Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧

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.

⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧ ⌒ ⛦ ⌒ ⛧

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.