The Analysis of the Demonstone

Shangor straps on his heavy steel shield, and returns his holy warhammer to the loop on his belt. With his thick fingers on his hips, he gazes sternly at his companions and says, “Aye, lads,” and with a pointed look at Verilia, “and lass, are ye ready to clean up the mines once and fer all?”

Kale and Aldoroc nod almost as one. Aramil and Sylvan also mumble agreement, but Verilia looks up in anticipation, “You mean, we get to kill someone?” She grins almost evilly.

Kale notices Verilia absent-mindedly rubbing the demon-shaped luckstone. Concern shows on his face. He and Verilia have been through a lot together, more so than the other companions, and they are quite good friends. From the original four, her brother Milo stayed behind in Tahmista and the monk Keth was killed by the grell in the moat house. Then returned as a ghoul. The ranger tries to suppress that particularly painful memory. “Verilia, while Sylvan took you to Khorasan to get reincarnated, we placed Bucky in Tal’s stables. You should retrieve him. He didn’t seem to like being bear Tal and Wormspike, and I know how much you hate Tal after poisoning you.”

Horseflesh tastes good! Boiled in its own blood, with entrails, yum, yum!

Verilia blinks at Kale, almost not recognizing the name of her animal companion. “Oh, Bucky.” She shakes her head, “Nah. He’ll be…safer in the stable. Tal’s a good guy, he knows what he’s doing.”

Kale elbows Sylvan in the ribs and whispers, “We should keep an eye on her. I don’t think she casting with all her components, if you know what I mean.”

Sylvan looks bewildered, “She learned some metamagic?”

Kale furrows his brow, “No, you idiot, something’s affecting her. I think that luckstone is cursed. Can you use that recently acquired analyze dweomer spell on it?”

Sylvan says, “Oh, right. Of course.” He turns to the halfling druid, “Hey, Verilia, can I borrow your luckstone?”

The druid looks at him suspiciously, caressing the statue. “Why?”

The elven wizard answers, “I’d like to examine it.”

Verilia studies him for a few moments, then shrugs and hands it to him, “Okay.”

Jab a sharp stick into his eye!

Aramil produces a number of other items, handing them all over to Sylvan. “While you’re at it, check these out, too.”

Sylvan sits down at the table and casts the spell. He readily describes the abilities of the other magical items, but fails to discern any properties of the demon statue, drawing a complete blank. He looks astonished and comments to his companions, “My spell failed.”

Shangor asks, “Failed? But, lad, what d’ye think would cause such failure?”

Sylvan says, “Only two things. One is that the item is sentient and managed to resist the spell, but I would typically get some sort of indication if that occurred. I got no such indication. The other is if the item were extremely powerful, something made beyond mortal ken.”

Aramil’s eyes brighten, almost as much as Verilia’s. Aramil says, “An artifact?” He inspects the statue more closely. “How intriguing.”

Verilia snatches the artifact from his hands. “Artifact or not, it’s mine, so that’s enough playing with my…my precious.”

The Fungus Cove

The heroes journey back to the crater ridge mines and reenter through the main gate on the northwestern slope. They proceed in the same direction where Infinitus ambushed them. This time, however, they cross the pool far more carefully, and Shangor gives everyone the water walking ability. The boats were completely destroyed after passing through Verrick’s wall of fire, so the water walking is necessary. No one had taken the time to put out the fire, possibly saving the boats, being otherwise preoccupied at the time. The boats now sit at the eastern end of the pool, charred lumps of partially submerged wood.

In the bugbear tunnels, Kale suggests that Verilia scry for the dwarven paladins Bertrand and Alyssa. The dwarves are still missing since the day of the attack on Rastor by the orcs, trolls, and spider eaters. Because the poor temple of Moradin still has no font, Shangor cannot do the scrying himself, but the natural pool of water in the bugbear caves will work for Verilia, like it did before when she attempt to scry Hedrack.

Verilia enters the cave, but orders everyone else out. “I cannot concentrate with you all yammering in my ear. After I find them, I will come back out and tell you the results. Stay here and watch for trouble.”

Drown them! Drown them all!

The druid unexpectedly giggles and then walks to the side of the pool and begins casting her spell. She comes back out ten minutes later and sighs. “The spell failed. I didn’t get the indication that they resisted, so I can only assume they are dead.” She puts her hand to her mouth as if tired, but really only suppressing a grin. “Sorry, Shangor.”

Shangor glances at Sylvan and Aramil, seeing a similar look of surprise in their eyes. Only ten minutes? He nods at Verilia, “It’s okay, lass. Ye’ve given it yer best shot, haven’t ye?”

Verilia smiles at the cleric, “Aye, that I did!”

Choke him with his own beard!

Aldoroc hefts his battleaxe, not understanding the looks between the spellcasters of the party. “Well, then, let’s continue.”

They stop in at the bolthole for some biscuits and cool, refreshing water. The Earth Bridge Complex remains eerily silent and the large reinforced double doors leading to the lake are smashed, one lying across the bridge and one partially in the water. Something huge clawed them open, apparently from the outside in. Something big must have come in, but Kale cannot distinguish the tracks.

The Fire Temple is similarly quiet, except for the roaring of the flames in the pit, amazingly still burning. Sylvan frowns at the fleeting memories of throwing his brother in the pit, but then grins at the knowledge that the Fire Temple no longer exists. The Elder Elemental Eye is not supposed to exist, or so some strange memory reveals, but certainly this temple doesn’t.

They rush through the smoke-clouded room, remembering the instructions from Virith from what seems so long ago. Instead of continuing into the southern passages, they turn left. They encounter a couple of remaining steam and magma mephits, but these elemental creatures are very receptive to negotiation. Verilia steps forward and rudely requires that they hand over all their treasure or be killed. The mephits immediately comply and then retreat to a steam-filled chamber to the north.

As the heroes approach the demesne of Tarren, they notice quite a proliferation of molds, lichens, and fungi. The underground plant life has expanded rapidly and taken over much of the passageway north of Tarren’s caves. Additionally, the druid has apparently acquired workers in the form of roughly shaped humanoids composed of twigs, moss, and lichens. The twig blights scramble over the rough rock walls like spiders, working to encourage the growth of the vegetation and to replant them as necessary further up the passage.

A vaguely humanoid shape shambles out of the eastern cave and turns south, away from the party. The mound of fungus barely resembles one of the elves that were turned over to Tarren weeks ago. It pays the party no mind, if it even has one, and walks effortlessly through the growing plants, a small twig blight hanging onto its back as if on a joy ride. Following the elf, a middle-aged human with black hair and a wild goatee walks out, carrying a double armful of moss. Upon seeing the party, he stops. “You must be the ones Tarren told me about.”

Verilia finds it difficult to take her eyes off the fascinating twig blights. She whispers to herself, “I wonder how they are made?”

Break it! Tear it apart!

The dragon disciple growls deep within his throat. He is the only one to have heard of the twig blights and the destruction they wreak upon civilized society. Until now the creatures have been confined to a small town on the western continent called Oakhurst. He stares at the mysterious druid, “Yes, we must be. Who are you?” To himself, he thinks, And give me a good reason not to kill you.

“My name is Belak. I am a former disciple of Tarren’s, long ago. I was administering a project of his in a far away town. The business was…lost, so I gathered what items I could and fled, er, came here at his call.”

Verilia loses interest in the conversation and starts examining the newly grown fungi and molds. Kale asks, “What business was that? Does it have anything to do with the Temple of All Consumption?”

A thin, almost whiny voice interrupts from the side chamber, accompanied by the low rumble of a large bear, “It doesn’t. And it’s private business, if you don’t mind.” Another human druid walks out amongst the subterranean plants. The foliage seemingly moves aside at his passage. The human seems almost ageless, but appears to be in his mid thirties. He is handsome, though thin and pale, probably from not seeing too much sun. “Welcome back. We have not been properly introduced. My name is Tarren. The bear’s name is Kiibo.” He gestures at the caves, “If you don’t harm the plant life, Kiibo will not harm you.” He offers up fungal refreshments and not surprisingly, there are no takers except Verilia. “I offer thanks for the destruction of the Fire Temple and particularly for the gift of the three living elves.”

With a smile, Tarren plops a long thin piece of yellowish mold into his mouth. It almost resembles the size and shape of a finger. An elven finger.

The Spectre of the Past

Tarren and the heroes talk for about a half hour, but the party must eventually move on. The druid leads them safely through his fungal cove, which stretches just beyond the spherical chamber formerly inhabited by the destrachan, the corpse of which is now a mushroom flowerbed. They plod on through the forge and warily approach the open, smashed doors of the arena, only to find a veritable explosion of bodies. One human guard, still wearing the symbol of the Air Temple, lies amid the rubble of the wall opposite the double doors to the pit. Shangor surmises that the guard was thrown at great velocity, and with obvious great force. “It is not the speed at which ye is thrown that kills ye. It is the sudden stop.”

In addition to the bodies of humanoids, including an ogre, the heroes find two broken gargoyles and one massive gargoyle, ripped apart like dolls in the hands of a grumpy dwarf. The ranger pokes around on the floor, staying away from the coagulated pools of drying blood. “Oh, oh.”

Aramil turns anxiously to Kale. “What do you mean, ‘oh oh’?”

Aldoroc readies his battleaxe and Sylvan says, “I hate it when someone says, ‘oh oh’.”

Kale explains, “I can see the tracks more clearly in this spot. I’ve been concentrating my abilities more recently on evil outsiders and these tracks were, well, it’s not 100 percent, you realize, but I think they were made by Infinitus.”

A gasp radiates from the others. Except, of course, for Verilia, who is busy poking her dagger at one of the corpses, apparently collecting finger samples. She licks her lips in pleasure.

Body parts, body parts! So much to choose from! Yum!

Aramil casts shield while Sylvan casts mage armor and then they both cast false life. There is nothing to do other than wait for the inevitable attack, though, so they continue searching through the ruins, finding nothing. Even a chest buried in the trash heaps in the adjoining room has been looted, as if the glabrezu knew precisely where to look.

Ahead down the corridor they see the open reinforced steel doors of the barbican. Open is a loose term, the doors actually having been ripped from their hinges by powerful claws. A passage to the south leads up a flight of stairs to a closed door. Kale walks up the stairs and opens the door. He finds an empty chamber with a window overlooking the mountainside, a small wooden bench in front of it. The room appears unused, contrary to the remainder of the temple.

When Kale goes to look out the window, a ghostly shape materializes out of the floor in front of him. It reaches an incorporeal hand through his chest and grabs his still beating heart. He screams out in agony as the monster drains his life energy. Kale draws his two weapons to attack, but the spectre hits him again, draining even more energy. The ranger’s companions quickly come to the rescue, assailing the undead with magic missiles and a spiritual weapon. It escapes briefly into the floor, only to reappear in the wall beside Shangor and get pummeled by the force spells and lucky strikes by Aldoroc and Kale. When the creature is finally destroyed, Shangor takes out a scroll of restoration and uses it on Kale.

Aramil performs a quick search of the room and surprisingly finds an obsidian wand stuck in between the boards of the bench. It radiates only a faint evocation aura, but it might be useful nonetheless. Kale heals himself with his wand of cure light wounds and then they leave the dusty chamber. The Air Temple complex otherwise appears to be empty of anything but unmoving corpses. A high sniper’s perch about five feet from the thirty-five foot ceiling in the main entrance shows a long corridor and flights of stairs heading west, and two big double doors leading outside. The doors resemble the ones on the main gate, but these are slightly bigger and appear to have seen more use. The barbican’s eastern and southern exits seem to have been forced open, but the north exit is still barred. It’s evident that Infinitus made his way from the east, turning south at the barbican and continued west.

The Champion of Elemental Evil

Hedrack pulls the ochre robes on over his magical full plate mail. He then drapes the purple robe of Tharizdun over his shoulders. For good luck, he taps the belly plate of the dwarven armor draped over one of the life-sized statues in his room. Chuckling, he mutters to himself, “Thanks for the armor, Shangor. Remind me to get that refitted some day.” He walks towards the door then turns at the last moment, winking at the suit of armor, “Oh, and you need to lose some weight.”

The Master of the Outer Fane casually strolls to the Greater Temple, twirling his tentacle rod at his side. The grisly flesh golems step out of their goo-filled alcoves, trailing bits of the greenish sludge onto the floor, only to be waved back into guard duty by the High Priest. The bits of goo ooze back into the alcove of their own accord. The golems are remarkably clean and well-preserved, a result of the greenish organic material that fills the alcoves.

Hedrack rubs the Horn of the Eye as he passes through the vestibule. He whispers to the artifact, “I’ll return shortly, my sweet.” The vestibule is bitingly cold, but the unnatural temperature cannot penetrate his magical cloak. Before stepping through the magical darkness to the Greater Temple, Hedrack turns westward on a whim. He passes through the darkness and stands before a translucent, lilac-colored wall. He glances out into the Blasted Yard through the series of walls, barely making out the southern half of the Black Spike.

On a black pedestal in front of the wall, a small gray statue of an obese, grinning demon suddenly perks up. The statue looks up at the intruder and asks, in a cold, hollow voice, “Who?”

Hedrack grins and responds, “Unariq VoTalsimol.” With a muted hum, he disappears.

After a momentary sensation of dislocation, he finds himself kneeling down on a twenty-foot diameter black circle within a large hexagonal room. Two railings made of a deep purple stone and fashioned into writhing serpents flank a long, wide corridor to the north. A half-dozen scowling demon statues rest on stone cantilevers projecting from the east and west walls, silently mocking the High Priest. To the south, a short flight of steps leads up to a raised platform made of gray stone with black and purple flecks. A black altar draped in a lavender cloth is atop the platform. Two tallow candles burn in tall obsidian holders on either side of the altar, giving off a pungent aroma reminiscent of burned flesh.

Hedrack prepares for the Inner Fane by casting antilife shell. Tychon’s pets are not the smartest critters in the world, so it is better to be safe than to have to take time out of his busy schedule and kill Tychon for his incompetence. Not for the first time, anger brews within the powerful cleric. Why does Tharizdun torture me thusly? I am far stronger than Tychon and most of the other Doomdreamers! I deserve to take my place among them! He considers that idea for a moment. No, I deserve to lead them. I should be part of the triad. He takes a moment to gesture rudely at the mocking statues before he wills himself transported to the Inner Fane.

Aldoroc and Kale lift the heavy bar to the north door and the fighter leads the way up the spiraling stairs. At the top, another corridor leads west, paralleling the other to the south. The first room on the left is an empty storage area. The next room to the right leads out onto the balcony from where they originally saw Fachish on their way to the Water Temple with Virith and the salamanders. While exploring, Aramil hears the sounds of chanting start up from down the hall, further to the west. The language is unusual and the dragon disciple surmises it to be auran, the language of air creatures.

The party gathers together and prepares a few protective spells, casting haste, bless, and protection from evil. They think that there’s a reasonable chance to encounter Infinitus, assuming that he has had no reason to leave yet. They head towards the Air Temple proper in tight formation and turn to look at the altar. The eastern stairs are wreathed in darkness, but a fat priest in ochre robes, full plate armor, and a heavy shield stands on the wide circular alabaster pattern in the center. The structure itself is about fifteen feet tall and very long and wide, with stairs on the eastern side and western side.

Fachish laughs at the adventurers, gesturing rudely at them. Spittle flies out of his chubby lips as he yells a challenge. “Do you really think you can defeat me? Even Infinitus had no chance!”

Shangor mutters, “Oh great. Another lunatic.”

Hedrack finds himself standing on the bottom floor of a large tower without windows. It is fifty feet in diameter, made of black iron and reinforced with adamantine. The purple Dreaming Stone extends five feet through the ceiling, which is about thirty feet in the air. On the west wall, a railing-less wrought-iron staircase winds up to the next floor. Adamantine support beams run from the floor, up the walls, and across the ceiling like the giant spokes of a wheel, supporting the huge stone in the center. Reddish brown stains cover the floors and even parts of the walls. Here and there are bits of bone.

Lying down on the eastern side of the tower is a massive beast, a blue half-dragon tyrannosaurus. Its wings are plated with armor and electricity crackles around its mouth while it sleeps. Its brother, a black half-dragon tyrannosaurus notices the intruder first and leaps to the attack with a thundering roar, attempting to pounce on Hedrack and swallow him whole in one bite. The monster ricochets from the antilife shell, about ten feet from the High Priest. The other beast wakes up and similarly jumps to the futile attack.

Hedrack remains calm during the onslaught, considering whether or not to kill the foul creatures. He speaks slowly in draconic, “Don’t you idiots recognize me? I’m H-E-D-R-A-C-K!”

The two half-dragons pause in unison. The blue one, slightly smarter, asks, “Hatrack?”

Hedrack ignores the creatures and walks between them to the south wall where the secret panel is located. “Imbeciles.” As footsteps on the staircase signify Tychon’s entrance, Hedrack flips up the panel and presses the stone stud underneath it. He disappears from the room and reappears in Sublevel One of the Inner Fane.

He breathes in deeply. “Ah, the sweet scent of death and pain. My favorite smells.”

A scream echoes in the Cathedral of Pain as Yrthuk Innar, the Master Torturer, works an elven victim. The half-earth elemental looks up from his gruesome work at the unexpected visitor. “Lord Hedrack. Care to join me in some fun?” He jabs a thin needle into the elf, illustrating what type of fun he means.

A series of fresh burn marks cover the elf’s naked body. It takes Hedrack a moment to realize that the burn marks are actually obex symbols. Hedrack appraises Yrthuk’s work. “You’re doing well, Yrthuk. He must be a cleric, yes?”

Yrthuk smiles at the rare compliment, particularly from the Master of the Outer Fane. “He’s a cleric of Ehlonna.”

At the sound of his deity, the elf moans, barely able to stay conscious. “Ehhlonnnnaaa...helppp meee….”

Hedrack smiles at the elf’s agony, but speaks to Yrthuk . “Not today, Yrthuk, perhaps soon.” Yes, Yrthuk is one that I will keep alive. He is very useful, and he knows his place. “I may bring you some fresh captives soon. Strong ones. They will last a long time.”

Yrthuk bows his head, “Thank you, Lord Hedrack. Your generosity is appreciated.” He pauses, and then adds, “The Second came through here not more than an hour ago. I’m not sure where it was heading, or why.”

Hedrack starts towards the secret panel, and then speaks without turning. “Your loyalty will not go unrewarded.” He presses the right stud and appears in Sublevel Two.

The great map of the Tourbillion appears to have been set for the environs near the old Temple of Elemental Evil, about one hundred fifty miles to the east. Hmm, we are getting closer if they have start excavating one of the Nodes already. I wonder which one? The High Priest grabs one of the poles and waits for the formless mass of stone to animate, taking on a roughly humanoid shape. “Stay back. I command you.” The stone golem obeys and sinks back into its inert state. If the Triad only knew that their pet obeys me. Praise to Tharizdun.

He then adjusts the four poles and lights the torches of revealing to cast Nulb in the shadows of the two forward poles. A swirling vortex of energy fills the room and above the map a three-dimensional image of the ghost town appears. Hedrack walks straight through the image, only to feel a fleeting disorientation as he is transported to the exact same spot.

At the rear of the party Verilia draws her scimitar and begins applying a black syrupy liquid to it. The halfling druid, once dwarf once halfling, acquired the deathblade poison from Firre Oranac’s fetal chest, without Shangor’s approval of course.

The High Priest casts confusion amongst the heroes, affecting only Aldoroc. Sylvan places a dispel magic between the center of the darkness and Fachish, hoping to remove the area effect spell and a buff spell on the priest. The darkness remains, however. In his confusion, Aldoroc sees the priest as a threat and runs up to him, skirting the edge of the darkness only because it doesn’t envelop the whole staircase to the altar. Aramil moves down the north side of the altar, dropping a relatively unsuccessful targeted dispel magic on Fachish. Verilia follows, dripping poison as she moves.

Suddenly the darkness bursts into action and moves up to Sylvan, Shangor, and Kale, blocking their vision. The nature of the creature within it becomes apparent, however, as the large air elemental forms a whirlwind and, with a tremendous whooshing sound, picks up Sylvan and knocks the other two around. Sylvan realizes he is not in a normal darkness spell when the unholy aura of the damning darkness injures them. The wizard tries to escape and fails as Kale moves south and fires an arrow at Fachish. The arrow hits a wind wall, though, and changes direction mid-flight, shooting up towards the ceiling.

The high priest chuckles at the archer, and steps away from Aldoroc to cast hold person on Kale, but the ranger resists. Shangor casts spiritual weapon and lets the force-based warhammer streak towards the enemy priest, but cannot penetrate his full plate armor. Fachish’s plan to ignore Aldoroc, hoping the powerful fighter would attack someone else, proves to be his downfall. Still within the confusion, Aldoroc chooses to attack the nearest target, Fachish. Four quick strikes from the holy battleaxe strike the priest, who dies even before his blood splatters the alabaster platform.

Sylvan manages to concentrate despite the whirlwind and casts dimension door, appearing on the opposite side of the altar. The air elemental heads back into the temple area to defend it, attempting picking up Kale and Shangor on the way, but they dodge out of the way. Kale drops his bow and draws his two swords, attacking the elemental in the darkness. Aldoroc gibbers unintelligibly, still gripping his weapon. Verilia appreciates the idea that Aldoroc could attack her at any moment, so she decides to retreat to the west into the next area.

Sylvan casts a spell and flies upward toward the ceiling to recuperate, quaffing a couple of potions of cure light wounds. Shangor attempts to dispel the damning darkness, but fails. Aramil also casts dispel magic on the darkness and succeeds, finally revealing the air elemental. The air elemental then successfully picks up Kale and Shangor, carrying them all the way to the balcony and flinging them out into the Stalagos. In the swirling winds, Kale never sees his magical darkwood longbow get hurled about a hundred feet further into the lake. Kale easily swims to the surface, and drags the dwarf with him, heading towards the Water Bridge landing.

When the elemental goes back down the corridor, it is met with a deadly barrage of magic missiles and fireballs from Sylvan and Aramil. It disappears in a puff of violet colored smoke, which rises to the ceiling and escapes through unseen cracks. Eventually, Aldoroc breaks free from his confusion and even Verilia returns from her investigation of the next chamber. They haul the high priest’s corpse to the long hallway outside the balcony area as Aramil polymorphs into a gold dragon wyrmling and retrieves Shangor and Kale from the water.

Hedrack walks down the bridge of Nulb and stands on the bank, looking into the slow-flowing river. A shadowy form rises from the ground nearby and similar, ghostlike undead flow towards the living priest from the ruined buildings of the town. Almost casually, he grabs his obex, turns to the undead, and channels potent negative energy. “By the power of the Dark Lord himself, I command you to obey me.” The undead immediately stop moving and fall under the control of the powerful cleric.

He summons a large water elemental and instructs it to retrieve the body at the bottom of the river. A few seconds later, the elemental tosses the bloated corpse of Lareth the Beautiful onto the bank. The priest grins at the corpse. “Lareth, pleasure to see you again.” He picks up the body with one hand and casts word of recall, appearing within the circle in the Greater Temple.

Dropping the corpse onto the floor, he pulls out a special violet diamond just for this purpose. He casts raise dead, beseeching Tharizdun to override Lareth’s will and bring him back from the realm of the unliving. Lareth attempts to resist, not wanting to inhabit the same, scarred body, but he cannot refuse the insurmountable bidding of his god.

Lareth spits up water as his body slowly deflates, changing from a bloated corpse into a living human. “Hedrack you son of a bitch. Some day I’ll kill you for this.”

Hedrack merely smiles at the younger cleric. He sees something of himself in Lareth. A young man, far stronger than his peers, trying to prove himself in the world. Or, trying to destroy it. “Try, you might. Succeed, you will not.” Hedrack stands up and steps outside the circle. “It is time, Lareth. You must speak the words I taught to you long ago. When you do, great power will be yours and I will give you even greater power.”

Lareth stands up as well. Despite his death at the Herb Shop in Nulb, and his previous death at the moathouse so long ago, he looks in remarkable shape. He is an impressive physical specimen, not only very strong, but extremely agile as well. He rarely, if ever, gets sick and he has an extremely capable gift in casting divine spells.

Lareth sneers at Hedrack. “Very well. It’s the reason I came back.” He glares at the older priest. “You had better live up to your offer, though.”

Hedrack replies, “Should you succeed, I will happily give you power. It is the prophecy after all.”

Lareth merely turns to look at the altar and recites loudly, “Dread Tharizdun, power of the Elder Elemental Eye and master of all destructive forces, I am the Champion of Elemental Evil and am ready to carry out your wishes.”

Shangor pulls out his holy warhammer and beats on the circular platform, destroying it in a few moments. He then quickly retreats down the hallway as the temple ceiling predictably caves in. “Aye, that’s it, lads. Last one.”

Kale goes out onto the balcony while everyone else stands around the dead body, looting it and feeling good about destroying the final Temple of Elemental Evil. The ranger peers into the water, trying to determine where his bow was thrown. A buzzing sound interrupts his search, however. A whole squadron of spider eaters and riders emerge from behind the nearest tower. Lightning crackles in the air and dark purple clouds block out the sun. Kale’s heart leaps into his throat and butterflies go mad in his belly when he looks up into the sky. The clouds above Mt. Stalagos gradually coalesce, forming a giant two-step pyramid. An obex.

Kale calls out to his companions. “Hey, guys I think you want to see this.” Except for the druid, the others join him on the balcony, first seeing the spider eaters, and then looking up after Kale points to the clouds.

Shangor looks up, “What is it, lad? Oh, sh….” The expletive is drowned out by the buzzing of another squadron of spider eaters from a second tower.