2 Wealsun, 592 CY
About midday, the party heard the sounds of numerous booted feet marching in step echoing from the Underdark tunnel ahead. Moments later, they saw a contingent of some 20 armored dwarves rounding the bend. One of these held up a hand and called for a halt, and the entire company stopped at the same time. From behind his helm’s mask, the dwarf called out to the adventurers, “Hail, travelers. What brings you to the Magak tunnels?”
Jarvyk stood forward from the group, “I am Jarvyk Tedryk of Belmek, and I am returning home in response to my father Heberron’s summons.”
“Are you really?” asked the dwarf, the tone of his voice changing from disciplined business to something approaching amused. He raised his visor revealing his face. “Well, boy. It’s glad to see you home,” said Commander Kerouss, the leader of the Belmek’s Defenders, an order of paladins devoted to Clangeddin Silverbeard, and the man who had convinced Heberron to allow Jarvyk to join the paladin ranks years before. “It does my heart good to see you returned to us, boy. I hope your quest has been fruitful.”
From its sheath, Tedryk’s Grace spoke up, “Ah, he did a’right.”
Kerouss quirked an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Seems there’s a tale there. One for later, perhaps. How would you and yours like an escort back to the city? We could use an excuse to return anyway. I grow weary of these blind snipe hunts.” The commander gestured once with his hand and the company of dwarves parted to provide a space within them. The party, pleased, entered the wall of iron-clad dwarves, which closed ranks all around them, about faced, and began marching back towards home.
Jarvyk walked alongside Kerouss and questioned him about recent events. The paladin confirmed much of what Cyrus had already reported, but he did have a little more to add. “The council has seen fit to push us away from the city, always having us hunting phantom threats that never seem to manifest. It’s almost as if they are trying to keep us away from the city. Another oddity… On some of these hunts, I will occasionally lose a man. He isn’t slain, as far as we can tell. He simply disappears. Something unnatural is at work here, but my hands are tied by duty and the law.” Tedryk’s Grace snorted and muttered something quietly. Then it seemed that the sword chuckled to itself.
Kerouss eyed the sword askance once more, then continued. “Every time the council meets, it seems like some merchant or wealthy family loses some measure of their property of clout. Ol’ Hamurhyes was always a greedy bugger, but I’d never have thought him to abuse his position this way… Nor would I have expected the council to go along with it.” They continued to speak, Jarvyk getting more and more troubled as the conversation continued.
...
When they arrived in Belmek, the others saw Jarvyk’s home in all its glory, for a number of magical lights had been strategically placed to showcase the gold dwarf architecture. The buildings were tall and elegant, many of them with stylized minarets atop them. Kerouss and his men retired to their barracks, the commander stating that he would like to meet with Jarvyk later if proved possible. Then, Cyrus lead the group to what passed for Heberron Tedryk’s home these days. In comparison with the stunning structures in the rest of the city, this small, squat structure was really more of a hovel. Jarvyk started to knock, and then just pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He heard a startled sound coming from around a corner, followed shortly by a soft, scratchy voice saying, “Who’s there?”
“Father, it’s Jarvyk. I’ve returned home, successful.”
“Jarvyk?” replied Heberron, as the old dwarf limped into the room, supported by a thick cane. “It IS you! Welcome home, my boy!” The old dwarf stepped forward and embraced his son. The others stood just outside, waiting patiently during the reunion. Then Jarvyk pulled away, and removed Tedryk’s Grace from its sheath.
“Father, may I present to you Jarl Tedryk,” he said solemnly as he handed the sword over. Fascinated, Heberron took the blade in hand and held the sword upwards, the power humming faintly. Then Tedryk’s Grace spoke.
“A merchant, Heberron? Really? Good gods, man. Ye come from a line of adventurers and rulebreakers, and ye decided to count coins?” Heberron blinked in surprise at the unexpected rebuke, and handed the sword back to his son. Jarvyk took the hilt, a somewhat apologetic look on his face, and sheathed it once more. From there, Jarl continued, “Don’t ye worry, descendants mine. I’ll sort out all of this trouble in short order.”
Jarvyk, remembering the others standing around outside, said, “Oh! Father, these are my companions, who helped me along the way while I sought to awaken the power of the sword.” Introductions were made and then Jarvyk offered to set the company up at a local inn. It was agreed, and after handing his journal over to his father (so that he might catch up with what had transpired since he’d left home) and promising he would be right back, Jarvyk left Heberron to read while he took his companions to a local tavern. He spoke with the barkeep and requested that they be treated well (and looked after, as they were unfamiliar with the gold dwarven customs). Once they were set up with food and drink, he returned home.
Ashton ordered the strongest drink the tavern had to offer, and the barkeep had shrugged and handed him a bottle of sipping liquor. Ashton, in a show of rare bravado, had tipped the bottle up and taken two or three strong pulls off of it. Setting the bottle back on the table, he promptly smiled, blinked, and passed out. Cyrus gave the barkeep a long-suffering look and picked the necromancer up off of the floor and laid his unconscious form upon a bench. Bransen cast a spell intended to neutralize the effects of the alcohol, but the magus still remained unconscious.
Kort had had a splitting headache just behind his smoking left eye since the group had entered the Underdark. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d done well to hide this malady from his companions so far. As they sat around a dwarven bar in the Underdark, the pain grew too intense, and they caught him rubbing at it. “Are you alright?” asked Ryla.
“Oh, aye, lass,” he muttered. “Ah imagine it’s just Occipitus’ influence tryin’ to annoy me. Ahnd it’s werkin’.” He took a glass and poured a small amount of the liquor into it, and proceeded to drink it in sips, as it was intended to be imbibed. “There. Medicine. Thah should do me up right.”
...
Jarvyk meanwhile returned to the house, where his father had begun preparing a cheap cut of meat seasoned with some wilted mushrooms. His heart twinged to see the once wealthy merchant reduced to this state. He helped finish dinner and the two sat down to eat. Jarvyk filled in a few missing details that his father had not been able to glean from the journal, and then they began to speak about the current situation. “We’ll make this right, father. But… now that I have the sword, how do I use it to prove our lineage?”
Jarl chimed in, “Ye recall the stahtue near the old Tedryk estate, thah now serves as the ‘city hall’ or some such nonsense?” The dwarves nodded. “All ye need do is take me there, and Ah will hahndle the rest. But we’ll want to be makin’ this a public event. What I have in mind is goin’ tah be remembered for a few more generations!”
“Then we’ll need to get word out to the city,” said Jarvyk. “Father, you still know it best, how might we accomplish this?”
“Criers’ll get the job done fastest. When did you want this done… Jarl?”
“Righ’ now! Tonight, ye daft cunny! Unless ye like yer current, reduced station?” retorted the sword.
Heberron scowled and stood, “Of course not. I’ll be about it, then.” Jarvyk left, as well, wanting to make sure his companions were made aware of the planned confrontation.
...
A rather large crowd of dwarves turned up for the spectacle. Kerouss and most of his men, now dressed as civilians were among the crowd. When the group gathered at the old Tedryk Estate, they found three of the councilmen waiting at the top of the steps. These old dwarves sneered at the Tedryks and the surface-dwelling rabble surrounding them, but Jarl quietly instructed everyone to remain silent and let the fools make their jabs.
Olteg Hamurhyes spoke up first, “Were ye not cast from this place, whelp? Sent forth in shame by your disgraced sire? Not dwarf enough to remain in the ranks of the paladins as is right and proper? Not fit even to serve as house guards to your betters?” He was apparently unaware that Kerouss and his men had returned to the city, and were in the crowd. Greyjek was amused to note that the paladins did not miss the sleight against them.
Next, Mammonen Khelfhourge chimed in, “And what is this rabble? Surface-dwellers, Tedryk? Surely you didn’t believe outsiders from the surface would move us to restore your trade claims? There’s not been a dwarf in your line for centuries that was worth claiming as part of our race, if ever such a one did exist. Cracked and tainted since the day your ancestor’s shadow first further darkened these tunnels.”
Finally, Boronil Feirdzon spoke up, ”’Tis a sad thing when a peasant fails to recognize his proper place in this world. We’re merely restoring you to your rightful station in this world. Still, we are not without mercy. Beg, dog and we might yet offer you the scraps from our table.”
The gathered crowd stood silently, expecting an explosion from one or more of the gathered adventurers, and though both Jarvyk and Kort looked fit to be tied, Tedryk’s Grace merely chuckled aloud as the last dwarf finished speaking. Immediately thereafter, the man’s eyes widened as he froze in place. The other two speakers stared at him in shock, mouths hanging open. “If ye’re quite finished, Ah thought Ah might have a go. Boy, take me to that statue, yonder.” Shocked into action, Jarvyk complied.
Jarl instructed the Underdark Knight to put the hilt in a small hole beneath the statues fists, point down. As he did, the fingers of the statue flexed and grasped the greatsword, flipping it up and over its shoulder. Many eyebrows raised and a few gasps of pure surprise washed over the crowd. Then, the statue spoke, “Ah… am Jarl Tedryk. Ah first brought you lot the ken of the Silverbeard. Ah spent many decades keepin’ yer whiney ancestors safe from the cruel bashers whot crept, stomped or slithered along these darkened hallways. And now Ah’ve been called back to set straight whot ye should have done all on yer own.
“Do none of ye recognize how little these men are ahctin’ like the dwarves they should be? Mebbe it’s due to the shock of having all but one part of mah memories purged from mah head, but this entire setup smacks of outside involvement. Mind control. ‘Flayers or one o’ them squishy fish things has taken root in their weak minds, just as surely as Ah was able to freeze young Feirdzon where he stood.”
Hamurhyes and Khelfhourge began to retreat, screaming about dark sorcery, but the statue waved to Greyjek, who locked their higher functions down and prevented their egress. “Any of you berks can look in the histories and read for yerselves about the nature of this stahtue’s magic. It can only be activated by a relic blade like this toy called ‘Tedryk’s Grace.’ Aye, no doubt some of ye graybeards will remember the stories of a great dwarf hero that was said to inhabit the blade. He’s gone now, replaced by another. Mahself.”
Turning to Jarvyk, the statue intoned, “Ye’ve done well, boy. Survived the Abyss and granted that unholy plane a bit of hope for the future alongside yer brothers in arms. Ye’ve chosen your companions with great care, and you all serve one another as should a family.” Turning back to the dwarves, “Whereas ye’ve left yer families to rot on the dubious words of some addle-coved graybeards. What happened to questioning? What’s happened to making sure that the law protected you? It shames me to see ye’ve strayed so far from the intelligent path. Ye don’t even have a sodding thane? What madness is that?
“My time grows short. Expect attacks from without now that the jig is up. Kerouss!” The paladin commander stepped forward. “Ready your men to defend the city, and take those berks into custody. Ah’m takin’ my great great grandson and his friends off to do what they do best.” The statue then settled back in place, and the sword dropped neatly from the hands, sticking a couple of inches into the softer stone beneath. Jarvyk blinked a couple of times before retrieving the blade.
The councilmen were restrained and taken to a holding cell to await someone who could remove the compulsion that had taken hold of their minds. The adventurers gathered in front of the building as the crowd began to disperse. Jarl Tedryk advised them, “Spellcasters, save yer energy for now. Greyjek, can you track the source of the domination?” The erudite nodded solemnly, and Jarl continued, “I really suspect aboleth over illithid in this. It’s too… elegant for the squidfaces. We’ll be seekin’ a body of water, likely the lake. Keep mobility first in mind. Also, it might not be alone. And even if it is, the weak-minded among us might have their allegiances compulsorily changed. Jarvyk, yer allies can assist you, but you can do the most good by closing with any of these creatures and putting me to mah intended use. You might want to borrow that cloak of Bransen’s, though… just in case.”
The group stopped by Heberron’s house once more to make final preparations and a loud groan from Kort drew everyone’s attention. He held his head in both hands and then convulsed, arching his back and screaming. As everyone watched in shock, his body literally imploded to a small point of light, and then was gone. No one breathed for a few seconds, and then a booming voice echoed in the small house. “I NEED TO BORROW HIM FOR AWHILE. DON’T WORRY. I’LL RETURN HIM TO YOU.”
“Pike me…” said Tedryk’s Grace. “Ah know that voice.”
“Was that… Clangeddin Silverbeard?” asked Jarvyk.
“No… thaht was the bleeding Allfather,” replied the sword solemnly.
Adjusting their final plans to account for not having Kort among their ranks, the party glumly left to deal with the threat to Belmek.
...
After Greyjek had removed the domination afflicting two of the three councilmen, the party made its way back out into the tunnels of the Underdark. Perhaps fifteen minutes later, they came upon the shore of a vast subterranean lake. At this point, the casters decided to use their buffing spells. Less than a minute later, Jarvyk first spotted the dwarves standing by the shore staring out into it. They each wore plate armor and held a dwarven waraxe. He left the others standing with their light as he approached. When he closed to within the limit of normal dwarven sight, he called out to the dwarves. As one, they turned to look at him, gripping their waraxes and beginning to advance.
Ashton reacted first granting himself the power of flight and ascending to a point just shy of the thirty foot cavern ceiling, safely out of reach. The group heard a splashing noise in the water to their right, but only a few of them could see the top of the multi-eyed fish with it’s massive tentacles that had surfaced near the shore. The dwarves moved closer to the group, and after ordering a summoned astral construct to attack the nearby aboleth, Greyjek attempted to dispel the compulsion that he suspected the dwarves to be under. Only one of them seemed to shake it off, a confused look upon his face. Ryla remained near Bransen and Greyjek, intent upon defending them from any of the dwarves that drew near enough. Bransen, for his part, summoned a low wall of stone, all but separating the dwarves from most of the group. Jarvyk moved away from the dwarves and around the wall to get close to Bransen, and Cyrus, unsure how to proceed, did the same. Two more tentacled fish-things surfaced farther from the group, then.
Ashton hasted the group next and moved down to a height of ten feet, snapping his fingers to retrieve the Phoenix Heart from his magical glove. The first aboleth then leveled a psychic attack at Greyjek, striking at the erudite’s ego. He resisted some of the pain it caused, but he was not completely unscathed. Then Ryla stepped through a hole in reality and reappeared on the surface of the water near the aboleth. The dwarves began to circle around the stone wall, and Greyjek dropped another dispel on them with much greater results. All but two of the dwarves now stood around dazedly rather than actively seeking to slice into the group with their axes. Bransen cast a water walk dweomer on himself, Cyrus, and Jarvyk, then cried out to the dazed ones to try to subdue their dominated fellows. Most of the other adventurers echoed that sentiment, but the dwarves seemed incapable of following even simple directions in the aftermath of the mind control. Cyrus lashed out with his soul arrows at one of the still-aggressive dwarves, while Jarvyk dashed out to the water after Ryla. Each of them were struck by a psychic attack from the other two psychic catfish, which attempted to take over their minds. Fortunately, they were both able to resist the compulsion.
Ashton leveled an empowered fireball at the farther aboleths, and was suprised to discover that although they appeared to burn as was appropriate, they appeared to do so a little too perfectly. He recognized the illusion and then based on the attacks they seemed to be using, identified the projected images for what they were. Caught up in the moment, he neglected to mention this fact to the others. Ryla and Jarvyk resisted another psychic surge from the first aboleth which threatened to crush them utterly. Then Ryla engaged the creature, experiencing a similar realization that the form was illusory. It took the wounds just a little too precisely, too cleanly.
The fight continued apace, Greyjek harried (if not threatened by) one of the remaining dwarves), and Jarvyk engaging the other, while Ryla sought out the real aboleths, and Bransen tried to dispel the illusory ones. The aboleths summoned ectoplasmic walls trapping Bransen and Greyjek in with one of the murderous dwarves while locking Jarvyk in with the other. It’s axeplay was no match for the paladin’s and in short order, he had it disarmed and on the ground, before he struck out and sundered part of the ectoplasmic wall on the wings of Ashton’s earlier haste spell. Cyrus leapt the wall and began a flanking pattern on the aboleth shadows, recognizing them as false when his own attack impacted them. Greyjek attempted to dismiss the ectoplasmic walls without success, and then Ashton was finally able to dispel two of the projected images.
The first aboleth then charged Ryla from farther back in the lake, lashing out at her with a tentacle. The creature impacted her, and was singed for its trouble. It cried out telepathically in anger and pain, promising them all slow, watery deaths. Jarvyk joined Ryla in the water before a second real aboleth likewise charged forth, tentacles flailing. Ashton dispelled the remaining shadow and then joined the others in the water. The fish creatures could not long withstand their combined melee assault. Tedryk’s Grace gleefully struck the head from one of the aboleths. Even though the final creature cleverly attacked from beneath the water, it had not counted on the Freedom of Movement spells that Bransen had cast on himself and Ryla. The Soul Reaper sank underwater and heavily wounded it moments before the “sorcerer” put his longspear through its eye. The aboleths were no more.
...
Upon returning to Belmek, the party discovered that the council members were all now freed of the aboleth’s control. A meeting was held to discuss the return of the wrongly seized property and rights of the populace as well as the fate of the city government. Tedryk’s Grace insisted that a thane be determined, to lead the people. “He should be a dwarf of strong mind and moral convictions. Ah’d suggest Heberron for the job, but he’s a sodding merchant… Kerouss, how about you?”
The paladin hedged, “I’m a soldier. I’ve never sought public office. I don’t want it.”
“Perfect,” replied the sword. “Now with that settled, we’ll be off.” The Tedryk’s left a surprised and gaping council room to sort out the details. They returned to the new Tedryk Estate, the one Jarvyk had grown up in, and though they were sad about their recent losses, they discussed what the Silver Phoenix Adventuring Company would do next.
“I am not a Silver Phoenix, and my link to the Smoking Eye has now apparently vanished at his deity’s whim,” said Ryla. “I do have an interest in these so-called ‘Soul Pillars,’ however.”
Ashton nodded, “As do I. Karran-Kural is supposed to be a repository for a great deal of necromantic energy. I’m hoping to find something that will lead me to my father. Plus, if it’ll help us see more clearly into the plans of the Cagewrights, it might give us a better idea of how to stop them. If the legend lore I cast can be believed, their plans threaten this entire region.”
“Indeed, a permanent link from Cauldron to one of the lower planes is not good for any of us. Lacking other leads, I think we should pursue this Karran-Kural,” supplied Jarvyk.
Cyrus shrugged, “I think this part of the Underdark could do without me for awhile. I’ll continue to travel with you for awhile, if that is alright, Jarvyk.” The paladin nodded, and then the man continued with a smirk, “Besides, I haven’t yet bedded Ryla, and that doesn’t seem right.” She rolled her eyes, sighing.
Greyjek idly handled the tabard that Kort had offered him a few weeks before. “I, too, will continue to travel with you all for now. You continue to present me with interesting learning opportunities, and Sage would agree that you all need his wisdom to make it through any given day.
Bransen blinked, having grown a little bored during the inaction and tuned the conversation around him out. “What was all that? Are we going again? Good, I was gettin’ a little stir crazy. Let’s go!”
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