The Invisible Assailants

The Black Sun pulsates with an unholy energy felt more than seen or heard. The vibrations emanate through the glass door and even ripple through the swollen purple stone floor. Sweat beads upon the High Priest’s brow while he concentrates on the Black Sun. Under his dominating will, the sphere of annihilation moves slowly, grudgingly out of its resting place and towards the closed door. It passes through the glass, seemingly not even touching it, to float chest high in the hallway at Lord Hedrack’s command.

Frightened at such a spectacle of power, Naquent and the newly arrived assassin drop to the stone floor in obeisance. Naquent searches through her memory for a reason why she deserves such an ultimate punishment, or glory. Surely Hedrack does not suspect her ambitions of ruling the Outer Fane, replacing him? Perhaps he does not appreciate her initiative at capturing the dwarven paladins for her personal use? Her musings are of no matter now.

Lord Hedrack maintains a steely gaze on the sphere, and addresses Naquent. “Do you actually think I am not aware of your ambition? You seek to remove me as leader of the Outer Fane.” He smiles as the High Priestess shakes her head in denial. “First, however, you must go through Varachan.” Hedrack glances at Naquent, momentarily removing his gaze from the sphere. “I give you your chance to jump up in the hierarchy. You merely need to wrest control of the sphere and use it against me.”

That thought could not be further from her mind as Naquent only falls prone to the floor. “No, Master! Please! I beg mercy!”

Hedrack grins. “I did not think so.” He then turns and glares at Bethe, still in the disguise of an elf. She quickly dismisses the disguise self spell and reverts to her normal, luscious human form. She prostrates herself on the floor beside Naquent, who shifts away.

Hedrack commands, “Bethe, report to me of your astonishing success.”

She gulps, briefly considering lying, but realizing the futility of trying to hoodwink Hedrack. “Master, we had waited until the intruders exited the crypts. The stalkers watched them play with Lord Unariq’s tomb and leave. We set up the ambush near the Earth Bridge area, hoping to trap them between the two stalkers and giving me time to assassinate the lead fighter.”

Naquent continues shifting away from Bethe, coming to the understanding that the lack of an immediate acknowledgment of success could only mean failure. Bethe continues her report. “The dwarven druid, apparently a replacement for Verilia, cast faerie fire on the rear stalker, while the front stalker pummeled the fighter, Aldoroc. As planned, the rear stalker attacked the wizard, Azzalin, attempting to kill him quickly. The ranger Kale stepped in front of Azzalin, however, and drove it off, due to its inability to overcome the faerie fire. Indeed, I almost shifted my target to the druid because of that.”

Hedrack grimaces in concentration as the sphere moves closer to him. After a few moments, he dominates the artifact again and forces it back. Bethe looks fearfully at the sphere, continuing her report. “The dragon disciple, Aramil, then dropped a fireball ahead of Aldoroc, unfortunately hitting the stalker and almost injuring me. I managed to evade the blast, though.”

“I decided to make my attack right then and drove my rapier through the fighter! Master, I punctured his lung, I swear! Aldoroc shrugged it off, though!”

“I tumbled away as Azzalin cast a black tentacles spell into the corridor, as you predicted. Thank you, O Master, for your gracious freedom of movement spell! That is when I broke the refuge stick and appeared in Varachan’s chambers. I can only assume the forward stalker was killed. I met up with the other by the Air Door and we came here to report.”

Naquent glances around, noticing for the first time the presence of an invisible creature standing over Bethe. Hedrack nods and the invisible stalker reaches down and grabs the assassin, holding her firmly. She cries out, “Master! Please let me try again! I will kill them, I swear!”

Hedrack concentrates and motions with his arm. “You’ve had your chance.” The sphere of annihilation shoots towards the assassin, moving through her and the surprised stalker, stopping only at the purple wall writhing with swollen veins. With two successive audible pops, Bethe and the stalker disappear in puffs of acrid violet smoke. Bethe’s magical items fall to the floor beside Naquent, who stays absolutely motionless.

Hedrack chuckles, eyes seemingly transfixed on the undulating wall. He speaks in auran to the already annihilated stalker, “You, too.”

He then lets go of the sphere, watching it move slowly back through the glass door and into its resting place. “Naquent, I hope you’ve learned a lesson today.” He grabs her forcefully by the hair and wrenches her head to look up at him. “Now, bitch, get Choranth and meet me in my chambers.”

The Second Battle of the Fire Temple

Sylvan moans in pain, leans back against the stone wall, and slumps to the floor. A deep bruise rises slowly on his forehead, the result of a particularly strong blow from the invisible stalker. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Shangor leans down, placing a firm hand on the elf’s shoulder, and gives him his most powerful healing spell. The bruises vanish. The internal bleeding stops and the wizard feels a lot better suddenly as the divine energy of Moradin flows through his body.

Aldoroc puts his gauntleted hand to his left side, trying to stem the flow of blood. He breathes and then coughs from the blood in his lungs, evidence that the assassin’s blade had more effect than he originally thought. “Damn assassins.” He grumbles. Aldoroc reaches into his pack and takes out one healing potion after another, consuming them until the bleeding stops.

The heroes return to the secret dwarven room and rest for the remainder of the night. As usual, Sylvan sets an alarm spell, but they do not take any additional precautions. The morning dawns brightly, and early for the adventurers, though the sun is undetectable through the outer stone wall of the crater. The spellcasters prepare for the upcoming attack on the Fire Temple while Aldoroc does calisthenics, working out the stiffness from last night’s battle with the invisible stalkers and the female elven assassin.

The double bronze doors of the Fire Temple, like Skassik’s armor, are enameled bright red. They must have been painted recently, too, because they are not peeling yet. Heat radiates from them like coals in a torture chamber. Aldoroc unhooks the holy battleaxe from his belt and hefts it to his shoulder as the others cast protection spells. In half a minute when everyone’s ready, Aramil casts knock and the two doors open up, revealing an empty temple area and a raging fire pit eighty feet in diameter.

It’s not quite empty, however. Two elven guards and a hell hound stand on the left side of the pit. Aldoroc charges the guards as they raise bows to their shoulders and fire. Aramil steps up, too, and polymorphs into a gold dragon wyrmling. Seeing a relatively empty temple area, the others take another few seconds to continue preparing protection spells or drinking potions.

Another hell hound and group of burning skeletons emerge from the right hand side alcove, moving towards the heroes. Three trolls climb out of the fire pit and surround Aldoroc, blocking his advancement toward the elven guards. The guards smile at each other in obvious relief, not particularly desiring to confront the powerful fighter in hand-to-hand combat. The trolls flank Aldoroc and ferociously tear through his armor.

The platform rises out of the fire, exposing Skassik, two more salamanders, Eeridik, and an armored ogre. Skassik no longer wears the red enameled half-plate armor. Instead, he wears a beautifully crafted suit of mithril plate. The armor gleams brightly, reflecting the flames in a coruscating pattern over the altar and the others on the platform.

Eeridik, the wererat sorcerer who fled the Earth Bridge Complex, unfolds a thick scroll and casts wall of force. Sylvan and Aramil both recognize the spell. Aramil has a ill feeling about it and sticks his hand out behind himself, noticing that the wall blocks out his four companions, five including Verrick’s animal companion, the warhorse Bucky. Despite the predicament Aramil and Aldoroc are in, the others continue their preparations as Sylvan casts haste.

Skassik repositions the platform to the edge of the pit and slithers off, moving up to Aldoroc and attacking with his barbed greatsword. The other salamanders and the ogre engage the dragon disciple by the wall of force, knowing its location and not foolishly attacking those on the other side. One of the trolls breaks off from the assault on Aldoroc and battles Aramil as well. The skeletons mill about, looking for suitable opponents, and point out tactics to the frustrated ogre and salamanders. Eeridik moves the platform back to the center of the pit for protection and targets Aramil with a magic missile, failing to penetrate his shield spell.

Aldoroc is surrounded by foes and holds his own against the trolls and the salamander, but things take a bleak turn when Skassik moves into flanking position with his poisoned blade. The barbed greatsword metes out tremendous damage on the fighter. The protective boosts from his companions seem almost negligible facing the powerful attacks from the salamander blackguard. Aldoroc would have a fair chance one-on-one, but the flanking trolls only provide Skassik with the opportunity for taking devastating advantage of openings in his defenses.

Aldoroc manages to escape, engaging the elven guards and hell hounds at the back end of the temple. Sylvan grabs Verrick and casts dimension door. They appear on the platform beside a startled Eeridik. The wererat fires off a lightning bolt, but is quickly subdued with a feeblemind spell from Sylvan. Verrick casts call lightning and starts pummeling the trolls with bolts, druid-style.

Shangor stone shapes a tight opening past the wall of force and squeezes his dwarven frame through, attempting to help Aramil. Kale joins him, but then tumbles past the opponents to the platform after realizing that Shangor and Aramil can handle the ogre, troll, and salamanders by themselves.

Skassik ignores the fleeing Aldoroc to concentrate on the foes upon his platform. He slides to the edge of the pit and the platform moves over to him. He taunts Sylvan, “Azzalin, it is not too late. Join me.” He gestures at the babbling wererat, “I have a new opening for Fire Temple Wizard.”

Sylvan’s responds with a crude gesture and says, “I told you before, my name is Sylvan. I will never work for the Fire Temple.”

Skassik replies, “Then you will die, elf, like the rest of your incompetent family.”

The trolls step onto the platform, one engaging Verrick and the other moving around the altar and drum to attack Sylvan. Sylvan futilely attempts to control the platform, willing it back to the center of the pit and up, not yet understanding that the wielder of the tentacle rod commands it. The wizard then tries to move past the troll and out of its reach, knowingly provoking an attack. Instead of the normal swipe of its claw, the troll grapples the wizard. Verrick casts baleful polymorph on the troll to turn it into a chicken, but the giant resists the spell. Sylvan struggles to escape and fails, and then the troll steps off the platform and into the flames taking the mage with him. They plummet to the pit ten feet below. Kale jumps in to help Sylvan, but he cannot see due to the fire.

Verrick gleefully draws out his scimitar, attacking the troll with a vengeance. The druid’s tune changes, however, when Skassik snakes in behind him and slices through his shoulder with that wicked sword. Verrick is not troubled by the poison, but the terrible damage Skassik can inflict. The druid decides that today is not a good day to die and air walks off the platform, dropping a lightning bolt on the blackguard.

Shangor and Aramil battle the enemies by the wall of force, not yet advancing into the room. Aldoroc drinks healing potions and keeps out of reach of the guards and the hell hounds. The skeletons split up and approach Aldoroc from both sides of the pit. Seeing this, the elves fire their bows at Verrick floating the air, who is casting a spell. They fail to hit him, however, and he completes the summoning spell. Two beautiful, silver unicorns appear near the fire pit, engaging the skeletons in combat and healing Aldoroc as necessary, who nods silently in thanks to the druid.

Meanwhile, in the pit itself, Sylvan plays dead in an attempt to make the troll let go. It buys the bluff only too willingly, happy to leave the flames. Despite the protection from fire afforded by the temple altar, the troll’s innate desire to stay out of fire is almost overwhelming. The troll lets go of Sylvan and climbs the east wall to escape the pit.

Verrick blasts Skassik with lightning bolts, so the Lord of the Fire Temple raises the platform towards the ceiling. As it moves higher, Verrick notices the troll moving around the altar to the drum. A steady beat begins. Kale, still in the flames, gets butterflies in his belly listening to the drum, and carefully climbs out at the north end of the pit. Shangor and Aramil finally finish off their opponents as Aldoroc and the unicorns wipe out the remaining skeletons and the hell hound. The elven guards realize they are outclassed when threatened by the gold dragon wyrmling and surrender. The last troll, the one that dragged Sylvan into the pit, becomes mincemeat for a fully prepared Shangor with righteous might.

Sylvan floats wearily out of the flames, grimacing in pain and holding one hand to his head, trying to block out the pounding beat of the drum. With his free hand, he grips a weathered scroll. Then he mutters a few arcane words of power. The spell burns off the scroll and the wizard drops the flaming piece of paper into the pit. He points menacingly at the platform with his middle finger. A black light, no, a beam that absorbs light, shoots from his hand and strikes the center of the platform, underneath the altar. The platform screeches violently as the center ten feet disintegrates unwillingly. The black stone altar, already emitting a yellowish light in the vague shape of an eye, plunges sixty feet to the pit below with a tremendous crash.

Skassik peers through the hole in shock, wordlessly mouthing obscenities in his native language. Moments later, the remaining platform, drum, and troll plummet to the floor, sending flames shooting another fifteen feet into the air. Skassik floats gently down, aiming his sword at Sylvan on the way, “You will pay for this, you insolent cur.”

Sylvan levitates a little higher as the other heroes prepare for Skassik to emerge from the pit. Eventually, the salamander blackguard climbs out, accompanied by the troll. Skassik screams insults in all the languages he knows. His rage carries him only so far, however, as the concentrated assault from the adventurers end his reign permanently.

The subsequent collapse of the temple ceiling proves fatal for the elven guards and nearly fatal for Sylvan, who no longer has the spells prepared to fly or dimension door to safety. He also cannot move laterally due to the levitation and is too badly damaged to risk dropping back into the flames. Fortunately, Verrick is able to wildshape into a dire bat and collect the wizard, saving him in the nick of time.

Safe back outside the bronze doors, the heroes close their eyes and sigh almost as one. Kale speaks for the group when he says, “The Fire Temple is finally done.” Sylvan nods in silent agreement, a tear leaving a wet streak down his angular and dust-covered face.

Neither notices one of the trolls twitching, its crushed skull regenerating even the holy damage wrought by Shangor’s warhammer.

The Reading of the Oracle

Draped in his ochre robes, the Master of the Outer Fane strides regally through the purple-veined hallways. He pauses momentarily at the Dark Sun and utters a quick prayer. “O Dark Lord, give me strength as I go to visit the mortal enemy of my race.” His lips curve in a wicked grin. “Grant me the ability to overcome my weakness, such that Satau will not be dead at my hand by the end of the hour.” The grin widens. “For I still require the services of that miserable creature and I’d rather not accidentally kill him before he’s accomplished his task.” He chuckles, placing his palm on the glass door, looking inside upon the sphere of annihilation. “Just don’t grant him the ability to see his own death at my hand.”

The tendrils of the tentacle rod drag upon the floor as Hedrack stops in front of the thick basalt door. He gazes into the demon’s face on the door and asks, “Do you still seek to challenge me?” Understandably the door opens, revealing a chamber lit by a trio of dim glowing balls floating near the ceiling. A semicircular table made of lavender stone sits to the left of the entrance. Oddly shaped bits of stone, wood, and bone lie scattered on the table. A small marble mushroom-like stool provides a seat in front of the table. To the right of the door, a forty foot wide pit drops down into darkness, offering the only other exit.

Hedrack calls out in a deep voice, “Satau, don’t keep me waiting.”

A dark robed humanoid levitates silently out of the pit. The spacious hood hides his face, but a purple tentacle snaking out of the cowl belies his nature. Satau speaks to Hedrack, but not out loud. Greetings, Lord Hedrack. You are late.

Hedrack nonchalantly smacks the rod on the tabletop, knocking some of the bits of wood aside. “I had business to attend to…but, I am not here to provide you with information. Tell me about the reading, Oracle.”

Satau steps down onto the floor and walks across to the small stool. He sits down and uncovers his head. The illithid turns to face Hedrack, Your enemies become predictable. They travel the crater ridge mines in the exact same pattern every time they assault it.

Hedrack appears frustrated. “Yes, I know that already. Tell me about the vision!”

Satau turns back to the table, gazing at the objects scattered about. An ally from the depths of the abyss may succeed where all others have failed, in ways you do not yet expect. He pauses. An enemy works from the inside.

Hedrack frowns in concentration, twirling the tentacle rod. “What enemy? A traitor?”

The mind flayer moves a piece of bone. It is not clear.

The High Priest growls, “It never is.”

Satau ignores the jibe, continuing his reading. The Champion will be revealed when the four elements are quieted.

Hedrack’s eyes brighten. “Ah. Now I see the reason behind the Triad’s plan. The four temples must be eliminated before I can find the Champion. I had thought they desired the destruction of the crater ridge temples only to replace them with others. A cleansing, so to speak.” He then looks annoyed. “If the First could see this, though, why not tell me earlier?”

Satau wisely remains quiet, not answering the rhetorical question. Hedrack paces in front of the curved stone table, absentmindedly swinging the tentacle rod. “Still, I shall summon that planar ally you mention. If it kills the intruders, I’ll let it destroy the remaining temples, minus a few choice individuals, of course. If the ally fails, then the intruders will complete the prophecy for me, thus revealing the Champion and bringing our plan that much closer to fruition.” He stops, turning towards the illithid, and cackles. “Either way, it’s win-win for me!”

Satau shifts nervously, changing the subject. Lord Hedrack, the time of the Champion has been revealed. By our agreement, I will take my leave and return to the city of my people.

Hedrack stares at the mind flayer incredulously. “Leave? You can’t leave! I still require the use of your abilities. You will remain here until the Champion is proclaimed in the Greater Temple itself and he summons the first Elemental Prince!”

But, my Lord, we had an agreement…

“I’m changing the agreement.” Hedrack readies a dimensional anchor spell and asks menacingly, “Are you challenging that?”

Satau tries one more time, Our deal…

“I’ve altered the deal. Pray I don’t alter it further.”

The Looting of the Fire Temple

After the dust settles, Aramil polymorphs into a gray ooze. He envelops the trolls, killing them slowly with his acidic secretions. It is not a pretty sight, though, and even the robust Aldoroc turns away. The bodies of Skassik and his guards are unenthusiastically looted. His armor looks nice, but it is unusually shaped and will require a lot of work to refit for a humanoid.

To the east of the Fire Temple, a number of rooms are curtained off from the hallways. The first room is akin to a torture chamber, a bedroom filled with all manner of grisly artifacts. There are jars of body parts, blood smeared over the walls and implements, bits of flesh scattered on the floor, and tools of different makes and styles lie haphazard all over the area. Not wanting to spend a lot of time in the room, Aramil casts detect magic, noting something of moderate strength emanating from within a repulsive chest. The chest is carved from alabaster and resembles a small human in the fetal position and bound in rusted barbed wire. The chest contains even more instruments of torture and a false bottom gives access to a small, black statue of a demon with furled wings. The statue is quite smooth, as if worn down by water.

Aramil shudders at the room and then takes the statue. “Ug, what a disgusting figure for a magical item.” He plops it into Sylvan’s bag of holding.

Verrick asks, “Do you suppose it’s cursed?”

Shangor sarcastically replies, “A magical item in the shape of a demon, resting in a bedroom doubling as a torture chamber? Of course not, lad. Be sensible.”

The adventurers explore further and find the actual torture chamber, complete with a blood-stained rack and even an iron maiden. Kale hears a muffled sound from the iron maiden and therefore examines it more closely. “Hey, someone appears to be in here!”

Sylvan suggests, “Leave him. He probably deserves it.”

The ever-watchful holy priest of Moradin shakes his head. Shangor tugs at his beard in annoyance. “Now, lad, ye kinna know that the poor soul trapped within the iron maiden deserves such a fate. We must open it up and see fer ourselves. Just be on guard.”

Kale unlatches the door and heaves it open with a grunt and the noise of metal scraping on metal. They hear a sucking sound as spikes are extracted from the body within the iron maiden. A beaten female halfling, bloody and bruised almost beyond the capacity to be healed, mumbles, “Finally…” and then falls to the floor.

Shangor steps up and heals the halfling. “Lass, get up. Who are ye? What happened to ye?”

Aldoroc pulls a spare cloak out of his pack and drapes it over the naked torture victim. She lifts her head up and smiles gratefully. “My name is Descritad. That filthy flea-bitten varmint D’Gran sold me to…” She suddenly looks concerned. “Are you guys with the Air Temple?”

Shangor shakes his head. “Nay, lass. We have come to exterminate the evil from within the wall of…”

Sylvan interrupts Shangor before the cleric can launch into his diatribe about the Temple of All Consumption and possibly reveal too much information. “We are not from here, but mean to inflict harm on many of the residents. The question for you, however, is more pertinent. Are you a member of the Temple of All Consumption?”

Descritad contemplates the question for a moment and then says, “Not anymore.” She bounds agilely to her feet, ignoring her injuries. “Unless you guys plan on helping me kill D’Gran, I’ll be on my way.” She pushes Kale out of her path and walks confidently towards the south curtain. She stops only momentarily to pick up a scalpel to use as a makeshift weapon. “Er, thanks for the cloak.”

Aramil says, “Not so fast, Descritad. We’ll help you kill D’Gran after you tell us some more information. Who is he and why do you want to kill him so badly?”

The halfling pulls the cloak tighter around her shoulders. “D’Gran is a disgusting oaf of a demon. He’s part ogre mage, too, or so I understand. He’s been torturing me for the last three months and I’ve had quite enough of that, let me assure you. I’m only glad that insane gnome Firre wasn’t here or I’d be in even worse shape. I guess I have you to thank for that, right? Anyway, D’Gran took my stuff, a bag of holding, a composite bow, and some other things. I want them back.”

The heroes consider it quietly and then Aramil offers, “We’ll help you. We’ll give you some basic equipment and you can help us kill D’Gran and we’ll get your stuff back. First, however, we’re going back to Rastor to rest.”

Descritad looks exasperated and impatient. “Very well, I’ll wait with you.” She then starts moving in the direction Aldoroc points. “Let’s go, then.”