Chapter 67
Standing in one of The Sanctum’s many rooms, the companions turn to see the last few sparkles of the portal’s magic. Gven hears a scream off in the distance, beyond the portal’s closing doorway, “Oh good lord, her club is coming this way!” The barbarian grins at the havoc her one-eyed friend, Gertrude, must be reeking on Lolth’s cultists.
Looking around the room, they find it scarcely decorated or furnished. A few small haphazardly placed tables take up space on the floor, along with three bookcases along one of the walls. As their eyes adjust to the light from the absence of it in the underdark, Mond looks up to see the night sky where there should be a ceiling. The sorcerer blinks in disbelief before understanding the skill required to create such a conjuration. A spectral hand floats around the room with a feather duster, lazily going through the motions of its chore on the dust-free tables and shelves.
A woman enters the room from one of the open doorways, moving with the grace of a panther silently traversing tree limbs in a forest. Her white blouse fits closely around her torso with puffy sleeves and is tucked into her dark wool trousers. A navy blue vest rests over her frame and the bottom extends to her knees, with short tassels on the edges. Leather pauldrons with articulated plates rest across each shoulder, matching leather braces cover her forearms, and a belt around her waist completes the set. Attached to the belt are more than a few sheathed knives and a small coin pouch.
“Thank the stars! Are you alright? Anyone stabbed, poked, sliced, ensorceled, or suffering from any other sort of ailment?”
Bilwin points to one of his many wounds and lilts to one side, “I’ve got a few that could use tending to.”
“Oh, my dwarven friend, we’ll see to those immediately. I’m Malaina van Talstiv, Alustriel’s wife, and I manage all of the non-magical aspects of this manor. Let’s get you to your rooms where you can bathe and rest before dinner this evening.” Looking at Bilwin, “Do not fear, mighty cleric, the journey is short and relief will soon be upon you.”
She hesitantly touches a handheld lamp on one of the tables, “I never know which one of these things is magical.” It begins to glow and then slowly lifts into the air, hovering. “Take them to their rooms and have the staff draw their baths.” Turning to the companions, “Follow the lamp. Rest and refresh yourselves before we join Alustriel and the others for our evening meal.”
The hovering lantern leads each of the companions to their own luxuriously appointed bower, including individual bathing rooms and a claw-foot porcelain tub filled with steaming hot water. They each disrobe and leave their travel clothes and armor in various states of disarray in their rooms. Slowly descending into the soothing comfort of the hot bath, each one finds themselves considering events, both recent and long past.
Grindlefoot soaks in a small tub, one made for people of a smaller stature, such as himself, and thinks back to those moments in the spider dragon’s lair. He felt torn between his halfling and spider forms, as though they were both intimate parts of him. Why does he feel so attached to his spider-self? Is it all those times he spent Wild Shaping into one? It always felt so natural, more so than the other forms. Should he have shifted into something more appropriate for the bath? A duck? A crab? A crabduck? What would that even look like? A duck’s head on a crab’s body with six webbed feet? That spider dragon was amazing. It could breathe smaller spiders! He feels a sadness come over him as he lies back in the porcelain tub. He misses the spider dragon, or rather what it meant to him, a strong connection to his spider-self.
Bilwin finds himself in a similar sized tub as his halfling companion, immersed in steaming hot water that is the perfect temperature—neither too hot nor too cold. His belly-length beard floats just under the water’s surface and the cleric notices that his wounds are healed. Holding up his hands out of the water to inspect them, “That’s a useful piece of magic.” The dwarf’s mind also returns to the spider dragon’s lair and the moment when his old companions answered his call for help. He’s not quite sure how that happened, but he needed them and called for them, and they came. Other memories return to him, albeit fuzzy in the details. He doesn’t know how many years ago their quest began, but he has a vision of the dwarven comrades leaving their homeland together. They were searching for something important, vitally so, one of the pieces belonging to the Rod of Seven Parts. But why did they need it? What purpose was it to fulfill? And which piece were they looking for? Not the one his new companions recovered, he’s certain of that. Some of the empty spots in his memory have been filled, only to reveal more questions unanswered.
While Dolor unwinds and recuperates in the claw-foot tub—water at the ideal temperature—his mind wanders back further in time. A moment inside the temple on Amonah, when a djinnin fulfilled a hidden desire. The tiefling had wanted to be a rogue since he was a youngling, anxious to learn the ways of stealth and agility, and how to expose a foe’s vulnerabilities in almost any situation. But reality had been more difficult than he anticipated. His arrows often flew wide of their intended targets, much to the chagrin of any nearby rabbits. Climbing and traversing difficult terrain was often more difficult than he anticipated, especially if a rope was involved. His insecurities grew while his companions seemed to improve their skills with each passing day, getting more adept at swordplay, casting more complex spells, or calling on their deity to answer their prayers. Fenseck offered him an alternative approach, the magic of a warlock. Since that moment in the temple, he’s become a strong and adept magic practioner. It comes naturally and he can feel the strength coming from within, rarely failing him. He closes his eyes and a smile creeps onto his face. It’s good to have options, particularly one like Fireball.
Mond leans back against the hard surface of the porcelain tub, enjoying the water’s perfect warmth enveloping him. A feeling of peace encompasses the half-elf, in a way that it hasn’t for quite some time. As a sorcerer, magic is a part of his essence. It lives within him, whether he wants it to or not. In Eritz, magic is considered an atrocity and something to be feared—meanings that he interpreted to define himself as well. Since entering this new plane, Neverwinter and its lands, he’s discovered a new perspective. Magic is accepted, embraced even. He is accepted. In a way that has never felt so sincere before now. His eyelids gradually close and his breath reaches a steady rhythm, while the water continues to soothe his body—and mind.
As Gven enjoys the impeccably heated water of her bath, she appreciates that Alustriel and Malaina have larger tubs for those like her. It’s a pleasant feeling to stretch out to her full length of almost seven feet, instead of sitting with her knees and upper torso above the comfortable bath. Ah, Alustriel. And Malaina. Such beautiful women. The half-orc opens her eyes a pinch to survey the room, hoping one or both of them might appear to join her. Alas, not this time. She grins at the thought of how that encounter could unfold. And then her thoughts turn to darker matters, Torp, her brother. Why is she here, in a distant land so far from home and fighting for people she doesn’t know. That seems to be a theme since leaving her home in The Badlands of Eritz. Someone—or a group of someones—find themselves in a bad situation and she steps in to help. Of course, it’s comforting that her companions innately respond the same way. And if her nature is to help others in need, why is her brother’s the opposite? How did he become the person he is? Why does he feel the desire, the need, to force his beliefs on others at any cost? When she encountered him in Elsemar, he seemed to authentically believe in his path, that he was doing the right thing by ridding the world of magic users. How could he not see it for what it is, genocide. The barbarian gently slides her head underneath the water’s surface, escaping her troubling thoughts, if only for one more moment of peace.
The companions gather in a sitting area located down the hallway and around a corner from their cluster of rooms. To their surprise, each found their travel clothes laundered and folded, waiting for them after their bathes.
Grindlefoot describes the voices he heard in the spider dragon’s lair, how they attempted to lure him to their side. The halfing isn’t sure if he heard the spider dragon or the yochlol in his mind, or maybe both. Regardless, it was simulataneously unsettling and comforting, an odd combination.
Bilwin is conspicuously quiet during their brief time together before being summoned to supper with the wizards. Dolor notices the dwarf looking off into the hallway, eyes focused on nothing but his thoughts.
Malaina appears without warning, moving soundlessly through the manor’s halls. She’s changed into a lovely dark blue floor-length dress with a fitted bodice. Featured prominently on each of her hips, decorative leather sheaths embedded with tiny blue sapphires hold two knives with matching sapphires inlaid in their handles.
“I do hope you’re all feeling rested and,” looking at Bilwin, “healed after your baths. A full meal will do you all a world of good.”
The striking woman moves with an unnatural grace as she leads them through a succession of hallways to a a great hall. Entering the large room, Mond is entranced by the luxurious tapestries that adorn the wood-trimmed and stone walls. The table is laden with all manner of foods, as well as a variety of red and white wines.
Alustriel is already seated at one end of the lengthy table and Malaina takes a seat at the other, opposite her wife. Her chair moves of its own accord, helping her sit as an invisible butler would. Mordenkainen and Tasha sit along either side, also opposite each other, and in the middle of the table’s length, forcing the companions to divide themselves as they sit.
Mordenkainen looks at Mond, “Do you have it? I’d like to see it.”
The half-elf sorcerer pulls the first piece of the rod from a hidden pocket inside his robes and hands it to the archmage.
Turning it over in his hands, Mordenkainen looks at it from every angle. “I feel its energy emanating, as though the pulse of a living being.” He suddenly smashes the artifact on the heavy, wooden table. The companions are astonished, but Tasha and Alustriel appear unmoved. Speaking to no one in particular, “I had to verify it’s authenticity.”
Turning to Mond, “Did it tell you where to go next?”
“I had a vision when I touched it, but it’s unclear to me. There was a large ship but no water surrounding it or holding it afloat. It was not where I’d have expected a ship to be moored or sailing.”
“The Astral Plane, that’s where you’ll need to go.”
Except for Mond, the companions appear confused and the mage explains, “It’s a place between places where the laws of reality bend in odd ways. You won’t age there and you won’t hunger for sustenance. The corpses of old, dead gods—long forgotten by their worshippers—float through an endless, open domain. Their corpses are the size of planets, inhabited by creatures such as yourselves, and not.”
Alustriel adds, “It’s a realm of thoughts and dreams, swirling mists and colorful fogs that create a silvery sea with swirling wisps of white grey streaking among motes of light resembling distant stars. It’s a beautiful place. A dangerous place. It’s peaceful. It’s maddening. You will do well to proceed with caution. This journey should not be taken lightly, it can be worse than deadly, an eternal life you do not desire.”
The adventurers begin to pepper the archmages with questions. How do we breathe? Where do we go? How do we get there? How do we navigate this vast area? What happens to others outside of the plane while we’re there? Can we still drink beer, Grindlefoot asks for the oddly silent Bilwin?
“All good questions, but not the ones you should be asking. While we will protect you as much as possible, you face Vecna. Do you understand who he is?”
Mond and Dolor look at Alustriel with curiosity while Gven shrugs, as though what does it matter, and Grindlefoot seems lost in thought—probably thinking about how he could turn into a combination of a duck and a crab. Bilwin continues to be subdued, only Dolor seems to notice the substantive change in the dwarf’s behavior.
Alustriel continues, “He was once a man, a mortal wizard of unbounded ambition. Even from a son’s eyes, his mother was an evil, cruel woman whose monstrous behavior shaped the man that he was in life and, later, undeath. Alive for centuries, he thirsts for knowledge of an unsavory, secretive sort. That is how he built a cultish following that elevated him as close as a mortal can get to godhood. He’s known as the god of secrets, knowledge that can be turned to corruption. During his journey to power, Vecna was betrayed by his greatest general, Kas the Bloody-Handed. Vengeance upon Kas has been a priority ever since. Vecna is obsessed with unmaking everything as it currently exists, believing that it can be recreated in his likeness, what he considers perfection.”
A glance at Mordenkainen reveals a look of pure anger and Dolor wonders what that might mean. Hatred for their enemy, certainly. But why?
The companions look at the silvery mage and then each other, digesting the story and grasping the depths of what could happen to them. Failure could mean a fate worse than death.
“If you continue searching for the other six pieces of the Rod, you will undoubtedly draw his attention. Once he considers you a threat, any protection we might offer won’t be nearly enough to alter events. While doom must sound certain, he does not understand the strength I see in you.” Looking at each of the companions, her gaze finally lands on Gven, “It’s not your physical strength.” Shifting her gaze back to the other companions, “It’s not the altrueism of your prayers, or the righteousness of your goals, or the fearlessness of being underappreciated, or the journey of self that you find yourself upon. It’s the bond of friendship that so obviously holds you together. In your stories, you speak of meeting by chance during your travels, yet you remain together. You fight for each other. You search for the sibling of another. Do you ask yourselves why that is? Of all the travelers you’ve encountered, you have chosen to walk beside the ones next to you. Friendship holds a power that Vecna does not understand. A power that can be his downfall.”
She falls silent and looks upon the group, making eye contact with each member. “None of you should continue, unless you are certain this is the path for you.”
Gven is the first to respond, “The only way out is through. I see no other way to help my brother, or Eritz for that matter.”
Returning the barbarian’s stare, Alustriel nods her head in acknowledgement. “It is curious how he knew you were visiting a different plane, in Neverwinter. The mystery grows.”
Bilwin breaks his strange silence. “They didn’t get up. They didn’t go home.”
Alustriel poses the question in all of their minds, “Who are you referring to, master dwarf?”
Still looking off into the distance beyond the room, “My companions. We began this journey together, but they fell…and didn’t get up.” He turns to Alustriel, “I can’t rest until it’s done. I cannot go home until then. I have to finish this, whatever it might be. For them.”
Sitting next to the dwarf, Tasha turns her body completely to face him directly. “If you want to remember, let me in.” She senses his desire to know more, a momentary opening in his concious mind invites her in. Suddenly, the way into his thoughts and memories is blocked from her. The dwarf’s subconcious embraces its role of protector and prevents her from seeing his past. “You are not ready yet. When you are, I can help.”
Grindlefoot shrugs in acquiesence, “It sounds like a giant spider might come in handy. I’m in.”
Sitting next to Alustriel, Dolor speaks softly, “I’ve come to embrace magic in my travels. I rely on it to survive and, although it’s rooted in a bargain struck, it feels entwined in my breath. I cannot idly stand by and do nothing to stop a genocide of peoples with that same gift. If this is the only way, then so it must be.”
Alustriel turns to Mond, “And you, young sorcerer?”
“I’ve never felt this free. My people live for centuries, yet I have never been able to display my innate nature without fear. To walk among others who practice magic without judgment is like walking through a dreamworld. Vecna is tied to the hardships in Eritz and he must be stopped. I choose to resist, not only for my freedom, but the freedom of all.”
The three archmages bow their heads, recognizing the companions’ decision.
Mordenkainen speaks quietly, the rage in his eyes passed, “We do not stand idly by. We watch Vecna and slow him in other ways, unseen to you, others, and even himself.”
Alustriel advises Mond, “Go, sit with the first piece of the rod and meditate. It will guide you.” Speaking to the group, “Rest tonight, all of you. We will convene in the morning and decide upon the next step after we break our fast.”
Long rest….
The adventurers advance to level 11.