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Thank you for your patience, everyone, and huge congrats to all involved for bringing this adventure to its conclusion. An especial thanks to the DM for not dropping this when I'm sure there were many opportunities to do so. Take care, everyone!
Anethra listens to the conversation, the accusations, the deliberations and final conclusion at a remove; she watches without comment, her harshly beautiful face a visage of disinterest and distaste. And yet. She doesn't slip away when she could. Only when the proceedings are finished, only once she had born witness to the full consequences of the matters at hand does she gather her spiderweb skirt with one hand and prepare to depart. Only to be paused at the door by Viridel, who approaches her at the last. Her black-painted lips quirk into a smile. "Master Viridel, truly, you are far to generous in your estimation of my motives. It has been... enlightening, shall we say, to travel with you and the others for a spell. Whether my master's goals have been furthered by these events, well. Join our church, and I will divulge all." And with a dark laugh, she does turn away then, and quite the university grounds.
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?
Really sorry to hear that, @DM. Sending you positive vibes and good wishes.
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.
Feel better!
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.
Congrats on taking concrete steps to realize your dreams, Bayard. I hope all goes well!
On the off-chance that it might hamper Chyvoom's spell casting, Anethra casts Silence on the devil.
@Laree, Anethra will indeed use it if she can get in touch range of Bayard. His flying makes it tricky.
Seeing the battle well in hand, Anethra readies a Heal spell in case anyone gets hurt.
Seeing her allies grow slightly wounded, Anethra weaves her fingers in the air and unleashes a spell that requires not touch.
To her complete lack of surprise, Anethra sees the devil's composure shatter before Bayard's might; the paladin nearly finishes off their foe with only a blow, and surely will end the fight altogether within the next few seconds. In fact, all of her companions are acquitting themselves with the same impeccable lethality as they've manifested in every battle thus far, and this one is proving no different. So it is regret that she feels, but also relief, for not having chosen to openly side with Chyvoom. She'd already be dead if she had. Still, she'd best do a little something so that her companions don't view her with suspicion after. Moving with elegant grace, she walks up behind Bayard and taps him on the shoulder as he thrashes amongst the razor-sharp contracts.
Anethra walks back over to Grymwold with a sigh. "Your shield, sire. Though you'd best hurry up. The fight's already almost over."
Anethra sighs What a waste indeed. Still, she's confident her companions will end this fight quickly. She crosses her arms and decides to make sure of that fact before acting. No sense in getting involved before she knows which side will win. Then the dwarf yells, and she smiles. Ah. The perfect excuse to not attack the demon. Anethra strolls back to where the shield lies and fetches it.
While I'm sure the combat would be brief (given our ability to deal 200+ hp damage/round to AC's over 40), I'm happy to engage in a skill challenge as well. Do we each pick our strongest skill and just roll it?
"Let us negotiate," asserts Anethra calmly. "It is as he says: if we do not like the terms when all is said and done, there is always the edge of the sword. What do you demand, Great One, in exchange for helping pass through this loop hole?"
Chyvvom: Anethra responds with tacit resignation: Alas, Great Lord, we are ourselves but pawns before the greater pieces at play. This party of mortals has crushed all opposition without effort. Their might is unparalleled. If I thought I had hope of besting them by joining efforts with you, I would. But there is no hope. I speak this in the name of Asmodeus. Their might could be checked by our Master, perhaps, in direct confrontation, but you and I? Not a chance. Anethra's certainty is absolute.
Also, no appropriate spells memorized.
"Alas, I have no means of contacting anyone at this juncture," the cleric responds quietly. "Though given what I have seen of our martial capabilities, I have no doubts as to our ability to bludgeon even this fiend to death within moments." Anethra takes in the environs with an appreciative eye, and considers the devil with something akin to remorse. "It is a true honor to meet such a being as yourself, Grand Phistophilus Chyvvom. Would that this were another occasion, and you and I had time to deliberate with decorum. Alas, the company that I keep is most adept at tearing obstacles apart with their bombs and weapons. This conversation shall be short lived."
"I have a few spells that can help in that department as well," says Anethra.
Seeing Grymwold suffer from the Valshune's touch, Anethra extends her powers to bring healing upon his wounds.
I dunno. Shall we call it? While this game had a fantastic start, it feels like we've gradually lost all momentum.
For a moment Anethra is tempted to banish the Devourer, but the knowledge that it would take the bound spirit with it stays her hand. Instead, she calls forth in the tongue of the Abyss and summons a great wall of curling blades through the Devourer, so that his rear is enveloped in chopping, slashing, gleaming madness.
"More likely he willingly accepted some demonic contract, and is now well on his way to becoming that very thing you feared," says Anethra, closing her fist about her diamond with some measure of frustration. "But no matter. I'm sure we'll divine the truth of it soon. Shall we?" And so saying, she moves toward the double doors as well.
No worries! I didn't actually expect it to work, but... doesn't hurt to try.
Congrats on the new job!
"It seems to me you did find him," says Anethra flippantly, moving to stand alongside Viridel and peer at the skull. "The problem rather seems to be one of timing. You're too late." She moves on, around the desk, ignoring Viridel's response, only to pause as if recalling something and look up. "Oh. Wait a second. You might be late, but I am always right on time." And so saying she draws forth a brilliant gem the size of her fist, its glimmers and purity wholly at odds with the foul nature of their environs, and sets it to spinning upon the palm of her hand. "See? We followers of Asmodeus are not utterly without heart. Let us see what we can do, and we shall talk later about repayment." And so saying she crushed the diamond within her clasp and calls out a word of terrible power.
"It would seem your brother is irrevocably touched by this plane, darling." Anethra studies the man with obvious interest. "I've heard rumors that kytons originate in such fashion; perhaps your brother's fate is to serve a more glorious master. This need not be seen as a calamity." Rising and sweeping her skirts back, Anethra glances about the library with annoyance. "Regardless, he is still much himself. I can tend to his physical ailments, and then we should proceed with our plans."
Anethra watches with casual interest as Laree tends to her brother; while her heart is unmoved by the wretch's plight, she's ready to help heal the man if it furthers their goals. "Let me know if you require assistance, dear. Asmodeus is always willing to bequeath his blessings upon those important to our cause."
Guessing that it's obfuscation indicates a weakness to light, Anethra projects a palm before her and lets out a wild call as she unleashed an attack.
Gotcha. DM, can I change the spell?
Stealing herself against the noxious fumes, Anethra thinks quickly, and unleashes a second, subtler spell. Bayard and Grim's weapons suddenly gleam with newfound wickedness, their edges turning razor-sharp and weeping black blood.
Coughing, eyes streaming with tears, Anethra remains focused on the task at hand. Muttering under her breath, she unleashes a spell to neutralize at least some of the devil's powers.
Apologies, I'm back. I've been unable to log into my account, and clearing cookies from my browser wasn't doing the trick. I had to do that and then manually click on the padlock by the site's address on the browser bar and delete the cookies there before I could log back in.
"I can isolate us," Anethra whispers quietly. "A wall of stone or whirling blades, to keep the imps at bay while you focus on Wolfe?"
I can cast Hero's Feast if it ever comes to it.
@GM: Hope you feel better. It's been a long couple of years, with many challenges. Be gentle with yourself, and take your time. I've updated my spell list. Feel free to take a look and make suggestions if you think I've missed anything important.
Anethra moves about the lecture hall, humming odes to Asmodeus under her breath, reaching out to ghost her fingertips over different surfaces, or simply to gaze abstractedly at the stage. She seems quite at peace, if even energized by their surroundings, and it's with relief that she relinquishes her vigil to kneel before the stage and perform her ablutions, praising Asmodeus and his many aspects as she replenishes her reservoir of spells. When she is done, she accepts Laree's offer of bread, butter, and salt, and chews leisurely, washing the repast down with wine. She compliments the alchemist for her beverage of choice, and otherwise awaits the resumption of their quest with languid amusement.
I don't mind. I'm good to keep going with my reduced spell list
Does this seem like a good time for the others? I can still move forward, but if we want Death Wards I'll need to rest.
Anethra's eyes light up at Viridel's words, and then she rises to her feet, hand going to her chest to clutch at her magnificent choker, and she stumbles back, her alarm and fear obvious. "A duke, you say?" For a moment she just stares at Viridel, and then she laughs, the sound low and with undertones of hysteria. "Then we are both blessed beyond measure and cursed without end. What can we mere mortals accomplish against such a fiend? Less than nothing, and only what it wills. Viridel is correct in one thing, however: we can but seek to win through without overtly rousing its ire. Only by being as cockroaches may we win through... and only if it deigns to allow us passage." For a long moment she stares off at nothing, eyes darting back and forth, and then Viridel's question brings her back to the present. "Ward you from negative energy? Of course. But I would need time to prepare those spells. Time... yes. We should stay here, restore our strength, and recover our powers. I must change my approach if we are to hope to survive in this realm."
Oof, that's great to hear!
So sorry to hear that, Viridel. Hope you pull through without too much trouble.
Anethra sits back on her heels and sighs. "Well, this isn't happening." She slips the diamond back into its pouch and takes up the scroll. "Hmm." She scans the document, then rereads it more carefully.
She then tosses the scroll atop Illia's corpse. "And there's why. It seems our dear friend here signed a contract with Nagxiv offering a soul in exchange for mortal protection against all fiends inhabiting Belzeragna. From the way this contract's written, however, she was clearly tricked into being forced to deliver her own soul, and - yes. All very tedious. But it does beg the question. How did she know of this pocket realm with such advance notice as to negotiate such a terrible contract, and if she were inured from all physical, mental, and spiritual assaults from fiends, then what manner of non-fiend did this to her?"
"Oh grow up, Grimwold dear," sighs Anethra as she enters the room and begins descending the steps.
She moves boldly down to the southern end of the room, where she stops before the corpse with a dissatisfied frown. Then, unless prevented from doing so, she reaches out to caress Illia's chin.
"There is room for conversation, I'll have you all note," says the Asmodean wearily from the back of the group. "We're not dealing with brutish elementals, devoid of the capacity for thought. Perhaps before we begin emphasizing force and violence, we can at least attempt a learned discourse with these fiends so as to divine the optimum way to achieve our goals?"
"Yes," says Anethra, striding up to the central knot of people. "I believe Viridel is right in his guess. Ah, chancellor. We'll have words when we return." She glances irritably at Grymwold. "Deals with the devil are akin to blades, master dwarf. A good deal is significantly different from a bad one; it's foolish to cast aspersions on all contracts, just as it would be foolish to condemn all swords." Finally, she turns to Maganrad, clearly not concerned with his well being. "What did she share with you? Do you have any more insight into our situation?" |
