Chapter 4.2: A Fear of Heroes

“I really hope we’re going the right way.”
Bruq doesn’t like that he can’t trust his instincts. There are no footprints he can trace, no wildlife to recognize, nothing at the sky to direct him. Normally, back home, he knows every hill and creek, but in this new environment he is lost. It ruins his mood and, even worse, makes him feel desperate.
“Walking to one of the buildings at the horizon is probably our best chance.”
Bruq knows Oslando is right. They have a better chance of finding their way by looking for someone near the village than by walking around aimlessly. Still, this strayed feeling unnerves him. He shakes his head to get rid of his negative thoughts. Ever since the encounter with the four gazers, he’s been on edge. The vision of that walking tree, burning and rotting, has been haunting him for a long time. He had lost the nightmares for the last couple of months, but now they’re back and more unsettling than ever. Even in silence he thinks he can hear his kin screaming.
“I just feel like we are not that well prepared, you know?”
His thoughts are stopped by Lyssa’s worries.
“Maybe we entered the portal too hastily”, the half-elf agrees, “but I understand the urgency we had to leave with. If the threat for this world is so immense, it can’t wait.”
He suppresses the urge to smile. He feels like he is fulfilling his destiny. Even though he knows deep down that he shouldn’t let his own value depend on only his actions, he can’t help to feel complete.
“The Beholder did say time passes much slower here than in his plane”, Dargothoth says. “An extra day of preparation would make little difference in the passing of time in Abaddon. He just wanted his realm for his own again. I can imagine that there a lot of things to do when a sex demon hangs around you all the time.”
“Gross”, Mero shouts. “Don’t say that about my uncle.”
The cleric smiles. He knew the sorcerer wouldn’t get his sense of humour. Nevertheless, it’s still very amusing to him.
“Yeah, don’t talk about her like that”, Lyssa says surly. “It’s disgusting when men objectify women like this, even if their race is associated with these things. Do you think about me like that as well, just because I’m a siren? Well?”
She sounds upset, but not in a way that you'd expect she might cry. It sounds more like she is going to start a fight if the answer displeases her.
“I merely kid, captain”, he says with a devious smile on his face. “I would never think of you as an object. You’re a valuable asset to our collection of curiosities.”
Oslando sighs, tired with the repetitiveness of Dargothoth’s behavior.
“Fuck off”, the satyr says and he turns away. “Let’s continue that way. Hopefully it will bring us something.”

(Perception 7)
“I think we picked the right direction.” The hunter sighs, relieved. He hasn’t completely lost his survival’s touch. On top of a small hill, they look across the barren land and see an edifice for away. They hope it to be the temple. It’s completely black and a lot of people are walking around the sole building. It’s difficult to see anything else of notice at such a distance.
(Perception 13)
“Something is coming in our direction as well”, Lyssa says. She points to their left at an unclear humanoid running in their direction. “Do you think he’s friendly?”
One thing is for sure: it’s a demon. His pale skin has red undertones. Two small curled horns stick up from beneath his grey hair and two small wings flap desperately to give him more speed.
“Do you think he’s coming for us?”
Mero looks at his friends and sees how the half-elf shakes his head.
“No”, Oslando says without a single doubt. He sees how the demon is clearly running, but he is hurt. He has a slight limp and is bleeding from one of his legs. He keeps turning his head, looking backwards and then focusing his orange glowing gaze back on them.
“You’re right”, Dargothoth says with a pleased grin. “He’s not running towards us. He’s running away from something.”
Bruq takes his bow off his back.
“What are you doing?” Mero looks at the satyr and doubts if he needs to start casting spells. “Are we going to attack the demon?”
Bruq shakes his head.
“He’s fleeing”, he says with squinted eyes. “I don’t know from what, but if he’s coming our way, whatever is following him is coming as well.”

Chapter 4.1: A Fear of Heroes

“I hate these portals so much.”
Bruq rests his hands on his knees and tries to puff his nausea away.
Behind them the swirling sound of their entrance to this world starts to fade. It comes from the rippling silver surface within an old-looking archway. The colours of the archway remind Lyssa of the beaches she spent most of her childhood on. Its stones are worn down like the rocks near sea, cut by the ever fluctuating tide.
“This is seriously going to be the first thing you’re going to say when you enter a whole new dimension?” Dargothoth sounds condescending. “This is a real disappointment coming from you, being a hunter and all.”
The satyr lifts his head to meet his gaze with a frustrated stare.
“We’ve already visited a different dimension than our own”, he says while grinding his teeth. “Don’t expect me to fucking jump around every time we’re teleported to the next plane.”
Oslando walks up to the cleric and presses his hand firmly against his chest.
“Can we skip this repetitive part of us not working together and actually get something done? We’re in a plane filled with demons and devils, and we’re possibly hunted by angels. Please, stop this.”
“Just take a look around instead”, Mero says. His voice is filled with joy. “This is so exciting!”
They walk between the broken walls of the ruins the portal brought them to. Small clouds of dust rise up into the air with every scuffing step they make. The barren ground is cracked and coloured with different shades of brown and orange, similar to the tone of rust. No plants or weeds are in their line of sight and there’s no water to be found. The only thing that might be just as dry as this land is the air they’re breathing. It lays somewhat heavy on them, except for Mero, who is just looking everywhere. He points upwards. They see something that’s even more peculiar than the bronze-red colour of the sky and the deep blue, almost purple clouds that slowly drift away.
“There are three suns”, Bruq stammers. His mouth hangs open. He has seen a lot of strange things in his life and these three burning stars don’t make the top of his list, but the whole setting still is overwhelming.
“Yes, two small ones and one big one!” Mero holds on to his hat to make sure it doesn’t fall off. “I quite like the colours. They’re mesmerizing.”
The smallest of them burns the brightest. It’s just a little off-white, a hint of grey can be seen if they look long enough. The burning sensation in their eyes makes them look away. Not too far to the right burns the other small star. They haven’t seen a celestial body before with this colour. It’s as if the purpleness of an amethyst is mixed with the creamy softness of a pearl. It’s a beautiful phenomenon to behold.
The biggest of them all, almost ten times the size of the smallest one, stands across the other side of the sky. It looks the most normal with its tones of yellow and orange. They can see how thin tendrils of light slowly come and go as they dance away and towards the radiant star.
“They also have four moons”, Dargothoth says. “Every night a different one comes out, each time at a different position in the sky.”
“And how do you know this?” The half-elf doesn’t want to sound too intrigued. He’s hesitant and somewhat fears the answer he’ll get.
“The positions of the suns and moons interact with each other in a magical way. My clergy wrote down their cycles to know which days the chances for a certain ritual had the highest success rate.”
“That sounds fascinating!” Mero’s voice echoes between the walls of the ruins.
“Well, I’m glad these suns don’t burn as hot as we feared”, Oslando says with a weak smile on his face, trying to change the topic. “We would be cooked alive in our armor before we could reach some shelter.”
(Survival 8)
Bruq walks up to the edge of the dilapidated building and looks around. There are few things he can use for orientation. He can see buildings in multiple directions, but they’re too small to distinguish between temple, town or more ruins. Thin plumes of smoke rise up far in the distance, but those could come from anything: campfires, burning piles, maybe they come from some tiny volcanoes. He doesn’t know. He turns towards his companions.
“How are we going to find the temple? I can’t navigate with three suns in the sky.”
Lyssa shrugs her shoulders and smiles at the panting satyr.
“We’ll just find a demon and ask which way to go.”

The Map of Abaddon - 1

Here you see the simplistic map of Abaddon, with only the different regions marked and nothing else.

And here you see the first region they will uncover, Devyrion. It's part of the biggest and most southern island of Abaddon.

As the adventure will continue, updates will follow with their route of travel and new detailed regions.

Interim 1: The Seven Virtues

“They have entered Abaddon.”
Seven vague apparitions each float above a silver circle in a completely white room. The light is so bright that they are the only things visible. The one who just spoke has something written inside of his circle: balance. He wears a black cloak. Thin silver and golden threads run through it, creating harmony between the dark and light colours. Four wings sprout from his back. The two upper ones are bigger and white as fresh snow. The lower, smaller ones are a mixture of black and red. In contrast to the divine and feathery wings, these are made of flesh. His glowing eyes stare at the other six angelic beings. Both are without pupilles, one entirely golden, the other silver. His long blond hairs fall down past his stern face and strong jawline. In his hand, he holds a spear, made out of the same precious metals as the threads that run through his cloak.
“Your prophecy was correct, brother.”
He speaks with two voices. One is pleasant to hear, very clear and friendly. The other, deeper voice sounds more grunting. It almost sounds like a feral roar, mixed with dripping saliva and chewing sounds.
The addressed one turns to him.
“At least most of them were correct.”
He hovers above the circle in the middle of the room. He is the source of light that fills up the room. His entire body is glowing so brightly that no other features are visible. His voice sounds very calm, almost emotionless.
“The remaining prophecies tell me they are coming for you first, brother, or for you, sister.”
He turns his head to the angel to the left. Her entire body is packed wtih a golden armor and decorated with red symbols and silk straps. She has no wings. Instead, two metal rods are attached to her back. Both rods have several triangular golden plates connected to it, possibly resembling wings in absence of natural ones.
“And what do your prophecies suggest Megadrael or I should do when we encounter them?”
Her voice is warm and comforting. The tone which she speaks with can make anyone’s spine shiver with pleasure. Her circle reads a simple word, one that’s so simple for one, but so difficult for the other: love.
“All I can say now is that you must lead them astray as long as possible. I shall continue writing the prophecies when the visions come to me.”
Her face is hidden beneath a golden helmet with only her lips visible, but with the way she pulls down the corners of her mouth, it’s clear to see she is displeased with this message.
“How many prophecies are left?” Another angel, armored with a shiny blue plate mail, speaks. “And how many do you still need to write?”
A winged silver helmet hides his face and makes his voice echo. Half of his body is hidden beneath an enormous shield, plated with silver metal and blue crystals. His two wings are white and give off a mild glow. The sword that’s slammed into the ground next to him is just as big as he is. ‘Diligence’ is written within the circle he levitates above.
“Dozens of prophecies can’t be used anymore due to recent events”, the central angel says. “There are hundreds left to follow and potentially thousands of new ones to write if unlikely things happen.”
“Like Hadriel dying?”
An angry expression almost jumps off of another angel’s face. His skin is white, almost as white as his long hair. Four enormous golden wings grant him a powerful stature. He wears a chain mail made entirely out of silver with golden accents around the edges. Even though he isn’t armed to the teeth with weapons like some of his brethren, he sure makes an impactful impression.
“Hadriel’s death wasn’t predicted in more than half of the prophecies. His death was less probable than the death of his foes.”
“Yet one of my seraphim died, while you make excuses and hide behind sacred texts you write.”
His golden eyes burn fiercely. In his voice the flames of justice are audible, crackling aggressively. Below this apparition is the word ‘righteousness’ written.
“Are you doubting the prophecies, brother? Surely, you aren’t having blasphemous ideas about taking right in your own hands?”
The other female angel speaks. Her pale body is almost entirely hidden. Ten white-grey wings are wrapped around her and feathers even sprout from her arms, almost hiding the thin claw-like fingers with sharp nails at the end. She doesn’t have any eyes and, instead of hair, thin black feathers fall down across her fragile-looking neck. Above her head floats a grey ring. It could easily be mistaken for a halo, but this looks different than those drawn in the books about angels. Small peaks and cubes decorate the top. It’s a miniature a city, all built and levitating above her head. Her legs, hidden beneath feathers as well, reach down to the circle. It has ‘hope’ written inside of it.
“That would not be wise”, an angel with a pale mask says. “Can you share anything more about the prophecies, brother? Maybe we can help you. I prefer getting rid of these pesky meddlers rather sooner than later.”
His wings are made of black intangible smoke, just like the robes that cover his body. He holds a thick tome beneath his arm and a simple wooden quarterstaff in the other. His voice sounds hollow and far away. His appearance matches what is written beneath him: wisdom.
“Prophecies are written to be listened to by an audience, brother. Besides, if you would read the prophecies, more prophecies need to be written. The knowledge you would gain, would alter all future events and so on.”
Although nothing about this angel is clearly visible, the sound he makes suggests he’s smiling.
“Do not worry, brothers and sisters, I tell you no lies when I say these proclaimed heroes will die by our hands. Continue as planned and we shall be victorious.”
He disappears with a bright flash, leaving only his circle behind as a trace of his presence. Without his radiant presence, the word written in his circle becomes readable.
Truth.

Chapter 3.29: The Plane In Between

“How do we receive a blessing?”
Everyone but Dargothoth and Mero stands around the Beholder and Cyrzana, awaiting instructions to be a bit safer in Abaddon.
“Just enter the temple and ask for it”, the succubus says. It sounds so simple when she puts it this way.
“And if you add that you are there to help Abaddon get rid of the archangels, they would be mad not to help you.” Oanoa sounds positive. “No Father or Mother would approve that a priest turns down this opportunity.”
“That makes sense”, Lyssa says. She sounds less like herself. The always changing melody in her voice is flat, almost monotonous. Her attention drifts away from the conversation and she looks over her shoulder to see what is happening with Dargothoth.
The cleric shambles behind them, his eyes directed towards the ground and his shoulders hanging low. He hasn’t spoken since Oanoa told him his god didn’t help him.
“I’m just glad you’re alive”, Mero says. Now that he is taller, he can reach for the priest’s shoulder to giving him a comforting tap.
“Leave me be”, he says, breaking his silence. Everything in his voice, in his whole attitude, shows the signs of defeat.
“Who cares why you are still here? It only matters that you are here, alive and well.”
Dargothoth shifts his gaze from the ground to Mero. His narrowed eyes are spiteful.
“Alive and well?” He speaks so loudly that his other companions turn around. “You of all people should know how it feels to be left abandoned, Mero! My whole life is served the Hater of Life, the Foe of All Good, only to be left to die, because a simple ward would stop him? Nonsense! How could a simple archangel stop an all-powerful god? It’s preposterous to imply something so blasphemous! The answer is simple: if he didn’t help, it was because he didn’t want to help. I am nothing to him. I am nothing.”
He lets his head hang down again in silence.
“You will get through this, friend”, the sorcerer says with a broken voice. “I will not leave your side. I will help you when you need help. I will listen when you want to shout and curse the entire world. And if you need me to shut up, that's alright as well.”
Dargothoth lifts his head slightly and his gaze meets Mero’s. No words follow, but no words are needed. He can see his friend is hurting and he knows what to do.
“It’s alright”, he says softly. “I will shut up.”

“Normally, the road to Baltahn is a relatively calm and easy road to travel”, Cyrzana explains as she moves her finger across the map again. “And I say normally, because most of my life, we didn’t have angels invading and terrorizing Abaddon. Keep your eyes open. I spoke with the Voyeur about Hadriel and he sounds like a worthy foe, but he doesn’t compare to the stories they tell about the archangels.”
“Well, that’s just great.” Bruq sighs. “Let’s just hope we don’t run into them. At least not now. The five of us wouldn’t stand a chance against an archangel.”
Cyrzana nervously scratches the back of her head.
“There are actually seven archangels”, she says with her eyes squinted, feeling remorseful that she is the bearer of bad news. “There’s one for each archdemon. One virtue for every sin, or vice versa… They are the ones threatening Abaddon and, eventually, you’ll have to find a way to stop them, one way or another.”
Oslando sighs and widens his eyes.
“Five mortals, saving an entire demonic plane from the archangels of the Silver Circle. If we hadn’t stumbled upon Hadriel, I would have thought it would be the other way around. It’s sounds insane to undertake this operation, but we don’t have a choice.”
The succubus acknowledges everything with a frugal smile.
“You’ll be fine. I have faith in you, in all of you.”
Dargothoth makes a displeased sound.
“Faith”, he grumbles quitely. “Don’t talk to me about faith.”
He doesn’t know if Cyrzana just doesn’t hear him or if she’s ignoring him, but she continues her conversation anyway.
“And, Lyssa”, she says, “don’t forget to pay my brother Inaemos a visit when you reach Baltahn. He was there when mother banished me to his realm. Tell him I’m alright, but he must look into this whole situation. Something is up with mother, I know it. Maybe he can help you to persuade her. Anyhow, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Oanoa claps in his hands.
“That would be all”, he exclaims frivolously. “Your bags have food in them for the next couple of days. You have your translation stones, your new skills and ingredients for your ranger tricks.” Half of his many eyes wink at Bruq. “You are all ready to go.”
“In case you run out of water”, Cyrzana says, “most of the rivers and creeks have drinkable water, but it’s quite hot and with that I mean it’s both warm and spicy. You’ll get used to it quickly. All other ‘foreigners’, sort of speak, do. Just don’t drink sea water. I think you’ll like that less.”
“What? Is that too spicy for a non-demon?” Bruq chuckles.
Cyrzana shakes her head.
“It will probably burn a hole right through you.” She smiles with her eyes closed, putting the satyr back in his place. “Can’t save the world if you burn on the inside and die, can you?”
He shakes his head, startled by what she says.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come that far.”
“Indeed”, Oanoa says and he gestures towards the portal. The familiar swirling sound would bring back some peculiar memories of the last couple of days if they would listen closely, but the Beholder holds their attention firmly.
“I have something to say to all of you.”

“Oslando, you are probably one of the most ambitious persons I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. You are studious, righteous, a man with heart without ignoring his brain. Even though I admire your overzealousness - even if you would call it otherwise - you will face the biggest challenge out of the five of you. The people of Abaddon, their Parents, their hierarchy and values, they all differ from what you know and from what you think is right. You must learn that when something occurs that ignites that righteous spark within you, you sometimes have to let things go. You can’t save Abaddon if you try to fix every flaw or solve every disagreement. Sometimes, sadly, you have to accept the things that feel wrong to prevent something far worse. You understand that there won’t be a world to save if you don’t stop the Silver Circle, right? A lot of blood will flow and you need an unbreakable will to succeed. That is your task, eldritch knight. Never too little justice, never too much zealousness. That is when you will truly become a hero and find the purpose you’re looking for in life.”

“Bruq, I love your quirks, how you collect peculiar items, how you prefer a story over coins. You have a lot of history hanging on that chain of yours, all tales to fill the dark nights around the fire yet to come. I saw you left the wooden toy in the Enochian Tower, in the Way of Woods. If I would know you longer than I do, I would say this shows a significant amount of personal growth, but I’m not the one to judge. I saw you picking up a crystal shard from my automaton’s central eye. You can keep it, that’s alright. You can keep collecting trinkets after every victory, but those things are going to weigh you down, literally and figuratively. You are a hunter of monsters and a collector of bounties. I presumed you knew following the right tracks would guide you to whatever you hope to achieve. Yet, you decide to keep wandering in a maze of memories. A maze prevents progress, young satyr. It doesn’t guide, but leads astray. It’s fine to wander, but at some point you need to move on. You know these trinkets I speak of are metaphors, right? Each trinket has a toll, not only that bell you are wearing. Just make sure you listen closely enough to hear when the trinkets ring and a price must be paid.”

“I know you don’t want to hear anything more from me, Dargothoth. I kicked against the pillars of your mind’s temple and everything has been crumbling down ever since. I can’t say I am deeply sorry about it. I have seen a lot of death and despair being spread in Nerull’s name. I have no good words for the clergy you think so highly of. You think you are this instrument of his malign will, designed to be an obedient killer without questioning whatever evil intention is hidden in his obscure agenda. As you probably know, the gods of this plane have little to no reach into Abaddon. Your link to Nerull will waver, more than it already has, but there lies an opportunity ahead of you. The Abaddonian Fathers and Mothers can help you achieve whatever it is you seek. Maybe they can can quench your thirst for power in a less destructive way. I would like for you to see that there are many ways towards your goal, but I can’t change your mind if you don’t change in your heart.”

“Captain Kaklamanis, you’re obviously a sight for sore eyes when I look at the rest of your crew over here and I know you know this too. You are very good at only showing what you want people to see. This act of a booze-loving, enchanting temptress hides your true struggles. You think that no one will look past what you present like an addiction to wine or past your stunning beauty. Your crew knows you well, better than you think based on the things you tell them. If you would let down some walls, people could actually like you for who you are. Someone really special hides beneath the surface of puppetshow-like sea. You are more than just your pretty voice. I heard the songs you sang for your friends, but I also hear the lullabies you silently cry when you go to sleep. Maybe if you sang one of those songs louder, you would find some peace. You no longer need the protection you needed when you were a teenager, Lyssa. With these four crewmembers, you are safe.”

“Mero… It pains me to see you go already, but I can’t stand in the way of your destiny. You are going to be a great sorcerer, just like your father, my brother. Abaddon is a big realm to explore, but it isn’t endless. Eventually, you could stumble upon Iavolof. I know it’s tempting to try and find him, but that’s not your purpose. If you are meant to find him, you will, but it can’t slow you down from stopping the archangels. If you waver, Abaddon’s demise is sped up. Iavolof may reside in his own plane, but I believe the only entrance is in Abaddon. He will be trapped forever or worse if the archangels will exploit him for his powers. You are going to meet a lot of strange people over there, a lot of them will be different. Also, a lot of them will wield magic in ways you don’t. Please, promise me this: don’t treat them the way you were treated. You understand that being different is not a reason to be treated differently. Remember who you are, who you want to be and especially who you don’t want to be. Goodbye, my dearest nephew.”

Chapter 3.28: The Plane In Between

“Maybe you should visit the gûldun first”, Cyrzana says. “If you have a blessing of a Father or Mother, the common folk will be more at ease.”
Mero looks at her while they're walking towards one of the portals.
“Gûldun… Temple?”
His questioning tones are met with an affirming nod from the succubus.
“Translation stones really make this easier for everyone." She smiles. "Please, don’t lose them.”
Bruq shakes his head.
“We won’t”, he says. “But I see a different problem now, Cyrzana. How do you expect the five of us to receive a blessing from a god?”
His companions share the same thought, but the succubus seems indifferent, as if she asked them to do something simple like picking the weeds from her garden.
“The demons of Abaddon are almost as fanatic about our Parents as our priests. If someone wants to receive a blessing, they are very happy to grant one. It’s a grand sign of devotion if you can convince someone to pray for a Father or Mother. Please, don’t call them gods. I understand it seems that there’s no difference between god and Parent. We are closer to them than your kind is to your gods and goddesses. We are born from their energy and when we die our souls are collected to be brought back to them… Never mind. Just a little south of where you’ll enter Devyrion lies a temple, a gûldun devoted to Gor-Thar, the Father of fear. It will only delay you for a couple of hours and it will prevent a lot of hassle further on.”
Her words trouble most of them, only enthusing one of the prophesied heroes.
“That sounds intriguing to say the least”, Dargothoth says with an ominous undertone. “I have one problem amongst many that I would like to share. I already have a god, Nerull. I can’t pray and ask for blessings from a false god. My clergy would kill me if they found out or worse.”
The cleric's voice betrays a level of distress he rarely shows.
“Dargothoth”, Oslando says, “I want to ask you a question, but I don’t want you to lose your temper. Can you promise that?”
The draconian growls, his upper lip trembling. He feels like Oslando speaks to him as if he was a child.
“Speak, half-elf”, he mutters with a deep voice, “before I lose my temper anyway.”
(Insight 16)
Oslando has gotten used to the way the cleric speaks when things aren’t going the way he likes. This tone, however, is different. It no longer sounds vain or cruel. His words are chosen carefully and cautiously. If he didn’t think it doesn’t suit Dargothoth’s persona, he would assume is scared.
“What would happen if you prayed in that temple to a different god? Your clergy isn’t there. I even believe you said you left the clergy. Are you afraid that you are disloyal to Nerull and that he might punish you? Or is it that you might come to the conclusion that you were worshipping a wrong god all along? That this new deity will give you answers and blessings, while Nerull only wants you to make other people suffer?”
They all hold their breath and look at the facial expression of the priest, trying to find a clue about how he will react. They don’t find anything. It remains motionless and expressionless, as if he were nothing more than a very convincing statue.
“Nerull brought me back to live when I died by the hands of that miserable burning dove. I don’t need to hear his whispers on every gush of wind that passes my ear. I don’t need to pray for fortune, health and joy in my life. I’ll receive whatever The Reaper sees fit, whatever gift the Bringer of Darkness has in his omniscient mind. If he chooses to give me life and not to take my soul to his eternal realm, I am overjoyed to accept that gift. So, don’t speak to me about not receiving blessings, you insolent heretic! Maybe you should try to pray. Just get down on your knees, in the dirt. That’s what feels like home for you half-breeds.”
Before his bigotry and racism can escalate any further, Oanoa closes his hand and all sounds disappear, even as their mouths keep moving.
“A silence spell.” They can hear his voice in their heads, echoing loudly. “This is not how you will leave my plane. This is not how you will save Abaddon. These thoughts and actions are what will divide you and get you killed! Now, I will remove the silence spell, but you are going to listen to what I have to say, Dargothoth, because you need to hear this.”
The Beholder relaxes his fingers and the background noises reappear. For the first time, they notice a slight humming sound surrounding them. It’s barely noticeable, but present nonetheless.
“What?” The cleric’s regular way of speaking, harsh and without empathy, is back.
“I saw when Hadriel struck you down”, Oanoa says. He sounds more serious than he has been in most of their conversations. His whole demeanor looks grim, actually. A grimace runs across his face and his many eyes have a hollow glance in them.
“I didn’t want to tell you this, because what is a priest without his faith? What is preacher without his temple? What is-”
“By the bones of every bloody god, get to your point, sorcerer!”
“Nerull didn’t bring you back from the dead.”
For the first time, they can see how Dargothoth is completely gobsmacked. He silently stares at the Beholder, his lower jaw hanging.
“The Enochian Tower was warded by several protective spells, some so powerful I can only imagine one of the archangels cast it himself. You were beyond the reach of your god, Dargothoth, which means someone or something else has plans for you. I could feel something or someone bringing you back and it wasn't Nerull. I am certain.” Oanoa pauses shortly as he observes the horror in the eyes of every hero before him. “And, honestly, I dread the day when we find out why you were brought back to life.”

Chapter 3.27: The Plane In Between

“You can understand me, but we are not speaking the same language.”
They stare at Cyrzana, slightly confused by what she says.
“Yes.” Oanoa enlightens them. “In my plane we all understand each other, because my magic makes it so. While you all speak in the Common tongue, I speak Deep Speech most of the time, the language of, for example, beholders.”
“And I speak a mixture of Abyssal and Infernal”, the succubus princess says, “the languages of demons and devils. Almost every humanoid creature in Abaddon speaks in these two tongues exclusively.”
“Then how do you suggest we go and speak to your mother?” Oslando raises his eyebrows. “She won’t understand us and we won’t understand her.”
She nods.
“That is true, but I have found a solution. Oanoa informed me of the existence of translation stones. If you have one of these stones on you, you’ll be able to understand, speak, read and write in the language it’s enchanted with. Can you explain them how it works?”
The Beholder holds his hand up and a grey stone appears above it. It’s polished, flat and oval-shaped, making it perfect to play skipping stones with if it weren’t so important to keep with them.
“Normally, these stones are created by the advisors of diplomats. Then they can discuss trades, truces and other important things. They edge a rune into the stone and if the owner puts his finger on the rune, it activates the spell and enables the owner to perfectly communicate in that language for about one hour.”
“I see a few problems with that”, Bruq interrupts.
Oanoa holds up his hand and grins.
“I know what you’re going to say, but my enchantments make the effect last permanently. You also don’t have to keep touching the stone. If you have it in your bag or pocket, it will affect all forms of languages within its reach.”
He presses his index finger against the stone and a deep green glow lights it up from within. Several squiggly lines appear on its surface, surrounded by a few dots. They presume it’s the rune that makes the stone tick, but they’ve never seen a symbol like this before, making it nothing more than an uneducated guess.
“Take it”, Oanoa commands and exact replicas appear from the original translation stone. The objects float towards their new owners and keep levitating in front of their noses until they catch them out of the air.
“So, this takes care of one of the problems”, Cyrzana says, sounding rather positive for someone listing obstacles for them to face. “Abaddon has a different currency than you have. I don’t know how much money you have, but it’s all useless there. We have a different currency, but you can acquire a lot if you have interesting items to trade. Here, take this.”
Cyrzana whips back her hair and lays her hands in her neck. She loosens two of her many necklaces and holds her jewelry in front of them.
“I think these will be worth a couple thousand azmal, at least. The gemstones alone should be enough to make sure you can eat for a year.”
Lyssa grabs the necklaces before anyone else can.
“I’ll keep them safe”, she says and she hangs them around her neck. “They’re safe with me. I think gold and silver suits us. We are, of course, ladies with class.”
Cyrzana smiles at her, but shakes her head.
“Class? Yes. Silver? No. Most demons are allergic to silver. You can compare it to what happens to you when exposed to fire. A piece of silver jewelry would be torture for almost every inhabitant of Abaddon. Luckily, it’s quite rare to find and most mines that provide silver are closed for the public.”
“That is good to know”, Dargothoth says ominously as he slowly rotates his sceptre in his hand.
“But hopefully we don’t have to use it too often”, Oslando says reassuringly and he looks at the priest, condemning him.
Oanoa floats further up into the air.
“Come”, he shouts, “I’ll bring you to the portal. We can have this smalltalk on the way there.”

Chapter 3.26: The Plane In Between

The empty eye sockets glow with a faint white light, similar to his previous eyes. He looks down to observe his arms. He moves his fingers slowly and takes a step forward.
“Hello, everyone”, he says. He widens his eyes and gently places his hand on his throat.
“I didn’t expect my voice to sound the same. Maybe it’s more hollow than before. What do you guys think?”
The first response he gets comes from Lyssa, who runs towards him and wraps her arms around his metal body.
“Thank every god and goddess, you’re alright.” The sound of relief vibrates in her voice.
“Of course I am”, he answers, stoically. “Uncle said I would be alright. No fiber in my body doubted him. And now I don’t have any fibers left!”
He laughs and walks over to the pile of ashes in front of him. He picks some of it up and lets it fall down through his finger. Then he quickly stands up straight and turns around.
“Where did you leave my hat?”
The Beholder snaps his fingers.
“It’s on your head. We kept it safe, as promised.”
Mero taps his fingers on the brim and lets out a hollow sigh in solace. Then he moves his hands to his chest. He can feel a crystal, no bigger than the size of his palm, rest in cavity. He carefully runs his finger across its edges.
“My soul is stored in this?”
Oanoa nods.
“And I have protected it with a magic ward so you can’t lose or break it by accident. It’s less vulnerable than it seems.”
“After that glowing white light escaped from your body, he caught it in the stone”, Oslando explains. “He placed it in your new body and you woke up immediately.”
Mero expression changes from happy to confused. With no use anymore for his illusionary mask, it remains in his bag. The details of his new face make it easier to recognize what he feels.
“What white light? I don’t remember that part of being burned alive.”
“A white and silver light broke through when your body burned to ash.” Oslando steps closer to him. “It took the form of a man, but we couldn’t see what he looked like. I guess it was you, but I have no clue how that could be possible.”
They both turn their head to the ruler of this plane. His raised eyebrows suggest he doesn’t know either. Without trying to answer their question, Oanoa puts his hand on Mero’s shoulder.
“How do you really feel? I think that’s the important part.”
He smiles at his nephew.
“I feel fulfilled, uncle. I’m so glad you gave me this. It was so tiring to be looked down upon, literally and figuratively. Maybe now people will take me seriously.”
Bruq bleats shortly.
“Anyone who is willing to mock a five hundred pound metallic sorcerer is an idiot in my book.”
The others smile. Lyssa walks up to them and stands beside the satyr.
“We took you seriously all along”, she says, “but I understand what you mean. Being small and vulnerable tends to attract the wrong kind of attention.”
In his excitement, Mero is oblivious to the sadness hiding behind the siren’s words. He hugs her and Bruq.
“So”, he says, “now that we’re ready, let’s talk business!”

“I took two of the maps from the Voyeur’s library and drew as many points of interest on it as I could remember. One is the general map of Abaddon, the other has a lot more details.”
Cyrzana lays out the last mentioned folded piece of thin cloth. They read ‘Abaddon’ above the thorough drawings of the several islands. Oslando runs his fingers across the map. He feels the black lines that form the coastlines of the different islands, the detailed mountains and rivers, the city walls. Everything draws his attention, but luckily the succubus is there to elucidate.
“As you can see here”, Cyrzana says as she points a relative big city, “this is where you need to go. This is Baltahn, home of the Black Throne and ruled by queen Agraxia, my mother. She rules over the region of Lilim, a relatively peaceful area. Sadly, none of the Beholder’s mirrors are near the palace.”
She looks over at Oanoa and he nods.
“I believe the closest portal is somewhere to the right of Lilim, in Devyrion. There are some other portals, but I don’t think they are as safe as this one.”
The succubus lets her finger run across the map. She taps on where the portal is, marked as a red ‘X’ on the right side of the region.
“Correct”, she states. “It will take some time before you get to Baltahn. You can stop at some of the villages along the way, like Saal.”
Her pointy nail show them the journey they must take. She moves through the steppes, past a temple on the south and stops at a relatively small village.
“You can eat and drink, rest and stock up whatever you need there. They don’t have much, but you’ll find everything that’s necessary for a prosperous trip.”
Oanoa clears his throat.
“Yes, about that”, he stammers. “I used to know what was happening around there, but I lost my sight there. My children don’t share their vision with me anymore. Maybe you can have a closer look there?”
Some of the adventurers nod slowly.
“We will”, Bruq says. “If we can rest there, it’s important to know we are safe there.”
“Yes, safety is a whole other issue to discuss”, Cyrzana says and she sighs. “I should prepare you that some demons won’t be as friendly as I am. Our ways of living are different than yours, but our visions on outsiders are similar in some ways.”
“What do you mean?”
Oslando looks at her intensely.
“Basically, your group consists out of a half-elf, a satyr, a shapeshifting dragon, a mechanical construct and a siren. Do you remember how your reaction was when you first saw me?” She doesn’t give them time to think. “It was hostile. Well, you can expect a lot of hostility now angels try to ruin Abaddon. What do you think that’ll happen when this collection of curiosities comes walking in their potentially endangered cities? Exactly, hostility. So, let’s talk about a solution for this problem first before we talk about the next one.”