Chapter 64
Grindlefoot looks around the room, at his companions, and then the silver-haired woman. “Are we really here? Is this parlor imaginary or a dream or yet another plane?”
The woman’s face shows a subtle hint of surprise. Meanwhile, the man behind her is obviously astonished at their appearance.
“You were summoned accidentally. Come to the parlor. I need a drink.” She turns around and leaves the room through the same doorway she was standing in, neither beckoning nor waiting for them to follow.
“I thought this was the parlor? Isn’t this a parlor? It looks fancy enough to be a parlor. Do aristocrats, or rather wizards, have more than one parlor in their castles? Is it a size thing? Do they drink beer in a parlor?” Bilwin’s questions continue as he follows Grindlefoot and the others into the adjoining room.
The parlor is twice the size of the room they appeared in, but furnished similarly. The statuesque woman reaches one of the two large settees, sits down gracefully, and then motions her hand towards a cocktail cart in the corner. A karafe of red wine floats to her, accompanied by a large bowl-shaped glass. Reaching her, the karafe tilts slightly, pouring a sizable amount into the glass, which then floats into her hand. The karafe lowers itself to rest on a small table to the side of the couch.
The companions make their way to the sitting area, Bilwin and Grindlefoot take seats on the second settee, Mond and Dolor remain standing, and Gven sits awkwardly on a divan, holding her greatsword, Tempest Edge, in front of her with the tip of its scabbard resting on an ornamental rug.
Laying comfortably in a chaise lounge off to the side, another woman appears ambivalous to their presence or the situation or, perhaps, everything. Her raven hair cascades past her starkly white shoulders, the sleeveless dress she’s wearing barely goes past her knees, and her legs are crossed in a relaxing pose. Behind her is a raised dais filled with lush plants and greenery, a small congregation of greenery. She tips her glass towards the newcomers in acknowledgement.
The man moves to stand behind the settee, looking over the companions. With a bald head, closely-trimmed beard, and penetrating eyes, he looks like a hawk searching for prey. He wears grey, high-collared robes with red velvet trim, and medium-sized gold hoops hang from each ear.
In a deep, melodic voice, “Let’s not be rude, Alustriel. I’m sure our guests would enjoy some refreshments.” With a wave of his hand, the karafe levetates and begins to pour wine into glasses for the companions.
“I am Mordenkainen, on the chaise is Tasha, and this,” motioning to the silver-haired wizard, “is Alustriel.”
Lost in thought, Alustriel finishes her wine and then watches the karafe refill her glass. “I don’t understand why it didn’t work.” She swirls the red wine in the bowl-shaped glass, releasing the aromas and watching the legs slowly glide down the inside of the glass.
“My apologies. This must be quite shocking for you all. Indeed, more so for you than us. As Mordenkainen said, I am Alustriel and this is my home, The Sanctum. I am a high mage of Silverymoon. Tasha is,” she pauses momentarily, “also a skilled practicioner.” Tasha emits a low snicker, although the depths of her eyes show a more volatile reaction. “And, of course, Mordenkainen.”
He turns his head sligthly to the side, showing them his favorite profile, and flutters his eyes. When they don’t respond, he turns back to them with a glare that silently screams, “You should know who I am or it is to your own peril.”
“We cast a very powerful spell, one that took our combined efforts and the reason for our, dare I say, haggard appearances.”
“Speak for yourself, darling. Some of us are always fabulous.” Tasha takes a sip of her wine, almost hiding her weariness behind the mask of bravado.
Alustriel begins to roll her eyes in response, but then seems to think better of it. “Yes, dear.”
“Besides, that one appears to be exactly your type. Perhaps there was no mistake.” With a smirk, Tasha nods at Gven, who gives a curious look followed by a slight smile.
Alustriel throws a harsh look at the other mage, but doesn’t verbalize any disagreement to her suggestive comment. “Regardless, the results are not what we expected.” Turning to the companions, “You might recall that we met briefly many months ago and there was not time for introductions. Please, tell us more about yourselves before we discuss tonight’s incident.”
Gven moves from the divan to join Alustriel on the settee, placing her hand gently on the mage’s thigh. “I’m Gven.”
The silver-haired mage stares into the barbarian’s hazel eyes, places her hand over Gven’s, then firmly moves it from her leg. “Nice to meet you. I’ll introduce you to my wife later.”
With a wry smile, “I look forward to it.”
The remaining companions introduce themselves as they sip their wine, except for Bilwin who drinks from his magical stein.
Alustriel looks to Mordenkainen and Tasha, then resumes leading the conversation. “Let me start where it makes the most sense and make my best attempt to be laconic. The three of us have been receiving indications, ripples in the magic, if you will, that something is amiss. Something terrible. We discovered that a banished creature has returned and done so with enormous power. His goal is not merely domination, but to remake the fabric of reality. To bend everyone and everything to his will, in a world of his making. We cast a spell called Wish. It is something we did not do lightly, for it is a mighty spell also capable of altering reality.”
In a moment of pause, Dolor asks, “What did you wish for?”
“We wished to negate the creature’s power, believing that would deny him while saving reality from our unspoken desires. But then you appeared.”
Mond’s eyes reflect his understanding, “Is this creature Vecna?”
Mordenkainen looks at the sorcerer, “Yes. How did you surmise that?”
“We were searching the tombs of Neverdeath Graveyard for kidnap victims when we interrupted a ceremony where his cultists were pulling secrets from an innocent elf. Somehow we got caught up in the magic and it created a mental link between us and Vecna. We saw the plane where he resides, we were there. And now we each have the ability to gain power from secrets because of this link.”
“Fascinating! We shall have to discuss this further so I can learn more.”
“Later, Mordenkainen. We have to figure what to do since our spell failed. Obviously these adventurers are not the answer to the wish we cast.”
“Alas, you might be mistaken. Vecna is powerful, but it is not absolute.” The mage’s robes stream out behind him as he rushes from the room through a doorway they hadn’t noticed. A minute later, he returns holding an oddly shaped wind chime. Several silver chains hang from the center, each with a tiny silver object attached to it. From a slightly thicker chain, hangs a crescent moon with an embedded sapphire. Rustling in the mage’s hands, it makes tinny, delicate sounds that feel like they’re dancing around the companions ears. Each of the metal objects is delicately engraved with sigils that appear to be magical in nature.
“This is the Chime of Exile. It will banish Vecna to a plane that is parallel to your homeland, Eritz. Once there, Tasha can—nay, exuberantly wants to—keep an eye on him.” Tasha’s smile turns decidedly malicious.
Alustriel looks at the magical chime with concern, “He will need to be weakened for that to work.”
“Indeed! I have thought of that as well. The Rod of Seven Parts.”
Tasha exclaims, “But the parts of the rod have been scattered across planes and worlds! No one knows where they’re being kept or hidden.”
“My dear enchantress, that too has been solved by my foresight. The first piece is deep in the Underdark with Lolth and her followers. When we find it, it will lead us to the next piece. And so on.”
Looking at each companion in turn, Mordenkainen’s gaze lands on Bilwin. “These fine adventurers are just the ones to gather the Rod of Seven Pieces so we can defeat Vecna.”
The dwarf is lost in his own thoughts, looking off into the room without focus. Hearing the mage say the words, Rod of Seven Pieces, lifted a barrier in the cleric’s mind. A memory returns slowly, one that shocks him to the core. Long ago, he set out on a quest to find the rod. So many questions flood his mind. How did he forget the quest? Why did he not, until now, think of his dwarven companions that began the search with him? Where are they? How did he lose them? And the biggest question of all, why did he need the magical device?”
In an unusually solemn voice, “We’ll do it.”
An hour later, after the companions have spoken amongst themselves in private—although, is anywhere really private in a mage’s house—the others agree to the request. Alustriel returns them to the their homes in Neverwinter for them to retrieve supplies and travel gear. Each of them says a heartfelt goodbye to Eva, not knowing if they’ll return.
Alustriel brings them back to her home, The Sanctum, for their final preparation. She describes Lolth, the ruthless, devious, and cruel Queen of Spiders. The deity usually appears as a large, crimson-eyed black widow spider or a tall, beautiful female drow. Knowing that Gven is familiar with Gruumsh, the patron deity of orcs, Alustriel compares their abundance of rage and malevolence. Yet, explains how Lolth enacts her hatred with complex and deliberate schemes that can cause more emotional damage than physical.
“According to Mordenkainen’s intelligence, the first piece of the rod is located in a safe house called Web’s Edge. All we know is that it’s in the Underdark and members of Vecna’s cult use it as a safe place to rest. I will open a portal to an area close to the only door. Remember, it is the Underdark and will be pitch black. Are you ready?”
Grindlefoot rummages in his bag and retrieves his darkvision goggles. The others nod their heads and the wizard moves her hands in the shape of arcane sigils, opening a round portal in front of them.
“Contact me with this sending stone when you retrieve the first piece of the rod and I will open a portal for you to return. Farewell and may courage be your constant companion.”
They exit the portal into a cave where the darkness is complete, there is no natural light source. As Grindlefoot walks through the portal, it silently closes behind him. Dolor notices a small alcove off to the side with stalagmites that offer some protection from view. As soon as they gather in the alcove, Mond, Dolor, and Bilwin hear footsteps approaching from a distance.
Minutes later, a small group walks past without noticing the adventurers. There are a handful of drow, some wearing robes and others wearing armor of distinctly different colors. All of their clothing, whether robes or armor, is decorated with spider-inspired insignias. There are two humans walking with the group, wearing robes and carrying torches to illuminate their way. The group reaches a wooden door and enters without knocking, closing it behind them and returning the darkness to the tunnel.
“Let’s try to do this without causing too much of a ruckus.” Dolor casts Prestidigitation on himself, creating illusionary spider markings on his armor and equipment, then does the same for Gven and Mond. Bilwin does the same for himself and Grindlefoot. The druid casts Pass without Trace, creating a veil of shadows and silence that radiates from the halfing and will enhance their stealthiness.
They find the wooden door locked by a bar on the inside. Looking through the crack at the doorsill, Bilwin chants a few words under his breath. The bar silently floats upward and then off to the side where it’s softly placed leaning against the wall.
Entering the room silently, they can see to the far end and notice two cultists kneeling in prayer in the southwest corner. They appear to be in a nook used for storage, because there are shelves with all manner of odd and disgusting things. On the left side of the room are three rusted metal doors, the first is close to them and the entrance, the second is in the middle of the left wall, and the last is in the southeast corner at the other end of the room, adjacent to the praying figures.
Dolor quietly checks the first door, finding it locked and fails to open it with his lockpick. Nodding to the others, he moves on to the middle door and encounters the same result. Nodding his head towards the third door, Dolor checks that the praying cultists are still oblivious to their presence. The last door is in the southeast corner of the room and also locked, but Dolor’s luck returns. Using his lockpick, the bolt quietly slides open and they pass through.
Dolor walks ten feet into a cavern, with everyone following, and notices a large bear-like creature standing on its hind legs. It’s covered in hair and has the head of a boar, with massive tusks protruding from its snout. On its back are wings that seem too small to be of any practical use. From its massive hands, extend long fingers that end in sharp claws.
It looks at them calmly and then each of them hears in their head simultaneously, “Wazzup?”