indeed, Glory to Asmodeus and all his servants
Very early on the morning of the next day, with the lingering taste of roast boar and bad company in your mouths, you are each roused by your servants. It is barely light outside, an hour before dawn at least. You are bid to dress and prepare yourselves - the work begins!
Led into Cardinal Thorn's study, he greets you as he did the first time, from his chair, a thin smile creasing his face. "Have you enjoyed your gifts? The iron circlets allow you to move amongst your enemies as one of them. The silver amulets will remind you of your true loyalties. And the other items – well, you need them now.
"Tiadora will lead you to the basement of this home. There you will progress through a series of chambers and somewhere hidden within these chambers is a pendant of silver and sapphire. Recover the pendant and bring it to me. Let nothing prevent you from returning with it." He stands up and looks out of the manor house window across the grey moor. "It's almost dawn. You have until dusk to bring me my prize. Do not fail me." Cardinal Thorn says nothing more.
Tiadora arrives right on cue. "This way," is all she says.
Leading you to a previously sealed area of the manor, Tiadora opens a door and steps aside, revealing stairs leading down. The stairway is lit by torch sconces and is wide enough for two to descend abreast. Through an archway at the bottom of the stair is an unremarkable chamber. The unfurnished room beyond is lit by a small oil lantern hanging from the ceiling in the center of the chamber. Inscribed upon the archway in the common tongue is: Deception is a tool. Self-deception is death. Deceive always thy enemy but never thyself.
You enter from the west and quickly determine the room is 30' square. A single doorway waits on the far side. It is otherwise empty.
Rendylyn nearly buzzes with excitement as the group approaches the subterranean door. She bursts into delighted laughter when she sees the inscription.
”I told you…I’ve been in a labyrinth like this one! The noble houses Talingarde conceal many secret shrines to Asmodeus, dating back to when His faithful were lords and ladies who dominated the land. Asmodeans came here to worship, to learn, and be tested.”
She scrutinizes the door and ponders the inscription.
”No doubt His Eminence has refurbished this ancient place to teach and test us. I can tell you what I faced in the labyrinth in Daveryn: Puzzles, hidden ways, and traps. Cryptic and allegorical instructions that could win your way through. Undead guardians who let only the faithful past. Altars that demanded submission, supplication, and sacrifice. And, ah…” Rendylyn gives a sheepish grin. ”…for my final test, I had to write a poem.” She recovers her poise. ”A triumph, of course.”
”My advice is to take nothing for granted. Search carefully, and consider what lesson His Eminence wishes us to learn with each challenge. Expect tests of our character, and even of our theology. The days are long, now, so we have nearly twelve hours until dusk. That should give us plenty of time to deliberate.”
The young priestess eyes Tiadora. ”Will you be accompanying us into the labyrinth, to evaluate our performance for His Eminence? He gave us our time limit, but named no other restrictions, so we’re free to come and go as we please, right? We could double back to the manse to visit the armory or the library, correct?”
Posh released the illusion he had wrapped about himself the night before with a lazy flick of the wrist and a muttered syllable. His fine coat and traveling cloak shimmered, peeled, and dissolved like ash in reverse, revealing instead a slightly worn scholar’s ensemble—earth-toned tunic, patched leggings, and a high-collared waistcoat that had once been fine but now bore the ink-stains and edge-frays of long use. A leather belt lined with scroll cases and pouches hung at his side.
“Ah,” he sighed, stretching as though shaking off a masquerade, “I do love a morning underground. So contemplative. So unburdened by weather or witnesses.”
He withdrew a small glowing crystal from a belt pouch and whispered to it in a tongue not meant for polite society. The ioun torch bathed him in a flickering, steady glow as it began to orbit his head. His shadow danced on the stone behind him, exaggerated and impish.
Placing one hand on the scroll tubes, Posh checked each by touch and familiarity of form. He patted the side of his satchel to confirm the presence of his Sprightlyre.
With a slow breath and a pleased hum, he unbuckled the whip from his hip and looped it loosely into his hand, then tugged his buckler into place on his left arm. The whip gave a quiet hiss as it coiled to life with practiced comfort.
“Well then,” he said, glancing at the inscription and arch with professional detachment. “A lie is a chisel, and we have been given a block of truth. Let us see what shape we’re meant to carve today.” He offered a graceful half-bow toward the others. “Ready when you are. Shall we proceed?”
Once awake Treesa gathers her gear. She leaves the crossbow and pack. This sounded like a short test, in the building somewhere that they hadn't been able to visit.... Adventuring clothing this time, not a pretty dress. That would be for celebrating later, if they were allowed to celebrate.
When Tiadora stops at the top of the stairs Treesa glances at the torch. She wants to keep things simple, but this is a test. She pulls her dagger out and touches the tip while chanting the cantrip to put a light on it, then sheaths it again. Fire could be quenched. She moves down the stairs with the others, directing Rufus to follow behind her.
"Deception is mentioned three times. Don't accept anything on face value. I'll scan for magic."
She casts detect magic and carefully scans the room.
"You will either succeed or you will fail, dearest," Tiadora replies. "A chaperone is unnecessary. The Cardinal has placed no restrictions on your movement, only your time. You may freely return to the armory or the library." She pauses for any other questions from the group.
Meanwhile Treesa learns nothing. The room is perfectly safe!
Rayce read the inscription and he nodded, words to live and die by, it would be all to easy for success to go to a ruler's head.
"Well I suppose we'd better get started? Are any of you good with traps?" said Rayce before he went to check the door. He didn't touch it, but he tried to listen in case there was any sound coming from the other side but he heard nothing beyond his own breathing and the chatter of those around him.
"Are Elise's people in there ahead of us? Will they follow?" Rendylyn's tone suggests she'd relish a chance to prove their superiority to Cardinal Thorn.
Posh leaned lightly on his walking stick—more for affect than balance—and watched as Treesa’s light spell flickered into being and Rayce leaned toward the door, listening intently.
“Trap expert?” he echoed, raising a brow and glancing sideways. “Why yes, I do believe we have just such a savant in our midst. Dargon, if you would be so gracious…”
He gave a little bow in the tiefling’s direction, twirling one hand as if unveiling a prized exhibit.
“Our friend possesses the sort of... tactile intuition these mechanisms tend to respect. Hidden needles, pressure plates, tiny wires set to remove toes from feet—he understands them all with something bordering on affection.”
He paused, then added with a grin, “Whereas I, as you all know, specialize in dead languages, uncommon inks, and decorative cartography.”
No sense risking these hands unnecessarily. My talents lie more in signing contracts than disarming snares.
Seeing everyone's hesitation Treesa changes her mind and speaks to Rufus. "Rufus dear, Go with Dargon and help him find anything dangerous. Your nose is better than any of ours, and your eyes are sharp as well...." She speaks some arcane words and touches him.
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Vormog wakes up and hides his excitement. He eats some toast with butter and ham for breakfast and drinks mint tea.
He is silent as the entire exercise is explained to them. As Rendylyn asks about whether Tiadora will stay, she answers quicker than he can, but he still thinks "Success will mean we survived."
The inquisitor thoroughly enjoys the first room. Trickery is how he connected to Asmodeus in the first place, it is fitting that it should start his journey in his service.
He tells the others what's on his mind "Everything can be fake, take nothing for granted." He realizes he is repeating what others have said, but he has something specific in mind. He thought of lighting his own magical light, not trusting the one currently in the room. However a thought stops him, but he sees the others lighting their magical lights as well.
Vormog says "Perhaps we should start the other way around. Sniff out all lights, and the darkness may reveal something." He waits for the others to follow his suggestion or not.
Vormog says "I will look for a hidden door. That door at the east side is likely fake and we need to find a hidden one to move forward." Of course, he has no idea where to start looking, as there are no indications of where a door could be. So he starts on the northern wall.
Dargon nods to Posh, and then looks at Rayse and says, Have tools, will travel and moves forward. He had everything he owned with him. No need for disguises or fancy dress. He steps into the room and looks at the lantern suspended on the ceiling and thinks about the clue written on the door frame. he pulls his rapier and pauses to examine the center of the room flooring for any mechanism.
Rayse boldly heads across the room for the door on the other side, but Dargon stops him just in time. The rogue spots the trap mechanism occupying the central section of the floor, and discerns it is a pit trap where the floor itself opens.
Meanwhile, keen-eyed Vormog finds secret doors on both the north and south walls!
"A narrowly averted disaster. Well done, Dargon. You too, Vormog--you solved His Eminence's riddle. But I wonder if there might be another layer of deception here..." Rendylyn makes her way to the edge of the pit and examines its interior from safety. Grant me clear vision, great Asmodeus...you are, after all, the Lord of the Pit.
look at that. See, that lantern was key to having you get over confident about this center of the room. 'Self deception' and all that.
He takes a piece of chalk out of the kit and marks the edges of the trap on the floor saying [b]stay off this area[/]
Then he moves to the far door and looks it over. Im not sure if this one is trapped or not. But I'd think not to use it, just because of the clues.
Treesa chuckles. "Good deception. The lantern, not the door. And walking around the pit is probably safe. But what is behind the hidden doors, and are they safe? A possible spiderweb of deceit?"
let me check the two hidden doors
He moves to the north one first and looks it over.he shakes head. I can't tell on this one.
Then walks around to the South hidden door. This one....
Tiadora responds to Rendylyn's question about the White Wolves. "You'll have to find that out for yourselves, dearest."
Behind the secret panel to the north is a plinth on which rests a wand. An inscription above it reads: To your health. The Party is able to quickly determine this is a wand of Cure Light Wounds with 12 charges.
When the secret door to the south is opened you are surprised to see Tiadora standing on the other side.
"I know. Too easy, right? Well this is where things get interesting. But don't worry, the Cardinal expects you to live. Now, if you need to return to the upper floors of the manor at any time, simply open the door behind you."
She steps past you into the first room. "The lessons await." But when you turn back to look, Tiadora has disappeared.
Beyond the door is a winding hallway that ends in another door. The sconce beside it illuminates another placard which reads: The Law flows downward. The strong lead. The wise obey. The foolish burn. — Canticle of Hierarchs
This room is circular, its floor a narrow five-foot wide rim encircling a deep red mosaic of interlocking chains, each link engraved with names in Infernal. At its center is a raised dais with a high-backed throne of black steel and bone, crowned by Asmodeus' unholy symbol burning overhead like a brand in the air. Arrayed in front of the throne are five pentagrams in five squares wide enough to stand on. Scrawled in blood on the walls are several scenes depicting unholy ceremonies.
The air smells of superheated metal, incense, and burnt parchment. Shadows on the walls occasionally mimic different movements than their owners. Except for the doorway in which you now stand, there are no other obvious exits.
Why, I am strong, and I am wise...and I am not afraid of fire.
"Hold. There's theology to this test. Let me investigate first."
Rendylyn silently studies the Infernal names on the chains and the unholy ceremonies on the wall, searching for meaning.
She mutters as she works, weaving diabolical wards.
Then, with no warning, she races up the chains towards the dais!
Rayse nodded to Rendlylyn, this whole dungeon was likely a theology test. The teachings of Asmodeus were voluminous and Rayce considered if any seemed appropriate for this situation.
Rayse watched the others climb the chains, he was impressed by their stoicism but it clearly hurt them and glancing at Treesa he said, "I don't fear pain, but do you think if I fetched a rope we could avoid everyone getting injured?"
The chains cannot be avoided except by flight or dimension door or the like. You will have to jump over them or climb. Rope won't help since the problem is the tricky footwork.
Rayse and Rendylyn put their heads together and as you look about the room you see a pattern. The scenes are crude and the stick figures are depicted in various poses. In the first, one is seated, an arm outstretched toward the others - this is consistent in all of the drawings. The other five are standing with arms raised. In the next, the five are bowing at the waist. In the next they are kneeling, both knees on the floor. And in the last they are kneeling with heads down in total submission.
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Rendylyn immediately sits in the throne.
"This is a rite of submission. I went through something...similar. Which means I am a step ahead of you on the path to Hell, for now. Once we have completed His Eminence's test, we will be equals." Or at least closer. "But for now, I who am strong in faith will lead, and you who are wise in the ways of the world will obey. Cross the tribulatory chains and take your places in the Archstars prepared for you, and by my command we will enact the rite as Hell has revealed it."
Rayse nods, "So it seems... As far as the path to Hell, lets just say there's more than one route."
Softly to Tressa he whispered something.
After Tressa replied, Rayse confidently climbed up the chains, ignoring any discomfort.
Once everyone was over he said, "Well then let's enact this rite. I presume the rest of us have to kneel." Rayse really didn't like kneeling much, on the other hand rushing headlong into these tests seemed foolhardy, if Rendylyn wanted to do that so be it. At some point they were going to have to fight something, Rayse was sure of it and he wanted to preserve his strength for when it would be needed most.
Treesa sends Rufus back to the room. "I won't need my familiar taking this test."
She casts Guidance on herself and tries....
Grimacing more from the failure than the burn she casts Guidance again and tries again.
Reaching the dais she holds her head up and smiles. "I've been burned worse."
With a practiced flourish, Posh held the wand aloft.
"I shall carry this—" he intoned reverently, "—for the glory of Asmodeus, who heals when it pleases Him."
He tucked the wand neatly into his belt with a satisfied nod.
With only the two of them Dargon and Posh not on the dias, Dargon heads across the chains, carefully traversing them and quickly so as to avoid serious burn damage. He gets to the top and looks at Posh and tries to advise him how to traverse it.
[ooc]takes 1 point of burn damage.[/ooc
Fail
Success
Success
Success
As the others make their way into their pentagrams, Rendylyn scooches around on the throne some, trying to get comfortable. I suppose it's not really made for comfort.
"I'm sure all of you are a little irritated to be playing the role of submissives in this rite. But if you reflect a moment, you'll realize by playing the ruler, I am submitting myself to the rite, just as you are." She gestures to the bloody pictographs showing the stages of the rite. "Perhaps that will soothe any bruised egos."
She smirks. "If not, next time try getting to the throne first! The game of ambition is more fun when everyone plays." She bounces in place a little, a mockery of a little child's delight.
Once everyone's standing in position, Rendylyn sits up straight and stretches her hand out regally to the others. In a loud and cadenced ritual manner, she calls to them,
"The Hierarch sayeth: Raise thine hands above thy head, to praise your own glory."
After everyone's complied, she continues,
"The Hierarch sayeth: Bow before each other, to show respect."
Then,
"The Hierarch sayeth: Kneel before thy ruler, to accept thy just deserts."
And finally,
"The Hierarch sayeth: Prostrate thyselves before Asmodeus, to express submission."
Posh eyes the chains with the mix of admiration and dismay one might reserve for a particularly unforgiving tax ledger. With a sigh, he slips his buckler off his arm and lets it hang by a leather loop at his side.
"A trial of heat, symbolism, and humiliation. Delightful." He adjusts his hat and approaches the challenge.
"Right then. For scholarship, sovereignty, and the subtle art of not catching fire."
He makes his first attempt to cross the chains—arms out, eye squinting, mumbling complaints about fire and maps being incompatible—and promptly stumbles. With a startled yelp, he drops to a crouch just in time to avoid a nasty scorch.
"Ah—yes, yes, of course. Just testing the structural integrity. Very sound. Burningly so."
He scoots back, recomposes himself, and then—more swiftly this time—nimbly picks his way across the molten lattice. As he nears the throne and hops down with only a light singe on his trailing hem, he lets out a relieved exhale.
"Second time's the charm, as they say. Or perhaps the first time is the warning and the second is the reckoning. Depends on the language." He peers back across the room, patting out a smoldering edge of his sleeve. "Well then... Who is next?" Realizing he was last, he adds, ”my apologies for holding you up.”
As Dargon and Posh are getting to a dais Rendylyn gets in position to lead the ritual. Treesa is a little curious about Rendylyn's words. She had assumed that the priestess would lead. This was a religious ritual after all.... ??
She listens and follows the movements as appropriate. The burns, while minor did cause a slight discomfort, especially with the prostration. If it had to be maintained she might have requested healing, or cast it herself. But as she had stated, she had been burned worse than this before.
Each of you performs the assigned role, whether it be leader or follower. Having adhered to the direction depicted on the wall drawings, a slice of the floor moves aside and drops over the chains to connect the rim and the dais, such that you might easily return to the doorway.
But the movement of the floor also reveals a stairway spiraling downward. Assuming you follow it, you descend another thirty or forty feet to the bottom and another door. Inscribed as before in common tongue is the following phrase:
A lie not forged with conviction binds you, not others.
A truth without consequence is forgotten.
— Codex Infernis, Doctrine of Word and Bond
Inside, the featureless circular chamber brightens — not with fire, but with the cold red glow of infernal runes that ignite across the walls and ceiling like veins of molten judgment. There is no obvious exit.
Treesa follows the group down. The first inscription is simple. A lie binds, truth has consequence or it is nothing. Simple.
Then she reads the infernal runes. This was the challenge. Speak a lie, or a truth. With meaning. This test was to expose yourself to the group. Establish trust? No. The worship of Asmodeus was to seek power. Leave any weakness behind!
She considers her life. The years growing up. The years after leaving that life. And now…. ”The truth. I’m not bound, but I am hidden. But I am what hides me. I was never allowed to be me until I left my family. And when I left I hid myself. I lived in shadow. I refused to lead.”
She glances at the others, especially Rayse who she smiles at. ”That hiding is done. I refuse it. I will never be hidden again. Even if I take a disguise, I will still be me in it.”
Seeing the confusion on the faces of some of her companions as they face the hell-runes, Rendylyn translates from Infernal for them. ”Speak what binds you, or what hides you. Each must offer a truth or a lie, but not just any truth, not just any lie.”
She waits patiently to hear what others have to say.
"Each must offer a truth or a lie," Posh murmurs aloud as he eyes the dark chamber, its shadows dancing to unseen strings. Always such delightful ambiguity. The sort that invites mischief as much as it invites revelation.
He steps forward with exaggerated poise, removing his hat in a slow, sweeping motion and tucking it beneath his arm.
"Very well. If we are to play games of shadow and sincerity, then let me offer this." He clears his throat, his voice unusually still.
"I once loved a woman so dearly, I abandoned my schemes for her. For a time, I thought I could live a quiet life—books, maps, the morning smell of her tea. But my past was not done with me. One of my… prior arrangements came to fruition. She died—killed in the collateral of a plot I had long forgotten. She never knew. She died believing I was honest. And I let her."
He replaces his hat and gives a rueful smile to no one in particular. "There it is. My offering."
"There it is. My offering."
Rayse listened to the other offerings with interest, nodding at both Treesa and Posh:s words. Grinning Rayse said, "The circumstances of my birth were unusual, Mother was baren yet to those of the faith that is nothing the right contract cannot fix. The details matter little beyond two things: firstly my soul is on lone from hell; secondly I had to prove my worth before my tenth summer."
Rayse paused for a moment, seeking the eyes of the assembled company, "Growing up I had to pretend to be a good little Mythrian, attending their ceremonies, joining their recruitment camp, rubbing shoulders with the sons and daughters of the so called righteous. They were a bunch of vindictive shits, lording over a commoner like me. One in particular, Joffrey three years older than me and the son of a big time paladin, really had it in for me. For years I was the target of his abuse and beatings."
Shrugging as it it was nothing, Rayse said "My offerings is a truth wrapped in a lie. The day before my tenth birthday the opportunity to prove myself arose, we were to visit a castle. As castles often do, this one had very tall stone staircases. The lie was I didn't push him down those stairs, the truth was two fold: Not only did I get away with it, I relished it!"
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Vormog bows his head in respect to Rendylyn as she reads the inscription. It is wise to know your master's language. That's a lesson for him, surely.
He hears the others and thinks carefully not to expose himself too much. The inscription says truth or lie. He knows lies are best told when surrounded by true words. He says "My choices have lost me my girlfriend and my mother to the Mitrans. I have learned."
Of course, he believes that no one can be unwillingly responsible for someone else's death, but he spent many hours torturing himself thinking what he could have done differently. He put this passion in his words, choosing to, not only, solve the puzzle, but offer himself some closure as well. "There's your passion, master" he thinks with a smirk.
”I’m a poor liar. The lies other people tell about me are all I’ve ever needed. An innocent child, a harmless girl." Rendylyn laughs musically. ”It’s so useful to be underestimated, especially by one’s parents!”
”My Mitran fathers chose to adopt heirs, rather than sire them, because they thought the Stoker dynasty carried the taint of evil within them. They weren’t wrong! The Asmodean Stokers of old married sometimes for money or influence, but sometimes to breed potent bloodlines into their lineage: the blood of devils, of dragons, of dwellers in darkness. They dallied too with heroes and monsters, spawning remarkable bastards.”
”How were my fathers to know that one of the angelic children they adopted was a Stoker with a bend sinister, the descendant of a dangerous liaison between one of their ancestors and a hag? The changeling left on their doorstep was the heir to their house not only by law and right, but by blood!” Rendylyn laughs again, triumphantly. ”This truth binds me to my Asmodean forbearers. I learned it from infernal records graven in a chamber much like this one.” She pauses. "This is the first time I've told anyone alive that I'm more than human."
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Treesa watches and listens to the others. Which were truths? And which were lies? Did it matter? As long as either was done as intended it shouldn't.
It did to her. This group were people that she would have to rely on to live.... She smiles at Rayse's truth wrapped in a lie. She wonders if she could have killed a sibling, and is glad that she hadn't had to find out. While she would happily sacrifice both of her parents now, she doesn't think she could have when she was still a little girl.
Rendylyn's statement was a surprise. She looked human. But.... How many not-completely-humans had she ever known? Did parentage really make the person?
As always Dargon is quiet he hears Rendylyn telling him what the script meant and looks at them trying to decipher them. In time he'd learn the language, for now he just tried to memorize phrases
When he stands before the doorway, his turn in the telling...he remarks.
truth and lie. What are they but action and motive?! I longed for acceptance. I killed to get it. I told all i didnt care, but I secretly did. Lord you know my heart. I'd kill to be accepted by you now. That is truth