“I wouldn't sweat over a few bugs in your flagon. The acid'll kill ’em before they're half way down your throat.”
Kor Clotbur, tiefling bartender, offering a little friendly advice to a new customer
Second Lower Day of Mortis, 126 HR
If Plague-Mort had been the courtyard, they had now clearly arrived in hell. After passing through the portal, they stood on hot, ashy ground through which lava shimmered here and there. The air was also uncomfortably warm and thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, a toxic mixture that settled in their lungs and burned their throats with every breath. A thick and swollen red sun hung in the reddish sky, dripping light like blood from the sky.
“Welcome to the Abyss," Naghûl muttered.
He looked at the others and decided to give them a moment to get used to their surroundings. After all, none of them had been in the Abyss before, and the sight took getting used to. The hellish vastness of the first layer Pazunia was a chaotic jumble of jagged black rocks and yawning chasms, all brimming with malevolent energy. Cracks filled with molten lava ran through the bleak plain like fiery veins, casting an eerie light. Above them, the sky was a stormy canvas of churning storm clouds and flickering lightning. The portal to Plague-Mort, a tall arch of deep black stone, lay behind them, the split citadel of Broken Reach directly in front of them. Only a few hundred steps away, a colossal rock plateau rose into the sky, its rugged walls seemingly made of red-hot crystal.
And up there, ominously enthroned, a sight met their eyes that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying - a huge fortress, split in two by an ancient, cataclysmic force, a testament to the violence and chaos that had once permeated this place. They slowly began to move, approaching the plateau at the foot of which they could already make out various people and creatures, humanoids as well as demons and even some young dragons, it seemed. The closer they got, the better they could spot the details of Broken Reach up there. The left half of the fortress was a twisted tangle of dark iron and obsidian, its towers reaching into the blood-red sky like the claws of a monstrous beast. Fences lined with jagged spikes surrounded the structure, and banners made from torn and burnt fabric fluttered in the biting wind. Guards in terrifying armor patrolled the walls, the constant clanging of weapons and the harsh barking of commands echoed through the air. The right half was just as imposing, but threatening in a different way. Here, the walls were covered with a creeping, fleshy growth that pulsed with a sickly light. The entire building seemed to breathe with a malevolent hunger. Ducts and windows gaped like the mouths of voracious beasts, and the screams of the damned echoed from deep within, carried by the wind like the whispers of ghosts. Between the two halves of the fortress lay a great chasm, a huge, gaping precipice that seemed to reach into infinity. Lattices of iron and bone spanned it, connecting both parts of Broken Reach, each a dubious path at best, directly above the void. Dark energy crackled above the chasm, and ghostly figures flickered and swirled in its depths, a haunting reminder of the corrupt forces at work here. Broken Reach - split in two yet indestructible - stood like a grim sentinel over the endless expanse of Pazunia.
“By the great creator," Sgillin muttered quietly to himself as he let his gaze wander over the hellish fortress.
“Yes, the pleasant part is over,” Naghûl said with a sigh. “Now we get down to the nitty-gritty.” He looked at Lereia. “I think it's time ...”
“Done,” she said with a weak smile, and Naghûl nodded encouragingly.
“You look good. Believe me, we'll pull this off just as convincingly as we did in Plague-Mort.”
The others nodded, more or less confidently, but all straightened up to get back into their roles as they emerged from behind the jagged rock formation. They weren't the only travelers here, as they had already noticed from a distance. A little ahead of them, a smaller group was also approaching the fortress: a gaunt tiefling wearing a bone-adorned robe, a drow with blood-red streaks in her white hair, and a green dragonborn with a huge axe. Naghûl nodded to himself. At least as far as their appearance was concerned, they were well prepared and should be able to blend in without attracting attention.
The space in front of the towering plateau on which Broken Reach rose was seething with hellish activity, a chaotic mixture of demons and damned souls. The ground, a patchwork of obsidian and cracked, heat-scarred rock, radiated an oppressive heat that distorted the air and sent shimmering heat waves into the sky. Scattered across this hellish landscape were pools of viscous, glowing lava, their surfaces occasionally breaking open to release poisonous fumes into the already acrid atmosphere. These pools served as nests for young lava dragons, creatures with scales of cooling magma and eyes that burned like hellfire. They rested at the edge of the lava, their tails slithering lazily through the molten rock as they waited to bring new arrivals up to the plateau. The mesa towered over the area below like a malevolent guardian, its steep walls streaked with pulsing red lines reminiscent of exposed arteries. The dragons seemed to be the only way up; there were no stairs, ladders, or elevators in sight, nor was there a single cave-like entrance at the foot of the plateau.
A colorful mix of new arrivals was already milling about down here. They stood in groups, eyeing each other suspiciously, their hands never far from weapons or arcane foci. This chaos was supervised by Red Shroud's servants, cambions, alus, kelvezu, and even a few succubi and incubi. They moved through the crowd with predatory grace as they organized transport to the fortress above. Some carried books that appeared to be bound in humanoid skin and wrote down names with quills dripping a suspiciously red ink. At irregular intervals, a lava dragon trudged to the edge of its pool, its body still steaming as the outer layer of magma cooled and cracked. New arrivals climbed onto special saddles on the creatures' backs, which were made of heat-resistant skin and bones. When the dragons took off, they left a trail of slag and ash behind them, and the passengers clung to the saddle pommels as they were carried upward through swirling vortices of sulfur-laden air. Naghûl sighed softly. So this was the path they would have to take, for better or worse.
The entire area was bathed in a reddish-green light, a mixture of the glow of the lava pools and the sickly green radiance of floating witch light balls that wafted through the air and served as light sources. The shadows cast by this unnatural lighting seemed to move on their own, reaching out with grasping tendrils toward the unwary. Naghûl led his companions across this chaotic, gloomy place, taking care to keep a distance from the other groups that was far enough to avoid trouble but not so far that they appeared fearful. They passed a vulture-like vrock and an alu with waist-length black curls. Naghûl couldn't help but stare at the beautiful woman; it happened almost automatically. She didn't even notice the group, however, but was engaged in conversation with the vrock, who was now hissing indignantly.
“I don't care!” he croaked in Abyssal. “Graz'zt is not my master!”
The alu lasciviously placed one hand on her hip. “Well, sweetie, don't explain it to me. I'm just delivering a message. I don't care about the rest.”
The vulture demon snarled venomously, and Naghûl tore away from the sight of the alu. He must not give in to the carnal temptations of the Abyss, ever. That was one of the most important principles here. “Let's find a way up,” he said, looking around to see if one of the lava dragons was free.
His gaze lingered on a group of nightmares whose fiery manes and tails glowed in the hazy light.
Lereia had also seen them and was staring at them with fascination. “Eerie, but beautiful nonetheless,“ she murmured.
“I wonder if they're for sale?” Sgillin whispered.
“That's not why we're here,“ Kiyoshi reminded him.
“We can at least take a look,” the half-elf replied irritably, but then moved away from the nightmares with a slight sigh.
Kiyoshi, on the other hand, had approached the wall of the plateau to examine it more closely. The rock seemed to glow from within and looked very smooth. “Interesting,” the young soldier remarked. “A kind of crystalline substance with inclusions. Formerly living inclusions. We are walking on a kind of glass into which souls and demons are ingrained.”
A closer look confirmed Kiyoshi's words: in some places, demonic grimaces and desperate humanoid faces could be seen in the glass-like rock, trapped there like insects in amber. It also became clear that the walls were far too smooth to even consider climbing up.
“I guess the only way up is on the backs of the lava dragons,” Naghûl concluded.
Not far from them was a magma pool with no group waiting at the moment. The area was bordered by a row of jagged obsidian pillars with Abyssal runes etched into their surfaces. Twisted metal rods connected the pillars, forming a makeshift waiting area. Two young lava dragons waited at the edge of the pool, their bodies covered with cooling magma plates that moved over a core of liquid fire. Steam rose from their nostrils as they eyed their potential passengers with eyes like glowing coals. Saddles made of black leather and bone were strapped to their backs, each providing enough space for three medium-sized people. This pool was guarded by an incubus whose unearthly beauty stood in stark contrast to the hellish surroundings. He was tall, with flawless alabaster skin and deep, swirling violet eyes. His long hair flowed ink-black over his shoulders, two small curved horns protruded from his forehead, and leathery wings were folded on his back. He was dressed in black leather that accentuated his perfect physique in a sinful way. A belt of intertwined silver bones encircled his waist, from which hung a cruel-looking whip and a book bound in skin. He eyed the approaching group with a mixture of boredom and predatory interest. Naghûl took a deep breath before approaching the demon.
“Hey there, greetings,” he said, not in Abyssal, but in washed-out Common so that the others could understand the conversation.
A seductive smile played around the incubus' lips. ”What do you want, hm?”
“Up to Broken Reach. Can you help us?”
Naghûl didn't fail to notice that the women in the group were staring at the incubus with fascination, but then Jana quickly crossed her arms and looked away, apparently trying to concentrate intently on the ground. Naghûl couldn't blame them; his gaze had also been immediately drawn to the alu – and she was only half succubus.
The incubus briefly surveyed the group, and the tiefling found it difficult not to suddenly feel inconspicuous and uninteresting in his presence - an unfamiliar sensation. “I might be able to help you,” the demon replied, then his gaze wandered to Lereia and Jana. “Hey, you have chicks with you and a guy is talking to me?”
“Sure,“ Naghûl replied quickly. “They're speechless.”
The two women were clearly embarrassed when the incubus looked at them. His gaze wandered between the two of them, then he pointed at Lereia. “I want to talk to her.” The nails on his long, elegant fingers were obsidian black.
Lereia seemed to freeze for a moment, then instinctively moved a little closer to Naghûl. “Greetings,” she said quietly, but did not look the incubus in the eyes.
He scrutinized the young woman intensely, and his gaze could only be described as lewd. “Hmm …” His smile deepened. “An exceptional beauty even.”
Naghûl noticed Sgillin biting his lip and hoped his friend would be able to contain himself. They had to play along if they wanted to go up.
The demon now turned back to the Sensate. “She's yours, eh?” This time he spoke Abyssal, and the others promptly exchanged worried glances when they could no longer understand the conversation.
“That's right,” Naghûl replied, also in Abyssal. A certain relief washed over him at the decision to pass off Lereia as his slave here. The tanar'ri were chaotic, but in a trading place like Broken Reach, personal property was generally respected.
The incubus turned his glowing gaze back to Lereia. ”What a pity.” With an ambiguous smile, he switched back to Common. “We would have had a lot of fun, dearie. I could have given you pleasures you never knew the female body is capable of feeling.” His voice was melodic and enticing, but with an unmistakable hint of underlying malice.
Naghûl noticed Sgillin snort briefly, but Lereia's breathing quickened. “It's your misfortune that she's mine,” he resumed the conversation. “And my good fortune.”
The incubus laughed gleefully. “Very well, another form of payment then.”
Naghûl nodded quickly. “I think we have something that might change your mind.”
“Let's see,” replied the demon, but he continued to stare at Lereia, practically undressing her with his eyes.
“Sgolag,” the Sensate addressed Sgillin by his alias. ”Show him what you have.”
The half-elf, who had regained his sense of humor, looked down briefly at himself and grinned. “You think he cares?”
Naghûl had to laugh briefly. For once, he hadn't intended his words to be ambiguous.
The incubus grinned broadly as well. ”Hey, I stopped myself from saying it ... only because of the chicks here, of course.”
Jana cleared her throat and took a step behind Naghûl while Sgillin began rummaging in his pockets. Kiyoshi watched with a stony expression, and Lereia kept her head down, but apparently couldn't help glancing at the incubus whenever he wasn't looking.
Finally, the half-elf pulled out a small bottle containing a deep green liquid. “This is something you won't find anywhere else. But that's for the return flight, too.”
Naghûl knew what the concoction was: a distillate made from green nuts that the half-elf had had made by a friend who was an alchemist. Consuming these nuts caused everything to appear in a delicate shade of green for a while.
“What is this stuff?” the demon asked skeptically.
Sgillin looked around. ”Does anyone have something the size of a thimble?”
Naghûl took the cap off his water bottle and held it out to the half-elf.
He filled it with the nut essence and passed it to the incubus. “Drink.”
The demon took the makeshift shot glass, but his gaze remained alert. “Should there be holy water in there ...”
“Nonsense,” the half-elf waved him off.
“Hm.” The incubus thought for a moment, then shrugged and drank the green essence. Then he handed the cap back. ”Well, I don't feel anything ... Wait ... I'm suddenly getting so warm ...”
That wasn't the usual effect, and Sgillin looked at the demon in amazement. The latter, however, eyed Lereia once more and let out a throaty hum. “This wonderful creature ... can't I buy her after all?” He suddenly seemed a little tipsy.
The young woman looked at Sgillin and Naghûl in alarm, but the tiefling placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “No, you can't. But you can have more of this stuff.”
“That stuff is funny, I can tell.” The incubus laughed, and Naghûl noticed that his skin was gradually turning a delicate green. “All right, deal. Give me the stuff and you can go up.”
Sgillin apparently swallowed his astonishment and looked at Naghûl. “All of it?”
“Half,” the tiefling objected. “We want to make sure you bring us back down.”
“Extremely rare,” Sgillin emphasized as he poured half of the essence into another bottle and handed it to the incubus. ”Because I'm the only one who knows where to get the ingredients.”
“Pfff ...” The demon rolled his eyes, but then nodded. “All right ...” He spread his arms dramatically. ”Climb up there, the dragons will take you up.”
Relieved at the successful deal and looking forward to flying on a lava dragon, Naghûl now felt a certain Sensate excitement welling up inside him as he approached one of the impressive creatures. “I'm sitting in front!”
While the incubus took the bottle and took another small sip, the tiefling climbed into the front seat of the saddle, followed by Lereia and Jana. Kiyoshi, who had watched the whole scene with an impassive expression, and Sgillin went to the other dragon.
“A little tip for free,” the half-elf said with a wink as he climbed up. “Take a sip of it before you have fun with a woman.”
The incubus grinned. “But I still can't use the chick here to test it out?”
He pointed at Lereia, and Naghûl shrugged apologetically. “No, otherwise I'll know she's not having fun with me. Don't take away my illusion.”
The demon laughed loudly. ”You poor mortal men.”
Naghûl grinned and congratulated himself inwardly on every hour of acting lessons he had ever taken in the Festhall. In situations like this, it always helped him considerably to successfully conceal his actual discomfort and simply play along. And it had worked; he had been able to divert the incubus' budding interest away from Lereia. Not that it had felt good, but what did in the Abyss? As Naghûl sat in the saddle, sweat immediately broke out on his forehead: the heat emanating from the lava dragon's body was almost unbearable, even with a certain fire resistance. However, he didn't have much time to think about it, because the dragon rose into the air with a deafening roar, and its powerful wings sent gusts of scorching heat in all directions.
In stark contrast to his joyful anticipation, Naghûl quickly realized that the ascent was more of an agonizing experience. The dragon snaked its way through columns of poisonous smoke and streams of overheated gas that poured out of the cliff face everywhere. Occasionally, it dove and veered off course, forcing its passengers to cling desperately to the pommels to avoid falling off. The landscape below them grew smaller, revealing the true expanse of the hellish terrain that surrounded Broken Reach. As they reached the edge of the plateau, the full terrifying splendor of the fortress came into view. Tall towers of black stone rose into the blood-red sky, and winged demons circled them like scavenging birds. The dragon landed with a bone-shaking thud on a wide obsidian platform and took off again after the group had dismounted with unsteady legs.
As they climbed down the ladder from the landing platform, they were immediately overwhelmed by the atmosphere of Broken Reach: before them rose a massive gate of metal and bone, flanked by the towering statues of two demon lords, probably Pazuzu and Dagon, if Naghûl interpreted the symbolism correctly. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, and even up here, crowds of visitors of all kinds were milling about - tieflings, humans, drow, yuan-ti, lesser demons and other hellish creatures. The massive gate wings stood open, and a group of chained slaves was just being driven into the interior of the fortress. On the other side of the gate, there was a bustle of activity, for there was a market and vendors were touting their wares, some of them certainly too horrible to comprehend. At the entrance stood a single kelvezu with deep red skin and coal-black hair. These tanar'ri often served as assassins and infiltrators in the Blood War, but this one seemed to be on guard duty. However, she did not check any of the new arrivals or ask any questions, just watching boredly as the visitors streamed in and out, polishing a jagged saber. Since she didn't seem particularly interested in who came and left, Naghûl decided it would be safe to ask her a few questions.
He stepped closer and nodded in greeting. “Hey there. I'm burning with curiosity about the famous fortress here. Is there anything in particular I should be aware of? I don't want to take a wrong turn and get eaten by a goristro.”
The kelvezu shrugged with a grin. “The outdoor areas are freely accessible, as are the quarters and suites. If there's somewhere you're not allowed to go, there will be guards.”
Naghûl laughed. “That's easy, even for me.” He reached into his belt pouch and gave her a handful of coins. “Have a booze.”
With a satisfied nod, the demoness pocketed the money. ”I will. Go in.”
The Sensate nodded. It could never hurt to be on good terms with a few of the guards in a place like this; that was one of the reasons their factions had given them enough money for this trip. “Come on,” he said to the others and passed the gate.
“Yes, let's go,” Jana sighed quietly.
In the courtyard of Broken Reach, nestled between bloodstained walls and open to the threatening sky, the demonic market thrived - a dangerous bazaar where unimaginable goods were traded under the watchful eyes of sinister merchants. It was a labyrinth of stalls and tents, all built from a hodgepodge of different materials - bent iron, bare bones, tarnished brass and the leather hides of countless hellish beasts. The air was filled with the disharmonious sound of Abyssal haggling, while the stench of sulfur and rot mingled with the more exotic scents of forbidden spices and arcane elixirs. There was a bustle of activity here, where dubious traders, Blood War mercenaries, shady fortune hunters and adventurers mingled with all manner of demons and other hellish creatures. The falling darkness did nothing to dampen the commotion, especially since it didn't really get dark because the lava and crystal walls radiated too much light.
Naghûl took a deep breath. “One more thing. You really need to think for yourselves here. I have to concentrate fully on the conversations with the demons, otherwise we'll be mincemeat before we know it. Don't do anything stupid and don't wander off on your own.”
Jana nodded uneasily. “I'd say we take a look around first,” she said quietly. “We need to find some clues on how to get into the catacombs.”
So they ventured into the market of Broken Reach, taking care to stay close together and not lose sight of anyone. The merchants here were as diverse and grotesque as the goods they offered. At one stall, a huge, muscle-bound demon with purple skin and black horns sat enthroned above the plundered weapons from what must have been a dozen battles. His eyes gleamed greedily as he showed a kenku a curved sword still encrusted with blood. Next to him, an emaciated tiefling woman in tattered robes hawked potions and elixirs. Glowing liquids bubbled and hissed on her rickety wooden cart. The vials glistened with an otherworldly light, and the woman's long fingers moved with astonishing precision as she mixed concoctions that promised power, immortality, or twisted dreams. Not far away, a bloated demon with corpulent folds of flesh bulging over his iron armor offered curses and hexes. He was covered in talismans and fetishes made of bones, hair, and tendons, each one imbued with a dark spell. Quasits swarmed everywhere, selling jewelry and curiosities from dirty bags. Their alert eyes darted nervously around, always on the lookout for opportunities or wary of threats. Other merchants offered soul coins, fragments of ancient relics and even the preserved eyes of decapitated prophets - an assortment of bizarre and often dangerous items, many of them magical or cursed.
Once, a shadow mastiff approached Lereia and sniffed in her direction, but then seemed to hesitate, tucked its tail between its legs and ran away. Naghûl could see the young woman grinning contentedly. Even in her human form, some of the creatures here could sense the threat emanating from the tigress, and this seemed to restore some of Lereia's confidence, which had been temporarily shaken by her encounter with the incubus.
“We should also ask around for black mithral,” Kiyoshi said quietly. “After all, that's why we're here.”
“Then maybe we should go to a merchant,” Sgillin suggested. ”Perhaps one of the weapon sellers knows where to find black mithral around here. Oh, and one more thing: if you see a sign of a skull in front of a sun, let me know.”
Naghûl nodded. Sgillin probably would recognize the sign as the contact his cell had given him in Broken Reach. They let their eyes wander over the jumble of stalls, dodging a dretch who staggered past them with a cleaver in one hand and a half-rotten Abyssal chicken in the other. In the middle of the market stood a large, gnarled tree that seemed to be made of iron and bone. In its shadow sat a demoness with alabaster skin and black wings, offering chains and shackles for binding celestial beings in a seductive voice. Naghûl caught himself thinking that this was a tempting commodity given Lord Valiant's imminent return to Sigil. But he pushed the thoughts aside. That was not why they were here, and he had to stay focused, however uplifting the idea was.
They passed a wizard haggling with a drow for rare components, and then a group of hell knights searching for improvements to their corrupted blades. Weapons were exactly what they were looking for, and they slowed their pace. Soon they discovered a purple tent standing somewhat apart from the other market stalls. As they approached, they spotted various weapons and pieces of armor, all radiating an aura of evil: swords with serrated blades, maces in the form of screaming faces and armor that appeared to be made of blackened bones were among the goods on display. Inside the dimly lit tent were numerous other weapon racks, and in a glass display case lay vials containing strange, glowing liquids - probably poisons or alchemical enhancements for the weapons on offer. In one corner, a forge blazed with otherworldly flames that cast eerie shadows, and behind a counter made of polished obsidian stood the weapons dealer - an attractive man with ashen skin and black horns. His eyes glowed like coals, and he wore expensive dark leather armor decorated with filigree gold. The man had an aura that was all too familiar to them from the negotiations over the lava dragon ride, but to Naghûl's relief, it was not as intense as that of the incubus. He seemed to be a cambion. Kiyoshi nodded and approached the tent with determination, while Naghûl could hear Lereia sigh softly.
“Tough day for you, sweetheart,” Sgillin remarked with a grin, that earned him a grim look from Jana.
The cambion greeted the group with a smile that reached his fangs but not his eyes.
Naghûl nodded to him and looked at the displays. ”What do you have here?”
“Good armor, bracers, high-quality weapons that can cut through both flesh and soul.“ The man's voice was like a soft purr as he gestured expansively toward his wares.
“Do you have bows?” Sgillin inquired.
“No, but how about a nice scythe? Or a whip?“ He grinned at Lereia. “Lady, I'll give you one at half the price to keep your harem in check.”
“She's part of my harem,” Naghûl corrected him.
“I'd say so, too,” the merchant replied with a laugh.
Lereia demonstratively linked arms with Naghûl, but couldn't help grinning at this exchange of words. Kiyoshi examined the weapons, tilted his head, and then nodded appreciatively.
“Do you have a long sword that might interest me?” Naghûl asked.
The cambion showed them a few blades, which were of good quality but neither made of particularly rare material nor truly masterfully crafted.
The Sensate shook his head appraisingly. “Kimon,” he said, turning to Kiyoshi. ”Show him what a long sword is.”
The young soldier took the bundle from his back, in which he carried the blades intended for trade and barter, unpacked them, and fanned them out before the merchant.
The latter nodded. “Yes, they look promising.”
“That's his harem,” Naghûl remarked with a grin. “You see, Kimon is a master of his craft.”
“Yes, indeed,” admitted the cambion. “So you want to sell these beautiful blades?”
“Yes, but not only that. We're looking for something special so he can forge even better weapons.” Naghûl lowered his voice and leaned slightly forward. “Something that makes Broken Reach so unique.”
“Black mithral?” The merchant gasped.
The Sensate frowned questioningly. “Is there a problem?”
“Well, for one thing, I don't have any at the moment.” The cambion raised his hands regretfully. “I sold the last two ingots yesterday. For another thing ... it's not for sale to just anyone. Mistress Red has a few overseers who keep an eye on the mines and the sales. You'll have to talk to one of them.”
“And how do I get hold of one of them?“ Naghûl wanted to know.
“I could talk to one and recommend you,” the merchant offered. “I'd do that if I get a good price for these beautiful weapons. I'd give you five hundred ivory bits for one of these blades.”
Surprisingly, this wasn't a bad price. The merchant seemed to be really interested in the deal – which spoke for the quality of the weapons forged by Kiyoshi and was certainly beneficial to their cover as mercenaries.
“Sounds like a good deal,” Naghûl replied.
The cambion grinned contentedly. “All right, I'll see if I can make a contact. Come back tomorrow and I hope the deal will be done.”
“Agreed,” said the tiefling, extending his hand, which the merchant shook. “Can you recommend somewhere for us to stay?” asked the tiefling. “Preferably without manes.”
“With the money you have, you can surely afford some of the suites,” explained the cambion, pointing to a nearby door that apparently led into the interior of the fortress. “Go that way until you can't go any further, and you'll find the merchant's lounge. You can ask there for the suites.” He winked at Lereia. ”One for you and one for your harem, huh?”
Lereia laughed and continued to hold on to Naghûl's arm. The Sensate said goodbye with a grin and headed straight for the door the merchant had pointed out. The swollen red sun was already sinking slowly behind the glowing rocks, but it only grew a little darker and not noticeably cooler. Since the conversation with the cambion had been more successful than he had hoped, Naghûl decided that it was time to find lodgings and get some rest. In a place like the market of Broken Reach, where nothing was sacred and everything was for sale, he did not want to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. On the way to the entrance, a shadowy figure crossed their path, vaguely humanoid but completely gray, its face contorted into an inhuman grimace of pure madness, with empty, milky-white eyes.
“I think ... I was once human,” the figure whispered in a voice that sounded hollow and pain-filled. ”Did I die here? ... I remember ... a small town? Forests? ... No, that's not possible. I've always been here ... haven't I?”
Lereia and Sgillin recoiled, and Jana immediately slowed her pace at the sight. Kiyoshi's hand seemed to move almost unconsciously towards his weapon.
“A bodak,” Naghûl explained quietly. ”Undead creatures without personality or soul, created by contact with pure evil, for example by a nightwalker. When all memories of their former existence are destroyed, they become relentless and cruel hunters. We'd better keep our distance while this one is still in a state of confusion.”
The others nodded in agreement, and they quickly scurried past the bodak, opened the iron door, and entered Broken Reach. They found themselves in a dimly lit entrance hall with walls made of polished obsidian. Torches with eerie, multicolored flames provided uneven lighting and cast strange shadows. Only a single corridor led off from here, just as the merchant had described, and they followed it. Tapestries on both sides depicted scenes of conquests and torture on various layers of the Abyss, and the floor was made of a mosaic of dark stone and something that looked like molten bone. The air grew heavier with the smell of sulfur and exotic incense.
Finally, they reached an ornate archway carved with writhing demonic figures. Behind it lay what appeared to be a bar and the merchant's lounge. The corridor opened into a large, round hall with a vaulted ceiling that seemed to reflect the swirling chaos of the Abyss itself. The bar dominated the left side of the room, its counter consisting of a single slab of volcanic glass. Behind it were shelves lined with bottles of various shapes and sizes containing liquids that glowed, swirled, and sometimes moved on their own. Seating areas with black and red divans were scattered throughout the room, where various groups of visitors engaged in quiet conversation. A haze of multicolored smoke hung in the air, and the soft murmur of voices was occasionally interrupted by shrill laughter or angry hissing.
Naghûl nodded gently. Yes, anyone who thought of the hellish fortress as nothing more than gloomy catacombs, dirty cages or the black mithral mines was mistaken. In the dark heart of Broken Reach existed a world of insidious opulence and cruel decadence. The fortress was not the home of a powerful succubus for nothing, and in addition to dungeons, torture chambers and forges, it also housed luxurious suites, bars and baths. Where to end up, whether in the stocks or in a canopy bed, depended on one's own skill and wallet, on the ruthlessness one was capable of, but also simply on pure luck. Did you catch the eye of an incubus who was a favorite of Red Shroud? Or were you unlucky enough to knock over the drink of a marilith general who was stopping over in Broken Reach? That alone could mean the difference between freedom and slavery, life and death. Demons were born into this world. Many mortals chose to do business here of their own free will. While it was at least in the nature of the tanar'ri, however corrupt, to feel at home here, Naghûl would never understand what attracted a human, tiefling or half-elf here when they could choose Arborea instead.
And yet, more than enough had chosen the Abyss and were now gathered here in the lounge, sitting around tables carved from petrified wood, negotiating dark deals over cups of steaming, hellish brew. It was a disparate mix of fiends and corrupt mortals. A breathtakingly beautiful succubus lolled on a divan, surrounded by several kelvezu guards, while at another table a group of necromancers sat together, apparently haggling over a powerful artifact. Every interaction seemed marked by intrigue, betrayal and the constant possibility of violence. It was not a place where even a halfway decent creature could feel comfortable, and yet these thoughts faded into the background when Naghûl's gaze fell on the succubus. Her skin was flawless as alabaster, contrasting sharply with her flowing red hair, from which curved horns protruded. Her eyes, a swirling violet with a golden sheen, seemed to capture and hold the gaze of anyone who dared to look at her. She was wrapped in gauzy silk that left little to the imagination, and the fabric shimmered and changed color with her every subtle movement. A knowing smile played on her full, blood-red lips as she surveyed the room with regal indifference. Naghûl almost tripped over one of the divans, but Lereia gently pulled him aside at the last moment. Sgillin's eyes were also immediately fixed on the succubus, and not even the ever-disciplined Kiyoshi could hide his fascination. The demoness eyed them briefly with a predatory gaze and ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips in a thoughtful manner. But then she turned back to her conversation partner, a wolf-headed arcanaloth who was leafing through a thick tome. The yugoloth supplied both tanar'ri and baatezu with weapons for the Blood War, so the wolf lady was certainly here to do business. Arcanaloths were powerful, cunning, and dangerous, and it was best to avoid them if possible.
“Stay away from the wolf-headed one,“ Naghûl whispered in warning as he tried to tear his eyes away from the succubus.
“Mhm, it's best not to tangle with them,” Sgillin agreed.
He should know, having done business with the smuggler queen Shemeshka in Sigil, Naghûl thought to himself. The memories seemed to make the half-elf quite uncomfortable, for he gave the divan with the succubus and the arcanaloth a wide berth.
“We'd better ask someone about the suites,” Jana said quietly. ”Maybe at the bar over there?”
Naghûl nodded and headed for the left side of the hall, taking care not to get too close to any of the seating areas. Once, however, they had to pass quite close to a large hellcat. These impressive, intelligent animals were the size of mighty lions and, like those big cats, had thick manes. But their fur was red-orange, and pointed horns grew behind their ears and out of their shoulders. Bright tongues of flame licked repeatedly from their manes. Lereia paused when she spotted the hellcat, but then slowly nodded to it. Naghûl held his breath. Like the shadow mastiff outside, this predator could clearly recognize Lereia's true nature, but was that to their advantage or disadvantage? The hellcat pulled back its lips and growled softly, but did not actually seem aggressive. Lereia looked at it and let out a soft hiss, which sounded more like a greeting than a threat. The hellcat sniffed, hissed back, shook its mane, and then majestically returned to its original resting place. Naghûl relaxed, and Jana beside him breathed audibly in relief. Lereia watched the predator with fascination, then turned back to Naghûl and nodded, signaling to continue toward the bar.
The walls on either side of the volcanic glass counter were lined with dark velvet and decorated with macabre trophies and artifacts, each of which surely told a story of pain and betrayal. The bloody red light of Pazunia fell through iron-studded windows, casting eerie patterns on the floor. Behind the bar stood a drow tiefling whose obsidian skin was adorned with intricate silver tattoos. Small horns protruded from his white hair and his eyes glowed red. He was pouring Black Nectar into transparent, bone-shaped glasses - a spirituous liquor with a silky consistency and a bittersweet taste made from the rare shadow lotus that grew only in the darkest corners of the Abyss. Several guests sat on bar stools: a group of tiefling merchants arguing in hushed tones about some contract, and a warrior in black armor, apparently a Blood War mercenary, who was probably nursing his wounds and having a drink - Abyss Brew, judging by the smell, a foamy, dark beer made from hellish herbs and mushroom spores. A little apart from them, a young night hag, beautiful and therefore most likely disguised, sat on one of the high stools. Her skin was delicate gray, and her long, dark hair twisted like living shadows. She sipped a drink that gave off a soft, ghostly sound when she brought it to her lips.
As Naghûl and the others approached the bar, the conversation of the tiefling merchants faded to whispers and they looked over suspiciously. Unimpressed, the Sensate took a seat and briefly sized up the night hag. She returned his gaze with glowing eyes, one azure blue and one deep red. Naghûl had actually wanted to ask the bartender about the suites, but somehow he suddenly lost himself in the intense eye contact with the night hag ... He couldn't explain why he kept staring at her, nor was he sure how long his gaze had been fixed on her when Sgillin nudged him lightly in the side. He startled and shook his head dizzily, while the drow tiefling behind the bar put on a broad grin. The young hag smiled darkly and twirled a strand of her long black hair around her finger as she took another sip of her drink.
Naghûl could feel the frowns of his companions and cleared his throat before turning to the bartender. “We're looking for suitable sleeping quarters. Can you help us?”
“Ahhh, suitable.” The drow grinned. “The gentleman is looking for suites, yes?”
“That's right.” Naghûl smiled politely while the night hag leaned against the bar in feigned innocence and studied him closely. Her gaze made him nervous ... He smiled uncertainly at her and brushed a strand of hair from his face, then did so again, even though the strand was no longer there. What was wrong with him? He was usually more hardened from his years of experience in the planes. The bartender grinned even more broadly, and the young hag now lowered her eyes coyly, with a girlish smile - but immediately her eyelids lifted again and her glowing eyes winked at him, full of promise. Naghûl felt a wave of heat welling up inside him ... Damn it! Had she just successfully charmed him? It certainly felt like it ...
He cleared his throat once more and forced himself to look at the drow. “Yes, are ... um, are there any rooms available?”
The bartender laughed loudly, apparently less amused by the question itself than by Naghûl's difficulty in concentrating on the conversation. ”No idea. You'll have to ask upstairs. There at the back, next to the last set of seats, up the stairs.”
“Thanks,” Naghûl replied. “Yes, thank you very much. I'll be going now ... um, with my companions ...” He couldn't help but look back at the night hag. ”... upstairs. Yes, upstairs with my companions ...”
His heart beat faster when their eyes met again and he cursed inwardly. He was usually good at resisting such spells, but apparently not today ... She would meet him in his dreams, he was sure of it. That was what night hags did ...
Lereia smiled politely at the drow. “Thank you very much,” she repeated, then reached for Naghûl's hand to pull him gently but firmly with her.
The bartender seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the scene, and Naghûl was glad and grateful not to be here alone. Without the watchful eyes of his companions, he would not have been able to resist the night hag, he was sure of that.
“Come on, Romeo,” Sgillin said with a grin, obviously referencing a character from some prime play, he once mentioned.
Naghûl clasped Lereia's hand tightly and let her pull him away, unable to take his eyes off the hag.
She waved gently at him. “Sweet dreams ...” she whispered in a velvety voice and smiled, innocent and sinister at the same time.
“Um ... Thanks.” Naghûl laughed nervously as Lereia pulled him away.
It wasn't until they were halfway across the hall that his head cleared and he noticed Sgillin's shoulders shaking slightly as he tried to stifle his laughter. That damn hag. Naghûl was very annoyed that he had fallen under her spell, but tried to quickly play down the embarrassing situation. There was no need to make a big deal out of it now. Instead, he looked for the stairs the bartender had mentioned and spotted them at the back of the hall.
“Up there,” he grumbled discontentedly and hurried to the upper floor.
They climbed a spiral staircase made of polished black stone and entered a spacious anteroom that probably served as a kind of reception area. Floating spheres of pulsating red and purple light cast an eerie glow on the visitors and the furnishings. The walls were decorated with demonic glyphs etched into the stone, and in the center of the room floated a delicate silver net structure, apparently for decoration. Tiny, jewel-like insects seemed to be trapped inside, their wings fluttering weakly. The entire piece rotated slowly, seemingly on its own. Armchairs and upholstered couches were arranged in small groups, on which some guests sat and spoke quietly to each other. In the middle of the room lay a drider on a specially made divan. His human torso was decorated with elaborate tattoos, his spider legs neatly folded beneath him. He was engaged in lively conversation with a group of tieflings and a shadowy figure whose features were concealed by a hooded cloak.
As in the lounge below, several slaves could be seen here as well. But these were not the desperate workers who were kept in cramped, iron-bound cells and forced to labor until they were completely exhausted. Nor were they gladiators sent to the blood pits for entertainment. These slaves were attractive and well-groomed, some servants and some chosen for erotic purposes, adorned with chains and collars engraved with hellish runes. They were toys, subject to the whims of their demonic masters, their souls mercilessly crushed under the weight of cruelty and exploitation. Naghûl glanced briefly at Lereia, who fortunately was only playing this role. He could see from her troubled expression that she was clearly preoccupied with depressing thoughts, probably about what it would be like if this were not a disguise but bitter reality.
Jana also looked around uneasily. “Great Unknown,” she murmured. “What a fine selection of visitors.”
“Yes, just hellish,” Naghûl replied with a hint of sarcasm. The incident with the night hag dampened his mood even more than the terrible surroundings.
At the other end of the room stood a large table made of polished blood stone, and behind it sat a woman with four arms covered in green scales. Her yellow eyes had slit pupils. Naghûl supposed she was a tiefling with a marilith in her bloodline, powerful, six-armed demons with the lower body of a snake. Next to her on the floor stood a small, ornate cage made of intertwined metals. Inside, a dark cloud of smoke took on various shapes - sometimes a screaming face, sometimes writhing tentacles. As the group approached the table, the woman smiled, revealing two needle-sharp fangs.
Naghûl nodded to her. “Greetings. We are looking for high-quality accommodations. Are we in the right place?”
“You are,” replied the four-armed woman, somewhat friendly even. “Would you like to rent a suite? Or several?”
“How big are the suites?” the Sensate asked.
“They are designed for two people each,” the tiefling woman explained, her split tongue darting out between her lips. ”Each suite also has room for one slave per person. That's fifty ivory bits per night per suite. Slaves don't count, of course.”
Naghûl nodded. “Well, then they must be worth it. We'll take two and will probably stay three nights.” He placed the money on the table and hoped they wouldn't have to stay three nights.
The tiefling woman took the coins, slid two keys across the table, and pointed to a row of doors on the left wall. “Behind the wooden doors with iron fittings are the simpler accommodations. The suites are behind the ornate black metal doors. You have numbers eleven and twelve, the Azzagrat Suite and the Shendilavri Suite.”
Naghûl handed a key to Sgillin, who nodded to Kiyoshi to share the quarters with him. The young soldier nodded with a stony expression.
“And by the way,” the Sensate said before heading toward the Shendilavri Suite with Lereia and Jana. “The incubus wasn't that great. If I go to the Great Gymnasium more often, I can have that kind of abs too.”
“Of course,” Sgillin replied with a laugh. “Of course.”
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played January 24, 2013
Naghûl fell under the night hag's spell because his player rolled a 1 on the will saving throw.
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