Viridel notices Chyvvom toss the axeman into the large portal, before the paladin disappears in a flash, and appears behind him, trapped in the circle. The doors shut, sealing Laree, Elan, Grym, and Asniroth within.
"You will not be held here, sir knight," Viridel says, seamlessly entering the circle, and laying a hand on Bayard. With his other hand, he draws a sigil of a door, and points it towards the inner sanctum. "You are the Doom of this realm, and by your blessed axe, the long head of the Snake of Belzeragna shall be severed, and out shall bleed out lies, treacheries, and devilry."
Asniroth withdraws to be adjacent to his master, and Viridel will focus on aiding Laree next turn.
Grasping his axe, Bayard glances around, trying to figure out how to escape the circle. while doing so, he swiftly heals the most grievous of his wounds with a touch. Just then, Viridel appears and teleports him again. Flapping his wings to hold himself steady, Bayard unleashes a storm of blows against the Contract Devil.
Crit?
Grymwold 5fts forward to get a clear throwing lane and then unleashes the Shieldstorm on the Red Eyrines
haste+1 Foretell+3
Ranged Flurry-2
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Seeing the battle well in hand, Anethra readies a Heal spell in case anyone gets hurt.
Elann throws—or perhaps more accurately pushes—the heavy axe into the central circle. The weapon disappears with a now-familiar flash, only to appear near Bayard, clattering on the floor without seeming to retain its sideways momentum. As the simulacrum attempts to flee, she is lashed by the writhing contracts, but somehow manages to dodge the inclosing net of parchment and slip free.
Laree dodges the last erinys' sword and disappears into a veil of smoke. Soon after, the hellish warrior is decimated by Grymwold's shield. She falls, bouncing off the balcony railing before hitting the floor of the rotunda below.
Viridel accepts Bayard's place in the circle, teleporting the paladin to freedom. Cast back into the fray, Bayard lays a fearsome blow upon Chyvvom. The devil roars in surprise and pain, immediately retaliating with his razor-sharp tangles of parchment. Though the contracts manage to cut and restrain Bayard once more, the fiend hardly seems triumphant: he is now without minions and—under the constant onslaught—has scarcely had the opportunity to call for reinforcements...
Back in the duelling arena, Maganrad steps closer to the circle, keeping one hand on Wolfe's shoulder. "Master Viridel, I do not belive I am strong enough to dispel the circle. With enough force, perhaps it can be marred. What should I do?"
With the Erinys dead, Elann rushes closer to her master. There is no emotion on her face of fear, worry, or anger as might be on Laree's face as seeing her "sister" assaulted.
The Simulacrum moves into the smoke and begins coughing and asks, "Are you still in here? Safe?"
Able to see clearly, Laree sees the approach of her simulacrum and nods, despite it not being seen.
"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks to Grymwold's trusty arm and throwing of that shield. Good job, Elann. He has his axe back. That devil's scream was terrifying though, wasn't it?" The simulacrum doesn't really answer.
Bayard has returned with his axe, and Laree smiles at the sight.
"Now get him!" the alchemist thinks to herself and cheers him on with a brief clapping.
When he becomes grappled again, she calls out, "Move away from the portal!" She can only hope that he can drag Chyvvom away. To Grymwold, she calls out, "Can you knock Chyvvom away from the portal with your shield?"
*-2 shaken
"Stay here," she commands her simulacrum.
Laree then moves out of the safety of the smoke. At first, the swift pitter-patter of sandals can be heard, and then the alchemist emerges and hastily runs over to the side everyone is fighting on with light swirls of smoke dancing after her from the cloud. She then will dig through her pouch for a flask to use against the devil.
Eyeing the magic circle warily Grym runs around it until he gets a clear throwing lane and then launches his shield at the remaining devil
Haste+1, Foretell+3
One-handed Throw
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Floating behind the knight, Viridel drifts a few feet back, studying the fight between the angelic avenger of the divine executioner, and the devilish guardian of the hellish vault.
Assessing that he could not afford to extract Bayard again from the teleportation circle, and that expending his contigency might leave the party vulnerable to a possible hostile spell, Viridel pulls out a scroll.
"An lúth na tiri, an lúth na beri."
The scroll drifts in the air, before burning from its furthest end in a green flame. The flame reaches the archmage's hand, and he points at the avenger, sending the bolt to touch him and radiate with Power.
"Stay, sir knight, and be warded from forced transposition," Viridel says, casting Dimensional Anchor on the knight, to prevent him from being teleported back.
On the off-chance that it might hamper Chyvoom's spell casting, Anethra casts Silence on the devil.
Grymwold's shield crashes into Chyvvom's back, eliciting a grunt of pain. However, the impact fails to budge him—the devil is seemingly held in place by something more than his already impressive physical bulk. Viridel weaves a spell to stop Bayard from being whisked away once more, as the entangled paladin is again forced to set aside his axe in favour of less powerful tools. Chyvvom proves resistant to such attempts, but glances at the encroaching heroes with some apprehension.
Maganrad rushes over to the shut double doors, opening them once more. With the obstruction removed, Anethra attempts to still the Exchequer's forked tongue, but his ancient will proves far too strong for such censorship.
Chyvvom, bruised and bleeding, lets go of Bayard and slinks backwards, disappearing in a puff of brimstone, only to reappear on the balcony behind Viridel's magical barrier. However, the devil—with apparent reluctance—lets go of his grisly staff moments before he teleports. Instead of falling, the osseous implement remains afloat, letting out a pale green glow from its hollow eyes-sockets. It turns in place, letting out a string of pained whispers, which then coalesce into the words of a spell: a wave of malignant energy washes over Bayard, Laree and Viridel, sapping their energy.
"Elann, to me!" she asks of her simulacrum.
As Elann moves over to Laree, her master commands further:
"Pull a smokestick out of my pack."
Without hesitation, Elann begins doing so. It is at this moment that Laree pipes up in mockery to the devil lord.
"It appears you ran for your life and left something behind, or great Chyvvom. Your Erinys, had they still been alive, would have had the pleasure of that memory at least!" She smirks as she reaches out and ignites the smokestick in Elann's hands. The fuming cloud surrounds her and her assistant. Laree then activates her celestial armor, giving her the ability to fly. It cannot be seen in the cloud, but her clothing now bears a brilliance of the heavens.
Viridel sags in mid-air, but studies the staff. It was as if the skull opened its mouth to let out a breath of Hell's promised torments.
Viridel turns to the trapped devil, and shakes his head. The devil was on borrowed time.
As Viridel withdrew to the back, he motioned to his familiar. Asniroth, the white hawk flapped up, before diving towards the fallen axe like a white shooting star with blinding speed. He grasps the axe in his blessed talons, and then, with a great flap of pearly white wings, sends the axe flying upwards to the axeman.
Viridel focused his vision on the wall of force, and motioned with his hand, as if wiping a blackboard of arcane theorems in front of his students.
Students that fell to the Shadow...
"Be undone, fiend," Viridel said with a heavy voice. "Be undone and be gone, and trouble me no more."
Bayard grasps the axe tossed to him, and flies forward, unable to charge from the foul spell, but axe glowing with holy wrath allthesame. He heaves its weight to land a powerful smite against the devil.
Grym takes a quick 5ft step towards the villain and getting a clear throwing lane he launches his magic shield repeatedly at the devil
Foretell+2 Haste+1
Ranged Flurry-2
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
As Laree and Elann manoeuvre around the balcony, Viridel dismisses his magical barrier, allowing Bayard to dash forward. The paladin's axe is met with a pair of criss-crossing contracts, which deflect the blow as if they were made from steel. The wounded devil grunts with exertion—he makes no glib retorts at Viridel.
As the Axeman engages the devil from the front, Grymwold's shield batters his side. Most of the throws are deflected by infernal vellum, magical shields, or the fiend's very own hide, but one catches him square in the chest, crushing bone and pushing him back towards the wall. Instead of getting flustered, the Chyvvom takes advantage of the unexpected space between himself and the paladin. He floats away and casts a spell, attempting to lock his pursuers' muscles in place.
Meanwhile, the staff rotates once more, firing a black streak of malignant energy at Grymwold. The dwarf does not quite manage to raise his ray-deflecting shield in time, causing his life-force to be sapped by the hateful spell.
Laree takes to the sky at seeing their offensive host recoil from the hits. His bones crushed, his body leaking fluid she knows not what, and his actions becoming viler, are all signs he is nearing the end.
From the smoke, a golden-armored Laree takes to the sky. One could say she bears armor of the heavens.
As she does, she uses her momentum and flings her flask right into Chyvvom.
-------------
Elann, while intelligent, cannot conceptualize what to do at this moment as her mind has no obvious answer. She, therefore, resorts to a neutral state. Without direction, she stands in the smoke, coughing and peering out occasionally to see if those around Chyvvom have been slashed by his contracts.
Bayard resists the will-bending compulsion, and swings his axe in an attack as the devil is tossed backwards.
Viridel noticed the devil's staff turn at the edge of his sight, and flicked a careless finger at it, speaking a word of power, "Away."
Asniroth flies towards the frozen staff, grabbing it and rising to the sky with it in his talons.
Viridel moves his hand at Bayard, channeling power once again, before sending him flying towards the devil to land a telekinetic charge against the fiendish foe.
Bayard flies towards the devil, bringing his holy axe to execute the devil, shouting a wrathful war-cry with his deep voice.
As the first assault fails, Bayard goes into a practiced series of swings with his huge axe, cleaving wind, flesh, bone, and vellum alike.
Grym rushes out from under the balcony to get line of sight on the devil and launches his shield at him.
Foretell+2 Haste+1
Bull Rush +4 vs CMD
Bayard, taking advantage of the devil's vulnerability, takes another strike against the fiend.
Viridel's word of power seems to halt the staff, which ceases its rotations and floats gently down to the ground, remaining in an upright position. With another incantation, Bayard is flung across the room at Chyvvom, who deflects the incoming axe-strike.
Bayard continues to lay down blow upon blow with his axe, managing—just once—to pierce the devil's formidable defences, wracking his form with another pulse of holy light. As Chyvvom is knocked out of balance by the paladin's attacks, Grymwold is free to send his shield into his wounded side. The devil is thrown back against the wall, sliding down to a still on the balcony, where he lies dying in a pool of black ichor.
With each weakening beat of what passes for a devil's heart, the central circle pulses with yellow radiance—wisps of half-concrete forms can be seen, like schools of fish in a pond. Chyvvom, as if experiencing some last-second epiphany, looks past Bayard and into the swirling lights. "That is... That... is not... right..."
And so the Exchequer of Contracts dies his second death. As the infernal seneschal's animus is extinguished, the realm begins to crumble: cracks begin to form in the ceiling, walls and floor of the chamber, pieces of masonry falling into a blackened void beyond. Meanwhile, the circle continues to grow brighter, until a crackling tear can be seen forming in the fabric of Belzeragna—the motes of light seem to be drawn to it, and droves of them are sucked in each moment.
Fortunately, the tear above the central circle appears to be a planar portal, apparently to the Material Plane. Although it seems unstable, braving it might be preferrable to being in Belzeragna as it falls apart completely.
"The portal there may be our only way out! It is unstable, but we need to risk it. We will die if we stay here. Get through it!"
Without hesitation, Laree flies down to the ground and pulls out her iron spike of safe passage, as well as a hammer. As the spike is driven into the ground, she produces an illusion of a rock. It takes the form of this and is quite convincing. A moment later, the alchemist dumps her sunderblock on the spike itself through the illusion, as well as detaches her fortifying stone from her armor, and places it on the metal. She seeks to increase its hardness significantly. Lastly, she will fly upward and pull out and toss her impact foam upon the spike itself--giving it a protective barrier from impact forces (not quite its design but it may function the same).
If asked why she is doing this, she points out: "More powerful mages can scry out which plane of existence this all will shunt to with a discerning location spell. If I have secured this enough, perhaps by using it as a focus, we will know. Then, we can put any survivors of this collapse to bed forever and another demiplane will never spring up again."
Once this is done, she will look at the portal and the swirling entities around it. She wishes to make sure Maganrad, her brother, Viridel, and Elann all have entered. After everyone else is through, she herself leaps inside.
Grym looks to Viridel for assurance that this is the right course of action before following Laree An's plan. Grym trusts Laree An's intentions but he values Viridels knowledge about weird magic stuff like portals and will follow whatever course of action his Wizard friend recommends.
Bayard continues to lay down blow upon blow with his axe, managing—just once—to pierce the devil's formidable defences, wracking his form with another pulse of holy light. As Chyvvom is knocked out of balance by the paladin's attacks, Grymwold is free to send his shield into his wounded side. The devil is thrown back against the wall, sliding down to a still on the balcony, where he lies dying in a pool of black ichor.
With each weakening beat of what passes for a devil's heart, the central circle pulses with yellow radiance—wisps of half-concrete forms can be seen, like schools of fish in a pond. Chyvvom, as if experiencing some last-second epiphany, looks past Bayard and into the swirling lights. "That is... That... is not... right..."
Viridel drifts to earth, robes billowing behind him as he lands at the devil's feet. By the time he reaches the floor, his eyes glowed with electric-blue light. .
He fixed the monster with a quiet stare.
'What were you before you fell to evil?' Viridel thought to himself. He observed the destroyed and bleeding body, and noticed the contracts wrapped about the dying fiend, as well as the auras about the creature.
As the infernal seneschal's animus is extinguished, the realm begins to crumble: cracks begin to form in the ceiling, walls and floor of the chamber, pieces of masonry falling into a blackened void beyond. Meanwhile, the circle continues to grow brighter, until a crackling tear can be seen forming in the fabric of Belzeragna—the motes of light seem to be drawn to it, and droves of them are sucked in each moment.
Viridel rises up and reaches out his hand. Asniroth delivers to his open palm the skull staff, his other holding the silver-tipped elven staff. He then says, observing the spiral, "Go now to your final rest and judgment."
First, there is a procession of faces: the desperate, the greedy, the young and hopeful, the ambitious, the old and jaded—mortal lives stretched out like an impossibly long tapestry fluttering in the wind, tangling and twisting around itself until it tears; until the outflown shreds become like moths around a lantern, slowly circling around the deadly luminance of their imminent annihilation. Finally, the light blinks out, and there is nothing left but a constellation of blurry shadows, darker than darkness itself: they are like blind spots in the Sight of Fate, which surround the metaphysical locus of the Hall of Wards (as reflected off the mirror-like Spirit of the Hall of Seeing) and riddle it through like an infestation of ravenous termites, except there is no sign of the cause or consequence of their burrowing—only an utter absence of being starting from the moment of entry. You begin to hear it: the horrid shrieking of that unnatural non-existence, maddened by its own wrongess, bleeding quintessence where something has been cut off and replaced with foulness. Slowly but surely, with the heavy weight of inevitability, you feel yourself being drawn towards that very same trajectory. All of it becomes too much to bear, and you are forced to close your Third Eye...
"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH, LITTLE MORTAL. PEER AT YOUR PERIL."
Memories return unbidden, and he turns to his companions.
"The Duke of Hell has not revealed himself," Viridel states, observing the collapsing demiplane with strange detachment. "But I believe we can leave now. Maginrad, will retrieve Illa's corpse?"
Anethra is anything but surprised at the outcome of events; she watches Chyvoom collapse with something akin to smug satisfaction - he'd chosen not to believe her at his own peril.
Now their sojourn into hell is come to an end. Picking up the hem of her skirt, she makes her way with alacrity to the tear above the central circle, following the wisps of light as they escape the demiplane, and with no more ado, passes through.
Viridel casts his eyes around the collapsing hell as his comrades pass through to the mortal world, carrying themselves and Illa's bodies away. He notices Laree waiting for him. He gives a distant smile at her, and says in a low voice that carried over the rumble of the realm's disintegration.
"You grew up well, and exceeded all my expectations," he says. A bittersweet mix of emotions welled up in the elf's heart. His other students died here--every single one.
Owen Galdavir...who might've been a knight in another life, one who saw the 'tide of blood unrelenting'.
Elaine Cornwallis, the ethereal one who felt most elf-like, she who thought she can reveal the Academae's mysteries with secret cards.
And Marius Aincrad, a man Viridel feared might have turned to the dark...he passed beyond the wizard's sight, not not far from his thoughts.
"You're the one who succeeded, and I taught you only little."
He smiled sadly, and he followed the rest, carrying the loot of the dead fiend.
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The axeman descends on bright angelic wings, which dissipate as his heavy boots hit the disintegrating ground. He leaves without looking back as the world collapses, reciting a short obedience to Damerrich, as his shield flew to his open hand.
The Executioner left with confident ease, leaving a world he executed.
'What were you before you fell to evil?' Viridel thought to himself. He observed the destroyed and bleeding body, and noticed the contracts wrapped about the dying fiend, as well as the auras about the creature.
Most of the contracts draped around Chyvvom's frame appear to be disintegrating alongside their scribe, save for one: the second copy of Illia Ean's contract with Nagxiv—the destruction of both copies should ensure the burglar is saved from unjust damnation and able to be returned to life, should you wish to resurrect her. Aside from these, the devil is bedecked with powerful enchanted jewellery, moulded from both precious metals and bones.
The devil's staff appears to have gone largely dormant, doing nothing untoward as it is handled and appraised—there is obviously a soul trapped within, cowed by decades of infernal torture. Only when brought near Anethra does it begin to moan pitifully, calling to the priestess by name.
"The Duke of Hell has not revealed himself," Viridel states, observing the collapsing demiplane with strange detachment. "But I believe we can leave now. Maginrad, will retrieve Illa's corpse?"
"Then Desna smiles upon us." Maganrad bows respectfully. "As you wish, Master Viridel."
The enchanter leaves the cowering Wolfe in Elann's care, and soon returns with the Varisian's corpse in tow.
Stepping through the portal is something of a reversal: instead of a timeless, swirling void, there is bright flash of light as you catch up to the normal chronological order. You find yourselves standing at the front doors of the Hall of Wards, blinking at the early forenoon sun. From its position in the heavens, you realise that it has not even been an hour since you unwittingly entered Belzeragna. The crowd around the plaza erupts into a roar of applause. Acadamae staff on the edge of view begin scurrying about to implement procedures for crowning a victor that have not been employed in over a century.
Julaei Cangi calls out from her podium in her magically loudened voice: "Stupendous! For the first time in decades, not only does the Breaching Festival have a winner, but a whole group of enterprising paragons! What is more, in a show of true sportsmanship, they appear to have recovered the body of—"
The commentary is cut off by the roar of conflagration and the screams of the damned, as both entrances to the Hall of Wards begin to spew out gouts of hellfire: from the darkened flames emerge teeming swarms of fly-like zebubs, smaller flocks of magaav-led gaavs upon their leathery wings, troops of barbazus with their wicked glaives, and a phalanx of levalochs in mechanical lock-step. Singular hamatulas, osyluths, and even a mighty gelugon move amongst the rabble, laying into the crowd with their foul magicks. What was a cacophony of excited cheers only moments ago is now a chorus of panic, terror, and pain.
Noble bodyguards quickly form into shield-walls around their blue-blooded charges, while Queen Ileosa and her protectors are unceremoniously teleported away by her pet bloatmage, leaving the common folk to fend for themselves. Acadamae's faculty does not sit idly by, however: without hesitation, Julaei Cangi erects walls of magical force to protect both students and spectators; Messida Vost summons her own devils to do battle with the invaders; and the rest of the deans follow suit, confounding the fiends with crafty illusions, turning them into harmless songbirds, or simply devastating their number with fearsome shows of elemental power. Instructors and senior students also join the fray, leading their underclassmen in defence of the school and its guests as the tiefling guards attempt to evacuate.
Only headmaster Toff Ornelos appears to be unable to overcome his shock. The old man gets up shakily from his throne-like seat upon his pavilion-covered stand, but merely stands there gaping at the sudden attack, even as his attendants plead him for instructions.
Laree is mostly spent. Her bombs are significantly reduced in number and her supplies that can affect devil-kin have dwindled. Still, she makes a number of key saves in the ongoing fight. Celestial armor makes her a beacon for many groups of unholy invaders. She takes to the sky, swirling with fantastic speed as the hordes follow after. Then, with true style and precision, her bombs dash into the swarms and abate their advance on the queen. Her actions also grant the students of Acadamae precious moments to erect up protection for the civilians. As her bombs finally run dry, she returns to the flying shield and axe of her warrior companions, drawing in the hordes to their throws.
In an attempt to shake the grand mage from his stunning looks, she calls out, "Toff Ornelos! Do you intend to stand idly by while the hordes of Belzeragna and the corrupted souls of students within unleash havoc on your own? Can you not recognize the Dwimmerlaik's workmanship? Fight!"
Most of the contracts draped around Chyvvom's frame appear to be disintegrating alongside their scribe, save for one: the second copy of Illia Ean's contract with Nagxiv—the destruction of both copies should ensure the burglar is saved from unjust damnation and able to be returned to life, should you wish to resurrect her. Aside from these, the devil is bedecked with powerful enchanted jewellery, moulded from both precious metals and bones.
The devil's staff appears to have gone largely dormant, doing nothing untoward as it is handled and appraised—there is obviously a soul trapped within, cowed by decades of infernal torture. Only when brought near Anethra does it begin to moan pitifully, calling to the priestess by name.
Viridel releases the staff, and allows it to drift to Anethra. The jewelry he collects into a common pouch, their conquest against the powerful devil.
Stepping through the portal is something of a reversal: instead of a timeless, swirling void, there is bright flash of light as you catch up to the normal chronological order. You find yourselves standing at the front doors of the Hall of Wards, blinking at the early forenoon sun. From its position in the heavens, you realise that it has not even been an hour since you unwittingly entered Belzeragna. The crowd around the plaza erupts into a roar of applause. Acadamae staff on the edge of view begin scurrying about to implement procedures for crowning a victor that have not been employed in over a century.
Julaei Cangi calls out from her podium in her magically loudened voice: "Stupendous! For the first time in decades, not only does the Breaching Festival have a winner, but a whole group of enterprising paragons! What is more, in a show of true sportsmanship, they appear to have recovered the body of—"
Viridel blinks his blue glowing eyes in the sun, dizzied slightly from the disparity between the Hell-Realm and that of the Mortal Plane. Before he is able to speak or wave, he is forewarned (). He turns just the explosion of fiendish armies sends the people into a panicked escape.
He quickly waves as if erasing a chalkboard before his students, creating a wall of shimmering force to block at least one path of the fiendish exodus, before taking to the air to aid the struggle of the forces of Korvosa.
Bayard, noticing Viridel turning, unslings his axe.
Whether the executioner heard Viridel or not does not seem apparent. He sets out to confront the fiends.
Loosening his shield, the Axeman charges into the fray, silvered axehead cleaving effortlessly through steel, bone, leather, hide, and the wicked wills of now-frenzied devils.
For a distant audiance member, the Axeman almost seemed as a desperate figure to charge into the mouth of otherworldly horrors and had sacrificed himself--but it was in fact the opposite.
While Bayard charges in with holy vengeance against the fiends, Grym has a different style.
He approaches within a comfortable throwing range of the fiends and unleashes the Shieldstorm. Whereas Bayard is a ship plowing through waves of fiends, Grym is a pillar of might in the middle of the sea of fiends. Wave upon wave of fiends crash against him and yet he stands resolute as their bodies are repelled, battered and broken. The Storm proving to be stronger than the Sea.
Anethra eyes the bedlam in dismay, and then sets about healing all those in need; she is generous to her fault. As the battle rages and momentous magics are hurled around, she simply focuses on keeping as many alive as possible.
Viridel's magicks, deployed with the uncanny acuity of a true clairvoyant, confound and disperse the extraplanar invaders. Bayard and Grymwold's combined martial prowess is likewise a sight to behold: dozens upon dozens of fiends lie broken in their wake, and the defenders rally around them wherever they go. Laree draws enemies to their path, allowing the Acadamae's tiefling guards to guide civilians and overwhelmed students away to safety. Anethra's prayers staunch bleeding, knit flesh, and mend bones as the crazed fiends are driven back and destroyed.
There are casualties, of course, but not nearly as many as there would have been if not for the presence of the most-recent victors of the Breaching Festival. In the aftermath, lesser priests scattered amongst the spectators set up a makeshift triage to care for the wounded, and wide-eyed survivors begin to emerge from their hiding places. Noble onlookers and city officials continue to sit sheepishly behind their guards, their privileged self-interest on full display.
The faculty and students of the Acadamae are astonished to see that the bodies of the various devils do not disappear—a clear indication that these were not summoned fiends, but rather actually present on the Material Plane. Conspiratorial whispers abound, and one by one all eyes turn to the stunned headmaster.
In an attempt to shake the grand mage from his stunning looks, she calls out, "Toff Ornelos! Do you intend to stand idly by while the hordes of Belzeragna and the corrupted souls of students within unleash havoc on your own? Can you not recognize the Dwimmerlaik's workmanship? Fight!"
Laree's words had barely registered until now—mutters spread across the gathered crowd, speculations of what the half-elf might have meant. Ornelos had managed to call a bound hamatula to protect himself as stragglers drew close to his pavilion, but only after the slaughter does he find his voice and the will to act.
"Silence!" he shrieks, repeatedly cracking his staff down on the wooden platform. "Hear me and obey! Civilians are ordered to disperse—the Breaching Festival is over, and your invitation to the Acadamae grounds is hereby rescinded. Students will immediately return to their dormitories and remain there until further notice. I shall investigate this... this outrage personally!"
As incapable as he might be as a school administrator, Ornelos is still one of the most powerful wizards in all of Varisia. This seems to be enough to give his underlings pause, even after his open dereliction—used to being bullied into silence, deans, instructors, and students alike cringe at the headmaster's sudden anger. Then again, no one is quick to follow his orders either: students drag their feet and spectators, both noble and ignoble, are far too shell-shocked to act cohesively.
Viridel lands from the air after the engagement concludes, air cackling with his magic, turning in mid-air to land an inch from the floor to face Ornelos, with his familiar landing on his staff.
The elven archmage is not comfortable with confrontation, but he stands tall knowing his allies' capabilties. He relays his findings with his allies, anticipating a battle of wills with the administrator that might decide the fate of the Academae--or indeed, Korvosa's future as a whole.
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"No! We will not be silent. Nor are we here to supplant you. While that may be your subordinates' desires, it is not ours. You didn't intend for this to happen, but it has. We wish for the truth! The whole truth! Everything you know, and it should be clear to all people both common and not here what has been going on in this city and with this school for many years. You tell them or we will! You owe my brother that much, of whom I rescued from utter torment!" she screams in anger as he cowers next to Elann, pawing at her robes in fear of the possibility of any lingering devils flying about. With bravery, Laree steps out in front and in front of any sight of her brother so that Toff must focus on her. If he is going to destroy anyone, she hopes it is her. Through her veil, there is a stern look upon her face and it can be seen in her eyes.
Viridel nods sternly alongside Laree, glowing eyes focused on the headmaster.
Asniroth cries out in a supportive cry, before flying up, and circling the blasted and destroyed remains of dead devils.
Anethra stands grandly to one side, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised. She considers Laree, taken aback by the woman's passion, then turns expectantly to Ornelos. Would the man actually deign to answer?
Grym stands ready should the Wizard not come clean. He has more than a few tricks up his sleeve for dealing with uncooperative magic users.
Bayard stands alongside Grym, blade radiating holy power and sizzling with dead devilblood.
"No! We will not be silent. Nor are we here to supplant you. While that may be your subordinates' desires, it is not ours. You didn't intend for this to happen, but it has. We wish for the truth! The whole truth! Everything you know, and it should be clear to all people both common and not here what has been going on in this city and with this school for many years. You tell them or we will! You owe my brother that much, of whom I rescued from utter torment!" she screams in anger as he cowers next to Elann, pawing at her robes in fear of the possibility of any lingering devils flying about. With bravery, Laree steps out in front and in front of any sight of her brother so that Toff must focus on her. If he is going to destroy anyone, she hopes it is her. Through her veil, there is a stern look upon her face and it can be seen in her eyes.
Maganrad steps up next to Laree—not without fear, but nevertheless defiant. "I must also urge transparency, headmaster. For the good of the school."
The crowd murmurs, their attention drawn to Wolfe's wretched form. The gathered deans shift nervously. However, Ornelos' confusion soon turns to rage. His face flushes red with anger, his eyes narrow, and his teeth clench tight—the prescence of the crowd seems to be the only thing keeping him from lashing out.
"Are you accusing me, you whelps?!" the old man hisses, shaking apoplectically. "I am the headmaster of Acadamae! I do not answer to you, girl, or any worldly power. Say whatever you wish—victors or not, your word carries no weight within these walls. After all, who is to say you are not behind this fiasco?! This havoc followed at your heels, not mine! It is you who should be questioned..."
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"It's very simple, headmaster! We few here banded together and went in your Hall's doors, to the very Hall of Summoning there. Where we were immediately summoned into a hellish realm instead of into your hall to face challenges. I suspect this has happened every year, and those who likewise prepare the Hall of Summoning for this event can perhaps serve as witnesses to those who may have had the means and opportunity to set up a portal for such dastardly ends."
"This devilish realm, of which you yourself likely suspected existed, forced us to face devils seeking to steal our souls; as they had done for a long time via this contest feeding them!"
Then, gesturing to each of the party, she calls out:
"Do not dare to put this blame on us, as he is a headman, he is a school wizard if impeccable reputation, I am an alchemist, and he is a paladin. None of us likely would have the competence to summon a horde of devils, nor set them loose from some hellish realm without a great amount of preparation in your hall. So this cannot be our doing, since in the witness of all who are in this city, we were forbidden access to the Hall before the match! Everyone here knows that! We also just laid our lives down to save everyone!"
There was a reason that he gathered them together to fight this as one unit. His surprise also shows he is not responsible for this in its entirety, but he does know something about it.
"We overcame those obstacles in that hellish realm and killed Chyvvom, who held the keys to that realm's portals. Upon his death, this portal opened and the host of devils came forth, as well as presented an opportunity for our own escape, but that is not on our heads. Who put that realm there? Who connected it to this tournament!? Who fed it year after year after year! Not US! Tell me the truth! Did you know it was there!? Did you knowingly send my brother to that place!?"
Viridel points at Chevyyom’s staff, and presents the contract done with Nagxiv, adding, “This is our bounty from Belzeragna, the Hell tied to the school. A staff made with the tortured remains of a man, and the master version of a devilish contract. If it is evidence you desire, observe these artifacts, and remember that in the hall of wards, there is no teleportation. We entered a realm where time had no hold; how else would we enter and leave the hall, holding all these artifacts, the corpse of another contestant, and another contestant who disappeared for years—all in a single breath?
“Is there a priest of Pharasma in the crowd!?” Viridel cries out, voice not used to shouting. “Speak; what premonitions has the Goddess of Death sent, when a storm of innumerable souls coalesced into a her Holy Spiral and disrupted the affairs of the realm of the dead with the sheer mass of their suddenly emancipated (and unanticipated) quintessence? If material facts bear no weight, let the priests and seers speak of what happened in the Beyond! We do not lie.”
Viridel lowers his voice, and says directly to the Headmaster, eyes locked with a look that linked the two archmagi, “I have taught students as well. I taught them, and failed some. Only you have the skill to get to the bottom of this deathtrap you inherited, and uncover the origin of the contract devil and the realm lurking in the shadows of the Academae.
Laree and Viridel's account of the demiplane and its twisted purpose horrifies all who hear it, further stoking the smouldering embers of public outrage. Members of the faculty seem especially upset about what has been going on under their very noses—Dean of Abjuration Julaei Cangi is so horrified that she and her underlings have been party to such atrocities that she has to be bodily supported by her fellows, so as not to collapse from the shock.
Ornelos grows ever paler as his own hand-picked contestants lay down their testimony. His eyes dart to and fro in search of support, but he finds only furrowed brows and frowns, even amongst the faculty and his fellow nobles. It seems clear that the headmaster's will to fight is swiftly crumbling in the face of mounting degradation. "Belzeragna? Chyvvom? N-no, I had no idea... No, no, no... W-well, yes... Of course, you are incapable of willingly achieving such a feat. However, this would not be the first time a layman dabbles in the diabolic to their own, uh... detriment..."
It is at this moment of weakness that the Dean of Conjuration, Messida Vost, chooses to strike.
"Their competence is not in question," she proclaims loudly, stepping out from the ranks of her bemused peers. "I have witnessed their prowess in person, and will more than vouch for their profusive concern for their fellow man. There is simply no reason to cast doubt on their expertise or their motivations. Did you not recruit these individuals yourself, based on their accomplishments in their respective vocations?"
The dean points directly at the besieged headmaster, her every movement defined by carefully calculated outrage. "You, on the other hand, have proven yourself lacking. You are either willingly complicit in this plot, meaning you have betrayed Acadamae, or have unwittingly abetted in a conspiracy against our venerable institution, meaning that you—a supposed master diabolist—have grown lax in your duties and allowed yourself to be manipulated by infernal forces beyond your control. Either way, you are clearly unfit to hold your office. As Dean of Conjuration and designated Vice-Principal of the Acadamae, I call for your immediate resignation. Please relinquish your post, submit to an internal review and..."
Vost turns to address your group directly, offering an effusively humble bow. "...if it please those concerned, whatever investigation Korvosan authorities may choose to undertake on Lord Toff of House Ornelos as a private citizen. As the acting headmaster, I promise our school will cooperate with the Arbiters in whatever capacity they deem necessary..."
Hearing this, as well as the chorus of "ayes" from the other deans, Ornelos lets out a desperate cry—half wordless scream, half jumbled magical formulae—his fingers groping clumsily at the gestures needed for a spell of transportation.