, unusually quiet, listened to the soft ambient sounds of Undersigil, apparently concentrating on detecting possible traces of shadow magic. Rakalla brought up the rear, holding a small glass vial in one hand and a crystal in the other, which, according to the medusa, glowed green when it came into contact with arcane magic.

After a while, the organic shape of the cave passages gave way to a regularity that indicated deliberate workmanship. The walls became smoother, showing the first signs of worked stone. Then suddenly the tunnel opened into a huge cavern, so large that they could not see the opposite end. What they saw was both breathtaking and nightmarish: the remains of an ancient city. Not just a few walls, but a whole collection of buildings made of dark, almost black stone. Ruined towers stretching upwards, broken arches leading to nowhere and dusty squares where life might once have thrived. The architecture was strange, with sharp angles and geometric patterns that Krystall had never seen in the above-ground Sigil. It was as if a long-forgotten civilization had once built its metropolis down here, only to be swallowed up and forgotten.

“I have heard rumors of such a place,” whispered Haer'Dalis. “The Weeping Stone Catacombs. Many, many millennia ago, Sigil is said to have looked different, to have been home to a completely different civilization. But they disappeared, and their buildings with them. Over the ages, they sank underground, and today's Sigil stands on their ruins.”

Krystall nodded in agreement. She had heard such stories too. It was well known that some inhabitants of the Cage lived in the tunnels beneath the city: a few kobold tribes, some thugs, various groups of undead … But even deeper down, it was said, lay secrets of a different kind. They might have just stumbled upon one of those places. The leader of the Razor Angels looked around in awe. Some of the buildings were so intact that it felt as if their builders could step out of the shadows at any moment. But the only inhabitants Krystall saw were strange, pale creatures that looked like spindly insects, with smooth chitinous shells and six thin limbs. They scurried silently through the narrow alleys, seemingly either unaware of the group or ignoring them, their movements jerky and their appearance ghostly. They cautiously ventured further, past the ancient buildings of dark stone. In some places, large, naturally grown crystals broke through the ground, glowing from within and emitting a faint violet or turquoise light. They created bizarre shadow patterns that further intensified the eerie atmosphere of the surroundings.

Suddenly, Síkhara stopped and pointed to one of the walls. “Look,” she said quietly. “Some things haven't changed in all this time.”

When the others followed her gaze, they discovered a relief on the building they were passing: the stern mask of an expressionless face surrounded by a wreath of razor-sharp blades. It was clearly an image of the Lady of Pain. Blackhoof immediately took a step back from the wall, while Rakalla nodded seriously.

“So our Bladed Queen was already the ruler of the city back then,” the medusa noted in a hushed voice. “May Her shadow never cut us.” She drew a semicircle above her heart with the index finger of her right hand - an ancient gesture used by the inhabitants of Sigil to protect themselves and ward off evil.

The others followed suit and then respectfully moved away from the ancient depiction of the Lady. Even in above-ground Sigil, the face of Her Dread Majesty was often seen, the dabus adorning many gables and facades with it. But to find such an ancient image here in the undercity, proof that the Lady of Pain had already ruled the Cage back then, instilled even more respect into the group and sent a slight shiver down their spines. Only when they had moved a good distance away from the relief did they dare to breathe again.

Rakalla pointed to the crystal she was holding, which was now glowing slightly. “There are arcane signatures here,” she explained. “Can you feel it too, Haer'Dalis?”

The tiefling nodded. With a bard's sense of magic, he could perceive these energies without any aid. “Yes, they're everywhere here. Remnants of ancient enchantments, I suppose. But they don't feel like the shadow magic of the cages.“

”Let's keep searching,“ Síkhara said. ”If this really is the Weeping Stone Catacombs, then there could be a connection to the tears of darkness.”

Krystall nodded. She had the same thought and hoped it would prove to be true. They proceeded cautiously, and the glow of the crystals that sprang up around them bathed the ancient ruins in a ghostly light. In a larger, open area that might once have been a market or meeting place, they discovered a round basin. It had probably served as a fountain in the past, but now it was filled with nothing but dust and rubble.

Then suddenly Haer'Dalis stopped and turned his head towards a seemingly empty spot near one of the walls. “There,” he whispered. “I sense something that seems vaguely familiar.”

He led the others closer to one of the ruined houses. Where there might once have been a window or a door, the air not only appeared darker, but also seemed to carry a strange heaviness, as if the shadows were thicker here. However, on closer inspection, Krystall could spot something unusual: from several cracks in the old stones trickled a kind of black, glittering dust, almost invisible unless one examined the wall closely.

“As if the stones here were crying,” she whispered. “A place where darkness has shed tears.”

Síkhara now also approached the wall. Her gaze followed the traces of the glittering sand and she nodded slowly. “Perhaps that's where this place got its name from. This could be the clue Zamakis was referring to.”

The others agreed, and so they took a closer look at the immediate vicinity.

Finally, Rakalla stopped next to a column that rose directly in front of a crumbling wall and disappeared upwards into the darkness. “Something is different here,” the medusa said, her voice just a whisper, while her snakes hissed softly.

The others stepped closer, but couldn’t spot anything. There was only a bare wall, over which the dim light of the crystals cast strange shadows.

“I can't see anything unusual,” Krystall stated.

“It's a little cooler than the rest of the area,” Rakalla explained. “You will hardly notice, but my snakes can feel it.”

As she pointed to the spot she thought she had discovered, Blackhoof moved closer to the niche behind the column and reached out his arm to feel something in the darkness ... only to find that his hand passed right through the wall. Krystall held her breath. An illusion spell? And indeed, when the minotaur took a step forward, he was standing half inside the seemingly solid wall.

He let out a soft snort. “Someone has been tampering with this place,” he said, his deep voice echoing slightly even though he was trying to speak quietly.

The moment she doubted what the illusion was trying to make her believe, the mirage dissolved before Krystall's eyes. There was indeed the entrance to another tunnel, and at the edges of the passageway she could see traces of tools, but they did not appear to be particularly old – fresher scratches that stood out against the surroundings’ ancient dilapidation.

The others apparently saw it too, and Síkhara smiled contentedly. “A secret passage, and someone went to some trouble to hide it. Haer'Dalis, can you sense anything?”

The bard stepped a little closer to the passageway, concentrated, and then nodded. “Yes, behind it I sense the same arcane signature as on the shadow catching devices.”

Krystall felt the cold, ominous pull of the place beyond the tunnel. But her determination was unbroken. The shadow thieves had to be stopped, especially since the actual string pullers were the Illuminated, who had already been responsible for the Hive Strangler Murders. She would follow this path wherever it led. This time, Haer'Dalis went ahead to check for traps. When he gave a sign that is was safe, the others followed him into a narrower tunnel that led them downwards. Blackhoof just barely fit through. Soon the air became noticeably colder and the ground more uneven, littered with countless sharp-edged stones. The walls were cracked, and they could see the shimmering sand they had already discovered outside, reminiscent of tears running down the rock face. Finally, they reached a smaller chamber. In the middle stood a jagged rock formation resembling a naturally grown column. It reached almost to the ceiling, and at its base grew a kind of moss that glowed in a deep purple light, covering the surrounding rocks with a cold, unnatural gleam.

Haer'Dalis stepped closer and held his fingers over the moss cushions, exploring. “The arcane signature is strongest here. This is definitely a place where the veils between Sigil and the Plane of Shadow are thinner. Perhaps a kind of access point.”

Krystall grimaced as she now felt the unpleasant cold on an almost psychic level - an oppressive tugging at her soul that reminded her of the emptiness the shadowless had described. “There's also a concentration of negative energy here,” she explained. “But not random or chaotic, rather shaped, intentional ...”

A soft sound made them all pause - a whispering hiss that seemed to come from one of the dark crevices at the end of the chamber.

Blackhoof drew his axe from his belt. “We are not alone,” he snorted.

“Stay close together!” Síkhara reached for her scimitar.

As Krystall drew her rapier, something crept out of the crevice. No, it was more like a kind of oozing ... a creature that seemed to grow out of the shadows, like a cloud of smoke taking on vaguely humanoid features - a kind of shadow whose eyes burned like glowing coals in the darkness. The creature let out a soft, hissing sound, like a breath of frozen air.

“A shadow guardian,” Síkhara growled, her turquoise-green eyes seemed to glow. “We fought a creature like this in the lab.”

The shade shot towards the blood hunter, striking at her with claws of pure darkness. Blackhoof charged forward with a deep roar, swinging his heavy axe in a mighty arc. But the weapon passed through the creature like through smoke, causing no damage. Haer'Dalis reacted immediately, intoning a short melody. Instantly, Blackhoof's axe was surrounded by an aura of blue light. Krystall sensed the evil emanating from the creature. She raised her rapier and called upon her goddess Milani – a holy glow surrounded the blade. With a courageous thrust, she attacked the shadow guardian, and the creature flinched as if it had been struck by pure light.

“Very good,” Síkhara shouted. “Only blessed and magical weapons can harm these beasts. And they don't like light either!”

As if to emphasize her words, the fire genasi now shot a ray of flames from the fingers of her free hand. The light seemed to blind the shadow, for it recoiled a little and appeared disoriented for a moment.

“Keep it at bay,” Rakalla called from behind. “I'll light a flash grenade, but that will take a moment!”

Blackhoof didn't need to be told twice. He struck at the shadow once more, but this time his axe was imbued with Haer'Dalis’ magic. And indeed, part of the shade’s formless substance swirled up and dissipated like smoke in the air. Krystall also struck again with her rapier, and the blade left a trail of pale energy behind it. The shadow screamed in pain when it was hit. Síkhara took advantage of Blackhoof and Krystall's attacks to draw the edge of her scimitar across the inside of her right forearm. A blink of an eye later, her blade was engulfed in flames by her blood magic. Haer'Dalis, on the other hand, struck up a short melody again. This sent a kind of sound wave towards the shadow, which whizzed past Blackhoof and Krystall with precision, hitting the shade and fraying part of its dark substance.

“Close your eyes!” Rakalla shouted. “It's going to get bright!” Almost simultaneously, she hurled a small object towards the shadow guardian.

Krystall closed her eyes, but even through her narrowed eyelids, she could still perceive a bright flash that bathed the small room in flickering light. The shadow let out an ear-splitting scream, and when Krystall opened her eyes again, she saw its body frazzling. It had clearly lost substance. It was visibly weakened - but not yet defeated. Claws of pure darkness now struck at Blackhoof, ripping his right shoulder and causing the minotaur to cry out in pain. Then he brought his axe down on the shadow once more, this time with much more anger, even rage. Síkhara was at his side, and as her brightly burning scimitar cut through the shade, it left behind a glowing arc and a shower of sparks sprayed up. Another part of the creature was consumed.

Krystall and Haer'Dalis seized the opportunity to strike from the other side almost simultaneously. The bard's short swords were apparently magical even without enchantment, causing a soft hiss as they struck the shadow. Krystall's blessed blade made the shade scream in pain once more. Then it flickered ... It tried to regenerate, but their combined attacks had taken too much of a toll on it. With a final, hoarse hiss, it disintegrated into a cloud of smoke that dissolved into the air, leaving behind nothing but a pungent smell of ash and a noticeable chill. Krystall breathed a sigh of relief. The fight had been short but intense.

“This one was stronger than the one in the lab,” Síkhara noted. Her scimitar was still engulfed in flames, which she probably didn’t want to extinguish until she was sure they weren’t going to be attacked again.

“That's right,” said Rakalla, who was now approaching from the tunnel entrance. “In the laboratory, there were only three of us, and one of my flash grenades was enough to take it out after you weakened it.”

“That suggests it was guarding something important here,” Krystall assumed. “We should be very careful.”

Then she stepped over to Blackhoof and said a quiet prayer to Milani to heal the wound on his shoulder. The minotaur snorted gratefully. Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis moved closer to the jagged rock formation at the base of which grew the purple glowing moss. It radiated a noticeable coldness and pulsed faintly in the darkness of the small chamber.

“The arcane signature is extremely strong here,” the tiefling explained. “The moss seems to be some kind of ... bio-magical seal.” He placed his hand on the rock formation and closed his eyes. “The energy is channeled here.”

Krystall watched as the bard moved his hand over the glowing moss. He hummed a soft melody that seemed to merge with the glowing plants. A soft hum filled the chamber, and the moss began to glow brighter. The rock formation itself seemed to pulsate, as if a heart were beating inside of it. Then, with a deep, rumbling sound that made the ground shake, a gap appeared in the opposite wall, at first just a narrow crack, but quickly widening into a broad passage. It was not the opening of a door, but rather the retreat of a massive segment of rock that slowly withdrew into the surrounding wall.

Behind it was a cave so spacious that its ceiling disappeared into the darkness. It was larger than anything they had seen so far in the cave system beneath Sigil, its walls streaked with crystal veins that gave off an eerie, pale blue light. And in the middle of this gigantic cavern stood a large building that seemed to grow out of the cave itself, formed from the same dark rock as the buried ruins they had wandered through. Its architecture was also characterized by sharp edges and geometric patterns, and spiral towers twisted into the darkness like giant, petrified thorns. There were no windows, only narrow slits that looked like menacing eyes. Black flames danced on many of the protrusions on the facade, giving off no light, but rather deepening the darkness around them. They flickered eerily, like ghosts of flames, like their shadows ... A soft, almost inaudible whisper seemed to emanate from the depths of the temple. Krystall felt a cold emptiness in the cave - negative energy, concentrated and condensed, a palpable presence of corruption.

“This is it,” whispered Síkhara. “The entrance to the Shadow Temple.”

Blackhoof snorted softly through his nostrils. “Creepy, folks! I'm not a paladin like Krystall, but even I can feel the evil lurking there.”

Haer'Dalis nodded seriously. “This place has a connection to the Plane of Shadow. We should be very careful if we want to go in there.”

Krystall agreed with the tiefling and the minotaur. The atmosphere in this cave was oppressive, a feeling of impending doom hung in the air. A quick glance at Rakalla and Síkhara showed her that they were thinking the same. They were all experienced and had already mastered several adventures, but this place radiated a danger that might exceed anything they had seen so far.

“We shouldn't try to enter this place,” Krystall said. “Not without better preparation. Whatever is in there is too important and too threatening to rush it.”

Síkhara nodded. “I agree. We now know where the temple is. But the Illuminated are dangerous. The five of us can't take on an entire sect in their headquarters.”

“Then let's go back,” said Rakalla. “That half-elf from the Harmonium ... Amariel? ... needs to know what we found. Let the Hardheads take care of capturing these shadow thieves.”

Blackhoof snorted in agreement and Haer'Dalis withdrew his hand from the purple glowing moss. “A wise decision. There are gates that should not be passed recklessly.”

When he stopped concentrating on the opening spell, the stone wall creaked back into its original place. Krystall took one last look at the now invisible passageway before they left the chamber. They now had a real chance to stop the shadow thieves. But they would need reinforcements.

Chapter Text

“Even in a city without borders, there are things that must not be lost.”

from the children's book “The Dabus' Lost Socks”

Third Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

After Sarin had finished, he leaned back and eyed Runako Fireheart closely. He had just revealed to his prefect everything concerning the Ring Prophecy and the God Machine, everything that had happened in this regard in recent months. In the Harmonium, apart from himself and Kiyoshi, only his wife Faith, his two legates, his adjutant and Lady Juliana knew about it. However, Sarin trusted the leonin and also appreciated him on a personal level, so he had wanted to let him in on these secrets for a while. His immediate plans concerning Red Shroud and the ill-fated kiss had now brought him to do just that. In the undesirable case that something did go wrong, it couldn't hurt if someone else within the faction knew about all this, someone who was highly respected and had strong authority. To the right of Prefect Fireheart sat Sarin's deputy Tonat Shar, and to his left, his aide Amariel. The two now eyed Runako with as much anticipation as the factol himself.

The prefect had listened to this incredible report with all the majestic dignity of a leonin. Finally, he nodded, measured and thoughtful, and examined Sarin intently with his green eyes. “Well, Factol, I must admit, this is a more than astonishing story. And one that will certainly occupy my thoughts for quite some time. I thank you for trusting me with this information, my lord.“

He bowed his massive head towards Sarin, but the paladin waved it off. ”If anyone deserves my trust, it is you, Prefect. We have served together in turbulent times and knew we could rely on each other.”

Tonat nodded solemnly at these words. During the factolship of Ulan Delazar, the leonin had shared the same views as the legate himself, Sarin and Killeen, and this had brought them very close. It was common knowledge that Runako had voted for Delazar's dismissal at the time, and for Sarin, this was a clear sign of his integrity.

“Those were indeed turbulent times,” the prefect replied. “Times in which you, above all, had to make difficult decisions. And today, with all due respect, you have apparently made difficult and also ... unorthodox decisions once again.”

Tonat laughed. “You always had the courage to speak your mind, Fireheart, even to your factol. That's why I like you so much.”

Sarin could see that Amariel, sitting on the other side of the leonin, gave the legate a surprised look, but he smiled at Tonat's remark. Here, in this familiar setting, he was allowed to make it, and his friend knew very well when such comments were appropriate and when they were not.

“Unorthodox decisions, huh?” the factol replied, not without a trace of self-mockery. “Too right, Prefect. If you’re alluding to Sgillin ...”

“Sgillin, the alliance with the Athar, the imminent kiss with Red Shroud ...” Runako pulled his lips back slightly, clearly an amused grin, although it always involved a row of sharp teeth. “In all honesty, factol, if I didn't know the specific reasons, I would certainly doubt you. Given the circumstances, however, I can understand. I myself would probably not have acted differently. Which doesn't necessarily mean that I have to like it.”

Sarin sighed. “There can be no question of liking it, you're right. It's more a case of being in a tight spot and in a hopeless situation.”

“Yes, that's pretty much it.” The prefect nodded gracefully. “And you have both my good wishes and my respect, factol. You are willing to risk a lot and sacrifice a lot. Not everyone in your position would do that. But in my eyes, it speaks volumes about you.“

Amariel smiled with relief. ”I was sure you would see it that way, sir.“

”So was I, my friend.” Tonat patted the leonin briefly on the shoulder, a very familiar gesture that he otherwise reserved for Killeen and sometimes Sarin.

The factol nodded to Runako. “Thank you, Prefect, I really appreciate that. I hope and pray that everything will go well. And while Killeen, as always, will take care of Arcadia and Tonat will represent me here in Sigil, you also have an important task ahead of you.”

The leonin bowed his head briefly. “You are referring to the shadow thefts, my lord.”

“Exactly,” Sarin confirmed, then looked at his adjutant. “Decuria, please.”

“Yes, factol.” Amariel straightened up and then turned to Runako. “I have received news from my ... well, my somewhat ... unorthodox allies.”

Sarin couldn't help but smile and saw that Tonat was also grinning a little. He knew that Prefect Fireheart had reprimanded his aide for not following the Harmonium's operational guidelines in this case. And he had been right to do so. Not only had Amariel put herself in a very risky situation outside of acute danger, she had even sent her comrades Nallart and Aranis Verûsa back to the Barracks beforehand and had been alone in the Hive with a blood hunter she didn't know and two members of the Doomguard. The regulations of the faction would certainly have allowed for some kind of disciplining in such a case. However, Prefect Fireheart had declared that it was not his place to impose a punishment on the adjutant of the factol and had left the matter to Sarin himself.

But Sarin had refrained from punishing the young woman. Amariel was smart, courageous, determined to help those in need and had her heart in the right place. She may have acted a little rashly, but who hadn't done so in the course of their service? Her older brother Killeen had certainly done so often enough, and if Sarin was honest with himself, he knew that he too had sometimes made such risky decisions during investigations and missions. Even Tonat had not been clear of this, and Lady Juliana had told them so more than once. So why should he punish Amariel for a single misstep that was far outweighed by her many good qualities as an officer? She was an excellent aide to him and had also grown very dear to his heart. He had emphatically instructed her to adhere to the mission guidelines in the future, but otherwise he had let her minor transgression pass.

Now she looked at Prefect Fireheart with a certain nervousness as she mentioned her unorthodox allies. “I apologize for not informing you about this yet, sir. But I was with factol Sarin when I received the urgent message and ...”

The leonin raised his hand and growled soothingly. “Duty to the factol comes before all else,” he explained. “It was, of course, entirely correct to inform him of the message's contents immediately. Now, what does it say?”

Sarin did not fail to notice Amariel's relieved sigh. “Síkhara, the blood hunter, sent me a letter just an hour ago,” the half-elf explained. “She managed to locate the hideout of the shadow thieves. And she also found out who these thieves are: the sect of the Illuminated.”

“The Illuminated? Upon my soul!” Tonat slammed his flat hand loudly on the armrest of his chair. “Haven't those deluded fools caused enough trouble already? I had hoped they would be content to wreak havoc in Plague-Mort. Or let themselves be slaughtered by tanar'ri in the catacombs beneath Broken Reach.”

Sarin sighed. “I had hoped so too. But it seems we are not so lucky.”

“Unfortunately not, sir,” Amariel explained. “According to Síkhara, they are directly responsible for these thefts. And based on what we know about them so far, about their attempts to infiltrate all the factions with sleeper agents, we must assume that there is more to it than simply selling the stolen shadows for profit.”

“Indeed,” Sarin agreed. “We must act quickly. And as much as I would like to take care of this matter personally, I'm afraid I have other ... obligations at the moment.” He sighed deeply. “As my legate, Tonat will represent me, but I'm assigning you, Prefect Fireheart, with putting a stop to the Illuminated's game. Decuria Amariel will assist you and liaise with Síkhara and - Iomedae forgive me - the two Sinkers. Assemble a powerful detail and put an end to this nightmare!“

The leonin bowed his mighty head. ”Of course, factol. You can rest assured that the matter will be dealt with successfully.”

Amariel also looked determined, and Tonat nodded to the two of them. “If you need anything, be it soldiers or officers, equipment or warrants ... whatever it may be, let me know. I will provide you with all the support you need.”

With all the matters Sarin had wanted to discuss with the prefect now covered, he pushed back his chair and stood up. “Well ... I must excuse myself now. I have to accomplish a journey to the realm of Shekinester tomorrow, and I promised my younger children that I would put them to bed.”

His three officers quickly stood up and saluted. Of course, he did not fail to notice that they were looking at him with a mixture of concern and sympathy.

“Take care, Sarin,” Tonat said calmly but seriously. “We need you here.”

Amariel nodded vigorously. “That's right, factol! And not just your family and the Harmonium. The whole city. Even if it doesn't realize it.”

He smiled at his friends' concern, feeling both grateful and touched. “I promise I'll be careful. And I have very competent support with me. It will be fine.”

Runako Fireheart nodded gracefully. “If anyone can do it, it's you, factol. I will still pray to Ba-en-Aset for you. The blessing of another goddess certainly can't hurt.”

Another. Sarin sighed inwardly. If only he knew whether he even had the blessing of his own goddess. But he couldn't bring that up here and now. So he straightened himself, thanked the three of them and then watched as they left his office and Tonat closed the door behind them. He remained standing behind his desk for a while, silent and pensive. Then he pulled himself together and opened the door to his family quarters. The twins, Daria and Felian, were only one year old and already asleep, but Beleno, Amarys and Harika - three, six and eight years old - were waiting for him to read them a bedtime story. He could hear their muffled voices through the door to the living room, but he first went to his and Faith's bedroom to take off his armor, which he had worn on duty as always. As soon as he closed the door behind him, his children's voices were barely audible. For the first time since early morning, he was finally alone - but also alone with his thoughts, which were neither pleasant nor welcome at the moment. He sighed deeply and ran his fingers over his amulet with the symbol of Iomedae.

“What am I doing?” he whispered. The question echoed in the silence of the room, unanswered.

He unfastened the buckles of his armor, hung the breastplate and shoulder plates on the wooden stand next to the fireplace, and placed the bracers and greaves on the dresser next to it. As he threw his aketon over one of the chairs, his gaze fell on the mirror on the opposite wall. He was now wearing only his shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing his collarbones and part of his shoulders. A line ran across his neck to his right scapula ... a scar that had faded. But the memory of what had caused it had not. Sarin slowly undid the remaining buttons, slipped off his shirt and turned slightly to look at his shoulders and back in the mirror. He had been carrying the scars that crisscrossed his body for several years now. Pale lines by now, lighter than the tanned skin surrounding them, remaining evidence of a more than unpleasant past. A reminder of his former factol, Ulan Delazar. He slowly ran his fingers over the scars, and the memories rekindled ...

... the courtyard of the Barracks, the cool wind on his bare shoulders, Delazar's satisfied gaze, the searing pain, the feeling of powerlessness ... The scars left by the whip told his very personal story of rebellion against his factol and the consequences he had to bear for it. Nevertheless, it had been the right decision, even if it had cost him almost everything. And he had been just as convinced of that back then, on that ill-fated day, as he was now, looking back, having been factol himself for years. In the end, he had won. Delazar had been deposed, Lady Juliana had taken over the office, and passed it on to him just two years later. The scars remained ... he had wanted it that way. He remembered the moment when Juliana had offered to remove them with a powerful prayer. They would have disappeared as if they had never existed. But he had refused. They reminded him that sometimes in life one had to pay a price to remain true to oneself. And that it was worth it.

Sarin knew, of course, that the inhabitants of Sigil saw these scars when he visited the baths in the Great Gymnasium with his family. He noticed the furtive glances that followed him, the whispers said in secret. There was a lot of talk in the City of Doors, and so most people knew where the welts came from. The older children, Marinda, Yaëlla, Sirian and Sanya, knew their story and cause as well. They had been old enough to remember that day. They had seen him shortly after, and they had internalized how important it was that such a time never recurred in the Harmonium. He remembered something his firstborn, Marinda, had recently said to him: That she had learned from him that true strength lay not in the absence of scars, but in the ability to bear them with dignity. Her words had touched him more deeply than she could have imagined.

But these scars were apparent. Visible to anyone who wanted to see them, but they did not define him. The coming day, on the other hand, might be just as fateful as that distant one. And how might it scar him? Would Iomedae approve of his actions? Or would he jeopardize his status as a paladin and his position as factol? And even more gravely, would this decision also affect his wife and children? Perhaps this agonizing uncertainty was the worst part of the whole situation. He glanced at the door when he heard the faint sound of the handle turning. Faith entered. She wore a simple white dress, and her long dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders. She gently closed the door behind her and stepped closer, her footsteps barely audible on the soft carpet.

She stood next to him, placed a hand on his shoulder and studied him silently. She knew him too well not to know what was crossing his mind. “I can guess what you're thinking,” she said after a while.

Sarin eyed her seriously. “Really?”

She nodded. “Back then, all those years ago, you made a decision based solely on your own conscience. A serious decision with serious consequences. And you still bear the marks of those consequences, visible to the naked eye. Now you have made another such decision, with perhaps even more far-reaching consequences. And those may scar you in ways that are not visible on the outside - but could be even more profound.”

Sarin sighed and closed his eyes. “How well you know me.”

She gently ran her left hand over his back, her fingers tracing one of the faded welts from his shoulder to his lower ribs. “Nothing could come between us back then, khaladi. And so it will be today.”

Sarin placed his hand on hers and squeezed it gently. “I have qualms, Faith,” he said. “About going too far. About doing something I can't unhappen.”

She shook her head. “You're following your heart and your conscience. And I'll be by your side, no matter what happens. We'll get through this together, as always.”

Sarin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt Faith's words giving him strength. She had always been able to give him hope and confidence. Sometimes he didn't know what he had done to deserve having her by his side. But he didn't question it, gently pulling her into his arms instead. “Thank you, Faith. I don't know what I would do without you.”

She stood up on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. “I'm always here for you, khaladi. Now come on - the children are waiting for their story.”

She winked at him and he had to smile. Yes, as much chaos as the younger ones were probably causing the common room right now, it would definitely distract him. “What do they want to hear?” he asked as he slipped into his shirt again.

“The Dabus' Lost Socks,” Faith replied with an innocent smile.

Sarin rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Amarys wanted that story, right?” He buttoned his shirt. “I know your mother gave the children this book, but between you and me, I think it's terrible.”

“Me too, khaladi.” Faith laughed heartily. “That's why you get to read it now.”

He walked to the door with an exaggerated sigh, but deep down, he wished for being able to read his children many more bedtime stories in the future - even if it was the Dabus' Socks nonsense. Tomorrow would tell …

Chapter Text

"Some believe that strength is the courage to walk alone. Fools.

Strength is having someone by your side, even if it makes you vulnerable."

Teralis, priestess of Sune

Third Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR

There was neither day nor night on the Ethereal Plane. But the small pocket containing the palace of the Godsmen, the planar headquarters of the faction, simulated daytimes and seasons. Dusk and dawn, the moon traveling across the night sky, flowers blooming, leaves falling, snowflakes gently fluttering down ... Ambar had incorporated all of this many years ago, when a devastating ether cyclone had destroyed the old headquarters and a new one had taken its place. Of course, nostalgia had been one reason for this. He had grown up in the forests of Fayrill in the Outlands. Sunny afternoons and starry nights had accompanied his childhood and youth, as had the changing seasons. The magical sphere in which the new palace now stood, like inside a snow globe, had been formed by powerful spells. Some high-ranking wizards of the faction had created it, but the factol had also infused it with his own bardic magic. And sometimes, during winter, it really did look like one was gazing into a snow globe when viewed from the outside.

At the moment, however, it was summer in the palace - though not in Ambar's heart. As he walked along winding paths of light-colored stone, past flower beds and a quiet pond dotted with water lilies, he was deep in thought. Thoughts of what lay ahead ... ahead of Lereia, himself, their friends - but above all, ahead of Sarin. He had, in a way, urged the paladin to promise the kiss, and he didn't feel good about it. Of course, it had been purely out of his burning concern for Lereia. Nevertheless, he had apologized to Sarin for it – but the paladin had rejected his apology. He had assured that he alone had made his choice, that no one had pressured or even forced him except his own conscience. Still, Ambar felt guilty that his relief at Sarin's decision had been so great. He stopped at the edge of the pond, under a tree with shimmering leaves that murmured softly in the wind. Between its branches hung small threads of light that glowed like shooting stars and trickled down slowly. A few glowing dragonflies flew across the lake, leaving behind sparks that burned out after a while. Dawnwings from the fairy realms. When they touched the water, there were short, bright sounds, like plucking a harp.

Soon, Ambar thought. Soon everything will be decided. And every step we take could be the wrong one. Next to him grew a rose bush whose blossoms were not red, but a shimmering silver. They smelled like a never-ending summer - and reminded him of Lereia. Sometimes her hair had exactly that same shine. He bent down and touched a flower. It felt cool, almost like moonlight. His feelings for Lereia had changed, slowly, almost secretly, but steadily and inevitably. And now he felt more for her than he dared admit to himself. At the same time, he knew that such feelings could be dangerous in the maelstrom of current events.

A bright, giggling sound made him look up. Kayedi hovered above the roses, barely a foot tall, her light blue wings fluttering up and down behind her back. She looked at him, shaking her head. “You look like you're about to carry the entire multiverse on your shoulders, Ambar.”

“It feels a little like that,” he answered with a sigh. “Of course, I can't say that I'm under as much pressure as Sarin. Still ... tomorrow is definitely weighing on my mind.”

“Maybe you should distract yourself a little,” his familiar suggested. “Would you like to sing something for me?”

Ambar shook his head apologetically. “I'm not in the mood to sing right now.”

The pixie crossed her little arms and looked concerned. “You're almost always in the mood to sing. I don't like this, Ambar.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, turning his gaze back to the pond. “But there's something ahead of us that may have greater implications than we can currently grasp. Something that feels ... wrong.”

Kayedi tilted her head. “And yet you're not thinking about the faction or Sigil right now. You're thinking about her.” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were serious.

Ambar was silent for a moment, but finally nodded. “Perhaps it's foolish to think about something like happiness in the midst of all this.”

The pixie fluttered closer and perched on his shoulder. “You know what would be foolish? Pretending you're just a factol. You're a man too, Ambar. And it's good that you're wondering if you might find happiness in Lereia. A factol without a heart would be nothing but a shadow. Your feelings aren't a flaw - they're your strength.”

“My strength, huh?” Ambar murmured as his gaze followed the dawnwings circling above the pond. “I wonder if I ... can really open myself up to those kinds of feelings again.”

Kayedi rose from his shoulder to flutter beside him in the air again. “If you ask me, it's high time. Since Caye's terrible death, you haven't always been alone. But it was never ... well, real and deep. Since then, you didn't open up to anyone the way you did back then.“

”That may be the elf in me,“ Ambar replied seriously. ”The elves of Fayrill only bond once, and then for life.”

His familiar eyed him warmly, but still poked his cheek admonishingly with her finger. “However, you are not an elf, but a half-elf. And you haven't lived in Fayrill for a very long time. It's been eighty years, Ambar! Even for a fairy, that's a long time. Like everyone else, you have a right to be happy.”

“I ... I don't doubt that,” he defended himself. “It's just ...”

“You're afraid of being hurt again.” Kayedi perched on his shoulder once more. “That's perfectly understandable. But you have to overcome it, my friend. You've already mastered many of life's trials. You have to stop running away from this one.”

“Ouch.” Now he laughed a little. “You're using my own faction philosophy against me? What kind of practices are those? And from my own familiar, no less.”

“That's what I'm here for,” the pixie replied promptly. “A familiar who just nods and stays silent all the time would be boring, wouldn't she?”

He smiled. “True. And you're right. I promise I won't run away from my own feelings anymore.”

“Very good, that's what I wanted to hear.” She teasingly tugged at a strand of his hair and grinned mischievously, but there was warmth in her eyes.

Ambar smiled gratefully at his familiar. Kayedi's words had given him hope, and everything felt a little easier. He breathed in the scent of the silver roses, cool as moonlight in the warm air. For a moment, everything seemed possible - even happiness.

Chapter Text

“The mother of all snakes has three faces:

She whispers wisdom to you, she lures you with beauty, she devours you in anger. And all three are true.”

naga proverb

Third Void Day of Mortis, 126 HR

Morânia and Naghûl had been unusually quiet on their way to the portal that would lead them to the realm of the naga goddess Shekinester. Otherwise, they would chat or joke about this and that but on this day, dangers and unpredictable risks lay ahead of them, ventures whose outcome was unclear at best. So they remained silent most of the way from the Festhall to the Market Ward, lost in their own thoughts. After Red Shroud had named the abandoned Opal Tears Palace on the edge of the Court of Light as the meeting place, the question had naturally been: how to get there from Sigil by the shortest route. Factol Ambar had called on the services of Lissandra the Gate-Seeker, and she had given him the location of a suitable portal. It was located in the basement of a small apothecary's shop in the Market Ward. At least here, fate was smiling on them, for it belonged to an elderly gnome who was a member of the Ciphers. Thus, factol Rhys had been able to kindly persuade the lady to leave her shop at the planned time of departure and enjoy a massage at the Great Gymnasium in the meantime. According to Lissandra, the exit of the portal in Shekinester's realm was about a three-hour walk from the Opal Tears Palace.

So that the group's plan would not attract too much attention, they had decided not to go to the apothecary's shop all together, but one by one. The time set for Naghûl and Morânia was two hours and ten minutes after the First Light, and they reached the respective block of houses right on time. Morânia wore her armor and carried her sword and shield, while Naghûl had chosen his black and gold battle robe, sturdy boots and the staff whose blue crystal concentrated his arcane powers. In the narrow alleyway they turned into shortly before reaching their destination, they noticed a faint scent of cinnamon and dried herbs. At the end of the small street, nestled between a house with crooked shutters and one with crumbling blue plaster, was the Whisperroot Apothecary. Above the green-painted door hung a dark wooden sign with the name written in delicate, slightly faded letters. As Morânia pressed the handle and entered quietly, she was enveloped by an earthy scent of roots and resins, mixed with the sweet heaviness of dried flowers. The apothecary's interior was small but carefully organized. The shelves, which reached up to the low ceiling, were filled with countless jars, bottles and pots. Each container was neatly labeled with names such as “unicorn tears”, “silver thistles” or “lizard blood”. Bundles of dried herbs and roots hung from the ceiling, casting bizarre shadows on the walls in the dim light that fell through the dusty windows. On one of the window sills stood a cage in which sat a small green bird, chirping quietly. The space behind the polished wooden counter was empty, however – just as agreed, the gnome owner had apparently left the shop. Two doors led off from the sales room, but one of them was ajar and quiet voices could be heard behind it. This was probably the entrance to the basement.

Morânia carefully opened the door and descended the steps behind it, closely followed by Naghûl. The staircase did indeed lead to a small basement. Several boxes stood on the floor, and wooden caskets were arranged on several shelves, indicating that the room was used for storage. Sarin and Faith, Kiyoshi, Mallin, Sekhemkare and Ambar were already present. Morânia did not fail to notice that the factol of the Godsmen was unusually punctual by his standards. It clearly showed how much the matter meant to him. Seeing Sarin, Kiyoshi and Mallin in their armor was a familiar sight, but Morânia was encountering Faith in such a warlike garb for the first time. She wore bracers and a breastplate bearing the symbol of her goddess Iomedae, a downward-pointing sword in front of a sun. A long, light-colored robe reached almost to her ankles, but steel greaves were clearly visible beneath it. Sarin's wife had also braided and pinned up her dark hair. Sekhemkare wore a black and green battle robe with metal shoulder plates, while Ambar was clad in light leather armor and carried both a long sword and a bow. When Morânia and Naghûl entered the cellar, they bowed to the factols and Faith, then everyone waited quietly for the next participants of the expedition. About ten minutes later, Sgillin arrived as agreed, and finally Terrance and Jana. While the half-elf wore his usual dark robes and carried his bow over his shoulder, Jana was dressed in a black robe with a dark blue stripe at the hem, slit at the sides to allow freedom of movement for her legs. Terrance was neither wearing one of the silver-embroidered blue robes that he was usually seen in in Sigil, nor was he dressed in the dark cloak that Morânia by now knew he preferred when traveling incognito in the Hive and the Lower Ward. He wore a practical black and gray robe that reached just above his shins, revealing sturdy boots.

After greeting the others, Terrance's gaze wandered to the katana Kiyoshi carried, and he nodded slightly. “I see you have the sword Hope with you.”

The young soldier bowed to the high priest. “I brought it as a precaution, honorable Factol Terrance-heika. Unfortunately, however, I do not have the myoji-taito.”

Sgillin frowned. “Whatever that is ... but good to know.”

“It is the right to bear a surname and a sword,” Kiyoshi explained. “That means I am not allowed to wield this blade.”

“Heartening,” Sekhemkare hissed sarcastically.

“Wait a minute.” Jana looked at Kiyoshi with a hint of bewilderment. “We retrieved the sword from the catacombs beneath Broken Reach. It chose you as its bearer. Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis are prisoners of Red Shroud because of it. And you say you don't want to wield it?“

Kiyoshi shook his head solemnly. ”It's not a question of wanting, honorable Jana-san. However, according to the laws of my homeland Kamigawa, I am not allowed to.”

Morânia understood Jana's reaction all too well. Kiyoshi's words sounded outrageous. But then again, they knew by now that the prime world of Kamigawa had many strict traditions and customs, and the young soldier still felt deeply committed to them.

“Kiyoshi,” Naghûl said, eyeing the soldier intently. “You are the Chosen of an ancient prophecy. If that's not enough, then I don't know what is.” As he spoke, he glanced at Sarin, almost imploringly.

The factol of the Harmonium sighed. “Kiyoshi, should our survival depend on you taking this sword - just in this case - then you take it, please. Right and surname or not.”

The young man did not seem very happy about the instruction, but he braced and saluted. “As you command, honorable Factol Sarin-gensui.”

The paladin nodded. “Thank you, soldier.”

“You are certainly worthy of the sword, Kiyoshi,” Morânia said encouragingly. “Otherwise, you would not be its bearer.”

The young soldier bowed his head slightly, and the bal'aasi thought she saw a certain gratitude in his eyes for her encouragement.

“I'm glad that's settled,” Mallin grumbled, his voice clearly tinged with impatience. “Can we go now?”

Sarin nodded briefly. “Yes, let's go. The sooner we free the prisoners, the better.” He stepped aside and pointed to an arch built into the wall of the cellar. “There are eleven of us, so the portal won’t stay open long enough for all of us to pass through. We’ll have to split into two groups. First will go Faith, Mallin, Kiyoshi, Sekhemkare and myself. Then Terrance, Ambar, Morânia, Naghûl, Jana and Sgillin will follow.”

“Understood,” Ambar replied. “The key is to speak the name of Shekinester while lighting a flame. This flame can be a normal one as well as one produced by magic.”

Faith stepped close to the stone archway. “I will perform the first activation. Gentlemen, if you please.”

Sarin and Mallin stood to her left, Kiyoshi and Sekhemkare to her right, directly behind her.

Then Faith raised her right hand, made a brief gesture and spoke the Celestial word for flame. Immediately, a small tongue of fire appeared, flickering above her open palm. Then the priestess spoke the name of the naga goddess. “Shekinester.”

There was a brief, familiar glow and flicker in the air, and the portal opened. Faith stepped through quickly, followed by her husband, Mallin, Kiyoshi and Sekhemkare. Just a second after the yuan-ti had passed through the archway, the gate closed again. Ambar looked at the others, and Terrance nodded on behalf of the rest of the group. The bard did as Faith had done before and stepped up to the brick archway in the wall, now solid again. The others stood close behind him. Then Ambar also made a brief gesture and spoke the word for flame, but in Elvish. Thanks to her deva grandmother and her elven grandfather, Morânia understood both languages, Celestial and Elvish. A small flame appeared above the bard's palm, and when he uttered the name of the naga goddess, the portal opened again. He quickly stepped through, Terrance and Jana behind him. Morânia followed almost side by side with Naghûl.

When they arrived on the other side, she immediately looked over her shoulder. Sgillin was there too. Then the portal closed behind them with a soft crackle, leaving nothing but dusty, shimmering air in the arcade of an ancient ruin. Morânia was no stranger to the abrupt change in temperature and lighting conditions when passing through a portal. The environment was suddenly dry and hot, the smell of sand and ancient stone lingering in the air. They stood in the middle of a savanna-like landscape, the parched clay soil interspersed with coarse sand and sharp stones. The Court of Light, the realm of Shekinester, goddess of the nagas ... She was also called the Three-Faced Queen, as Morânia knew. In her aspect as the Empowerer, she was considered merciful and kind, delivering ancient wisdom. As the Preserver, Shekinester was a kind of mother goddess who protected the dead and gave succor to the living - but only in times of extreme peril. The Weaver, on the other hand, sought to destroy those who were unable to use their strength and wisdom in accordance with her trials. Depending on which aspect of the goddess they followed, nagas could thus be friendly, indifferent or dangerous. The abandoned palace they had to seek out was, of course, located in the part of the realm associated with the Weaver. What a surprise, the bal'aasi thought to herself. Mallin had drawn his sword immediately after passing through the portal and was now vigilantly watching the surroundings.

Faith glanced briefly at Terrance. “I sense the power of the naga goddess,” she said quietly.

The high priest of the Great Unknown nodded gently. “We are definitely in her realm.”

“Yes, what a pleasure,” Sekhemkare hissed. When Jana gave him a questioning look, he shrugged. “My ancestors come from Smaragd, the realm of the god Merrshaulk. He and Shekinester are not exactly on friendly terms.”

Morânia had not known until then that the ancestors of the yuan-ti hailed from the realm of the chaotic and evil serpent god in the Abyss. It didn't feel particularly good, but she immediately reminded herself that Sekhemkare, who had grown up in Sigil, was not responsible for his ancestry. She herself didn't want people to see only her succubus grandmother in her. Only his own actions could speak for Sekhemkare, and at the moment he was on a mission with them to rescue Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis. That should be enough.

Unlike his colleague from the Mercykillers, Sarin had not yet drawn his scimitars, but he was observing the surroundings just as attentively. “Be vigilant,” he said. “In this wasteland, every dune can hide dangers. So ... where do we need to go?”

His question seemed to be directed at Ambar and Sgillin – the two rangers surely had the best sense of direction. Both half-elves looked around, shielding their eyes with their hands to protect them from the glaring sun. Then, almost simultaneously, they stretched out their other arms.

“There,” said Ambar. “That must be it.”

Morânia squinted, but even though Sgillin and the factol of the Godsmen were pointing in the direction, it took her a while to see it. In the distance, on the horizon, a faint silhouette was looming: the outline of a building, visible only as a dark spot against the bright sky.

“I estimate that it will take us about three hours by foot to reach the palace,” Sgillin explained.

The others nodded. Lissandra the Gate-Seeker had made it clear that this was the nearest known portal, but that a certain distance still had to be covered on foot to reach their destination. So all of them had arrived at the portal well rested and with enough fresh water.

Sekhemkare looked up at the scorching sun. “At least the temperature is pleasant here,” he remarked.

Morânia had to smile. Yes, for a yuan-ti, it probably was. Everyone else obviously found it rather uncomfortably hot. Sarin, who hailed from a very warm region of his home world of Ortho, seemed to cope with the temperature better than the rest. Nevertheless, even he cast a spell on himself to alleviate the effects of the heat. Morânia followed his example, as did Terrance, Ambar, Faith and Mallin. Like clerics, paladins and rangers, sorcerers also had access to this spell, but neither Naghûl nor Jana had ever learned it, so the bal'aasi protected her husband, and Terrance did the same for Jana. While Sekhemkare, as a yuan-ti, coped well with the temperatures, Faith also cast the protective spell on Sgillin so that he could save his spells. Finally, she looked questioningly at Kiyoshi.

“Thank you for your generous offer, Lady Faith-hiheika,” the young soldier said with a bow. “However, I have been very resistant to high temperatures since my dragon blood has surfaced.”

Faith nodded with a smile. “I thought so. Then you are probably already sufficiently prepared for the march ahead of us.”

Mallin glanced briefly at Sarin, looking somewhat concerned – a sentiment the factol of the Mercykillers did not show all too often. “Then let's get on with it,” he grumbled. “And we should remember what Lady Erin told us.”

Naghûl nodded seriously. “The dark nagas.”

The Sensates' factol had, of course, gathered some information about the Court of Light in advance, especially about the Weaver's domain. In the area around the Opal Tears Palace, there was apparently a settlement of nagas who were not exactly friendly towards visitors. They hoped that there would be no confrontation, but they were prepared for one nonetheless.

They had been wandering through the savanna for over an hour without incident. They walked mostly in silence, side by side, the soft crunch of sand under their feet scarcely audible. The scorching sun beat down on the dunes that already crisscrossed the land here, heralding the transition to the desert. Without appropriate protective spells, everyone except Kiyoshi and Sekhemkare would have been completely exhausted by now. The sky was so radiantly blue that it hurt the eyes, and the heat danced in waves across the vast plain, distorting the barren contours of the landscape and making everything appear blurry and unreal. Here and there, jagged rock formations broke through the monotonous expanse of the savanna, remnants of ancient mountains that had been shaped into bizarre sculptures by wind and weather. Like the land itself, they were covered in a thick layer of ochre-colored dust. But despite the dryness and apparent barrenness, there was life. Tufts of stiff, yellow grass clung to the cracked ground, and here and there acacia trees with their umbrella-like crowns stretched towards the sky, their leaves dust-covered and leathery. Lizards with yellow-brown scales and small, sand-colored jerboas scurried nimbly between the tufts of grass, and occasionally they could spot a herd of wildebeests on the horizon, wandering in search of fresh grazing land. Cicadas buzzed everywhere, their monotonous chirping a constant accompaniment to the silence of the savanna.

At the edge of a dry riverbed, they saw the weathered remains of a forgotten civilization. Once mighty walls of reddish stone now crumbled under the weight of the heat, decorated with reliefs that told of past battles. Four- and six-armed nagas could be seen fighting warriors with humanoid torsos but the lower bodies of scorpions. Only a few columns still stretched towards the sky, as if proudly defying oblivion. Here and there, fragments of mosaics sparkled in the sunlight, witnesses to a past splendor that now lay in the dust. Those who had once inhabited this place had long been forgotten, their history lost in the sands of time, a silent testimony to the transience of all things. Every Sinker, Morânia thought to herself, would have enjoyed the sight.

At the edge of these ruins, Sgillin, who was scouting ahead, raised his hand and stopped. “Someone has passed through here recently,” he explained. “And no one walking on two legs.”

Ambar stepped beside him and examined the tracks the other half-elf was pointing to. “Imprints of large snake bodies,” he confirmed. “They are barely visible. The wind has already covered them with sand in the surrounding area. But Sgillin is right: Here, between the dry tufts of grass, you can still see them.“

Sarin sighed. ”I had a feeling that the journey would not be without incident. Sgillin?“

The half-elf straightened up and turned around. ”Factol Sarin?“

”Can you keep an eye out to see if anyone is hiding behind the next dunes? Maybe we are lucky and the encounter will be peaceful. But we should still be prepared for a fight.“

Sgillin nodded. ”Of course, Factol. I will go and scout.” He stepped into the shadow of one of the pillars and became invisible. Only the imprints of his footsteps in the sand revealed that he was moving away towards the dunes.

They waited quietly and alertly for a while, speaking only in hushed voices and keeping a close eye on their surroundings. Sarin leaned against one of the pillars, apparently going through various possibilities of the upcoming encounter in his mind. Kiyoshi stood like a guard at his factol's side, his naginata in both hands, and Faith also kept her eyes on her husband. While Mallin, Morânia, Naghûl, Ambar and Sekhemkare formed a small half circle around the three of them, Terrance walked over to the ruined walls to study the reliefs. Jana stayed at his side, and Morânia watched as the Athar’s factol repeatedly pointed to some of the figures, apparently telling the young sorceress something about them. The bal'aasi smiled. Terrance always had something of a scholar and teacher about him, and he was clearly wanted to take this opportunity to study the remains of an ancient culture and share his knowledge with one of his protégés. Having always been fascinated by the history of all kinds of planar cultures herself, Morânia could well understand this. Finally, Sgillin returned, stepping out of the shadow of the pillar at the exact spot where he had disappeared.

Sarin pushed himself away from the old stones he had been leaning against. “And?”

“A group of nagas,” the half-elf reported. “I counted about a dozen, two of them with six arms, all others four-armed. They've set up a small camp. As soon as we climb the next dune or walk round it, they'll spot us. It doesn't look like they're just encamping behind the dune.“

”All right,“ Sarin replied with a sigh and drew his scimitars. ”We will, of course, try to talk to them peacefully. But we will also gird ourselves.”

Mallin snorted a little dismissively at the word peacefully, but spared his colleague from the Harmonium a comment. Instead, he blessed the blade of his weapon, and Morânia and Sarin did the same. Terrance, who had returned to the group in the meantime, said some powerful protective prayers for himself and Sgillin, while the arcane spellcasters, Naghûl, Jana and Sekhemkare, cast their own protective spells on themselves. Ambar hummed a soft melody that made the heads of his arrows glow briefly, while Faith enchanted Kiyoshi's naginata and then said a few prayers for her husband.

Sgillin looked at the bow that Ambar was now taking from his shoulder. “A very fine weapon, esteemed Factol,” he noted appreciatively.

Ambar glanced briefly at his bow. “Thank you,” he replied with a faint smile. “It’s from the forests of Fayrill, my old home.”

Sgillin nodded, then detached a small bottle from his belt and took a sip. He then held the flask out to Ambar. “A slug for a steady hand?”

Morânia nodded knowingly. She was aware that many archers liked to drink a small amount of alcohol before a battle or a tournament, as it steadied the hand and calmed the mind in just the right measure.

Ambar smiled, now a little more convincingly. “Gladly.” He reached for the hip flask Sgillin offered him, took a sip, and then handed it back. “Thank you.”

“Save some for me ...” Sarin sighed.

Sgillin nodded seriously. “Of course, Factol.”

When all the protective spells and prayers had been cast, Sarin turned to his wife. “I would appreciate it if ...” He paused.

Faith raised her dark eyebrows. “I know,” she replied, her voice gentle but with a slight reproachful undertone. “I’ll be careful.”

“Thank you.” Sarin cleared his throat apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he added even more quietly.

Morânia gave her husband Naghûl a knowing smile. Yes, when fighting side by side with a beloved one, there were two dangers. On the one hand, despite all the risks, one had to trust in each other's strengths and should not underestimate the partner out of concern. On the other hand, one had to be aware that other people were also taking part in the fight who might need support more urgently in a critical situation. And one had to have the nerves to act accordingly. She and Naghûl were well attuned to each other, having fought many battles together – and yet they were not always free of this flaw. From what Morânia knew about the Harmonium's recent past, Sarin and Faith had also fought side by side. They were therefore familiar with this situation, and yet it was clear that the factol could not completely put aside a certain concern for his wife. Good, Morânia thought to herself. Anything else would have surprised her.

Mallin took the brief exchange as an opportunity to step up beside Sarin and give him a stern look. “If it comes to a fight, hold back a little, alright? Don’t act the hero.”

The Harmonium’s factol raised his eyebrows. “Shall I leave that to you?”

“Today yes, if you don’t mind,” Mallin replied gruffly.

Sarin actually smiled a little at this remark. “I’ll consider it.”

“Hmm.” The paladin of Hoar nodded contentedly and then looked over at his colleague from the Athar, who was already walking towards the next dune.

“Terrance, wait a minute,” Ambar called out. “Don't go there alone.”

“Then come,” the high priest of the Great Unknown replied calmly, but without slowing his pace.

“For once, I have to admit that the man is right,” Mallin grumbled. “We should get this over with.”

So they all hurried to follow the Athar's factol and decided to walk round the dune instead of climbing it. The elevated position would have given the archers an advantage in the case of a fight. But in the soft sand, fighting on sloping ground would have been unfavorable for the melee fighters. Behind the dune, they spotted a small camp, just as Sgillin had described. Several tents made of shimmering purple and orange silk were stretched over wooden frames artfully decorated with carvings. Golden threads ran through the fabric like cobwebs, and in front of the tents burned a small fire pit over which hung a bubbling cauldron. The light breeze carried the scent of burning sandalwood, but also a subtle note of musk and something indefinably bitter that burned unpleasantly in their throats. Between the tents, they could see about a dozen nagas, both male and female. The scales of their serpentine lower bodies shimmered like jewels in the sunlight, some emerald green, others amber and a few even sapphire blue. Above the scaly lower bodies rose humanoid torsos, most of them four-armed, muscular and slightly shiny, as if they had been oiled. Gold and gemstone bracelets adorned wrists and upper arms, and many of the nagas were armed with scimitars and short bows.

Two of them particularly caught Morânia's eye: one had ruby-red scales, the other night-black ones. These two nagas had six arms and appeared to be priestesses of the dark aspect of Shekinester, clerics of the Weaver. They radiated an aura of royal dignity and wore jeweled crowns that reflected the sunrays. One of the priestesses held a golden scepter shaped like the head of a cobra, the other a book with an ebony cover. One thing was clear at the sight of these nagas: they were beings not to be trifled with. But whether a peaceful agreement was even an option remained to be seen. Sarin led the way, with Mallin on his right and Kiyoshi on his left. He approached the naga camp openly and visibly, but without drawing his weapons. He obviously wanted to make it clear that his group was not trying to sneak up on them and had no hostile intentions. But as soon as the nagas spotted them, the ones in front drew their scimitars, while the two priestesses glided closer, majestic but alert.

“Stay back!” the black-scaled one with the cobra scepter shouted. She was an impressive sight, her serpentine body strong and iridescent, her features wild and darkly beautiful.

Sarin stopped and bowed slightly. “I present my compliments,” he called. “I assure you, we mean no trouble and do not want to disturb you. We only wish to pass.“

”No,“ the naga replied resolutely. ”Your journey ends here. This area of the Court of Light is closed to outsiders. Turn back.“

Mallin was less polite than Sarin. ”We have no time for such debates,“ he growled. ”Clear the way or face justice!”

“Justice?” The red-scaled priestess with the book hissed indignantly. “This is our land!”

“I heard something different,” Ambar called from further back. “But I don't want to interfere, the factol of the Mercykillers is doing a great job here.”

At the words factol of the Mercykillers the two priestesses exchanged astonished glances and looked at Mallin with some concern. Morânia noticed Terrance's smile and looked at Naghûl with amusement. The way Ambar had caused uncertainty among the nagas with this brief, seemingly innocent remark was a move worthy of a bard.

“We're in a hurry, woman,” the paladin of Hoar added. “So get out of the way.”

“That’s out of the question!” hissed the dark priestess with the book, this time not without a certain nervousness. “Even if you really are Mallin ...” She fell silent, leaving open the prospect of what was to come.

Sarin apparently decided to make another try at reaching an amicable agreement. “Friends of ours are in serious danger and we must help them. That's why we want to seek out the Opal Tears Palace,“ he explained calmly. ”We have no quarrel with you.“

The priestess with the cobra scepter now drew herself up to her full height. ”If you want to go to the palace, you do have a quarrel with us. I am a High Emissary of Shekinester, and I say: Stay away!”

“I'm sorry,” Sarin replied firmly. “But that's not an option.”

“Then die!” the red-scaled naga replied grimly, signaling to the others to attack.

Morânia drew her sword Heaven's Fire and raised her shield, which was adorned with the sun symbol of Lathander. So there would be no peaceful solution. It didn't seem as if the dark nagas had been interested in one anyway. She stepped alongside Sarin and Mallin as they also drew their weapons. Kiyoshi completed the line of melee fighters at the front, while Terrance, Faith and Sekhemkare stood behind them. The last row was formed by Jana and Naghûl, arcane energy now crackling between their fingers, flanked by Sgillin and Ambar, who strung their bows. The nagas also closed ranks, sand dancing around their serpentine bodies as the melee fighters drew their scimitars. The metallic clang echoed across the wasteland. The two priestesses raised the golden scepter and the black book and began to pray ... Before the naga archers could fire their first arrows, Sarin gave the command to attack.

With a rough battle cry, Mallin swung his two-handed sword through the air. At that moment, Morânia realized that his impressive appearance was not deceiving: he swung the weapon with incredible force, shattering the armor of one of the frontline fighters with a single blow. The naga screamed and sank into the sand - for her, the fight was over before it had even really begun. Morânia followed the example of the factol and charged forward. She struck one of the melee fighters with her sword and simultaneously parried his scimitar with her shield. When he dodged her blow, she immediately followed up with a strike of her shield, causing the green-scaled fighter to tumble. Her next sword strike hit the winding snake body. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kiyoshi charging forward with his naginata. The blade struck the shoulder of a naga warrior with full force, tearing a gaping wound. Sarin seemed to have forgotten his conversation with Mallin about holding back in battle. The paladin jumped over a small sand drift, landing directly between two naga warriors. He was not as heavily armored as the factol of the Mercykillers, which gave him more mobility and speed in battle. With a fluid movement, he brought forward his two scimitars, Aurum and Argentum. The first blade struck one of the nagas on the arm, the second followed swiftly and slid under her breastplate, deep between her ribs. She screamed and immediately fell to the ground. The other naga attacked Sarin from the side almost simultaneously, but he dodged her blow. One of his scimitars glinted in the sun and then struck with lightning speed, finding the gap between his opponent's chest- and shoulder plate with deadly precision.

Faith, who had just sent a bolt of holy light towards the black-scaled priestess, now noticed her husband's daring and looked at him in annoyance. “Sarin!” It sounded less fearful than reproachful.

He gave her an apologetic look and then stepped back to Morânia's side. “I know I shouldn't act the hero,” he said as he channeled the divine energy he needed for a powerful smite.

The bal'aasi blocked a naga fighter's blow with her shield. “I'm not judging, Factol. A paladin should not stand at the rear during battle.”

He smiled. “I knew we’d understand each other,” he said before lunging again and delivering a strike imbued with holy energy against the red-scaled priestess.

Meanwhile, two arrows whizzed into the ranks of the naga archers from behind. Like silver streaks against the pale sky, they flew over the heads of the combatants, hitting one archer between the eyes and another one in the throat. Both fell to the ground immediately. A quick glance told Morânia that the two half-elves had changed positions. While Sgillin had retreated a little further back onto the dune, Ambar had moved up to Naghûl to cover his flank. This gave Sgillin a clear field of fire, but one of the naga warriors now lunged for the bard, brandishing his scimitar. Quick-thinking, Ambar lowered his bow, drew his long sword and parried the blow, while Sgillin fired another arrow.

With the Godsmen's factol blocking the attack from the side, Naghûl was able to concentrate on a spell. A hail of glowing missiles shot from his fingers and struck the black-scaled priestess, who had already been wounded by Faith. Next to her husband, Sekhemkare made a grasping gesture. Shadow vines shot out of the ground near Kiyoshi and grappled two of the naga warriors, preventing them from advancing. Almost simultaneously, lightning struck a naga archer - a spell cast by Jana, who was standing behind Mallin. Terrance, who was covering the sorceress' left flank, cast a healing spell on Kiyoshi, who had suffered a long slash in his leg.

When Morânia saw that Mallin and Kiyoshi were forming the left flank, she nodded briefly to Sarin, signaling that he could focus on the red-scaled priestess. She would work together with Ambar to shield the spellcasters on the right side. As the factol of the Harmonium had done before, she channeled holy energy into her blade, Heaven's Fire, and then brought the sword down on an advancing warrior. The naga recoiled with a cry of pain. The soft hissing in the air behind her revealed that Naghûl and Jana had cast another hail of magic missiles almost simultaneously. The glowing balls struck the naga archers standing further back, causing two of them to sink to the ground.

To Morânia's left, Mallin raised his sword and called upon his god. The bal'aasi knew this prayer ... the Judgment of Hoar. Red energy enveloped the black-scaled naga priestess, and she broke off the spell she had been about to cast. Her movements slowed, then she dropped the golden serpent scepter she held in one of her six hands. Without hesitation, the factol of the Mercykillers swung his blade and pierced the dark priestess' chest. Almost at the same moment, Kiyoshi unleashed his newly discovered fire breath, scorching the scales of one of the naga warriors. An arrow from Sgillin finished him off. Meanwhile, Faith rushed to Sekhemkare, who had been hit in the shoulder by a naga arrow. She healed the wound and the yuan-ti nodded his thanks, then hurled a beam of reddish energy at an approaching warrior. Ambar fended off another one with his long sword.

The battlefield was by now a chaos of sand and blood, battle cries, screams of pain and the clang of weapons. The remaining high priestess of the nagas uttered a prayer that darkened the sky above them and sent a dozen bolts of lightning striking down on the group. Terrance reacted immediately by spreading both arms and drawing a wide arc in the air with his hands. Most of the lightning bolts struck harmlessly into an invisible dome above the group's heads. Only two found their targets: Sgillin and Sarin, who were standing outside the protective barrier. Naghûl vigorously motioned to the half-elf to move into the radius of Terrance's spell. Sgillin didn't hesitate for long, sliding down the sand of the dune and coming to a stop between Jana and Sekhemkare. Morânia immediately laid her hands on him to heal the burns he had suffered from the lightning strike.

Sarin's armor, on the other hand, seemed to have absorbed most of the electrical energy. With two determined steps, he followed the priestess, who had withdrawn from him. She hurled a beam of energy at him, but Sarin dodged and the spell narrowly missed him. Simultaneously with his evasive movement, using the momentum of his twirl, he struck. Both scimitars found their target, Aurum between the lower ribs, Argentum above the priestess' collarbone. No scream. Just a surprised gasp before she slumped and her body sank lifelessly into the sand.

When the second priestess fell, the remaining nagas had a change of heart and quickly retreated, leaving their tents and equipment behind. Out of breath, Morânia lowered her sword and shield. A quick glance at Sarin confirmed what she had suspected: they would not pursue the dark nagas. So she cleaned her sword as best as she could and looked around to see if anyone in the group needed healing. Fortunately, everyone seemed to be reasonably well.

Mallin stood next to the body of the black-scaled priestess he had struck down. “What a pity,” he said matter-of-factly. “A truly impressive creature. But punishment must be meted out.”

Sarin looked around the ravaged camp and frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder if Red Shroud is behind this attack.”

“I wouldn't rule it out,” said Terrance.

“But why, factol?” Jana asked, confused. “Red Shroud wants a kiss from Sarin. Why would she have him attacked?”

“I don’t think she wanted to seriously harm Sarin,” Terrance explained. “But she wanted to weaken our fighting power. Make us exhaust ourselves and use up our spells and prayers.”

“Yes.” Ambar, like Sgillin, had collected some of his arrows. “That fits with the fact that the nagas fled when their priestesses fell. In other words, when they realized our strength. Since Red Shroud doesn't know who Sarin is bringing to the meeting, they probably expected less resistance. For example, they were clearly surprised to see Mallin.”

“But Red Shroud could have guessed that he would be there,” Naghûl interjected.

“Basically, yes. But that doesn't mean she told the nagas.” Ambar shrugged. “Otherwise, they might not have agreed to ambush us here.”

Sarin put away the scimitars, he had cleaned, looking displeased. “Well, what a heartening start.”

Meanwhile, Terrance knelt down next to one of the archers and checked her pulse. “This one is still alive,” he said, and then began to say a prayer for her healing.

“What are you doing?” Mallin asked harshly. “Have you forgotten that this snake just tried to kill us?”

Terrance remained unperturbed by Mallin's rude tone and calmly finished his prayer.

Faith, on the other hand, gave the factol of the Mercykillers a reproachful look. “He feels committed to the principle of healing above all else,” she explained. “And I think he's right.”

Morânia nodded in agreement. A battle was a battle, but after a victory, one should offer help to a wounded opponent. That was how she herself had always handled it too.

Sarin also seemed to agree, as he cut off another objection from Mallin with a brief gesture. “Let him. He's doing the right thing.”

The dying naga stirred slightly as the healing energy from Terrance's prayer flowed through her. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, she recoiled, but the Athar's factol placed a hand on her forehead and gestured for her not to speak.

“We will now move on,” he explained. “But you will survive. Do not forget today. And if you must follow a goddess by all means, consider whether it should be the aspect of the Weaver.”

Jana nodded solemnly at his words, and Morânia saw Ambar smile slightly out of the corner of her eye. Of course, no one had failed to notice that Terrance was using his charity to reinforce the principles of his faction. But even though she was a paladin of the Morninglord, Morânia couldn't blame him. Everyone who belonged to a faction tried to strengthen its philosophy, and a factol in particular. After Terrance had made sure that the naga was breathing evenly and had somewhat recovered, he stood up and nodded to Sarin, signaling that they could continue on their way. They quickly left the scene of the battle behind them, hoping to reach the Opal Tears Palace without further incident.

Chapter Text

“The one who can humiliate you without beating you is stronger than anyone who wields a sword.”

Malcanthet, Queen of the Succubi

Third Void Day of Mortis, 126 HR

After the battle against the nagas, there had been no further incidents. They still had to travel for almost two hours through the dusty savanna, and Morânia was glad that they – all except Kiyoshi and Sekhemkare – were protected by a spell against the oppressive heat. Otherwise, they would have arrived at their destination completely exhausted. The battle against the dark nagas had been fatiguing enough. They spoke little during the rest of their journey, only the crunch of sand under their feet and the occasional cry of a bird breaking the silence. As they approached the Opal Tears Palace, they could see that it was surrounded by palm trees and lush grass. It lay at the center of an oasis that looked like a green jewel amidst the ubiquitous gold of the savanna. When they reached the first palm trees, a breath of cool, moist air greeted them, and the scent of flowering plants, ripe fruit and damp earth wafted towards them.

“What a blessing,” Sgillin said with a smile.

He and Ambar, the two most nature-loving members of the group, were naturally particularly happy about this place. But everyone else breathed a sigh of relief as well. Even though the spells had protected them from the exhausting effects of the heat, the warmth had still been noticeable, accompanied by the knowledge of how mercilessly the sun would burn down on them without the thin magical barrier. Incessantly, the desert wind had blown tiny grains of sand across their skin, and the air had been unpleasantly dusty and dry. But now a green carpet spread out before them, dotted with palm trees and flowering shrubs. A crystal-clear lake glistened in the middle of the oasis like liquid silver in the sunlight. Birds chirped in the trees, insects buzzed in the calyces, and the splashing of the water mingled with the gentle murmur of the wind. The contrast to the barren savanna was so extreme that it seemed almost unreal.

And yet they all knew that this was not a place of rest and joy - not for them, not at this moment. For as it were, the oasis also represented the destination of a journey into the jaws of a poisonous snake. So, despite the beauty of their surroundings, they remained alert, even ready for battle. Their eyes wandered to the abandoned palace that rose not far from the water, a testament to past splendor that was now fallen into ruin. The walls, once bright white and decorated with colorful mosaics, were marked by time and the savanna wind that reached even this place. The constant breeze, carrying fine-grained sand, had eaten into the stone and transformed the ornate reliefs into barely recognizable shapes. At the same time, however, the water from the oasis had caused twiners to embrace the walls and columns, creeping over the arches and windows and forming dense green curtains that concealed parts of the palace and veiled others into a mysterious twilight. Yet despite its decay, the place exuded an aura of dignity.

Sarin, walking side by side with Faith, let his gaze wander over the old walls. “An impressive structure,” he remarked. “Even now, in its state of ruin. If only there weren't tanar'ri lurking inside ...”

Mallin grumbled discontentedly. “Let's hope they don't want to play any more games with us. But we should still be careful.” As if to emphasize his words, he drew his sword and then walked towards the entrance.

Sarin followed him, also with his scimitars drawn, Faith on his right, Kiyoshi on his left. Terrance, walking behind them, studied the ancient walls of the Opal Tears Palace closely, with Jana at his side. Naghûl and Sekhemkare joined them, while Morânia, Ambar and Sgillin brought up the rear. The main entrance was guarded by two huge snake statues, whose eyes might once have been precious gems. But plunderers had apparently broken them out long ago. Carved wooden doors with golden fittings now hung on their hinges, splintered and askew, their surfaces covered with cracks. The gap between the two door leaves was so wide that even Mallin could pass through effortlessly without having to open the gate further.

Alert and cautious, they stepped through the once magnificent portal into the palace's entrance hall. Debris was scattered across the partially broken tiles - shattered glass vases, remnants of richly carved wooden furniture and tattered carpets. The colors of the wall frescoes had faded, the stories they once told now almost illegible. But four- and six-armed nagas could still be seen, fighting manticores or worshiping Shekinester. Here and there, a hint of past glory still shone through - an intact mosaic tile, a golden ornament glistening in the sunlight, an intricately carved capital that had defied the centuries. Near the entrance, grass and undergrowth grew rampant between the cracked tiles, and in the center of the hall was a fountain flanked by two naga statues. But the former splendor had faded. The statues were covered with moss and lichen, the fountain was dried up and filled with leaves and mud. Fascinated, Morânia looked around. Despite the dilapidation, there was a peculiar beauty about the place, a melancholic dignity that resulted from the interplay of nature and ruin. They had not only entered an abandoned palace, but a piece of history, a story of rise and fall, of splendor and decay, written in stone and living green.

When they approached the fountain, a creaking sound made them pause. At the other side of the great hall, a door opened, also carved from wood, but unlike the entrance portal, still intact. Several tanar'ri stepped through: two goat-like bulezau, two kelvezu with deep red skin, a cambion, an alu and a glabrezu. Morânia felt her hand involuntarily tighten a little around the hilt of her sword at the sight of the glabrezu. The four-armed demon with a horned dog's head was about twelve feet tall and barely fit through the door. The sturdier upper arms ended in pointed pincers, the lower ones in clawed hands. The presence of a glabrezu made it unmistakably clear that Red Shroud was not to be trifled with and that they should not try to do anything reckless. Morânia sensed how everyone else in the group tensed up too.

The seven tanar'ri were headed by a succubus. However, it was not the Mistress of Broken Reach herself, but apparently one of her servants. Raven-black hair flowed over her ivory skin, red wings spread behind her back and dark, gold-embroidered silk swirled around her curves. She was probably younger than Red Shroud and not as powerful, but she was still a succubus, and her beauty was both demonic and alluring. As always when she was in contact with the Abyss or with tanar'ri, Morânia felt her grandmother's heritage resonate with their presence. Her otherwise stable inner balance did not respond well to this; she felt more impulsive, more irritable. Naghûl, who knew this all too well, placed a reassuring hand on her arm. She nodded gratefully. She was glad that her husband understood how she felt without saying a word. The succubus now approached, swaying her hips, while the other demons stayed back. Morânia did not fail to notice that Kiyoshi and Sgillin were staring at her with fascination – no matter how great their hostility towards the tanar'ri, it was difficult to resist the charisma of these demonic seductresses.

The succubus, however, was clearly only interested in one of the men present. “Factol Sarin.” She gave him a coquettish smile. “It's so wonderful that you are here.”

“Yes,” the paladin replied dryly. “I can hardly believe my luck.” He managed to remain remarkably unmoved at the sight of the alluring demoness. The blessing of Iomedae and his experience in dealing with tanar'ri certainly helped him now. But this was not Red Shroud herself, only one of her servants ...

The succubus now eyed the two scimitars in Sarin's hands, then Mallin's drawn sword, Morânia's blade and Kiyoshi's naginata. “But what is this?” she said in a reproachful tone. “You are storming in here with your weapons drawn? That way our little exchange is not going to work, I fear.”

Mallin growled irritably. “The fact that we were attacked not far from these gates contributed to this appearance.”

“Attacked?” The succubus placed both hands on her heart in an exaggerated gesture. “Oh no, how terrible. I am so very sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, I'm sure,” Sarin replied grimly, but then sheathed his scimitars, and the others put away their weapons as well. “Do you feel better?”

“Significantly!” The demoness winked at him and then looked at Faith, who was standing at Sarin's side. She examined her in a way that could only be called suggestive.

Sarin's wife, for her part, maintained admirable composure. She returned the succubus' gaze firmly and smiled at her with such wintery politeness that her contempt was unmistakable.

Sarin's displeasure at the demoness eyeing Faith was clearly visible. “Well then, shall we?” he interrupted the spectacle brusquely. “I'd like to get this over with.”

“Tsk, tsk.” The succubus raised her index finger reproachfully. “With all due respect, Factol, but as dusty and sweaty as you are, I cannot let you see my mistress.”

“And what do you suggest?” the paladin asked sarcastically. “Should I take a bath first?”

An inscrutable smile appeared on the demoness’ lips. “You can read my mind, my lord! Yes, you will take a bath and change into fresh clothes before you enjoy my mistress' attention. Everything is already prepared.”

An incredulous silence fell over the room at this demand. Sarin's companions exchanged worried glances, and the factol of the Harmonium buried his face in his hands with a sigh.

“Enough!” Mallin replied gruffly. “We won’t let ourselves in for such a piece of folly.”

He was right, of course. Taking a bath in this environment was quite risky for Sarin; anything could happen. But Morânia was certain that the tanar'ri would not simply abandon their request.

The succubus sighed exaggeratedly. “Well, then I'll have to ask the guards to take one of the prisoners and cut off one or two of their fingers.” She looked at Sgillin and Ambar. “Perhaps Lereia’s, what do you think?”

Ambar instinctively took a step forward, and Sgillin reached for his bow. But Naghûl held his friend back, and Terrance gave the bard a warning look, shaking his head gently.

“No, no.” The succubus raised an admonitory finger. “Don't do anything stupid, hm?”

The two half-elves paused, but the tension in the room was palpable. Morânia had to suppress the urge to put her hand on the hilt of her sword, and she could see Kiyoshi's fists tightening around his naginata. Behind her, she heard Jana curse softly. One wrong move, even one wrong word, could tip the scales now ...

Sarin obviously sensed this too and raised both hands. “Enough. Please ... I'm taking a bath.”

Mallin frowned. “Sarin ...”

But the factol of the Harmonium interrupted him. “Are we going to have someone's fingers cut off because I don't want to change?”

“That's a bad joke,” the paladin of Hoar replied grimly.

Sarin sighed. “They're tanar'ri, what do you expect?”

“Now, now,” the succubus interjected, feigning reproach but clearly pleased that Sarin was complying with her mistress' wishes. She pointed to one of the smaller doors leading off the large entrance hall, indicating that the bathroom was prepared behind it.

Ambar and Sgillin gave the paladin a grateful look, but were also clearly concerned. Morânia silently agreed with them that Sarin was doing the right thing to protect the prisoners. But she also knew that Red Shroud had made a potentially dangerous move, creating a situation they could neither assess nor control.

Mallin shot the succubus a withering glance. “But he's not going alone. I will stand watch.”

“Um ...” Sarin frowned skeptically at this announcement.

“Good grief!” Mallin growled gruffly. “I'll wait outside, but you're not going alone!”

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Morânia would probably have smirked at this verbal exchange. A quick sideways glance at her husband revealed that Naghûl felt the same.

“Excuse me,” Kiyoshi said cautiously. “If I may make a suggestion?”

The succubus eyed the dragon-blooded soldier. “Is he allowed to?”

“He is.” Sarin nodded and looked at Kiyoshi. “Well?”

“Honorable Factol Sarin-gensui.” The young man stood at attention as he presented his thoughts. “What do you think of the idea of taking your honorable wife with you to the bathing room and having the honorable Factol Mallin-heika and my humble self stand guard in front of the door?”

Despite the precarious situation, Sarin had to smile briefly. ”The first proposal I like very much. And the latter is probably a necessity, I agree with.“ He glanced questioningly at Faith, and his wife nodded gently.

”I am relieved,” the succubus stated. “My mistress would never have forgiven me had I allowed you to see her like this.” She winked at Sarin. “Enjoy yourself, my lord.”

She beckoned the alu over, who was standing further back, and the half-demoness approached the group and bowed to the factol of the Harmonium. “Please follow me, my lord. I will guide you to your bath.”

It was clear that Sarin was less than enthusiastic about the situation, but he kept his countenance. Before following the alu, he turned to Mallin and Kiyoshi. “At the slightest sign of anything suspicious, raise the alarm.”

The young soldier nodded gravely. “As you command, honorable Factol Sarin-gensui.”

The paladin looked at Faith, and she stepped resolutely to his side. Then they followed the alu towards the door behind which the bath had apparently been prepared. Morânia noticed that Sarin exchanged a brief glance with Terrance and the Athar’s factol nodded gently. Kiyoshi and Mallin followed Sarin and Faith at a short distance, the young soldier with his usual stoic expression, the factol of the Mercykillers with unconcealed displeasure.

“What a buffoonery,” he growled grimly.

He wasn't wrong. Tanar'ri were not only evil, but also highly chaotic. Therefore, the request for the bath could just as easily be a trap or a cunning move as it could be simply Red Shroud's whims and caprices, letting Sarin dance to her tune as she pleased. Moreover, she certainly had her means of observing this bath even without being physically present. Perhaps she was only interested in her own personal satisfaction before the kiss. Sarin was certainly aware of all this, and Morânia admired his composure in the face of the situation. While the alu disappeared behind one of the doors on the left side of the hall with the two paladins, Faith and Kiyoshi, the succubus returned to the other tanar'ri.

Morânia's gaze wandered to the door behind which she had briefly glimpsed a long corridor. “It discomfits me that we don't know where they are now and what's going on in there,” she whispered. “I find it suspicious.”

Sgillin, on the other hand, looked over at the demons. “I'm more concerned about the two followers of Red Shroud who are not yet present.” Almost unconsciously, he stroked the feathers of the arrows in his quiver.

“I feel the same way,” Ambar said quietly. “But we won't intervene until it's obvious that we have to and it's safe for the prisoners - or until at least one of those prerequisites is given.” The succubus' threat to have Lereia's fingers cut off had visibly upset the half-elf, but he had since regained his composure. He seemed calm but alert, like a hunter tracking his prey - at that moment, clearly more ranger than bard.

Sekhemkare, who had remained in the background until now, stepped up beside Terrance and Jana. “Judging by the vibrations in the floor as they walked ... I think I have an idea where they went. If we could change rooms, to the area on the left of the entrance door ...”

Terrance followed the yuan-ti's gaze and seemed to understand. He nodded to Sekhemkare, then walked over to the tanar'ri. Jana flinched noticeably as her factol approached the demons alone. The glabrezu immediately drew back its flews, drooling, and clicked its pincers.

But Terrance was not impressed. He paid no attention to the enormous canine demon, the bulezau, the kelvezu or the cambion. Instead, he turned to the succubus. “We need a room for a moment,” he explained calmly. “Alone.”

A little taken aback, the demoness eyed him warily. “Um ... excuse me? And what for?”

“To pray, of course,” Terrance replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Morânia had to smile. It was indeed bizarre that the Athar's factol of all people would make such a request, and the succubus' confusion was therefore quite understandable. Clearly overwhelmed by the high priest's matter-of-fact demand, she exchanged a brief glance with the cambion. But he seemed just as perplexed and simply shrugged his shoulders. Good, Morânia thought to herself. Red Shroud had unsettled everyone with her demand for the bath. Time to return the favor.

“We will only pray, meditate and prepare ourselves,” Terrance explained calmly.

“Now really!” interjected Ambar, who had also approached the tanar'ri. “You are demanding that Sarin takes a bath. So let us pray at least.”

“You're a bunch of barmies,” replied the succubus, now more annoyed than confused. “Fine, whatever. But only until the bath is finished!”

“Thank you,” Terrance replied. “May we use the room over there?” He pointed to one of the doors on the left side of the hall, the one Sekhemkare had looked at earlier. Then he walked over without waiting for an answer.

The succubus was about to say something, but then waved it off. Apparently, she was satisfied that she had enforced Red Shroud's demand for the bath and did not want to seek further confrontation. Sekhemkare followed Terrance and Ambar, who walked over to the room in question, and Morânia, Naghûl, Sgillin and Jana quickly joined them. This door was also intact, but creaked loudly when Terrance pressed the handle and opened it. Behind it, a hallway led straight ahead, just as Morânia had seen behind the other door. After about twenty steps, it ended at another door that led into an almost square room, significantly smaller than the entrance hall. The parquet flooring was now dotted with holes and cracks, and apart from a few shattered clay jugs and a broken table, there was nothing remarkable or interesting to be seen. Jana, who had entered last, carefully closed the door behind her, while the Athar's factol walked to the middle of the room and looked around. Although Morânia followed the Morninglord and Terrance rejected the worship of the gods, the bal'aasi found his presence reassuring. He was like a bastion of calm, a symbol of the unshakeable power of the Great Unknown, certainly, but at the same time a reliable support for all those present, regardless of their beliefs.

Now he turned to the yuan-ti, at whose instigation they had sought out the room. “And now?”

“If I'm not mistaken ...” Sekhemkare stood completely still for a few seconds, as if frozen. Then he nodded. “Yes. I sense tremors in the ground behind this wall. I believe that's where they are.”

“That's fascinating, Sekhemkare,” Ambar said with a frown. “But ... how does it help us?”

The yuan-ti's forked tongue darted out between his lips. “You said you were concerned because we don't know what's happening with Sarin right now. We could take a look through the wall.”

“How?” Morânia asked in astonishment.

Sekhemkare pulled the corners of his mouth slightly back - it was the first time the bal'aasi had seen him smile. “With the help of a soul shred.”

Naghûl raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed, but Sgillin eyed the yuan-ti skeptically. “You realize that we might see Sarin's wife undressed in there?”

“I highly doubt that,” Ambar replied. “I don't think Faith would bathe here unless she is forced to.”

“I agree with you, Factol,” said Naghûl. “Besides, it's better to see Sarin's wife unclothed and be sure that everything is all right than to have them in danger without knowing it.”

“Well, I'm not looking in there,” Sgillin explained firmly.

Morânia smiled. The half-elf clearly had some respect for how Sarin might react if he found out that he had seen Faith bathing. But at the moment, the paladin certainly had other concerns. Moreover, the bal'aasi shared Ambar's assessment that Faith would not bathe here unless she was forced to.

Terrance seemed to agree. “Do it,” he said to Sekhemkare. “Should Faith be undressed, only Morânia and Jana will watch. If Sarin bathes alone, only the ladies will look away. And Ambar ...” He laughed a little. “Ambar will look away in any case.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” the bard replied with a smirk.

Terrance's attempt to leaven the tense atmosphere with a little humor seemed to work. Sgillin and Jana laughed, and Naghûl nudged Morânia jokingly.

“I'm more attractive anyway,” he said with a wink.

The bal'aasi grinned. “Are you sure?”

Her husband grimaced, feigning annoyance, then they turned to Sekhemkare. The yuan-ti stared at the wall behind which he suspected Sarin and Faith, and his forked tongue darted out briefly. Morânia couldn't figure out what exactly he was doing to summon a soul shred, as he called it. He neither spoke nor made a gesture - it seemed to happen on a purely mental level. He stepped close to the wall and placed his hand on it. Then he suddenly froze, his eyes reflecting like glass. Fascinated, Morânia watched as the wall seemed to lose more and more substance until it finally became transparent. It now revealed a room with a stone basin embedded in the floor. It was filled with water, warm water judging by the rising steam. Sarin was already in the bath, and the basin was apparently deep enough that the water reached almost to his collarbones. Faith stood next to him, fully clothed, as Ambar had correctly guessed.

“Um ... can they see us?” Jana asked, alarmed.

“No,” Sekhemkare hissed. “The wall is only transparent in one direction.”

The sorceress nodded with relief and then watched the scene in the adjoining room. Since the factol was standing chest-deep in the water, she obviously saw no reason to turn around, just like Morânia herself. Looking at Sarin's shoulders and upper arms, the bal’aasi was sure that Red Shroud was also watching. She certainly hadn't forced this bath on him to then miss the view ... Sarin surely knew this too, and for a brief moment, Morânia wondered whether his wife's presence made things better or worse. Faith was apparently about to say something to her husband when one of the two doors to the room opened and the alu reentered. Morânia was surprised to hear the door creak. Apparently, the transparent wall was also permeable to sound.

Faith gave the alu a dismissive look. “Leave us alone, please.”

“That's not very nice,” the half-demoness replied with a grin, strolling closer to the basin. “I just want to make sure you have everything you need.”

When Sarin turned to the alu, Morânia could see the scars crisscrossing his shoulders and disappearing beneath the surface of the water, continuing further down his back. She swallowed a little. As a long-time resident of Sigil, she knew where those scars came from, of course. Most Cagers did.

The paladin approached the edge of the pool where the alu stood and rested both elbows on it. “Get out,” he said calmly, and the overly friendly tone of his voice should have been warning enough to the tanar’ri.

But apparently she couldn't resist her nature and instead stepped a little closer. “Come on.” She winked at him. “I might come in and help you ...”

Sarin sighed and reached for her ankle with a wet hand. She looked at him in surprise and smiled expectantly ... but then white flashes of positive energy flickered around the paladin's fingers.

“Ouch!” With an indignant cry, the alu jumped back from the edge of the pool.

Sarin pointed wordlessly to the door.

“Pff.” The half-demoness pouted. “Paladins ... killjoys.” But she quickly moved away from the basin and then disappeared through the door, which she closed noisily behind her.

Morânia heard Sgillin laughing quietly. Since Sarin's wife was not bathing, he was naturally watching the scene as well.

Faith also seemed amused. “If the situation weren't so serious, I would find this even more entertaining,” she explained when her husband turned back to her.

Sarin sighed once more. “Yes, I wish we could just laugh about it. ... Do you have it?”

She nodded, reached into a pocket of her robe and pulled out a vial of green liquid, which she handed to her husband in the basin. Morânia knew what it was. Sarin had informed Erin and Rhys of his and Terrance's plans before they had left, and her factol had told her about it, just as Erin had done with Naghûl. As unpleasant as the subject had been for Sarin, he had considered it reasonable and important that all participants in the mission knew exactly what was planned.

Now the paladin took the vial and opened it. He was about to drink the potion, but paused and looked up at his wife. “You agree to this, right?”

Faith smiled. “Don’t forget, we have the twins because you forgot to take your powder.”

Morânia bit her lip, part astonished, part embarrassed. Learning such personal details about the private life of the couple, especially without their knowledge, was as fascinating as it felt inappropriate. She saw Sgillin and Jana’s eyes widen too.

Sarin smiled apologetically at his wife's remark. “Yeah, just tell me,” he replied.

She splashed a little water at him with her foot, then became serious again. “Yes, it's alright, khaladi,” she assured him. “Drink it.”

Sarin nodded and then emptied the vial. Almost at the same moment, the wall became opaque again, blocking the view into the adjoining room.

“Unfortunately, I can’t uphold it for any longer,” Sekhemkare explained.

“I guess, it was very informative,” Sgillin said with satisfaction.

“I agree,” Naghûl concurred. “Forgot the powder ... well, well.”

Morânia nudged her husband reproachfully, with a look that made it clear he should refrain from such comments in the presence of other factols. Inside, however, she also had to smile a little.

Terrance remained calm and matter-of-fact as always. “I think we can rest assured, at least for now,” he stated. “Red Shroud apparently just wants Sarin to appear before her as she imagines it.”

Ambar nodded. “Then we'd better go back before the tanar’ri get nervous because we are … praying for so long.”

Terrance smiled at his longtime friend's comment and then opened the door to return to the entrance hall.

“That powder sounds very interesting ...” Sgillin muttered on the way out. “Where can I get that?”

Morânia was slightly amused that Sgillin was obviously unfamiliar with this substance that was popular and widely used in Sigil. “Well, at the market. Or in an apothecary’s shop.”

“Good to know,” said the half-elf.

“Sgillin only knows wineries,” Naghûl teased his friend. “And breweries.”

When they returned to the great hall, the eight tanar'ri were still standing close together near the fountain. The alu had rejoined them and was rubbing her left ankle from time to time, cursing.

The succubus turned to them when she heard the door creak. “Finished praying?” she asked mockingly.

“Halfway,” Terrance replied calmly.

The demoness shook her head dismissively. “Well, good for you. But no more strange special requests now. You will wait here until Factol Sarin is ready to let my mistress have her way with him.”

The succubus' choice of words enraged Morânia - all the more so because it was accurate, and they were all powerless to do anything about it. Red Shroud had their friends, and so Sarin seemed to have no choice but to comply with the wishes of the Mistress of Broken Reach. Everyone else felt the same way, and so no one responded to the demoness’ provocative words. Instead, they looked at the door, behind which Sarin did not only take the requested bath, but had also drunk the Moonweed elixir. Morânia sent a silent prayer to Lathander, asking that it might have its effect.

Chapter Text

“Grasp every experience – but know that some will grasp you too.

A kiss can be sweeter than immortality, and more bitter than damnation.”

wisdom of the Sensates

Third Void Day of Mortis, 126 HR

After drinking the Moonweed elixir, Sarin placed the empty vial on the edge of the basin. He had made this decision carefully, knowing and believing that it was one of the best ways to protect himself. And yet, now that he had emptied the vial, it felt strange for a moment. A decision he could never reverse – just like the one that had led Terrance to give him the potion in the first place. He ran both hands over his face once more to wash away the dust of the savanna. The water felt too warm on his skin, almost like a grip closing around him, and the whole room was filled with a heavy, sweet scent. He was no Sensate, and Lady Erin could certainly better judge it, but he would have bet that the water was laced with aphrodisiacs. However, the Moonweed elixir seemed to be having its effect in this regard: he felt no influence whatsoever.

Of course, Red Shroud must have seen him take it. And she certainly guessed what it was meant for. But if the forced bath had one advantage, it was that none of Red Shroud's followers had been able to observe – and possibly prevent – him drinking it. Sarin had wanted to take the elixir before entering the palace, but Terrance had advised against it. There was an ideal time span for the effect to set in and reach its peak – and that was now. Always in the hope and assumption that the kiss would actually happen anytime soon. As much as he had disliked the bath, he now hesitated to leave it. For that would bring him irrevocably closer to the Mistress of Broken Reach. A glance at Faith told him that she knew exactly what was crossing his mind. Of course, she always knew.

With a deep sigh, he pulled himself together and climbed out of the stone basin. His wife had meanwhile put the empty vial back into her pocket and handed him a towel. He went to one of the benches next to the basin, but not the one where his armor, his gambeson and his two scimitars lay. The alu had made it unmistakably clear that he should wear the clothes that Red Shroud had chosen for him. Just another move in the morbid game she was playing with him, he thought to himself. Not worth getting upset about. Not worth risking the prisoners' wellbeing for. But as his gaze fell on the robes that had been laid out for him, he paused ... When he had taken off his clothes to get into the bath, he had been more than aware that Red Shroud certainly had a way of watching. It had taken him some effort to overcome his reluctance, and it had been a well-placed stitch. A calculated humiliation ahead of the kiss, as subtle as it was obvious, a small, poisonous sting of abasement with which she demonstrated the power she currently had over him. It hurt, but it didn't surprise him.

What he hadn't expected was that it would take more effort to get dressed again than to undress ... But now he stood in front of the bench where the alu had placed the clothes intended for him, wearing only a towel around his hips – and somewhat speechless. A traditional wedding garment from his homeland of Iironda ... that was the attire Red Shroud wanted him to wear for the kiss. It lay on the stone bench, partly unfurled, and there was no doubt about it. The zardozi embroidery on the red sherwani and the golden braiding on the matching dupatta-scarf were unmistakable. The garments of an Iirondian groom, just as he had worn them at his and Faith's wedding ...

His wife noticed it too, of course. She stepped almost silently beside him and gently placed a hand on his arm. “It doesn't mean anything, khaladi,” she said softly, but there was an unmistakable tension in her voice.

He looked into her eyes and saw that she was hurt, even though she didn't want to show it. A hot wave of anger washed over him. “That ...” He swallowed the rest of his sentence. The words that were on the tip of his tongue were not worthy of a paladin or a factol, but they lingered in his mind for a while.

Faith had already regained her composure. “I mean it, khaladi,” she said calmly. “It doesn't mean anything. She just wants to torment us, that's all. Don't give her the satisfaction.”

Sarin took a deep breath. He knew his wife was right, and he admired her equanimity in the face of the situation. He briefly reached for her hand and squeezed it, assuring her of his support as much as seeking hers. Then he overcame his inner reluctance and put on the clothes that the alu had laid out ready for him. They fit like a glove, which only added to his discomfort. Red Shroud seemed to know more about him than he would have liked. He turned towards the door, but before opening it, he turned back to Faith once more, took her hand and gently pulled her into his arms. She kissed him, softly, lovingly, but still with a certain passion. Certainly in the hope that Red Shroud was indeed watching them, and Sarin returned her kiss with the same awareness. No matter what she forced him to do, she could never have what he had with Faith, and at that moment, this was the only thought that gave him strength. Then he let go of his wife, albeit hesitantly, and opened the door to the hallway. As they had announced and promised, Mallin and Kiyoshi were standing guard there. When they heard the handle, they both turned to him and looked him over, the factol of the Mercykillers more blatantly than the young soldier.

“Well, now she can't complain anymore,” Mallin said gruffly.

“I certainly hope so,” Sarin replied with a sigh. Then he signaled to Kiyoshi to take his armor and scimitars from the bathing room.

The young man quickly obeyed the order and then followed Sarin and Faith, who were walking down the hallway behind Mallin, back to the palace’s entrance hall. There, of course, all eyes immediately turned to Sarin, both those of his companions and those of the tanar'ri. As a factol, he had no problem with being stared at by many people, but in this particular situation, he felt that he was blushing.

The succubus looked him up and down and smiled contentedly. “Charming, my lord. Quite wonderful. My mistress will be pleased.”

Sarin snorted briefly and then turned his gaze to his companions. In their eyes, he found a mixture of tense caution, nervousness and sympathy.

Ambar eyed him a little more closely and then smiled faintly. “You look a little like those Tharpuresian kings from the old stories,” he remarked.

“I'm flattered,” Sarin replied with a sigh. “I'd rather look like the factol of the Harmonium in the Barracks in Sigil, though.”

“You just don't know how lucky you are,” said the succubus, shaking her head. “Well then, let's not keep my mistress waiting any longer. Please follow me.”

She led the way together with the cambion, the limping alu and the female kelvezu, while the two bulezau, the glabrezu and the male kelvezu stayed behind. They would apparently bring up the rear. Sarin didn't particularly like being surrounded by a group of tanar'ri. But all in all, this was far from the worst thing about their situation, so he decided not to argue about it. The door opposite the entrance led to a short corridor that ended at another, smaller room. From there, they climbed some stairs and crossed a medium-sized hall. The large wooden doors at the end of this room were almost intact, but stood wide open.

Behind them stretched a large, magnificent hall with a high ceiling supported by several columns. If there had been dust and debris here like in the rest of the palace, Red Shroud had obviously had her servants clear it away. The once-polished marble tiles were cracked in many places, but otherwise the floor was clean and free of rubble. Here, too, frescoes and mosaics on the walls depicted scenes from naga mythology, and many arched windows let light into the room. At the front side of the hall was a raised stone platform where once a throne might have stood. Now, however, only a wide column remained, perhaps meant for a royal banner. Even in its decay, the former splendor of this place was still palpable, a silent reminder of the reign of long-vanished naga queens. But more than to the platform at the other end of the hall, Sarin's gaze was drawn to a cell not far from the entrance door. It had probably been just a small side room originally, but sturdy iron bars had been installed in the door frame, so that it now resembled a jail. And there the paladin spotted Lereia and Yelmalis, both chained by their hands and feet.

“Lereia!” Ambar exclaimed. He took a step forward, but then restrained himself.

Sarin also moved a little closer to get a better look at the prisoners - and paused.

Mallin noticed it immediately as well. “Wait!” he growled. “Where is Garush?”

“She is here,” the succubus replied. “But in another room of the palace. We will bring her here once the agreement has been fulfilled.”

Mallin’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword. “Are you trying to fool us?!”

“Not at all.” The demoness remained outwardly calm, but took a step back from the paladin of Hoar. “But Red Shroud knows your strength. When our scouts reported who Sarin has with him, we deemed it safer this way.”

Mallin's golden eyes blazed with anger. “We will ...”

Sarin raised his hand. “Please, my friend,” he said, politely but interrupting him nonetheless. He understood Mallin's displeasure all too well. And he shared his concern for Garush. But as long as Red Shroud held all the aces, there was little they could do. Then he looked at the succubus. “May I see if they are well?”

The demoness nodded, apparently relieved that the situation did not escalate. “See for yourself.”

Sarin stepped a little closer to the barred door and examined Yelmalis and Lereia with concern. “How are you? Are you hurt?”

Yelmalis shook his head. He looked pale and exhausted, but physically unscathed. Lereia was moist-eyed and she stared at him with an expression as if she knew what Red Shroud was about to do to him. Apparently, Tarik had been successful and had at least been able to warn the three prisoners.

“We are unharmed, my lord,” replied the young woman. “Garush was too before they separated us.”

Sarin looked at her seriously. “Did they do anything to you? Physically or mentally?”

“Considering the circumstances in the Abyss, they treated us well,” Lereia explained quietly. “There were no assaults of any kind.”

“You see?” The succubus stepped into his field of vision with a raised eyebrow. “Everything is fine.”

Sarin took a deep breath and then slowly nodded to the prisoners. “Stay strong. It will all be over soon.”

Lereia looked at him intently, almost pleadingly, and gently shook her head, as if to dissuade him from taking the next steps.

Yelmalis’ gaze was also filled with pain. “Don’t do it,” he whispered.

Sarin sighed. “There seems to be no other way.”

“That’s right,” said the succubus, now with a hint of impatience. “Come, Sarin. Give my mistress what she wants, and nothing will happen to them.”

The paladin glanced briefly at his companions. Ambar was visibly struggling to restrain himself from stepping closer to the cell. Terrance cautiously placed a hand on his arm. Sgillin seemed to be experiencing similar feelings, while Naghûl and Morânia watched him vigilantly. Kiyoshi stood close to Faith's side, as if to shield her from the tanar'ri, while Mallin was even more irritable than before due to Garush's absence. Jana and Sekhemkare kept in the background as much as possible, probably glad that no attention was being paid to them at the moment. Sarin pulled himself together and nodded to the succubus, who then led him to the center of the great hall. He heard a whispered “No ...” from Lereia's direction.

At the foot of the stairs leading up to the platform, they could now see the last two followers of Red Shroud: a tiefling woman ... and a marilith. The six-armed demoness with the serpentine lower body was reminiscent of the nagas who had once inhabited this palace – and she was a serious threat. Together with the glabrezu, her presence was a clear message that Red Shroud also relied on extremely powerful allies. The succubus now stepped up beside Sarin and gestured towards the platform, apparently inviting him to go up.

Once again, he felt that he was blushing. When the Chosen had told him about the demand for the kiss, Naghûl had used the word “trophy.” Looking at the dais where Red Shroud wanted to present him, he realized that he was indeed just that. Grimly he shook his head. “A lot of fuss, isn't it?”

The succubus gave him an obnoxiously sweet smile. “It's quite an event.”

“Sure,” the paladin replied bitterly.

He heard Mallin snort in disgust, but he knew it was pointless. Red Shroud wanted him on that podium, so he would stand there. Slowly, he climbed the steps until he stood on the platform, which rose about six feet above the floor of the hall. It was empty except for the column, in front of which a throne might once have stood. When he turned around to look for his companions below, he saw the cambion making a jovial gesture.

“Find yourselves a good spot, huh?” The half-demon was acting like an usher at a grand spectacle - and that's exactly what it was for the tanar'ri.

Terrance nudged Ambar lightly and pointed to one of the pillars to Sarin's left. The half-elf nodded and went there, the Athar's factol at his side. Jana stayed close to Terrance and stood a little behind him. While the two bulezau positioned themselves at the steps of the podium, the two kelvezu entered the cell of Lereia and Yelmalis, which they locked from the inside. Then they drew two long daggers and held them to the prisoners' throats. Morânia stood beside the pillar opposite Ambar and Terrance, Naghûl, Sgillin and Sekhemkare a little behind her. The glabrezu and the alu also stayed on this side of the room, beside another pillar. Mallin had taken up a position a little ahead of Morânia, not far from the first steps of the podium.

The succubus did not seem to like the spot chosen by the factol of the Mercykillers. “You can't stand here,” she said sharply.

“Enough!” Mallin snapped at her. “I stand where I want!”

“All right.” The demoness backed away a little. “It will be fine, I guess ...”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sarin couldn't help but smile briefly. Mallin's mere presence and gruff manner apparently made the tanar'ri nervous, despite the presence of a marilith and a glabrezu. His formidable reputation certainly worked to their advantage here. When the six-armed marilith saw where Mallin was standing, she moved further towards Terrance and Ambar. She also beckoned the tiefling woman.

“Idobis!” She waved her over. “Come here.”

The woman followed the instruction and stood next to the marilith. Something about this change of position unsettled Sarin, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. It was just a vague, uneasy feeling. But just like with Mallin, no one could tell a marilith where to stand. Faith didn't seem to like it either, because she signaled to Kiyoshi, who had been standing firmly beside her until then. The young soldier nodded briefly and then positioned himself at Terrance's side, so that he stood between him and the tiefling woman addressed as Idobis. Faith herself seemed torn between staying back and moving closer. But then she stepped decisively up to Mallin's side.

“Do you want to see it up close?” the succubus asked with a grin. “Cute.”

Faith responded to the provocative remark with only a frosty glance, and Sarin felt another wave of anger wash over him as the demoness spoke to his wife like this. Nothing in the world would have made him happier than to step down from that platform and stand between Faith and the tanar'ri ... But he couldn't. So he just sought her gaze, and when their eyes met, he saw in her expression the confidence and strength he had always known. He took a deep breath. At that moment, he was certain of at least one thing: the bond between them was stronger than any demon's spell, no matter how powerful. A muffled gong echoing through the vast hall snapped him out of his thoughts.

“My mistress will now make her appearance,” declared the succubus, turning her gaze to a door not far from Ambar and Terrance.

Sarin felt the tension in the room grow in an instant as everyone's gaze turned to said door. And then she entered the hall ... Red Shroud moved like a woman who took it for granted to rule over one of the most important Abyssal fortresses: light-footed, smooth, yet every step a gesture of dominance. Her hair, jet black and shiny like obsidian, fell over her shoulders and back in heavy coils, her skin shimmered reddish in the glow of the sunrays streaming in. Two black horns curved elegantly backwards, while dark red, leathery wings unfolded behind her shoulders. Her black silken dress was semi-transparent and so artfully draped that it revealed as much as it concealed. Golden rings and chainlets sparkled at her fingers and wrists, at her ankles, horns and neck. With every step, the silk dress swirled sinfully around her curves. Sarin heard someone gasp, and he knew he wasn't the only one struck by her mere appearance. Even those who hated her couldn't escape her charisma. It was hard to believe that so much beauty could harbor so much evil ... Sarin's heart began to beat faster as she approached, and he sent a quick prayer to Iomedae that the Moonweed would have its effect. When Red Shroud reached the podium and climbed the steps, the air in the hall seemed to become noticeably warmer. Not a sound was to be heard, Sarin could only hear the pounding of his own blood in his temples.

When she stopped in front of him, she let her gaze wander down his body, blatantly and unashamed. “Sarin.” She smiled. “How long I have waited for such a moment.” Her voice, low and velvety, glided over him like a touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and focused. “You will forgive me if I cannot say the same for myself,” he replied grimly.

She laughed and then tilted her head with a small sigh. “Oh, you may yet learn to appreciate me.”

Her charms were beguiling, and married or not, paladin or not, he couldn't help but notice - couldn't help how much he noticed. But the Moonweed seemed to help - he felt in control. At the same time, he briefly sensed something that was like a gentle touch, like a hand protecting him, pleasantly cool in contrast to the heat of the room. Terrance. He just seemed to have used his considerable power to shield him from Red Shroud's mental influence.

Encouraged, Sarin now looked the demon princess firmly in the eyes. “Who guarantees that you will bring Garush here if I kiss you?”

Red Shroud laughed again. “No one. Because you don't think much of my word, do you?”

Sarin's eyes narrowed slightly. “Honestly, no.”

“Even though the prisoners are unharmed, as I promised.” Reproachfully, the demon princess shook her head. “I am disappointed. You will get Garush after the kiss. Really.”

He decided to make one last attempt. “And if I don't agree?”

She looked at the cell. “That would be very unfortunate for the prisoners. I know you have two powerful priests with you. But don't be too sure that I don't have the means to kill them anyway.”

Sarin looked at the barred door and briefly closed his eyes. A trade, nothing more, he told himself. Kiss for life, will for will. She wasn't asking for coins or blood. She was asking for something he had never wanted to give, something that belonged only to Faith and him. But there was no other way.

“All right.” He opened his eyes again and looked at Red Shroud, unsure what to do next or whether she would do it.

She gently placed a hand on his chest to push him back against the column. A jolt ran through him at her touch, but he played along, taking a few steps back until his back was against the pillar. Then she spread her arms and made a quick gesture. At her signal, a metallic sound was to be heard ... Two chains, attached to the capital of the pillar, came loose and now dangled clanking beside him. He hadn't noticed them before. At another gesture from Red Shroud, the chains came alive ... they shot up like snakes. Sarin tried to dodge, but the chains not only twitched like snakes, they were just as fast ... They wrapped themselves around his wrists and tightened. At the same time, two more chains slithered across the floor and shackled his ankles.

Sarin immediately tugged at the chains, but they were very tight. “What are you doing?” he growled angrily. “What is this supposed to be?”

Red Shroud just smiled, took a step back and nodded contentedly as she examined him. The chains scraped across the marble, each link cold as betrayal on his skin. They held his wrists above his head, his feet forced against the base. He tugged at them once more, but he knew it was futile. He was firmly chained to the pillar and could hardly move.

“Oh, Sarin. Don't be so upset, hm?“ Red Shroud stepped closer and gently ran her fingers over his cheek. ”It's much nicer this way. I even had the chains made especially for you. It's just a small precaution. What if your holy paladin reflexes will cause a positive energy flash, hm?”

Sarin stopped tugging at the chains, his feelings a mixture of surrender and letting go. Why resist? Wasn't that why he had come here? He had known what he was getting himself into, and now the time had come. Her scent enveloped him as she drew closer, sweet as roses and yet sharp as ash and blood. It spoke of sin and promise. His mind screamed that it was poison, and yet he breathed it in deeply ... But he felt Terrance's protective presence, and the Moonweed suppressed his most intense desires. When Red Shroud raised both arms to place them on his shoulders, he felt the heat of her skin even before she touched him. It was as if the room had become smaller, more confined. Her gaze was like a current: he wanted to avoid it, but he plunged into it ...

“Yes, let it happen,” she whispered in a velvety voice. “Just let it happen. You might even enjoy it.” And her lips met his …

Morânia held her breath as the chains shackled Sarin's ankles and wrists. Mallin seemed to reach for his weapon at that moment ... but then didn't. The hall was silent, unnaturally silent, with only the jangling of the chains to be heard. Faith stood frozen at the foot of the podium, her hands clenched together, her lips pale. Morânia, however, forced herself not just to look up there. She glanced over at Terrance and realized that the Athar's factol had his gaze fixed on Sarin. He seemed oblivious to everything and everyone around him, focused solely on the events atop of the dais. The bal'aasi nodded gently. He had undoubtedly formed a mental shield around Sarin's mind to protect him from the demoness' influence. On the platform, Red Shroud now placed her hands on Sarin's shoulders, and Morânia felt her heart beat faster with tension as her lips found his. This is more than a kiss, whispered a voice inside her. This is a move of fate.

When Red Shroud's lips remained on his, when she did not break the kiss but deepened it, Sarin instinctively tried to turn away. He was still capable of that much; he was not yet completely under her spell. But she raised both hands to hold his head in place and did not let go of him. Her lips were poison. He knew it. He had to deny himself to her ... and yet every breath drew him closer. As her kiss became more intense, his jaw tensed - and yet he opened his lips as if he hadn't consciously decided to do so. He wanted to push her away and at the same time longed for her touch. While her lips were on his, the moment seemed like an eternity. His whole body tensed, trembled ... a hot, burning desire flowed through him. Although everything inside him screamed that it was wrong, he felt an almost painful longing to touch her - he knew he would if his hands weren't chained to the pillar. His breathing quickened and he hated himself for wanting her. Were Red Shroud's charms stronger than the effect of the Moonweed? It seemed so ... His resistance crumbled ... The only consolation was that he could still feel Terrance's protective presence at the edge of his consciousness.

Morânia could downright feel Sarin fighting against Red Shroud's influence. While a deep silence hung over the hall and everyone stared up at the dais, Terrance was focused solely on Sarin. A deep furrow had formed between his eyebrows from the tension. When Morânia glanced briefly at the Athar's factol, she saw the tiefling woman Idobis, who was standing not far from him, reach for a long object on her belt. Then she turned to Terrance and raised her left hand to her mouth. Morânia felt a chill run through her limbs and was about to shout a warning - but Kiyoshi, standing next to Terrance, had apparently seen it too. He spoke a word that echoed loudly throughout the hall. Morânia couldn't understand it, but she knew the sensation it triggered. It was as if something tugged at her insides for a moment. It must have been a word in the Old Tongue.

And as soon as Kiyoshi uttered this word, Idobis dropped something that sounded wooden as it hit the floor. Now Morânia could see what it was: a thin blowpipe ... Had the tiefling woman just tried to poison Terrance? It certainly seemed so. But now she looked down at the bamboo cane in confusion, apparently surprised that she had simply dropped it. Very good, Kiyoshi, Morânia thought to herself. Blessed be the Old Tongue. The bal'aasi couldn't tell whether Terrance had noticed the incident or not, but in any case, he remained focused on Sarin. Ambar also reacted quickly, apparently on instinct, taking his bow from his shoulder and nocking an arrow. When Idobis bent down to pick up the blowpipe, he shot. He hit the thin tube unerringly, causing it to slide from beneath her hands towards Morânia. As soon as the blowpipe was within reach, the bal'aasi grabbed it and broke it in two.

One of the bulezau now stomped from the foot of the platform towards Kiyoshi and Ambar. “Do that once more and the prisoners die!” he growled.

Red Shroud's kiss became more passionate, she moved even closer to Sarin and her left hand slowly slid from his neck over his sherwani towards his belt. He made another try to turn his head away, but this time it was only a weak attempt, and once again unsuccessful. He clutched the chains to steady himself as the touch of her lips threatened to make him lose the ground. Her kiss was a promise of pleasure and liberation, and part of him believed it, longed for it. For an endless moment, he was not a factol, not a paladin, not a husband. He was just a man, caught between guilt and desire - and he wanted her, as much as he cursed her. He felt a surge he was unable to resist. His blood vessels dilated, his breathing quickened, his heart raced ... As powerful as the elixir Terrance had brewed might be, it was no match for Red Shroud's power …

Perhaps some of Sarin's companions had assumed that the kiss would be a quick and brief matter. Lips pressed against lips for a few seconds, and it would be over. But since Morânia descended from a succubus, she had been sure that would not be the case. She was right. The kiss continued, and nothing that happened seemed to affect Red Shroud. She stood close to Sarin, her hand wandering towards his loins. Her kiss had become even more passionate during the incident with Idobis. When the tiefling woman dropped the blowpipe, Ambar shot it away from under her fingers and Morânia broke it, the marilith let out a contemptuous snort.

“Nothing can be left to this slave trader,” she hissed. “Scum.”

Then she drew two sabers and glided towards Terrance with lightning speed ... Morânia felt her heart skip a beat in fright. Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword, and she saw Mallin cursing as he drew his weapon. But she knew that none of the spellcasters would be able to cast a spell quickly enough, and no one, not even Ambar on the other side of the room, would be able to reach the marilith quickly enough in close combat. No one except Kiyoshi, who stood between the demoness and the Athar's factol ... Out of the corner of his eye, Terrance seemed to see that the marilith was approaching. He bit his lip, but did not take his eyes off Sarin, only moving a tiny bit further to the right. Kiyoshi prepared to draw Hope, but the marilith was incredibly fast. She brandished one of her sabers in a wide arc and struck the young soldier to the ground with the flat side of the weapon. This left him unharmed, but the force of the blow and the plunge left him too dazed to get up immediately or speak another word in the Old Tongue.

All this had taken only a few seconds, and now there was no one standing between Terrance and the marilith ... As she charged at him, weapons drawn, the Athar's factol hesitated briefly, looking up at Sarin and Red Shroud ... but he had no choice. He turned to the side and raised his right hand. With a brief gesture, he sent a shockwave towards the demoness, so intense that Morânia could feel it on the other side of the room. It was an impressive demonstration of Terrance's power that the high-ranking demoness was thrown quite a distance across the hall, knocking over the tiefling Idobis. The marilith hit the tiles hard, and Terrance stood free again. But Morânia was almost certain that this attack had disrupted his concentration on protecting Sarin …

By now, her kiss caused him almost physical pain, but she did not let go of him. He was at the mercy of his own inevitable craving, and somewhere, at the very edge of his clouded consciousness, he felt Terrance's presence fading, the protective shield between his and Red Shroud's mind collapsing ... He gave in. He wanted her. So much that the pain became sweet, the guilt bearable. At that moment, he wanted nothing else. His desire was like a geyser about to erupt, like a tidal wave that rose higher and higher until no dam could hold it back. And when it finally washed over him, he did not drown - he let himself be carried away. He closed his eyes, and sparks exploded brightly behind his eyelids. A white firework that blinded him and at the same time was an expression of bittersweet release. And when he no longer held the chains, but they held him, he knew: the fight was over. Not between her and him – between his conscience and his desire. And his conscience had lost …

Morânia watched in horror as Sarin's grip on the chains tightened, his hands cramping. Terrance, after pushing back the marilith, immediately looked up at the platform again. He seemed to be concentrating, but the paladin's body twitched and his grip became so strong that the chains creaked.

Terrance's gaze darkened. “No!” he shouted, unusually emotional. “Tarnation, no!”

Morânia's heart sank. The marilith's attack had not been successful, but it had obviously been enough to break Terrance's concentration on the protective spell. If the Moonweed failed too now ...

“All right, that's enough!” Mallin apparently decided that the time had come to intervene. He gave Morânia a quick signal and climbed the steps to the platform.

The bal'aasi nodded and drew her sword Heaven's Fire. Behind her, she heard Naghûl and Sekhemkare chanting a spell. Kiyoshi lay on the ground, still visibly shaken by the marilith's blow. But he managed to prop himself up on his elbows and to yell another word in the Old Tongue, this time in Sgillin's direction. The half-elf froze and stood completely still. Morânia nodded. The two carried out a maneuver they had discussed beforehand: Sgillin would now try to swap bodies with one of the kelvezu guards in the cell, and Kiyoshi had paralyzed his body so that the demon inside it couldn't act in any way. As Morânia prepared to protect Naghûl and Sekhemkare from the glabrezu with her shield raised, she saw Faith sending a beam of radiant light towards the marilith.

As his grip on the chains slackened, Red Shroud kept her mouth on his for a few moments longer, gently, but not without running her tongue over his lips one last time. When she finally pulled away from him, he looked at her, horrified, surprised, hurt, speechless. A faint smile played around her lips. But there was no triumph in it. Rather, it was the satisfaction of a woman who knew she had gotten what had been unavoidable anyway.

Her gaze was mocking, yet almost tender as she stroked his cheek with a sharp fingernail, a gesture partly caressing, partly possessive. “Shhh ... don't worry. You only did what was inevitable. Your craving was stronger. It is always stronger.”

Sarin felt that he was blushing deeply with shame. He wanted to protest, but no sound passed his lips. He felt strangely alien in his own body, as if another man had returned the kiss - and yet it had been only himself.

The moment Morânia blocked the glabrezu's first blow, a hail of magic missiles from Naghûl whizzed past her. They hit the nearby alu, the other succubus and the glabrezu. A curse from her husband suggested that these were not quite the targets he had had in mind. An eldritch blast from Sekhemkare also hit the glabrezu, this one probably as intended. Morânia risked a quick glance at the cell with the prisoners. The female kelvezu now took the dagger from Lereia's throat, jumped at the male kelvezu and rammed the blade into his neck. At that very moment, Yelmalis disappeared - probably by leaping through time to escape the immediate threat posed by the guard's dagger. So it had worked: Sgillin was now controlling the guard's body. The other demon was so surprised by the attack and Yelmalis vanishing that he couldn't react in time. Lifelessly he fell to the ground. On the other side of the hall, the marilith, who had been knocked down by Terrance's spell, was now getting back up. Ambar immediately shot an arrow at her to attract her attention.

Terrance looked up at Sarin and Red Shroud once more and shook his head in resignation. Then he turned to the cambion approaching him with a drawn shortsword and made a gesture with his hand. Screaming, the demon burned to death in holy fire, and Morânia caught herself thinking that perhaps it was absurd to protect Terrance. Maybe he was the one who should be protecting them. Idobis seemed to think so too, as she cursed in Infernal and retreated to the entrance door, probably with the intention of fleeing. At that moment, one of the bulezau who had made his way to the cell let out a loud cry. There had been no visible attack, but glowing ashes trickled from Lereia's hand …

When Red Shroud finally let go of him and took her hand from his cheek, the chains around his wrists and ankles came loose and fell down, clanking. Exhausted, Sarin leaned against the pillar. He still couldn't believe what had just happened to him against his will and in front of everyone. Then Mallin suddenly stepped into his field of vision, energetically reaching for Red Shroud. The demon princess spun around, but couldn't quite escape the factol of the Mercykillers and was grabbed by the arm.

“You've been up to something from the start,” he growled. “Well, small wonder with a tanar'ri. But that's the end of it.”

Almost at the same moment, Faith appeared next to Mallin, ran over to Sarin and embraced him.

The female kelvezu, or rather Sgillin in her body, was now unlocking Lereia's chains, as well as those of Yelmalis, who had reappeared in the meantime. At the same time, a hail of magic missiles from Naghûl and Jana, as well as an eldritch blast from Sekhemkare, struck down the bulezau, from whom Lereia had already torn a piece of his soul. Morânia was still facing the glabrezu, but suddenly an arrow whizzed by and hit the demon in the throat. She looked over to the other end of the hall. Ambar. He had apparently decided that his comrades on his side of the hall did not need any support. Kiyoshi had obviously turned a blind eye to the traditions and customs of Kamigawa, as he fought the second bulezau with Hope in his hand. Terrance, on the other hand, turned his attention to the marilith. The fact that he had just incinerated the cambion with a mere wave of his hand seemed to impress the demoness, but she charged at him nonetheless. As the Athar's factol raised his hand once more to say a prayer, Idobis disappeared from the hall and fled.

When Sarin embraced Faith at the top of the podium, he still felt dizzy and confused, as if none of it had really happened, as if it were just a bad dream.

Meanwhile, Mallin tightened his grip around Red Shroud's arm. “You're coming with us to Sigil,” he growled. “We'll soon find out what you did to Sarin.”

“What I did?” She laughed. “Well, just what my kind does, esteemed factol. And I would really like to come to Sigil. But not to the Prison, so ...” She turned to Sarin. “It was wonderful, my love. Thank you!” She blew him a kiss, then touched an amulet around her neck with her free hand - and was gone.

Mallin cursed as Red Shroud disappeared, but he didn't seem too surprised. She was a demon princess. Of course she had the means to leave this place quickly. Faith hugged Sarin with tears in her eyes, and he held her tight, his eyes fixed on the spot where Red Shroud had just been standing. Only now did the sound of fighting reach his ears from below …

Meanwhile, the glabrezu had fallen under Morânia's sword blows, Ambar's arrows, a lightning bolt from Jana and another hail of magic missiles from Naghûl. While Sekhemkare struck down the alu, the bal'aasi quickly moved to the other side of the hall to support Kiyoshi against the bulezau if necessary. As she did so, she saw Terrance raise his hand, and the air around the marilith began to vibrate as if invisible threads had been stretched around her body. An ominous cracking sound echoed through the hall, piercing marrow and bone. The six-armed demoness' eyes widened and her limbs jerked as if an invisible fist had grabbed her from within. Then her body twisted at grotesque angles, bones splintering like breaking wood, and with one last shrill scream, she collapsed as if her own body had crushed her. A dull thud could be heard as the corpse fell heavily to the ground. Only very powerful priests could cast an implosion. Morânia, although well-traveled, had not seen it often, and the sight made her throat go dry. Kiyoshi and the bulezau had also stopped fighting and stared at the twisted corpse of the marilith.

Ambar, who had just been aiming at the demoness, lowered his bow and looked at Terrance. “Sometimes you scare me a little,” he said.

“That's because I'm angry right now,” the high priest replied grimly. “Very angry.”

At that moment, there was a loud bang as the wooden entrance door was thrown open and Garush rushed in. The blood on her hands was a clear indication that she had apparently awakened the Huntress and thus escaped her guard in another room. It was probably the noise of the battle that had led her to do so. Kiyoshi and Ambar took advantage of the moment of confusion to finish off the bulezau with a sword stroke and an arrow. Meanwhile, Lereia and Yelmalis, freed from their chains, had left the cell and locked it again – with the remaining kelvezu inside. Only then did Sgillin swap back, and the confused demoness stared in disbelief at the empty cell, the locked door and the dead comrade at her feet.

It happened almost at the same moment that Red Shroud disappeared from the top of the dais. Seeing that all the other tanar'ri had fled, were dead or incapacitated, the remaining succubus followed her mistress' example and vanished, probably via plane shift. Then there was silence. No one spoke, only the heavy breathing after the chaotic battle could be heard in the hall. For a few moments, everyone seemed frozen. Then Ambar and Sgillin ran over to Lereia at the same time. The young woman hugged them both. But while the embrace with Sgillin seemed more like a hug between friends, it was different with Ambar. There was a hint of uncertainty in it, as well as a kind of relief that spoke of deep affection. Morânia did not get the impression that Sgillin was particularly bothered by the two of them hugging. A little further back, Sekhemkare ran over to Garush and Yelmalis. The amazon hugged both men briefly – an apparently rare gesture, as both the air genasi and the yuan-ti seemed surprised. But then they returned the hug. Morânia stepped next to Naghûl and slowly reached for her husband's hand. It was over. They had made it. But at what cost?

By the time he realized there was a fight going on, it was almost over. Sarin saw the marilith die in an implosion cast by Terrance, he saw Garush rush in and he saw Lereia and Yelmalis lock one of the kelvezu guards in the cell. Then there was silence. A deep silence fell over the hall and all eyes turned to him.

He held Faith's hand and looked down, searching for Terrance. “Did it work?” he said, his own voice sounding hoarse in his ears. He didn't know why he asked at all. He already knew the answer.

There was nothing but exhaustion and resignation in Terrance's gaze. “It ... happened just as the marilith ... I'm sorry. The Moonweed?”

Sarin felt the blood pounding in his temples. “Don't ...” he uttered. “Please, don't.”

He felt a burning shame at the fact that Red Shroud's charms had been stronger than the elixir, that she had been able to push him this far, and in front of everyone. He was almost grateful for the deep exhaustion that was now setting in, which at least partially masked this terrible feeling. As he slowly descended the steps, still holding Faith's hand, he saw Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush approaching the platform. They seemed hesitant, apparently unsure whether to come closer.

Lereia looked at him with concern and then lowered her head. “Factol Sarin, I don't know what to say ...”

Tired, the paladin sat down on the bottom step. “Neither do I.”

“We are so sorry, and at the same time, we can only express our deepest gratitude,” the young woman said quietly.

Yelmalis nodded and added cautiously: “Is there ... anything we can do?”

Sarin rubbed his temples and sighed deeply. “I don't think so. It was a risk. I gambled and lost. That's how it is.”

“We are forever deeply indebted to you,” Garush said seriously.

Lereia nodded and hung her head. “If there's any way I can make it up to you, please let me know.”

“I should have protected you better.” Terrance ran his hand wearily through his gray hair, his voice sounding older than usual. “Forgive me.”

“Someone tried to poison you,” Ambar came to his friend's aid. “And then a marilith tried to attack you. What were you supposed to do?”

Sarin shook his head. “I don't blame you. You really did everything in your power.” When he looked the Athar's factol into the eyes, he clearly saw the high priest's guilty conscience, but he meant what he said. Terrance was not to blame. There was only one culprit, and she had long since disappeared back into the Abyss.

“Do you feel ... different?” The question came from Mallin, and his voice sounded uncharacteristically gentle.

Sarin shook his head. “Not at the moment, no. But I don't yet know exactly what has happened. What she has done. The next few days and weeks will tell.”

He looked at his companions once more. While Terrance, Ambar and Mallin stood further ahead, to the right and left of Lereia, Yelmalis and Garush, Morânia, Naghûl, Jana, Sgillin, Kiyoshi and Sekhemkare had stayed back a little. Everyone looked serious and concerned, and everyone was very quiet. From the side, he felt Faith's worried gaze on him.

“I want to be alone now.” He stood up. “Alone with my wife.”

And he needed to wash and change. He felt dirty and defiled, both physically and emotionally. Without waiting for a response, he walked to the door, and Faith remained by his side. As she always had. He felt her hand in his, warm and familiar - and yet it was as if an invisible wall had suddenly risen between them. Every gaze in the hall had been on him, but none had weighed as heavily as hers. He was a paladin, a factol, a shield for his faction and family - or at least he was supposed to be. Instead, helpless and chained, he had succumbed to the charms of a demoness who had shown him up and off. He was sure Faith didn't blame him. But could he forgive himself? As he closed his fingers around hers, he wondered if he still had that right - or if she had slipped away from him the moment he had given in. One thing was certain: something broke in this hall - and they would hear the sound for a long time to come.