Guerrilla Delivery Service (21/3) - Zola
Mar 24, 2024 11:15:12 GMT
Velania Kalugina and Andy Davy like this
Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Mar 24, 2024 11:15:12 GMT
(Continued from An Acoustic Assault.)
Two packages arrive at Zola’s door that afternoon.
The first is an envelope containing a map of a house — the Rhomdaen townhouse in Aeschira. Tebrin, ever reliable, has delivered once again. It is unfortunate that most of the upper floor, dominated by the family’s private quarters, is unmapped and unknown, but she has to work with what she has.
The second package comes from the Witching Court. It is a box carrying four black, foot-long cylinders, with no discernible markings or features other than small slots and hoops, and a tiny bell that has been tightly packed with rags, seemingly to keep it from being accidentally rung.
An attached letter explains:
Zola carefully stores the tiny bell in the chest at the foot of her bed and slips the cylinders into her satchel before donning her cuirass. Velania, Digs, Dwirhian, Fogwalker, and Glint should already be at the wine shop, waiting for her.
She straps the belt carrying The Twins tightly around her waist. Her nervous inner song calms just then, stilling into deep, focused bass notes.
The plan has been set. All that’s left to do is the execution.
Tebrin’s inside man turns out to be a deep gnome, a scared little fellow whose expression morphs into surprise and confusion when he first lays eyes on Zola. He speaks and moves with agitated urgency as he ushers the adventurers to one corner of the wine shop and teleports all seven of them with an exploding bead.
They find themselves in an Underdark alleyway, and the first all-pulsing, all-vibrating ring of the Heart Bell shakes them all to their core. Pressing her hands to her ears, Zola gives her friends an apologetic smile. Hopefully their eardrums can forgive her.
The svirfneblin returns to them a few moments later. “Right, I’ve got the ankhegs. How ready are you?”
“Almost! We’ve got a bit of prep spells to cast!” Zola shouts over the din of the Bell.
He holds up his palms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on. I don’t know what his plan is, but there’s a bit of a journey to get to the house. I just said I’d get you there, then it’s over to him. Have you ridden an ankheg before?”
“Um… Nope!”
He tilts his head to one side, eyes scanning her up and down, still looking bewildered. “Have you even been here before?”
“Once!”
“Just once?”
“Well, twice if you count the day I was born!”
He barks out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “Okay. Okay. You know what? You do whatever you need to do. It’s none of my business. Do you know where we are?”
“Only by name. I don’t know a lot about the place,” says Velania.
The svirfneblin beckons for them to follow him to the end of the alleyway. “Have a look here.”
Round the corner, an impressive view has been waiting for them. A bustling underground metropolis sprawls out before them, with towering stalagmite spires and stalactite steeples piercing out of the hanging sea of mist that covers the ceiling of the enormous cavern it sits in. The part of the city they’re in is bathed in a pale, frosty light and a chill breeze whistles through the narrow stone buildings, both coming from a large, snaking floe river that gives Xar’zith-suul — “the Cold Side” — its name. The city descends in a slope as if in a basin, and in the nadir where the river of ice meets a river of fire forms a tall column of steam that billows into the mouth of a gigantic bell, ringing in a perpetual and constant rhythm. Past the Heart Bell, the rest of the city rises again, now broiling in an orange-red glow — Chath-suul, “the Hot Side”.
Perhaps it’s because it’s only her second time visiting, but Zola remains in awe of Aeschira’s strange beauty. Nothing about it really makes sense, and that’s why it’s so wonderful. She almost feels an odd sense of pride — this is where she was born; her newborn cries had once mingled with the powerful ringing of the Bell.
But a bitter taste in the back of her mouth is keeping her from wearing that pride. This place would have been her home, had her parents not sold her.
The gnomish man is explaining the city to the newcomers as he leads them to another back alley, out of sight from any other locals. Zola stares curiously at him.
“Are you a member of the household staff? What’s your name?”
He hesitates before shrugging and replying, “Suppose it doesn’t matter much. I’m Nibis Deplebiple. I worked for, um… I guess he must be your father.”
She chuckles. “I really look like her, huh?”
“Yeah, I actually thought you were Larynda at first,” Nibis says with another nervous laugh. “I was a footman for your father and…” He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s not right. I know it’s not right.”
“What?”
“I had a respectable place within the household. Footman to a matron’s consort is a highly sought-after position. But then the Lady Phaedra said Kelolg went on some kind of business trip, a-and it didn’t sit right with me. I usually knew where he was and when he’d be back so I could perform my functions. All of a sudden, he’s mysteriously gone, and now I’m being told to do grunt work. They put me in the kitchen mostly these days. It’s demeaning, to be frank. I think something’s happened to Kelolg, and Phaedra is trying to get rid of me. So I’m trying to secure a better future for myself.”
Zola purses her lips. It never occurred to her that her actions would have such an impact on the daily lives of the household staff. She owes this man an explanation.
“Kelolg went out to meet me,” she says in a confessional tone. “He tried to kill me. That’s why he’s gone missing. He’s not dead, he’s…being held by another party.”
Nibis glances back at her. “I’m not surprised. When I saw you, the pieces started to fall into place. I was proud to work for House Rhomdaen, but I’m worried about my future now that Kelolg isn’t there. Kekoph and Vorn don’t need me and Phaedra seems to be pushing me out.”
“You’ve chosen the right path.”
“I hope so. As long as our mutual friend holds up his end.”
“What did he promise you?”
“Help someone get into the house and create a diversion, and he’ll deliver me to ‘someone more capable’.”
Zola ponders this internally. Nibis seems to be honest in his reasons, but is Tebrin really going to do that for him? Let him work for another noble house who may want to extract House Rhomdaen’s secrets out of him?
“You know, if my plan goes smoothly, you wouldn’t need to leave House Rhomdaen at all,” she says.
“It’s fine. I’ve already made peace with today being my last day.”
“Well…okay. If that’s your choice.”
“The only way I could make this work is by getting myself kicked out. It’s fine.” He inhales deeply and exhales. “Anyway, I need to give you directions. Do you know how you’re getting into the house and what to expect inside?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve got a map.”
She pulls the map out of her satchel and shows it to Nibis. He rubs his chin. “Huh. It’s rough, but it’s the house, alright. Give it here.”
He takes out a pair of coloured charcoal sticks from a pocket and begins drawing on the map. “I don’t know all of them, but there are a few hidden passages in the house… The kitchen has an external service door. It’s always busy and always guarded, so I’m going to cause a distraction that’s going to get me kicked out of the house, and that’ll be your best chance to slip inside.”
Her eyes widen with wonder as she is handed the map back. “Wow! Thanks, Nibis!”
He nods. “Do you know who’s supposed to be in the house today?”
“The matron is out for the day, but my sister is in there. That’s all I know”
“Right… Well, there are twelve servants in today and, um, about a handful of guards. Two at the front gate, one at the front door, one at the service door, and maybe two that patrol the perimeter. Your sister Larynda has two personal guards. I think she’s meeting a VIP guest this afternoon, which means she’ll likely be spending the afternoon in the gallery. Kekoph and Vorn are probably scheming…”
“Who are Kekoph and Vorn?”
“Oh. I suppose they’d be your cousins, from Lady Phaedra’s side. There was a bit of drama about their parents, your aunt and uncle. They were caught trying to sell secrets to another house and Lady Phaedra took care of them. So Kekoph and Vorn were adopted into the family. They’ll probably be using the great room today since Lady Phaedra is out. Ah, and there’s also Molgar Yazbros, your cousin on your father’s side. He’s not really part of the main family, but he’s very devoted to the house; bit of an oddball, really.”
“That’s it? That’s my whole family?”
“The ones in the house currently. I don’t know about any other extended family.”
Nibis has stopped walking, and so has the rest of them. He stuffs a piece of paper with directions to an empty house near the mansion — where they can prepare their spells — and a bead in Zola’s hands. “The ankhegs are just round the corner. The bead can take you back to that wine shop if you break it — just make sure to be very close to each other when you do.”
In exchange, Nibis finds a potion of healing pressed into his palm. “Thank you,” Zola says, giving him a warm, sincere smile, “and good luck.”
Nibis looks flummoxed. Like he would never in a million years have imagined hearing those words coming out of Larynda’s lips or seeing that smile on Larynda’s face. “Er… Th-Thanks. Good…good luck to you too.”
Device #1 – The Storeroom
The walls of Rhomdaen mansion are thick and sturdy — Impeccable masonry, Zola thinks — yet they can still hear the commotion going on in the kitchen next door. They had seen, when they entered, Nibis taking swings at a fellow svirfneblin servant with a scalding-hot pan, being held back by a lone drow guard who shouted for help.
It’s difficult to stay focused with the Heart Bell constantly sounding in the background, but Zola wrenches her attention back to the mission at hand. The storeroom is jam-packed full of crates, boxes, jugs, and jars — it’d take forever to find the unremarkable cylinder here. Glint and Digs have managed to find a particularly dusty corner and they tuck the cylinder in there, repositioning an assortment of preserved food items to hide it. In addition, Digs gleefully lays down a bear trap on the floor near it, a sly little gift for some unfortunate guard in the future.
One thing stands out from everything else in the cramped room: a crate standing alone in the middle, the initials PTC stamped on its side. Zola’s jaw drops. “The…Prideborn Trading Company?”
The crate’s lid is open, containing several smaller boxes within. She opens one. It’s filled with jewelleries and a note is laid on top.
“Fucker,” Zola hisses. “This is why I need to overthrow her.”
More raised voices in the kitchen, the sound of feet running. It is good timing when Glint finds a discoloured stone in the wall behind the shelves. The trapdoor leading into the house’s secret passageways is revealed, and one by one, the adventurers slip away.
Device #2 – The Game Room
Following the tunnels southward lead to a cupboard, which opens up to a room with plush sofas, large windows, and a table with a half-played game of dragonchess.
Digs scrambles up a bookshelf and finds a cardboard box for a board game that’s gone missing. He places the second cylinder in there and shoves the box to the back of the shelf.
Through the windows, they can see Nibis Deplebiple being dragged away by the guards, kicking and screaming. “I knew that Nipples guy was cool,” says Digs.
The kobold leaves another trap in the cupboard before they leave.
Device #3 – The Wine Room
The Rhomdaens do not store their extensive collection of fine vintage in a cellar, probably because they already live underground. By the time the adventurers emerge through the trapdoor, disguised as a wine rack, the noises from the kitchen have died down.
Digs drops the third cylinder into an almost-full wine barrel, where it sinks to the bottom, and another trap in there too. “We’re throwing that whole barrel out when I move in,” Zola mutters.
A pair of guards walk by the windows. One peers inside, and finds nothing of interest — the adventurers still have Glint’s veil of invisibility over them.
“Did you hear that?” Fog says to the group suddenly.
“Hear what?”
“There was a sound like porcelain clinking against something. Coming from over there.”
With her blindsight, Zola can see that Fog is pointing at the door to the lounge.
“Guard the other door,” she tells him, and glugs down a potion of clairvoyance.
Whilst the rest of the mansion is opulent to an obscene degree, the decor in the lounge is simpler, subtler, more relaxed. The carpets look soft, the chairs look like somewhere she can fall asleep for ages. There is a fireplace which she imagines would provide the perfect ambience of crackling logs when it is lit. However, there is no one in the room.
She switches the clairvoyance sensor to listening mode, and that’s when she hears it — clink.
Except…it’s like the sound is entering into her head. She has a vivid image in the forefront of her mind of a teacup being set down on a saucer.
“What…?”
She’s certain now the sound is coming from the room beyond this one, the gallery. It takes her a moment longer to realise what is happening.
“I think…my sister is inviting me to tea.” Zola takes a deep breath to steady her nerves. “But we should plant the last trap first. Let’s make this quick.
The northward branch of the secret passage leads to the spiral staircase in the corner of the mansion. They open a stone door in the wall and step out onto the stairs.
And the scent that fills the air here hits Zola like a slap across the face. It’s a floral, sweet fragrance with bitter undertones — the very scent she grew up smelling in Haspar Knoll, for every day of her adolescent life. Mother Lillian’s tea.
No. It can’t be.
The door to the gallery is just round the corner, on the right-hand side of the hallway. That’s where the smell is coming from.
Why is this smell here? My sister. Larynda. Is she baiting me to come in? Is she in league with Zarzuul too?
Zola’s body is frozen to the spot, her muscles refusing to move as a knot tightens in her chest. The others must have felt her missing presence, because they stop and Fog turns back to call out to her. “Zola? Hello? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she gasps out. “I’m okay.” Is she trying to convince her friends or herself? “Keep going. Stay focused. Let’s lay this last trap, and we’ll see what my sister has to say.”
Unseen by the others, her right hand has subconsciously gone up to grip Pollux’s hilt, squeezing until her knuckles turn white with rage.
Device #4 – The Second Guest Room
Velania volunteers to make sure that the room is empty before they enter. She casts a spell on herself, causing her body to first apparate out of invisibility and then gradually turn transparent until she disappears entirely from Zola’s blindsight. The priestess of Selûne has stepped into the Border Ethereal.
A moment later, a sending with Velania’s voice comes into Zola’s head: Room appears to be empty. I personally would recommend redecorating. Shall I go check the door at the end of the corridor?
“Noted on redecoration. And yes, please,” Zola replies.
The five of them creep into the guest room. The bed is large and the walls have murals with glowing light fixtures embedded on them. It is luxurious but fairly unfurnished, and what items they do see — things like hairbrushes, combs, and nailfiles — have been arranged neatly on a marble counter. Fastidiously impersonal. It feels like an expensive, ostentatious hotel room. “Yeah, definitely redecorating this,” Zola remarks.
She lifts the thick mattress to let Digs cut into its underside and stuff the final noise-maker in there. He places another bear trap on the frame of the bed before she lays the mattress back down on it.
There. All done and dusted. Nobody will think of checking h—
“Who the Hells are you?!” a voice from down the hallway shouts in Undercommon.
Just then, another sending from Velania: Someone saw me!
“Shit!” Someone was in there, with the true seeing spell on them? Damn it, it must be her cousin Molgar.
“Let’s just leave!” Dwirhian says. “We’ve done the job. Velania told us she can get back to Daring independently.”
The sword dancer grits her teeth. She hates the idea of leaving her best friend behind, but… “You’re right.”
He’s followed me. I’m keeping him busy. Get the Hells out, Velania says.
“Use word of recall, get back to the temple!” Zola tells her. She turns to the rest of her friends. “We need to get downstairs now. If he can see Velania, he can see us.”
“Our cover is to rob things, right?” asks Digs.
“Yeah, do it.”
Digs, Glint, and Fog all scramble to yank the shiny light fixtures — the most expensive-looking things in the room — off the walls. They appear to be made of reforged light coins — lamps literally made of money. It’s obscenely gauche and she’s glad to see them gone from the house anyway.
Ugh, now’s not the time to think about that!
“Um, if Velania can get herself back on her own, should we be using the bead to go back to Daring now?” Fog says.
“Fog’s right, why don’t we just use the bead now?” Dwirhian says.
Zola takes Nibis’s teleportation bead out of her pocket. She squeezes it between her thumb and forefinger, coming close to crushing it. Just press it a little harder. We’ll all be home in the blink of an eye…
But she knows she can’t. Not yet. She shoves the bead back into her pocket and lets out a long, shuddering breath.
“I have to know why my sister has Mother Lillian’s tea leaves.”
The Gallery
As she stands before the door, the invisibility and disguise self spells dissipate away from her body. Her fists are clenched tight. Her muscles are taut, ready for a fight. Her one amber eye glimmers with a thirsting vengeance.
If Larynda is working with Zarzuul, then she too will know the sword saint’s fury.
Zola turns the knob and lets the door fall open.
It’s immediately apparent why this room is called the gallery. Three of the walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling paintings of subterranean landscapes — crystal-lined falls, mushroom forests with colourful, bioluminescent lights, a vista of stalagmite and stalactite houses dotted with distant lights that resemble an underground starscape, et cetera — all rendered majestically in oil on canvas and on a larger-than-life scale that makes the viewer feel they’re in the scenery of each one. The westward-facing wall is entirely glass windows that give a panoramic view of Xar’zith-suul, with its spired rooftops and upside-down steeples peering through the sea of rolling, blue-white fog like islands.
There are two armoured guards in the room, sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. Out cold. Their spears have fallen out of their hands, strewn harmlessly across the carpet. There is also a tall drow woman slumped over on the low crystal table in the centre of the room, similarly unmoving. Her straight, snow-white hair is tied back with several ties to form a long, segmented ponytail that must reach down to her waist if she were standing up.
And sitting in a chair opposite the unconscious woman, a teacup and saucer in her long-fingered hands, is Lillian the Dreamer.
Zola’s heart almost stops in her chest. Her bottom lip begins to tremble. Her feet carry her deeper into the room to get a closer look at Lillian, as if she still can’t believe what she’s seeing.
“How is this possible?”
The look on the green hag’s face is a strange mix of elation and sorrow. She rises and glides across the room to pull her daughter into a hug. “I’m so happy to see you…” she murmurs into Zola’s hair. “But you being here means that you’ve made an arrangement with him, haven’t you?”
There’s no mistaking it. This is no trick, this is truly her Mother Lillian’s embrace she is in. Her tea-scent, her wrinkled skin, her hunched, bony physique. It’s really her.
And she knows about him. Zola gazes into her mother’s eyes, full of apology. “I had to,” she whispers.
“I really wish you hadn’t. I was asked to come here to help Larynda try to make sense of some dreams she’s been having, but I had a few premonitions and in some of them, you’d be here. I couldn’t say anything because I can’t actively seek you out, but I had to come just in case you were here. I’m so, so happy you are, but I’m so, so sad that you’ve gone down a dark road. Whatever he’s said to you, whatever arrangement you think you have, please, you cannot trust Tebrin. Every dream I’ve had where you side with Tebrin only leads to despair.”
“W…What do you mean?”
Lillian procures a small glass vial of clear liquid from her robe. “Drink this, and you’ll see the dreams I’ve had.” She lets out a long sigh. “I’m so happy you’re okay. You’re far too skinny, though, deary. Aren’t you eating?” Saying that, she puts both the vial and a plate of cake in Zola’s hands.
“I—” Zola shakes her head hard, trying to clear her thoughts, and sets the plate down on the arm of a nearby chair. “One thing at a time. Where have you been? Where are Mother Pearl and Mother Beulah?”
“We’re as safe as can be, deary. We’re at Zarzuul’s beck and call. He’s making us do terrible things, but we’re not hurt.”
“Where in the Hells are you being kept?”
“We aren’t in one place. I…can’t say more than that.”
The fucking contract. “Right. Okay. Um, what’s going on with her?” Zola points at the knocked-out Larynda.
“She’s been having what she believes to be visions from Lolth. Phaedra demanded she be given some help. I don’t think they’re visions from Lolth, though, I think she’s just been having strange dreams. She’s a strange girl.”
“But…we don’t have dreams? We’re drow.”
“Well, she’s been having them. Anyway, I mixed one of my special teas and they’re having a little nap.”
“But we can’t be made to sleep! How?”
Lillian gives her a look as if to say, Come on now, you know what I can do.
“Okay…” Zola heaves out a breath she’s been holding for a while. She looks down at the vial in her hand. There’s no more delaying it.
She is scared of what she’ll see, but Mother Lillian risked her well-being for this. She cannot and she will not let that go to waste. So she summons her courage, uncorks the vial, and pours the liquid down her throat.
A blinding flash of moonlight.
A rusted crown sits upon Zola’s brow, and she herself is sitting on a small, simple throne amidst chaos and destruction. The divine radiance she normally emanates is gone. Instead, a simmering and violent shadow coils and gathers at her feet.
Beside her — Tebrin, his black wings fully unfurled, brimming with power and wearing a smug look on his face. His left hand rests on her shoulder and his right hand holds a sword dripping with blood. Her father’s sword.
Small trinkets are embedded in the back of the throne: a tea cup, a blood-stained needle, and a gnarled staff.
At the edges of Zola’s vision, standing impossibly tall over them, are seven elven figures, wielding chains and brandishing weapons. All have their eyes fixed on the pair at the throne.
A blinding flash of moonlight.
The same rusted crown now lies on the floor. It is quickly surrounded by rubble and debris as a towering structure crumbles around it, systematically being torn down by seven shades moving in delicate synchrony.
As clouds of dust clear away, Zola is seen in the distance, walking towards a barren hill under bright moonlight that causes her body to give off a radiant glow. As she climbs up the hill, three huge trees begin to sprout from the earth and grow, crowning the hill and covering it with their verdant leaves.
A blinding flash of moonlight.
Zola is bathed in light as blue and red fireflies flit around her. She is battered and bloody, holding a dented but polished crown in her hands, seeming unsure of what to do with it.
All around her are a number of small, spiteful, amorphous creatures, tugging at her arms and snatching at the crown. But they are being held back by seven lithe, shadowy figures, slapping away their greedy hands, occasionally turning to help Zola steady herself and raise the crown onto her head.
Whilst this shuffle carries on, Zola’s face takes a hollow expression. Tears begin to fall, the product of multiple heartbreaks. As she closes her eyes, two sets of delicate hands wipe away the tears and wrap around her in a warm embrace. They feel…familiar.
There is a final flash of pale light, then the dreams fade away.
When Zola opens her eyes, her right cheek is as damp as it was in the dreams. Lillian is holding her close, and she looks up at her mother.
“A hollow crown.” Her voice comes out as a low, hoarse whisper. “That’s what I win if I side with him?”
“I…I don’t see a future where you trust him and hold onto who you are.”
“Do you see a future where I become matron and hold onto who I am? Because I don’t.”
“I do, Zola.”
There’s shouting outside. Someone is yelling about an intruder.
“We don’t have time. You need to go,” Lillian says urgently.
“Come with us!”
“I can’t. For the same reason I can’t tell you where Beulah and Pearl are or where I’ll be tomorrow.”
She had known that was going to be the answer, but she had to try anyway. She takes a sharp breath and nods in understanding.
She walks past Lillian towards Larynda and lifts her sister’s head up from the table, brushing the thick curtain of hair out of her face. A shiver crawls down Zola’s spine instantly. It’s like looking at a doppelganger, except that Larynda doesn’t have her crystal eldercross, her battle scars, nor double-pointed ears. This will never be not weird.
Zola scoops her little sister up and gently lays her down on a sofa. Then she turns and runs into Lillian’s arms, squeezing her in a tight hug and sniffling into her shoulder.
“I love you, Mum. I’m gonna save you, I promise.”
“We love you too,” Lillian says, stroking her hair. “We’re so sorry that your life with us began with a lie, but we have nothing but love for you.”
With great reluctance, Zola lets go of her mother, trying to stop herself from sobbing as she steps back to join her still-invisible friends. She drops the bead onto the carpeted floor and crushes it under her boot.
When the cloud from the explosion clears, they are back in the wine shop in Castleside. The shop seems to have closed for the day; the lamps have been turned off and no staff or customers are anywhere to be seen. Moonlight is streaming in through the windows.
Fog is the first to speak. “Zola, um, the answer’s probably ‘no’, but are you okay?” He spreads his arms wide open. “Would you like another hug? I’m big and soft and fluffy so my hugs feel very comfortable.”
Zola is spending all her energy to keep herself from collapsing to the floor. She gives Fog a weak and tired smile, saying, “I wouldn’t say no to that,” before sinking into his furry embrace. Dwirhian joins in by wrapping her arms around them both and Digs hugs Zola’s leg.
However, the warmth and kindness of her friends provides only a momentary comfort as a dreadful thought strikes her: Lillian has let the cat out of the bag. Zola’s got some awkward explaining to do.
When she returns to her suite at the Gilded Mirror to change into something more comfortable, she finds a third package waiting for her. It’s an envelope, with a piece of paper and something small and heavy at the bottom.
The paper is a note that reads:
She tips the envelope and something cold drops onto her palm. A small, round hunk of dark grey, semi-rusted metal, impossibly heavy for its size. As she holds it, she can feel a low hum of power emanating from the metal — a deeply sinister power. Though she’s never seen one before, she knows what this is: a soul coin.
Zola clenches her jaw. She holds up the coin to her lips. “Who…Who is this?”
A thin, frightened voice whispers the answer from within. “…Nibis Deplebiple…”
Of course. She should’ve seen that coming. He was delivered to someone more capable, alright.
Divine magic courses through her fingers and into the coin, undoing the infernal binding curse, causing the coin to crumble into black dust in her hand. The poor svirfneblin’s soul is freed.
Having been raised by a coven of hags, Zola has often heard a certain saying about making deals with hags, fey, devils, and the like: You get what you ask for, not what you want.
She would do well to remember that saying.
Maps by Anthony
Two packages arrive at Zola’s door that afternoon.
The first is an envelope containing a map of a house — the Rhomdaen townhouse in Aeschira. Tebrin, ever reliable, has delivered once again. It is unfortunate that most of the upper floor, dominated by the family’s private quarters, is unmapped and unknown, but she has to work with what she has.
The second package comes from the Witching Court. It is a box carrying four black, foot-long cylinders, with no discernible markings or features other than small slots and hoops, and a tiny bell that has been tightly packed with rags, seemingly to keep it from being accidentally rung.
An attached letter explains:
For full effect, each device should be placed in a kind of perimeter around where you expect to need the effects of them most. Any walls or such in between won’t hinder their effectiveness at all — they are designed to resonate inward towards each other — additional walls in between will actually amplify them. Once in place, they will remain dormant until you ring the bell in the middle of the four of them.
The bell, however, is currently extremely active and is a one-time thing. When you’re ready, remove the rag and ring it once — you won’t have a chance to ring it a second time. Apologies in advance for whoever rings it.
Eric
The bell, however, is currently extremely active and is a one-time thing. When you’re ready, remove the rag and ring it once — you won’t have a chance to ring it a second time. Apologies in advance for whoever rings it.
Eric
Zola carefully stores the tiny bell in the chest at the foot of her bed and slips the cylinders into her satchel before donning her cuirass. Velania, Digs, Dwirhian, Fogwalker, and Glint should already be at the wine shop, waiting for her.
She straps the belt carrying The Twins tightly around her waist. Her nervous inner song calms just then, stilling into deep, focused bass notes.
The plan has been set. All that’s left to do is the execution.
Tebrin’s inside man turns out to be a deep gnome, a scared little fellow whose expression morphs into surprise and confusion when he first lays eyes on Zola. He speaks and moves with agitated urgency as he ushers the adventurers to one corner of the wine shop and teleports all seven of them with an exploding bead.
They find themselves in an Underdark alleyway, and the first all-pulsing, all-vibrating ring of the Heart Bell shakes them all to their core. Pressing her hands to her ears, Zola gives her friends an apologetic smile. Hopefully their eardrums can forgive her.
The svirfneblin returns to them a few moments later. “Right, I’ve got the ankhegs. How ready are you?”
“Almost! We’ve got a bit of prep spells to cast!” Zola shouts over the din of the Bell.
He holds up his palms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on. I don’t know what his plan is, but there’s a bit of a journey to get to the house. I just said I’d get you there, then it’s over to him. Have you ridden an ankheg before?”
“Um… Nope!”
He tilts his head to one side, eyes scanning her up and down, still looking bewildered. “Have you even been here before?”
“Once!”
“Just once?”
“Well, twice if you count the day I was born!”
He barks out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “Okay. Okay. You know what? You do whatever you need to do. It’s none of my business. Do you know where we are?”
“Only by name. I don’t know a lot about the place,” says Velania.
The svirfneblin beckons for them to follow him to the end of the alleyway. “Have a look here.”
Round the corner, an impressive view has been waiting for them. A bustling underground metropolis sprawls out before them, with towering stalagmite spires and stalactite steeples piercing out of the hanging sea of mist that covers the ceiling of the enormous cavern it sits in. The part of the city they’re in is bathed in a pale, frosty light and a chill breeze whistles through the narrow stone buildings, both coming from a large, snaking floe river that gives Xar’zith-suul — “the Cold Side” — its name. The city descends in a slope as if in a basin, and in the nadir where the river of ice meets a river of fire forms a tall column of steam that billows into the mouth of a gigantic bell, ringing in a perpetual and constant rhythm. Past the Heart Bell, the rest of the city rises again, now broiling in an orange-red glow — Chath-suul, “the Hot Side”.
Perhaps it’s because it’s only her second time visiting, but Zola remains in awe of Aeschira’s strange beauty. Nothing about it really makes sense, and that’s why it’s so wonderful. She almost feels an odd sense of pride — this is where she was born; her newborn cries had once mingled with the powerful ringing of the Bell.
But a bitter taste in the back of her mouth is keeping her from wearing that pride. This place would have been her home, had her parents not sold her.
The gnomish man is explaining the city to the newcomers as he leads them to another back alley, out of sight from any other locals. Zola stares curiously at him.
“Are you a member of the household staff? What’s your name?”
He hesitates before shrugging and replying, “Suppose it doesn’t matter much. I’m Nibis Deplebiple. I worked for, um… I guess he must be your father.”
She chuckles. “I really look like her, huh?”
“Yeah, I actually thought you were Larynda at first,” Nibis says with another nervous laugh. “I was a footman for your father and…” He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s not right. I know it’s not right.”
“What?”
“I had a respectable place within the household. Footman to a matron’s consort is a highly sought-after position. But then the Lady Phaedra said Kelolg went on some kind of business trip, a-and it didn’t sit right with me. I usually knew where he was and when he’d be back so I could perform my functions. All of a sudden, he’s mysteriously gone, and now I’m being told to do grunt work. They put me in the kitchen mostly these days. It’s demeaning, to be frank. I think something’s happened to Kelolg, and Phaedra is trying to get rid of me. So I’m trying to secure a better future for myself.”
Zola purses her lips. It never occurred to her that her actions would have such an impact on the daily lives of the household staff. She owes this man an explanation.
“Kelolg went out to meet me,” she says in a confessional tone. “He tried to kill me. That’s why he’s gone missing. He’s not dead, he’s…being held by another party.”
Nibis glances back at her. “I’m not surprised. When I saw you, the pieces started to fall into place. I was proud to work for House Rhomdaen, but I’m worried about my future now that Kelolg isn’t there. Kekoph and Vorn don’t need me and Phaedra seems to be pushing me out.”
“You’ve chosen the right path.”
“I hope so. As long as our mutual friend holds up his end.”
“What did he promise you?”
“Help someone get into the house and create a diversion, and he’ll deliver me to ‘someone more capable’.”
Zola ponders this internally. Nibis seems to be honest in his reasons, but is Tebrin really going to do that for him? Let him work for another noble house who may want to extract House Rhomdaen’s secrets out of him?
“You know, if my plan goes smoothly, you wouldn’t need to leave House Rhomdaen at all,” she says.
“It’s fine. I’ve already made peace with today being my last day.”
“Well…okay. If that’s your choice.”
“The only way I could make this work is by getting myself kicked out. It’s fine.” He inhales deeply and exhales. “Anyway, I need to give you directions. Do you know how you’re getting into the house and what to expect inside?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve got a map.”
She pulls the map out of her satchel and shows it to Nibis. He rubs his chin. “Huh. It’s rough, but it’s the house, alright. Give it here.”
He takes out a pair of coloured charcoal sticks from a pocket and begins drawing on the map. “I don’t know all of them, but there are a few hidden passages in the house… The kitchen has an external service door. It’s always busy and always guarded, so I’m going to cause a distraction that’s going to get me kicked out of the house, and that’ll be your best chance to slip inside.”
Her eyes widen with wonder as she is handed the map back. “Wow! Thanks, Nibis!”
He nods. “Do you know who’s supposed to be in the house today?”
“The matron is out for the day, but my sister is in there. That’s all I know”
“Right… Well, there are twelve servants in today and, um, about a handful of guards. Two at the front gate, one at the front door, one at the service door, and maybe two that patrol the perimeter. Your sister Larynda has two personal guards. I think she’s meeting a VIP guest this afternoon, which means she’ll likely be spending the afternoon in the gallery. Kekoph and Vorn are probably scheming…”
“Who are Kekoph and Vorn?”
“Oh. I suppose they’d be your cousins, from Lady Phaedra’s side. There was a bit of drama about their parents, your aunt and uncle. They were caught trying to sell secrets to another house and Lady Phaedra took care of them. So Kekoph and Vorn were adopted into the family. They’ll probably be using the great room today since Lady Phaedra is out. Ah, and there’s also Molgar Yazbros, your cousin on your father’s side. He’s not really part of the main family, but he’s very devoted to the house; bit of an oddball, really.”
“That’s it? That’s my whole family?”
“The ones in the house currently. I don’t know about any other extended family.”
Nibis has stopped walking, and so has the rest of them. He stuffs a piece of paper with directions to an empty house near the mansion — where they can prepare their spells — and a bead in Zola’s hands. “The ankhegs are just round the corner. The bead can take you back to that wine shop if you break it — just make sure to be very close to each other when you do.”
In exchange, Nibis finds a potion of healing pressed into his palm. “Thank you,” Zola says, giving him a warm, sincere smile, “and good luck.”
Nibis looks flummoxed. Like he would never in a million years have imagined hearing those words coming out of Larynda’s lips or seeing that smile on Larynda’s face. “Er… Th-Thanks. Good…good luck to you too.”
Device #1 – The Storeroom
The walls of Rhomdaen mansion are thick and sturdy — Impeccable masonry, Zola thinks — yet they can still hear the commotion going on in the kitchen next door. They had seen, when they entered, Nibis taking swings at a fellow svirfneblin servant with a scalding-hot pan, being held back by a lone drow guard who shouted for help.
It’s difficult to stay focused with the Heart Bell constantly sounding in the background, but Zola wrenches her attention back to the mission at hand. The storeroom is jam-packed full of crates, boxes, jugs, and jars — it’d take forever to find the unremarkable cylinder here. Glint and Digs have managed to find a particularly dusty corner and they tuck the cylinder in there, repositioning an assortment of preserved food items to hide it. In addition, Digs gleefully lays down a bear trap on the floor near it, a sly little gift for some unfortunate guard in the future.
One thing stands out from everything else in the cramped room: a crate standing alone in the middle, the initials PTC stamped on its side. Zola’s jaw drops. “The…Prideborn Trading Company?”
The crate’s lid is open, containing several smaller boxes within. She opens one. It’s filled with jewelleries and a note is laid on top.
Looking forward to a fruitful trade relationship.
Matthias Prideborn
Matthias Prideborn
“Fucker,” Zola hisses. “This is why I need to overthrow her.”
More raised voices in the kitchen, the sound of feet running. It is good timing when Glint finds a discoloured stone in the wall behind the shelves. The trapdoor leading into the house’s secret passageways is revealed, and one by one, the adventurers slip away.
Device #2 – The Game Room
Following the tunnels southward lead to a cupboard, which opens up to a room with plush sofas, large windows, and a table with a half-played game of dragonchess.
Digs scrambles up a bookshelf and finds a cardboard box for a board game that’s gone missing. He places the second cylinder in there and shoves the box to the back of the shelf.
Through the windows, they can see Nibis Deplebiple being dragged away by the guards, kicking and screaming. “I knew that Nipples guy was cool,” says Digs.
The kobold leaves another trap in the cupboard before they leave.
Device #3 – The Wine Room
The Rhomdaens do not store their extensive collection of fine vintage in a cellar, probably because they already live underground. By the time the adventurers emerge through the trapdoor, disguised as a wine rack, the noises from the kitchen have died down.
Digs drops the third cylinder into an almost-full wine barrel, where it sinks to the bottom, and another trap in there too. “We’re throwing that whole barrel out when I move in,” Zola mutters.
A pair of guards walk by the windows. One peers inside, and finds nothing of interest — the adventurers still have Glint’s veil of invisibility over them.
“Did you hear that?” Fog says to the group suddenly.
“Hear what?”
“There was a sound like porcelain clinking against something. Coming from over there.”
With her blindsight, Zola can see that Fog is pointing at the door to the lounge.
“Guard the other door,” she tells him, and glugs down a potion of clairvoyance.
Whilst the rest of the mansion is opulent to an obscene degree, the decor in the lounge is simpler, subtler, more relaxed. The carpets look soft, the chairs look like somewhere she can fall asleep for ages. There is a fireplace which she imagines would provide the perfect ambience of crackling logs when it is lit. However, there is no one in the room.
She switches the clairvoyance sensor to listening mode, and that’s when she hears it — clink.
Except…it’s like the sound is entering into her head. She has a vivid image in the forefront of her mind of a teacup being set down on a saucer.
“What…?”
She’s certain now the sound is coming from the room beyond this one, the gallery. It takes her a moment longer to realise what is happening.
“I think…my sister is inviting me to tea.” Zola takes a deep breath to steady her nerves. “But we should plant the last trap first. Let’s make this quick.
The northward branch of the secret passage leads to the spiral staircase in the corner of the mansion. They open a stone door in the wall and step out onto the stairs.
And the scent that fills the air here hits Zola like a slap across the face. It’s a floral, sweet fragrance with bitter undertones — the very scent she grew up smelling in Haspar Knoll, for every day of her adolescent life. Mother Lillian’s tea.
No. It can’t be.
The door to the gallery is just round the corner, on the right-hand side of the hallway. That’s where the smell is coming from.
Why is this smell here? My sister. Larynda. Is she baiting me to come in? Is she in league with Zarzuul too?
Zola’s body is frozen to the spot, her muscles refusing to move as a knot tightens in her chest. The others must have felt her missing presence, because they stop and Fog turns back to call out to her. “Zola? Hello? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she gasps out. “I’m okay.” Is she trying to convince her friends or herself? “Keep going. Stay focused. Let’s lay this last trap, and we’ll see what my sister has to say.”
Unseen by the others, her right hand has subconsciously gone up to grip Pollux’s hilt, squeezing until her knuckles turn white with rage.
Device #4 – The Second Guest Room
Velania volunteers to make sure that the room is empty before they enter. She casts a spell on herself, causing her body to first apparate out of invisibility and then gradually turn transparent until she disappears entirely from Zola’s blindsight. The priestess of Selûne has stepped into the Border Ethereal.
A moment later, a sending with Velania’s voice comes into Zola’s head: Room appears to be empty. I personally would recommend redecorating. Shall I go check the door at the end of the corridor?
“Noted on redecoration. And yes, please,” Zola replies.
The five of them creep into the guest room. The bed is large and the walls have murals with glowing light fixtures embedded on them. It is luxurious but fairly unfurnished, and what items they do see — things like hairbrushes, combs, and nailfiles — have been arranged neatly on a marble counter. Fastidiously impersonal. It feels like an expensive, ostentatious hotel room. “Yeah, definitely redecorating this,” Zola remarks.
She lifts the thick mattress to let Digs cut into its underside and stuff the final noise-maker in there. He places another bear trap on the frame of the bed before she lays the mattress back down on it.
There. All done and dusted. Nobody will think of checking h—
“Who the Hells are you?!” a voice from down the hallway shouts in Undercommon.
Just then, another sending from Velania: Someone saw me!
“Shit!” Someone was in there, with the true seeing spell on them? Damn it, it must be her cousin Molgar.
“Let’s just leave!” Dwirhian says. “We’ve done the job. Velania told us she can get back to Daring independently.”
The sword dancer grits her teeth. She hates the idea of leaving her best friend behind, but… “You’re right.”
He’s followed me. I’m keeping him busy. Get the Hells out, Velania says.
“Use word of recall, get back to the temple!” Zola tells her. She turns to the rest of her friends. “We need to get downstairs now. If he can see Velania, he can see us.”
“Our cover is to rob things, right?” asks Digs.
“Yeah, do it.”
Digs, Glint, and Fog all scramble to yank the shiny light fixtures — the most expensive-looking things in the room — off the walls. They appear to be made of reforged light coins — lamps literally made of money. It’s obscenely gauche and she’s glad to see them gone from the house anyway.
Ugh, now’s not the time to think about that!
“Um, if Velania can get herself back on her own, should we be using the bead to go back to Daring now?” Fog says.
“Fog’s right, why don’t we just use the bead now?” Dwirhian says.
Zola takes Nibis’s teleportation bead out of her pocket. She squeezes it between her thumb and forefinger, coming close to crushing it. Just press it a little harder. We’ll all be home in the blink of an eye…
But she knows she can’t. Not yet. She shoves the bead back into her pocket and lets out a long, shuddering breath.
“I have to know why my sister has Mother Lillian’s tea leaves.”
The Gallery
As she stands before the door, the invisibility and disguise self spells dissipate away from her body. Her fists are clenched tight. Her muscles are taut, ready for a fight. Her one amber eye glimmers with a thirsting vengeance.
If Larynda is working with Zarzuul, then she too will know the sword saint’s fury.
Zola turns the knob and lets the door fall open.
It’s immediately apparent why this room is called the gallery. Three of the walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling paintings of subterranean landscapes — crystal-lined falls, mushroom forests with colourful, bioluminescent lights, a vista of stalagmite and stalactite houses dotted with distant lights that resemble an underground starscape, et cetera — all rendered majestically in oil on canvas and on a larger-than-life scale that makes the viewer feel they’re in the scenery of each one. The westward-facing wall is entirely glass windows that give a panoramic view of Xar’zith-suul, with its spired rooftops and upside-down steeples peering through the sea of rolling, blue-white fog like islands.
There are two armoured guards in the room, sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. Out cold. Their spears have fallen out of their hands, strewn harmlessly across the carpet. There is also a tall drow woman slumped over on the low crystal table in the centre of the room, similarly unmoving. Her straight, snow-white hair is tied back with several ties to form a long, segmented ponytail that must reach down to her waist if she were standing up.
And sitting in a chair opposite the unconscious woman, a teacup and saucer in her long-fingered hands, is Lillian the Dreamer.
Zola’s heart almost stops in her chest. Her bottom lip begins to tremble. Her feet carry her deeper into the room to get a closer look at Lillian, as if she still can’t believe what she’s seeing.
“How is this possible?”
The look on the green hag’s face is a strange mix of elation and sorrow. She rises and glides across the room to pull her daughter into a hug. “I’m so happy to see you…” she murmurs into Zola’s hair. “But you being here means that you’ve made an arrangement with him, haven’t you?”
There’s no mistaking it. This is no trick, this is truly her Mother Lillian’s embrace she is in. Her tea-scent, her wrinkled skin, her hunched, bony physique. It’s really her.
And she knows about him. Zola gazes into her mother’s eyes, full of apology. “I had to,” she whispers.
“I really wish you hadn’t. I was asked to come here to help Larynda try to make sense of some dreams she’s been having, but I had a few premonitions and in some of them, you’d be here. I couldn’t say anything because I can’t actively seek you out, but I had to come just in case you were here. I’m so, so happy you are, but I’m so, so sad that you’ve gone down a dark road. Whatever he’s said to you, whatever arrangement you think you have, please, you cannot trust Tebrin. Every dream I’ve had where you side with Tebrin only leads to despair.”
“W…What do you mean?”
Lillian procures a small glass vial of clear liquid from her robe. “Drink this, and you’ll see the dreams I’ve had.” She lets out a long sigh. “I’m so happy you’re okay. You’re far too skinny, though, deary. Aren’t you eating?” Saying that, she puts both the vial and a plate of cake in Zola’s hands.
“I—” Zola shakes her head hard, trying to clear her thoughts, and sets the plate down on the arm of a nearby chair. “One thing at a time. Where have you been? Where are Mother Pearl and Mother Beulah?”
“We’re as safe as can be, deary. We’re at Zarzuul’s beck and call. He’s making us do terrible things, but we’re not hurt.”
“Where in the Hells are you being kept?”
“We aren’t in one place. I…can’t say more than that.”
The fucking contract. “Right. Okay. Um, what’s going on with her?” Zola points at the knocked-out Larynda.
“She’s been having what she believes to be visions from Lolth. Phaedra demanded she be given some help. I don’t think they’re visions from Lolth, though, I think she’s just been having strange dreams. She’s a strange girl.”
“But…we don’t have dreams? We’re drow.”
“Well, she’s been having them. Anyway, I mixed one of my special teas and they’re having a little nap.”
“But we can’t be made to sleep! How?”
Lillian gives her a look as if to say, Come on now, you know what I can do.
“Okay…” Zola heaves out a breath she’s been holding for a while. She looks down at the vial in her hand. There’s no more delaying it.
She is scared of what she’ll see, but Mother Lillian risked her well-being for this. She cannot and she will not let that go to waste. So she summons her courage, uncorks the vial, and pours the liquid down her throat.
🌔⚔️🌖
A blinding flash of moonlight.
A rusted crown sits upon Zola’s brow, and she herself is sitting on a small, simple throne amidst chaos and destruction. The divine radiance she normally emanates is gone. Instead, a simmering and violent shadow coils and gathers at her feet.
Beside her — Tebrin, his black wings fully unfurled, brimming with power and wearing a smug look on his face. His left hand rests on her shoulder and his right hand holds a sword dripping with blood. Her father’s sword.
Small trinkets are embedded in the back of the throne: a tea cup, a blood-stained needle, and a gnarled staff.
At the edges of Zola’s vision, standing impossibly tall over them, are seven elven figures, wielding chains and brandishing weapons. All have their eyes fixed on the pair at the throne.
A blinding flash of moonlight.
The same rusted crown now lies on the floor. It is quickly surrounded by rubble and debris as a towering structure crumbles around it, systematically being torn down by seven shades moving in delicate synchrony.
As clouds of dust clear away, Zola is seen in the distance, walking towards a barren hill under bright moonlight that causes her body to give off a radiant glow. As she climbs up the hill, three huge trees begin to sprout from the earth and grow, crowning the hill and covering it with their verdant leaves.
A blinding flash of moonlight.
Zola is bathed in light as blue and red fireflies flit around her. She is battered and bloody, holding a dented but polished crown in her hands, seeming unsure of what to do with it.
All around her are a number of small, spiteful, amorphous creatures, tugging at her arms and snatching at the crown. But they are being held back by seven lithe, shadowy figures, slapping away their greedy hands, occasionally turning to help Zola steady herself and raise the crown onto her head.
Whilst this shuffle carries on, Zola’s face takes a hollow expression. Tears begin to fall, the product of multiple heartbreaks. As she closes her eyes, two sets of delicate hands wipe away the tears and wrap around her in a warm embrace. They feel…familiar.
There is a final flash of pale light, then the dreams fade away.
🌒👑🌘
When Zola opens her eyes, her right cheek is as damp as it was in the dreams. Lillian is holding her close, and she looks up at her mother.
“A hollow crown.” Her voice comes out as a low, hoarse whisper. “That’s what I win if I side with him?”
“I…I don’t see a future where you trust him and hold onto who you are.”
“Do you see a future where I become matron and hold onto who I am? Because I don’t.”
“I do, Zola.”
There’s shouting outside. Someone is yelling about an intruder.
“We don’t have time. You need to go,” Lillian says urgently.
“Come with us!”
“I can’t. For the same reason I can’t tell you where Beulah and Pearl are or where I’ll be tomorrow.”
She had known that was going to be the answer, but she had to try anyway. She takes a sharp breath and nods in understanding.
She walks past Lillian towards Larynda and lifts her sister’s head up from the table, brushing the thick curtain of hair out of her face. A shiver crawls down Zola’s spine instantly. It’s like looking at a doppelganger, except that Larynda doesn’t have her crystal eldercross, her battle scars, nor double-pointed ears. This will never be not weird.
Zola scoops her little sister up and gently lays her down on a sofa. Then she turns and runs into Lillian’s arms, squeezing her in a tight hug and sniffling into her shoulder.
“I love you, Mum. I’m gonna save you, I promise.”
“We love you too,” Lillian says, stroking her hair. “We’re so sorry that your life with us began with a lie, but we have nothing but love for you.”
With great reluctance, Zola lets go of her mother, trying to stop herself from sobbing as she steps back to join her still-invisible friends. She drops the bead onto the carpeted floor and crushes it under her boot.
When the cloud from the explosion clears, they are back in the wine shop in Castleside. The shop seems to have closed for the day; the lamps have been turned off and no staff or customers are anywhere to be seen. Moonlight is streaming in through the windows.
Fog is the first to speak. “Zola, um, the answer’s probably ‘no’, but are you okay?” He spreads his arms wide open. “Would you like another hug? I’m big and soft and fluffy so my hugs feel very comfortable.”
Zola is spending all her energy to keep herself from collapsing to the floor. She gives Fog a weak and tired smile, saying, “I wouldn’t say no to that,” before sinking into his furry embrace. Dwirhian joins in by wrapping her arms around them both and Digs hugs Zola’s leg.
However, the warmth and kindness of her friends provides only a momentary comfort as a dreadful thought strikes her: Lillian has let the cat out of the bag. Zola’s got some awkward explaining to do.
When she returns to her suite at the Gilded Mirror to change into something more comfortable, she finds a third package waiting for her. It’s an envelope, with a piece of paper and something small and heavy at the bottom.
The paper is a note that reads:
Delivered as promised.
She tips the envelope and something cold drops onto her palm. A small, round hunk of dark grey, semi-rusted metal, impossibly heavy for its size. As she holds it, she can feel a low hum of power emanating from the metal — a deeply sinister power. Though she’s never seen one before, she knows what this is: a soul coin.
Zola clenches her jaw. She holds up the coin to her lips. “Who…Who is this?”
A thin, frightened voice whispers the answer from within. “…Nibis Deplebiple…”
Of course. She should’ve seen that coming. He was delivered to someone more capable, alright.
Divine magic courses through her fingers and into the coin, undoing the infernal binding curse, causing the coin to crumble into black dust in her hand. The poor svirfneblin’s soul is freed.
Having been raised by a coven of hags, Zola has often heard a certain saying about making deals with hags, fey, devils, and the like: You get what you ask for, not what you want.
She would do well to remember that saying.
Maps by Anthony