Chapter 5.26: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

Three fiery tendrils rise up from Mero’s hand and jump towards the three sisters, like snakes jolting towards their prey. The Blackstar closest to him, the lady they were tasked with searching, gets hit first. Her cloak singes, as does her hair, and the raging flames burn her fair skin. The sister she called Althrea can duck right in time, but the woman in the back, Shavaria, is less lucky. Now that the back of the room is clearly lit by the sorcerer’s scorching ray, they can see the fey’ri better. She has a strange monocle in front of one eye with a deep pink glass. The heat of the flames crashing into her face bursts the tinted glass and shards pierce her face.
“My eye!” She screams in agony. “You blinded me, you walking piece of scrap metal!”
“Serves you right for what you have done to everyone”, Mero replies. “And to the spectators!”
The unharmed Blackstar takes a step forward, making sure she has a clear view on Mero and on the hallway with the other intruders.
“You are not the only sorcerer here, golem.” She speaks with a smile that reveals all her devious intentions. “Let’s see how you manage against your beloved eye monster when your friends can’t help you.”
She points her clenched fists forward, one to the spectator and the other to the corridor. She opens her hands, palms pointed upwards, revealing a small pile of metal dust in the left hand and a thin strand of a silk-like material in the right. She inaudibly whispers a few words and blows the dust towards the spectator in the middle of the room. When the powder touches the metal on the beholder’s skin, the aberration begins to grow. Within seconds, it doubles in size, its growl grows deeper and it gets a lot more intimidating and menacing than it already was before.
As this ominous spectacle takes place and draws in everyone’s attention, Althrea flicks the silvery strand at the hallway. It moves quickly through the air and changes its shape. When it’s halfway it has taken the form a spider, but before it reaches its targets in the corridor, it explodes into a thick greyish web. The entire hallway, including everyone standing there, is caught in a sticky, magical web.
(Spell save DC 12 versus dexterity 18)
With Oslando and Bruq on the front of the line, Lyssa was relatively out of the line of the arachnid spell. The rather heavy strands stick to some of her hair and to her torso, but she can pull herself free, stumbling through a small unwebbed way past her half-elf companion and entering the room. Jewel, her baby stycha, is safely hidden in her backpack and lets out a muffled crow, too soft for the siren to hear.
(Natural 20 versus AC)
“Mero, I don’t think we can save this one anymore. It’s been maimed and influenced by these wicked women. I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”
Lyssa takes another step forward and looks at the embers that still rise from Mero’s hand. He puts her hand on his metal skin and stares at the beholder, meeting his lifeless gaze.
“You just made this a lot easier for me, witch, and a lot more painful for your minion.”
She hums and rapidly raises the tone she does it with. The metal parts on the spectator’s skin start to vibrate violently, turning bright red and orange. The edges melt, set its skin aflame and cause a pain so severe that it screams in agony. Its wail echoes throughout the entirety of the basement.
“Quickly, Sha!”
The sister in the front of the room, having extinguished the fire caused by Mero, turns to the fey’ri in the back while pointing at the spectator. She does as she is told and runs to the beholder. She holds two small magnetized pieces of mineral in her hand, both floating around one another. She directs them to her minion and the stones quickly turns around it, restoring some of its vitality and cooling down the heated metal.
“You can have your revenge on that wench later, Blinky”, she says. “Kill the golem first!”

Chapter 5.25: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Foul witches!”
Mero shouts at the top of his non-existing lung. He shakes himself free of Dargothoth’s clamping grasp and leaves him sightless and guideless behind as he walks towards the front of the group. His steps scrape the stones loudly and furiously, dust whirling up left and right.
“What have you done to my uncle’s children?”
The others stay close behind him, but are still partially in the corridor. Mero is the only one actually in the room. His sudden presence brightens the flames of the black candles. The three women no longer remain shrouded beneath a veil of shadows. They are all wearing cloaks in dark colours, partially hidden beneath their deep red fleshy wings. One of them whips her demon tail, creating a sharp echoing throughout the room, demanding silence.
“We have taken back what this world stole of our master.”
The fey’ri closest to them speaks with a recognizable voice, one that especially Dargothoth remembers vividly.
“You!” He clenches his fist while he growls in her general direction. “You did this to me! You use the name and markings of the Faceless God to instill fear in others, but you are no servant of him. He spoke to me and ordered your execution. You are going to lift this heinous curse immediately and we will kill you quickly. The other options are far worse.”
The sivak’s threats are met with maniacal and belittling laughter.
“You talk with a lot of big words for a blind lizard”, the lady in the back says. “You speak like you know everything, while in truth, you know absolutely nothing.”
Even though she was right about his sight, she wasn’t entirely correct. With the power granted by the Faceless God, he could see the aura of a demon near him. Dargothoth can see the glowing symbol of Gor-Thar in front of their faces and he knows what his own blessing looks like. What he doesn’t recognize, is the red rune-like glyph he sees when he looks at the three fey’ri. It’s a red vertical line with two straight branches on both sides attached to it, all pointing diagonally upwards. Three circles are beneath each other on the left and right of the central line, looking like drops of blood dripping down. He does not know what it is, but he has seen very few things within this world. He can consult his god later.
“Dargothoth is right”, Mero says with audible disgust, not taking his eyes of the spectator. “I will burn the meat of your flesh for what you did to the spectators, to the demons of this town and to my friend. Stop this ritual. Now!”
The woman in the back takes a step forward. She looks intrigued, observing him from top to bottom.
“Your design is wonderful”, she says with a soft and calm voice, like there’s tension whatsoever in the room. “I will make you my next pet after I’m done with Blinky here.”
She nods her head in the spectator’s direction. The beholder has more pieces of metal than skin left, some eyestalks are replaced by strange tubes and most of its teeth are shards of metal. It looks like the automaton Oanoa created, but this one is alive. Or was, it’s difficult to tell.
“Yes”, a different sisters says, the one that has not spoken yet, “you do have some spare parts left, right? And if he proves to be as worthless as the floating eye freaks we used for our ceremony, we can just melt him for new components.”
The demon in the back claps her hands with excitement.
“That would be fun!”
The lady in the deep purple robe raises her hand.
“Althrea, Shavaria, enough. We can’t have trespassers think that we don’t take them seriously.” A devious smile reveals her pointy canine teeth. “I will give you a final warning. Leave and we will not pursuit any of you. We will be gone before the start of next month. We have what we came for and are just finishing our business here.”
She turns and gestures to the circle of candles behind her. With a few flowy movements of her fingers she brightens the room even further. The spectator floats away from the center, back to Shavaria, the fey’ri in the back near the wall. Now that nothing is blocking the view on the custom made shrine in the centre. A couple of big metal rings, all thin and dark grey, levitate and turns slowly around their own axis. With the rings, dozens of small milky eyes float in the same way. A few bigger eyes, precisely as big as the central eye of a spectator, slowly turn around the scenery, their discoloured pupils continuously looking at the centre.
(21, 10 and 15 versus AC)
Mero’s anger reaches its limit. The power he learned to tap into in the realm of his uncle burns with a fiery temper in his soul. He can feel that fiery energy move to his hand. It materializes as an orange sphere of fiery energy the moment he loses is patience.
“Screw your final warning.” The sorcerer shouts and he raises the hand containing the burning magic. “This ends now!”

Chapter 5.24: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

Their footsteps echo softly throughout the corridor. They can’t see any sign of the red slime monster they just faced. It fled through the cracks, partially beaten but not defeated. They don’t know if it will come back, but it’s not their primary concern.
“Bruq, are you hanging in there?”
Dargothoth’s words are softer than usual. His blindness seems to make him kinder, even if it’s only a little. It’s his dependency on others to be his eyes.
“Still pretty beaten up.” Bruq’s answer is accompanied with a deep sigh. “If you have some energy left, I would appreciate a little more of your healing hands. They do the trick a lot better than my goodberries.”
The satyr chuckles. His face aches.
“Sure”, the cleric says. “Come here.”
The sivak stretches out his arm, his hand making a stop sign. He waits until he feels the touch of the satyr’s skin. When he feels his leathery armour, he moves around with his finger to find an exposed piece of skin.
“That tickles!”
While Bruq laughs, Dargothoth pulls back his hand with visible disgust.
“If you’re going to fuck around, goatman, you can choke on your goodberries.”
The hunter holds up his hands and quickly shakes his head, to no avail of course.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please.”
He grabs the priest’s hand and places it to the side of his head. His scaled dark hand is cold to the touch. Bruq tries to ignore the thought of how many lives were ended by his icy grip, by the necrotic energy that it spread more often than it gave relief. It’s difficult to trust someone who takes away parents from children and shapeshifts into others to hide his monstrous face.
“Fine.”
The familiar blue glow warms his skin. More pain fades this time, like a gentle stream of hot water washing away the dirt. His swollen eye socket and cheek remain, however, and the popped blood vessel in his eye as well. Lyssa notices it.
“Let me help as well”, she says with kindness in her voice.
She scrapes her throat. The little stycha on her shoulder mimics the sound.

“Blow to the cheek and blow to the head.
Lungs without air and eyes bloody red.
Restore the body and take away the pain.
End this suffering and take away his bane.”

Every melodious word is literally music to Bruq’s ears. He feels calm. He closes his eyes and sways tranquilly from left to right. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze meets the siren’s gaze.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
The satyr looks at Dargothoth for a second, but he doesn’t respond. Lyssa, on the other hand, giggles.
“You’re welcome. I fixed your bloody eye, but I couldn’t fix the rest of your face. I’m sorry.”
She bursts into laughter and Mero joins her.
Oslando bids them to keep it down.
“We don’t have to give our position away more than we already did… It was funny, though.”
The half-elf doesn’t have any visible wounds to heal, but he feels miserable. Whatever it was that the oblex did to him, it left mental scars. He knows it took something from his memory, but he can’t remember what. He does know it really hurts. It feels like his head is going to explode.
He takes out the wand of healing and presses the knob to his right temple. As one of the three light blue lines fade away, Oslando can feel the pressure in his head disappear as well. He hoped the fuzziness would go away as well, but a proverbial fog remains.
“Are you alright?” Mero walks up to the half-elf and looks at him with his glowing eyes. “I didn’t see you get hit.”
Oslando shakes his head. He swallows down the discomfort and smiles faintly at the sorcerer.
“No, I didn’t get hit. I just felt really weird, but now I’m alright. Don’t worry about me. You focus on Dargothoth and we’ll keep going.”

(Perception 7) (Stealth 13 versus perception 12 and perception 20)
They have quietly opened the door and decided that Mero should walk as far behind as possible, afraid his metal body makes too much noise as they walk down the staircase. They can hear multiple women chant, but it’s unclear what they say. It’s obvious that they are where they need to be and it is dangerous territory.
They want to discuss, to strategize, but any kind of sound could give away their position. As they progress, they see the black candles on a stone table at the end of the corridor in the dimly lit room. Three shadows are casted on the wall and dance on the dark stones, but there is something else in their midst. Something that, now that they are closer, is staring directly at them with four small eyes and one big central one. It shrieks and a metal sound echoes.
“Welcome, saviours of Saal”, one of the women says. “Feast your eyes and we will feast on them!”

Chapter 5.23: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

(Spell save DC 13 versus strength 4)
“We need to kill that thing instead.”
Oslando points his shortsword to the gelatinous blob at the end of the corridor. A faint sound of wet slim being dragged across the floor sends a shiver down his spine. It sounds rancid.
He moves carefully but determinedly along the wall, just out of the reach of the fake Phenilias, and stops about twelve feet away from it.
“I hope this works.”
He drops his cold enchanted shortsword. The sharp noise startles Dargothoth and confuses the others. He thinks back to the easier spells Oanoa learned him, called cantrips. He practiced this spell a couple of times and it seemed rather easy back then. Hopefully, the stress doesn’t get him.
A white crackling bolt of lightning appears in its free hand. The static noise fills up the entire corridor, like raging bees and wasps buzzing in their ears. He lifts his hand and slashes the lightning bolt forward. It expands, forming an electric whip, and wraps itself around the imposter. Smaller tendrils of white energy hit his body everywhere, scorching away the fake appearance and revealing its true red slimy body before restoring its image.
With a roar the half-elf pulls on the whip. His target gets pulled up almost right up to him with just a feet or two left in between them. He don’t know how heavy this ooze creature is, but he seriously doubts he could have pulled it this far without magic.
The tether connecting it with the big red blob is getting stretched. It seems like more and more tension builds in it.
“Look”, Oslando says as he notices this. “Maybe if we get it disconnected from that red slime thing it will die.”
(Intelligence 15)
Dargothoth taps quickly on Mero’s arm.
“I know what this is!” He is almost shouting. “This sounds like an oblex. The big red thing is the body, that Phenilias clone is just an extension of it. You can’t kill it by hurting that, you have to damage the main body!”
(12 versus AC) (Spell save DC 14 versus constitution 7)
Bruq, still weakened from his beating, moves up to the main body and stabs his glaive forward. Too bad for him, the oblex felt this attack already and prepared to reshape its body. The weapon pierces nothing but air. The satyr pulls back Dreadbane and regains his fighting stance.
In the meanwhile, Mero has picked up on the technique of pushing and pulling that Lyssa and Oslando are doing.
“Stay here”, he says calmly to their cleric. “I’m going to blast this thing to pieces.”
The sorcerer gets behind the demon-shaped ooze and claps his hands together. A loud wave of forces crashes into Phenilias’ back. The red string snaps and the imposters gets launched into the air. It loses all details and shape as it get reduced to nothing more than a greasy pool spread across the ceiling and walls.
“And now for the main course!”
Mero turns and is met with disappointment. The oblex is getting smaller and smaller, but not because it’s dying or something like that. It quickly moves through a crack in the floor, molding its body, and the faces inside the blob take on even more horrendous forms. It takes only seconds to disappear completely.
“Fuck!” Bruq stomps his hoof on the floor. “You better flee, you spineless mucus pile!”
He growls in anger, teeth grinding, and he turns to his allies. He shrugs roughly.
“Now what?”
Lyssa walks up to him.
“We heal our wounds.”
Oslando gets up beside her.
“And finish what we became to do”, he adds.

Chapter 5.22: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

(19 versus AC) (Perception 20)
Mero is overwhelmed by anger. A fire burns inside of him, one he has felt few times before, but always when experiencing something unpleasant. He felt it when he was talked down to as a slave, put back in his place and cast out by those who couldn't see past his former straw body.
Now, he feels that same sensation of fury boiling inside of him. These Blackstar hellions have been torturing his uncle’s children and cursed one of his few friends. But there’s a different warmth inside him as well, one he discovered only recently after Oanoa showed it to him. He can feel all that heat building up in his hand as a big sphere of fiery magic appears.
“You’re going to pay, fake wizard.”
Mero lets out an angry roar and hurls the raging fire at the cloaked demon. It hits him right in the chest, ember flying everywhere. Peculiarly, his clothes don’t catch fire. They don’t even blacken. Instead, his skin turns red like a ruby and ripples. One heartbeat later, it’s like nothing happened.
(17 versus AC) (DC 15 versus wisdom 10)
The demon seems unbothered by the flames and keeps his focus on the satyr and half-elf in front of him. He pulls back his right arm again and launches his pseudopod hand right into Bruq’s face. He hits hard. The sound of bones breaking echoes throughout the corridor and blood pours from the hunter’s nose. He blinks a few times and takes a step back. Everything is spinning. It feels like he’s standing on a ship during a heavy storm. His vision narrows, black spots blur his gaze. He leans on his glaive to maintain his balance.
The imposter Phenilias turns his head to Oslando. His eyes glow red and he sluggishly opens his mound. His jaw dislocates with an unpleasant squishy sound and his mouth becomes a gaping maw. The way he inhales air sounds like a man on his deathbed, a hollow gasp and fluids gurgling from deep within lungs.
A noise quickly fills Oslando’s head, like he’s stepping into a blizzard and the snow is raging all around him. He cringes, squints his eyes and grinds his teeth. Images flash in front of his mind’s eye. He sees a female staring lovingly at him and then shift her caring glare to an elderly human being. She holds his hand. The man coughs. Oslando blinks. The image has changed. He sees a family of elves and a family of humans shouting at each other, making angry gestures, most of them into his direction. Those are the main scenes that keep repeating, passing by faster and faster each time he sees them. The details fade, however. Their expressions, their emotions, the context, the meaning, it all dies down, deafened by the noise. This is no time to recollect distant memories, but the half-elf feels like he couldn’t even if he tried to. A part of him is missing, but he can’t seem to recall what exactly is missing. What was he even thinking of?
In the meantime, Dargothoth lifts his right hand, trying to feel who is in front of him.
“What is happening?” He sounds somewhat concerned. “Tell me, Mero, what can I do?”
The sorcerer moves his head from Oslando to Bruq and decides the latter needs their help the most.
“Bruq got hit twice, pretty badly, it seems. You should try and heal him.”
Mero guides the cleric two steps forward and Dargothoth feels the hunter’s leather hide beneath his hand. He can feels the satyr’s heavy breathing. With fleeting focus a light blue glow envelops the cleric’s palm. Bruq’s breathing steadies, becomes deeper and less rushed, but a lot of the pain remains. For now he seems steady enough to pull through, but this thing in front of them isn’t even what they came for and with two hits he already nearly killed one of them.
(Spell save DC 15 versus constitution 9) (Perception 11)
Lyssa hums. She remembers what Cyrzana taught her, back in Oanoa’s plane. It was the same spell the gnoll shaman almost killed her and her allies with back in the Enochian Tower: the shatter spell. An intense rumbling sensation builds within her chest. It feels like the air punches her lungs.
She spreads her eyes wide open, focusing on the space just behind their enemy. She hopes she estimates the distance correctly and none of her friends will get hurt. Her humming grows louder and she opens her mouth.
A piercing burst of sound explodes behind the imposter breaks the stones on the wall and sweeps up the dust like black smoke rising up from a smouldering campfire. The wave of force crashes into the demon’s back and pushes him away. Without any stumbling or imbalance, he slithers forward in the exact same pose as he’s currently in.
His movement moved the shiny strand of red slime connected to him as well. There is something attached to it, at the end. A blob of ooze, same size as Phenilias, was hiding around the corner, but is revealed now. The sulphuric smell intensifies. It has vague images of faces floating in its gelatinous body.
“Hells!” Bruq raises his glaive. “What in the name of Baalzebul’s slimy snail trail is that?”

Chapter 5.21: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Phenilias is dead”, Bruq says and he tightens his grip on the Dreadbane glaive. “We went to his home and we found his wife’s head. She told us he was killed before her own eyes.”
The demon’s face remains stoic, his expression unmoved, but he is thinking, be it in silence. Then he lethargically shakes his head.
“I don’t know what you think my wife has told you, but I’m standing right in front of you, alive, breathing and talking. I don’t know how I could convince you otherwise, but I frankly don’t care. You are trespassing and I have more important matters to attend to. Gelen’daray.”
His ‘goodbye’ sounds forcing and more unkind than before. He gestures to the door. His expression changes. The corners of his mouth go down and his nose rises, like something disgusts him.
“Gelen’daray.”
He repeats himself, slowly and forcefully.
“You can’t convince us that easily.” Bruq walks up to him and Oslando joins him, not leaving his side. “Our lantern showed us this is the source of both transmutation and necromancy. Whatever caused this is here. So, even if what you say is true, the Blackstars are still here. If we stop them, we stop it all. That’s also what you want, right?”
The demon takes a step forward and the stench of sulphur gets more intense.
“You mean my lantern”, he says, almost shouts. “I made that thing with my own bare hands to save this city.”
(Perception 21)
He takes another step with his hands raised, showing the wrinkles and scars acquired throughout the ages. He trembles slightly. It could be from old age or from the anger and frustration he has been building up throughout this conversation.
While Bruq and the demon discuss, Oslando observes the person blocking their path. He notices something they couldn’t have seen before due to the way they were positioned. A narrow glistening strand of red slime is attached to the end of his cloak. It’s difficult to see - it’s that thin - but it runs all the way across the floor and disappears around the corner.
“Stand back, Bruq”, the half-elf says and he points his flaming sword at the demon. “That’s definitely not Phenilias.”
(26 versus AC)
The satyr follows Oslando’s gaze and tries to look around the figure in front of him.
“Fine!” The demon shouts before the hunter has a chance to see what the half-elf saw. “Have it your way!”
He pulls back his arm and swings at Bruq. The demon is out of his range to hit him, but then something strange happens. His claw deformes into a red slimy blob and stretches out to smack the satyr on his left temple.
It must have hit a nerve or something, because a raging ringing echoes in his head. Bruq closes his eyes and shakes his head, but to no avail. A mental picture flashes in front of his mind’s eye. For a short moment, the monster hunter sees his own head chopped off, a hollow expression in his eyes and his lower jaw limply hanging open. His new glaive is stuck in his beheaded corpse
(7 versus AC)
He looks at his weapon with trouble in his eyes. Could it be this weapon is going to be the death of him? But why would it? He needs to shake this feeling and get his thoughts straight. For now, only one thing matters to him. He got attacked and now he must retaliate.
“Oslando’s right. Let’s get him.”
Bruq jams his glaive forward, trying to pierce his shoulder, but alas. The imposter’s body changes shape, lowering the left side of its body and evading the satyr’s attack.
His first attack with the Dreadbane weapon, a complete miss. He hopes Gor-Thar won’t hold it against him. He hopes this troubling image in his head wasn’t a vision of what awaits him.

Chapter 5.20: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

Oslando holds up the lantern. The burning candle’s warm glow turns to a deep blue flame, but almost immediately after a thick smoke fills the lantern’s glass chamber. The light dies and the smoke dissipates.
“Transmutation and necromancy”, the half-elf says quietly. “Shapeshifting and curses. The source of this plague must be inside. If we find lady Blackstar here, we know it’s her.”
He draws his swords, the flaming one in his right hand and the cold enchanted one in his left.
Bruq follows his example and draws his improved glaive. This could be the first time to use this weapon, made in the image of Dreadbane, Gor-Thar’s favorite instrument of war. The wood is cold to the touch and a short flashback to the temple of fear crosses his mind. That tree that haunts his dreams… Whatever waits for them inside this house can’t be worse than that. He spins the glaive and the twin-headed axe was a low whistling sound. He can do this.
“I’ll open the door”, the satyr says.
He steadily walks forward, trying to not make sound. With his glaive at the ready, he quickly swings the door open. A wide hallway stretches out in front of them. Very little natural light comes in through the slit-shaped windows. Not that there’s much to shine some light on: except for dusty tiles and another door at the end of the hallway.
(Perception 19)
“You guys smell that?”
Bruq holds up his nose and inhales deeply. A rancid cough follows and he tries to waff away the scent of rotten eggs. He wipes away a tear in the corner of his eye.
“Yes, that’s sulfur, alright. This place keeps getting better and better.”
Oslando walks up to the satyr, looks at him and nods. He turns his head to the others and signals them to follow.
“We’re going in.”

(Stealth 7)
They try to be silent, but the long hallway carries every echo like it’s a shot from Lyssa’s blunderbuss. Dargothoth’s feet shuffles across the stone floor. He makes little steps to make sure he doesn’t fall or walk into something. Mero holds the cleric’s lower arm so he can guide him a little, even if he doesn’t want him to. For now, the sivak doesn’t protest.
They don’t know if they made too much noise or if it’s just coincidence, but a figure in a red cloak walks around the corner at the right of the hallway and looks at them. It’s a male demon, so it can be lady Blackstar. The man looks older than the average demon they’ve seen walking around in Saal. It’s only somewhat notable feature is the hollow gaze in his eyes.
“You don’t look like you belong in Abaddon.” His voice cracks, like he hasn’t spoken in days. “Why have you come here?”
(Perception 5)
He has no weapons in his hand, so he doesn’t pose a threat for now, but who knows what he wants from them. The robe he wears is normally worn by wizards and such, so anything could happen, really.
“Look at me”, Dargothoth says with a furious tone. “We’re here to stop whatever is causing this curse. We have come for the Blackstars.”
The demon chuckles.
“You don’t need to worry about all that, ucha’ari. I’ve got it all under control. I found a way to solve it all and if I didn’t hear you enter, I might had broken the curse already. Thank you for helping us all, but you can leave. Please, it would be easier.”
Their confusion makes them wary. They turn towards each other, hoping someone else processes all the information more quickly.
“How?” Mero’s question is simple, but it’s the right one. “Who are you?”
The demon holds his head up, chin high, creating a hautain aura. He takes his cap off revealing his horns and magical eyes.
“I am Phenilias Arkhon”, he says sternly, “the village mage. It is my job to protect the citizens of Saal and if you want to disturb my ritual to cure this curse, you will have to go through me.”

Chapter 5.19: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Jewel.” Mero repeats what Lyssa said. “That’s a cute name. I for sure thought you were going to call it Ruby or Sapphire. Wasn’t sapphire your favorite gemstone? Probably suits him better than Jewel, don’t you think?”
She scrapes her throat in protest.
“Jewel is a she, not a he.” She rolls her eyes. “And most sapphires are blue. I know some of them are red, but everyone’s going to ask me why I gave my bird a stupid name and I don’t want to keep explaining myself over and over again. So… Jewel it is.”
Dargothoth hisses, accepting that his allies will just talk about anything in a time when they should only talk about his new befallen ailment, but that doesn’t mean he has to do the same. That doesn’t mean he has to play along nicely with the small talk.
“You truly believe that whatever is sitting on your shoulder is going to survive our stay here in Abaddon?” The sivak laughs sarcastically. “The bird won’t last a day.”
“Shut up, blind lizard.”
Lyssa angered expression makes way for a caring one. She looks at the stycha. She stares back at the siren with her bright yellow eyes. All her feather are deep red, except for a few black ones that are scattered throughout her wings. Her head has no feathers to cover up her white skull-like head. Her dark ochre beak is short and sharply crooked so she will have no problems tearing meat off of bones. Lyssa thinks a fully matured blood vulture must look terrifying, but at the most her new pet is mostly cute.
“Who is my precious Jewel?” She talks with a high-pitched voice, like she speaks to an unintelligible baby. “You are! Yes, you are!”
The bird makes a bit of a clumsy step sideways, moving across her shoulder towards her face. The siren doesn’t know if she understood what she said, but she doesn’t care. The bird strokes her head across her cheek a few times and the captain’s heart melts.
“I’m going to protect her with my life”, she says sternly. “She’s part of this weird family now, just like you, Dargo, and-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“And we take care of each other. You won’t admit it, because that takes away all the grittiness and the evil aura you’ve built up, but you care for us as well. You fight for us, you heal us, hells, I think you even trust us. Protesting is futile, Dargo. We’re in this together and we will be until the bitter end.”
The cleric remains silent.

“This is it”, Bruq says. “The Silent Stone. It doesn’t look like a funeral home to me.”
Mero turns to him.
“And what would a funeral home look like?” He sounds genuinely astonished.
“Well, I don’t know.” The satyr rubs his goatee. “We did not have one in the Echoing Grove. We just buried our dead, give them back to nature.”
The building looks like any other, made of the same stones as the homes to its left and right. The only significant difference is the big gravestone in front of it.
“The door is ajar”, Oslando states and he gets closer. “It’s clear how we are going to do this, right? Bruq and I go in first, Mero in the middle with Dargothoth and Lyssa in the rear. We’re going to talk to them, negotiate, but keep your weapons ready.”
The draconian grouches.
“They don’t deserve to talk”, the cleric pleats. “They deserve to suffer for what they have done.”
“If we do that, we might lose the only chance to give everyone their eyesight back. We should-” Oslando stops shortly and tilts his head a bit. “They? You think her sisters are there as well?”
Dargothoth curses inaudibly and clenches his fists. He can try to lie himself out of this situation, but why would he? They should now that his patron deity is present and observing their actions.
“The Faceless God told me. The Blackstars were his worshippers. They won’t pose too much of a threat, but you should be on your guard.”
Lyssa’s mouth falls open.
“And when were you planning to tell us this?”
Dargothoth turns around, staring into her general direction without making eye contact.
“Right now.” His smile is sinister. “As you mentioned before, captain, we’re in this together to the bitter end.”

Chapter 5.18: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Three sisters?” Dargothoth still sounds angry, but he’s no longer unreasonable. “I heard three female voices speak through the eye monster we found. Where does the Blackstar wench live?”
Kairon turns to him, a worried expression across his faces.
“Before the curse hit Saal, we were short on houses. Saal is not a big village so we offered her the next best thing. She could turn the funeral home into her own home. She works on the ground floor and lives on the first floor. You can find it near the edge of town, to the northeast. A sign that says ‘The Silent Stone’ stands in front of the building.”
“You didn't think she would have something to do with it?” Bruq sounds irritated. “Seems like she’s the only one who has any kind of magic in this town beside Phenilias.”
Kairon closes his eyes and shakes his head. He is disappointed with himself.
“We trusted that we would see it if one of the villagers was disturbing the balance. Somehow, we were tricked. We have failed Achalion. We have failed the balance. It seems we were blind as well.”
Oslando holds up the lantern, ignoring the priest’s self-pity.
“We are going to fix it, but we are going to need this to be sure. When we’re done with it, you can have it, like you asked. Is there anything else we need to know about lady Blackstar?”
Karion opens his eyes again and stares at the half-elf. He seems absent, like his mind drifts away from the conversation.
“Naevarya Blackstar is, so far we know, not a dangerous woman, but we have seen very little of her, if we’re honest. She keeps to herself. She never comes to our ceremonies. We don’t know anything, really.”

Dargothoth hears the voice of the Faceless God right after Karion finishes his sentence.
“She was one of my followers, sent here to gather information on one of the Neg’cruan Mausoleums. The soul of one of my strongest children is trapped there. If you find the Blackstar, search for a dark red book with black stones on it. You’ll need it to free him for me.” The Faceless God hears every question in Dargothoth’s mind before he even asks them. “Both the house and the book bear the Mark. My blessing makes them visible. She will not back down. The priest’s words are untrue, even if he doesn’t know it. She is a spellcaster and she is not alone. Her sisters are with her. The three Blackstar sisters were mere pawns in this power play, but they will pose a challenge to you and those who call themselves your companions. If one or more of your group die, make sure you aren’t one of them.”

“Lyssa, are you done?” Bruq shakes his head as he walks over to her. “You have been absent this entire time. What are you doing?”
“I was waiting for this.”
She points at the earth where she buried the pet pit. The dirt begins to move and a small beak pokes out of the ground. A small but adorable squeak warms the siren’s heart. She digs and moves to earth away, revealing a red bird, about the size of her hand.
“A baby stycha”, Karion says, observing the miraculous birth of the little blood vulture. “It seems to have found a new mother.”
The bird squeals and rubs its head against Lyssa’s palm.
“I’m happy to be a mother.” She holds back her tears. “What is a captain without her bird on her shoulder?”

Chapter 5.17: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“What do we do now?”
Mero’s voice resonates with sheer terror. He sees how his friend claws at his own face, pressing his sharp nails against his eyes to rid himself of the blinding curse, but it’s all in vain.
“What do we do know?” Dargothoth shouts at the tops of his lungs. “We find those bitches who did this to me and torture them until the undo this! That’s what we are going to do!”
His chest is heaving with anger. He quickly shifts his shape to his human counterpart, Alexander Dorgomonos, but quickly changes back.
“Changing myself doesn’t help either. Fucking hells!”
Oslando turns towards the skull of Phenilia’s wife.
“You mentioned a lantern that your husband used. Where is it?”
“Bottom drawer of the desk, should be easy to spot.”
The half-elf doesn’t hesitate to pull the handle forcefully and he yanks the drawer out of the desk. It clatters loudly on the floor. Inside, on top of a few partially wrinkled parchments and worn books, rests the lantern. The metal walls seem rather ordinary at first, but when he looks closer, Oslando sees the subtle symbols edged across the entire dark grey surface. He assumes that’s what makes the lantern pick up what kind of magic lingers in the air.
“I got it!” He pushes the lantern towards Mero. “Light it up.”
While Mero takes the beacon, Dargothoth loses his temper.
“Stop fucking around with that fucking lamp and help me fix my eyes!”
He slams his fist against the bookcase. A couple of splinters join the falling books making their way to the ground.
“That’s what we’re doing, Dargothoth!” This is the first time they really hear their half-elf companion shout. “If we identify the type of magic, we know what we are looking for. The source can’t be far away.”
(Arcana 15)
A small fiery bolt escapes from Mero’s palm and ignites the candle within. When the sorcerer closes the glass door, the light coming of the flame slowly changes colour. Actually, the light dims slowly until only a thick dark smoke fills the space between the glass walls.
“Necromancy…” Mero whispers. “It’s some kind of spell of decay, but stronger than any sensory impairment spell that I read about. It’s probably a ritual, one that requires more than one spellcaster.”
The cleric continues to growl.
“Well, since I can’t see what’s happen, I suggest you lead the way! Come on!”
Bruq puts a hand on Dargothoth’s arm, but he pulls it back.
“No! No comforting nonsense! We will find these women now, you will place me in front of them and I will strangle the life out of them, strip away their skin and crush their eyes to pulp!”

“We’re sorry.” Kairon means for his three voices to be comforting or soothing, but it seems to have no effect on Dargothoth. “This tips the scales of balance, but you will restore it. We can guarantee it.”
Lyssa is sure to be quicker in her response than her draconian friend is.
“Maybe you can help us restore it”, she says. “Phenilias made a lantern that traces the magical residue of spells and rituals. Even though the three attackers were shapeshifters, which would insinuate transmutation, the blindness spell seems to be of necrotic origin. Are there any death-related disturbances in the balance? Anything at all?”
A deep hum escapes from behind the priest’s sealed lips.
“We have no necromancers in, Saal, if that’s what you mean. The only place where minor forms of this school of magic are used, is in our funeral home. With the increasing amounts of deaths we had to take certain precautionary measures.”
The siren tries to keep listening to him, but then she remembers the kernel she took from the mage’s home. She maintains eye contact while he digs a small hole in the fertile part of the garden and covers the seed with dirt.
“What kind of precautions?”
Kairon turns his faces towards Bruq, who feels a shiver run down in his spine, afraid of the answer he’s going to get.
“We hired an ungûndum, a special kind of caretaker, from the royal court of Gaîl Thezzál, the capital of Abaddon’s most northwestern region. The land of king Zaorbomir has been plagued by undead and rebellious necromancers for ages, long before the first angel attacked our world. He sent us one of the three Blackstar sisters. She has been helping us to make sure the dead stay dead, all in the name of balance. We can assure you that she forms no threat. She has been here years before the first case of blindness happened in Saal.”
“Father Karion, if I might ask”, Oslando says, “what do you know about her? Is lady Blackstar a demon?”
The priest nods.
“Yes, she is. She is a fey’ri. They are rare in these parts of Abaddon, but she makes sure she doesn’t stand out too much.”
Oslando fears he knows what the answer on his next question might be, but he thinks they might have found their suspect.
“And how does a fey’ri make sure of that?”
Father Karion raises arms with a pleased smile, but immediately after that, he feels his stomach turn.
“Fey’ri, like lady Blackstar”, he says slowly, “are blessed by nature with the ability to change their appearance through…” He sighs. “Through transmutation.”

Chapter 5.16: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Did Phenilias do this?”
Mero is appalled by what he sees.
“No”, the skull says carefully. “He found it in this state near the edge of the town border.”
Its scaled green skin is covered with dried up dark blood. Almost all teeth are missing and the end of its tongue is torn off. Its four eyestalks dangle limply beside his body, all missing its eye at their tip. The most horrid observation is its central eye. Nails are slammed into its eyelids to keep the big eye open, which looks dry and has the same orange glow to it as the cursed citizens.
“This is horrible”, Oslando says underneath his breath. “Who would do this?”
“And why?” Lyssa wants to look away, but she can’t. “This is just torture for the sake of torture!”
A pained sigh leaves the dry mouth of the maimed creature. It tries to lift its eyestalks, but it lacks the strength to do so. It’s a sad sight to see.
“What should we do?” Bruq takes his backpack and grabbles inside to find something useful. “Do we feed it? Should we remove the nails?”
Mero takes a few steps forward and raises his hand, reaching for his uncle’s hurt kin. He hesitates. It’s in pain, but what if taking out the metal will hurt him even more? It looks like it’s on the brink of death. This could kill him. He might end its suffering, but he might increase the agony its in even more.
“Can’t you heal it?”
Mero turns to Dargothoth, desperation resonating in his voice. There is something about the way asks it that strikes a chord within the sivak. It’s not sentiment, not in the slightest, but rather the feeling that he is needed. Of course he is superior to these ‘companions’ and he doesn’t feel anything for them or their pleas, but to have someone turn to him in times of need, knowing fully well what kind of person he is, is a new experience.
“I can do my best.” Even when Dargothoth doesn’t try to sound ominous he still does. “Make way.”
With sharp clanking sounds the golem takes a few steps back. He wants to rush the slowly moving cleric, push him to help it more quickly, but he knows the discussion will only delay it even further. He almost can’t help himself. Every passing moment must feel like another eternity of suffering for the spectator.
Dargothoth raises his hands and closes his eyes. When he starts to mumble the first few words of his spell, he is interrupted.
“Stop this nonsense.”
He opens his eyes to find where that hollow female voice came from.
The spectator’s dried up central eye glows brighter and its tongue whips around.
“What in the hells?” The sivak observes how more live seems to return to the beholderkin just a few feet away from him. “Did it speak?”
Dargothoth turns around to see the others nod, their startled gazes not losing the creature out of sight.
“Leave this town. Leave and let it be consumed by powers that should be left unchallenged by your kind.”
Anger replaces his confusion and he turns back towards the taunting creature.
“Whoever talks through this vermin’s mouth, hold your tongue! Do you know whose disciple you are speaking to?”
The spectator chuckles and a nasty gargling of phlegm and half-dried up blood mixes with its laughter.
“We see everything, faceless pawn. We saw you enter this town and meddle with businesses that aren’t yours to meddle with.” The creatures inhales with a sharps screeching, like it’s running out of breath. “You will discover soon enough that your deity can’t be trusted, but it will be too late!”
The sivak growls.
“You killed Phenilias, didn’t you? Whoever you are, hiding behind possessing this defenseless creature, I can see you’re scared of facing us. Watch your back, because we will come for you and when I find you, I will gouge out your eyes and feast on your bones!”
Silence fills the room. A crooked smile spreads across the twitching spectator.
“Poor thing.” Now its voice sounds like three women instead of just one. “You will find nothing but darkness!”
The central eye opens completely and protrudes from its socket. The orange glow intensifies.
“Akura irath imen!”
The three females scream and the light dies, just like the spectator. It stops moving and it lies lifeless on its side.
“No!” Mero screams. “Dargothoth, can you save it? Dargothoth?”
No response.
“Dargothoth!”
The cleric turns around so the others can see what has silenced him.
“Oh, no.” Lyssa covers her mouth and walks up to him. “Your eyes. They’re…”
The sivak nods once.
“They’re orange, right?”
She nods, but he can’t see. Dargothoth has gone blind.

Chapter 5.15: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

A few ligaments connect the upper jaw with the lower one. The tendons still look surprisingly fresh, for the lack of a better term. The whole skull is stripped of its skin and it looks like it’s been polished frequently.
“If this truly is his wife’s head”, Bruq says, “that would be disturbing.”
He kneels in front of the skull and takes a good look at it. Missing teeth have been replaced with glass ones. Two shiny black stones are placed on the spots where her horns used to be.
“Well, your face ain’t pretty, either!”
The satyr falls backwards, startled by the grim phenomenon in front of him. The skull mocks him and laughs now that it sees how much it scared him.
“Holy hells.”
The hunter’s voice is high and he gasps for air, hand pressed against his chest.
The skull laughs again.
“I was waiting for one of you to come closer. Took you longer than I expected. Thanks for the help, painted me!” The skull makes a subtle gesture to the woman in the painting, who happily waves back at her. “So, you’re looking for my husband?”
Bruq gets up again and the others gather around the woman’s head.
“Yes”, Dargothoth says. “He has answers about this curse and we want them.”
Mero wonders what kind of necromantic spell keeps this head ‘alive’. He has heard about a few, but keeping only a head so well preserved and intelligent requires powerful magic.
“Sorry to break it to you, lizardman, but he’s dead. Three demons came, took his body with them and hid the blood with ointment the half-elf found. Luckily, I’m here to help. I’m Callysta. Since you didn’t ask, I thought I would just introduce myself.”
“Hold up”, Oslando says with raised hands, slowing down the rambling demon head. “Go back to the part of Phenilias getting killed. What happened?”
The skull bites the air in front of her, creating a rhythmic ticking of her teeth.
“This is best I can do since I don’t have any eyes to roll or eyebrows to raise.” She continues the ticking. “My stupid husband meddled with things he should have stayed away from, but as the village’s mage he made it his responsibility to find out what kind of spell was causing this disaster. After burning through some major detect magic spells he found out that there was a lot of transmutation activity somewhere in the city. He made a rather ordinary looking lantern for detecting magic so that he could subtly check around the city at night where the source was. The fire inside changed colour when it came closer to magic. It got him killed.”
She stops speaking. She ticks her teeth again, slower this time.
Oslando wants to ask a multitude of questions, but it feels like it would interrupt a moment of grief. Dargothoth is not as patient.
“Tell us about his killers and we will avenge him.” The sivak’s voice sounds more ominous than helping. “You said there were three. What did they look like? Did you know them?”
There are more spells at work than just a reanimating spell, because the skull can shake his head a bit.
“I didn’t see their true form. When they barged into the store, Phenilias immediately recognized the transmutation magic. They looked like the average citizen, but they are shapeshifters. Anyway, that’s what he said to them. They were spellcasters, all three of them, and they had one of those floating eye monsters with them that paralyzed him before he could do something. When he broke the spell, they maimed him so badly already that he lost a lot of blood. It was an unfair fight and I couldn’t do anything but witness it all.”
She imitates a swallowing sound and stays quiet. Dargothoth takes a step closer and picks up the skull.
“Can you tell us anything useful? How are we supposed to find three demons who shapeshift? Do you have any idea how difficult those are to track?”
Bruq puts his hand on the cleric’s lower arm.
“Take it easy”, the satyr calmly says. “I know compassion isn’t your strong suit, but you can at least try it.”
Dargothoth growls.
“It’s okay, sweetheart”, the skull says to the satyr. “After all this time without physical contact, a little manhandling was just what I needed. Your friend just wants to show how dominant is.”
The priest looks at her with a crinkled nose and squinted eyes.
“Disgusting”, Dargothoth replies and he puts her back on the table. “We are doing this for you as well. You had your fun, now tell us what we want to know.”
A short cackle bursts from the skull's mouth.
“For me? That’s crap and you know it. You’ve been raiding our home since the moment you stepped in. Take what you want. We can’t use it anymore, but don’t act like you’re a saint!”
Her animated voice imitates the sound of breathing heavily, like he has screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Please”, Mero says to break the tension, “we want to help. Tell us more. You said something about a floating eye. We know about those, but they aren’t supposed to do things like this. Was there something strange or different about it?”
He hopes she can tell him something useful to help his uncle. It already worried him that Oanoa can’t see the spectators anymore, but to hear they are attacking civilians is a on whole other level.
“This one had metal parts to it, very different to the one Phenilias found.”
The glow in Mero’s eyes brightens for a second.
“He found one?” He sounds just as surprised as he sounds worried. “Where?”
“Go to the bookcase and take out ‘Hidden Words of Ozephelyx’ and ‘Nomicon Nomiconai’. Those are on the second and third shelve.”
They turn towards the massive cabinet and quickly spot the two books Callysta mentioned. The first is a hefty tome with a thick black leather cover and golden letters on it. It seems less dusty than the books beside it. The same applies to the other book, a thinner book with a blue cover and red markings at its edges.
“Good”, the skull says. “Now switch them.”
Bruq and Lyssa trade books and put them in place where they found the other book. A sharp clicking sound comes from the wall to the right of the bookcase. A couple of bricks sink into the wall and slide sideways. Mero covers his mouth in disbelief when he sees the spectator.
“There you go.” Callysta sounds happy with herself. “There is your eye monster.”

Chapter 5.14: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Such a waste!”
Oslando stands in front of the desk, hands resting on his hips and shaking his head. A dozen of broken vials surround the table legs and stains in an array of colours have bespattered the floor and table. Only two small flasks remain intact, one full and one empty.
“Luckily, at least one potion seems to be left.”
The half-elf picks up the flask and moves the liquid inside around. The red colour reminds him of the kinds of apple he picked at the market when he was younger. They always looked like the best and healthiest ones. He has seen this exact shade of red many times before. That’s why he, probably like many other adventurers, recognizes what this is.
“A potion of healing”, he elatedly says. “It’s enough for two persons if we drink with some moderation. Keeping in mind of what we have to face here in Abaddon I suggest we take this with us.”
Technically, he is stealing and he knows that’s wrong, but Oanoa’s words linger in his head.
“Sometimes, sadly, you have to accept the things that feel wrong to prevent something far worse”, he told him.
If a potion like this can save their lives at some point, their potential deaths outweigh taking it without asking.
“Always nice to have some of those”, Bruq responds. “Helps me save the goodberries for later.”
The half-elf chuckles.
“I believe these magical concoctions are more potent than your transmuted mistletoe. I don’t know if it beats the taste. It’s been a long time since I drank one.”
Oslando digs deep into his memories, trying to recollect the last time he drank one of these. One ingredient, some type of mushroom, gives a surprisingly tingling sensation on the tongue. The slight fizzle of the substance is rather unique for a consumable drink that isn’t enriched with alcohol. How they discovered what ingredients were necessary to create this elixir is still a mystery to him, but he suspects it was a lot of trial and error.
(Investigation 14)
After that detour down memory lane he puts away the potion of healing and picks up the other vial. It’s empty, but there’s still something very interesting about it. It looks like there’s no cork sealing off the glass, but when Oslando runs his finger over the open end, he most certainly feels it. On further inspection, the glass has a subtle tone of pink within it, which gives him the idea that someone altered it to give it different properties. Turning the flask around to read the label put on it definitely helps.
“Ointment of invisibility”, he reads out loud for the others to hear. “Too bad it’s empty. Judging the size of the potion it had a lot of it in it. Shame.”
While the half-elf monologues, Dargothoth stands at the other side of the room, next to the stairs and right in front of two peculiar paintings. The depiction on the right shows a female demon, dressed in a black gown, hiding her face. The cleric can see she’s crying, because he notices her shoulders shaking and how she wipes away her tears.
“The picture moves.” The sivak speaks without any sign of surprise or awe, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Why would Phenilias have such depressing art in his home?”
Oslando and Lyssa walk up to him and stare with their questioning companion at this unusual spectacle. Against their expectations, the woman in black looks up. She seems to be making eye contact with them. She holds up her quivering hand and taps on a ring around her finger. Her weeping intensifies.
“You were his wife?”
Lyssa asks this question carefully, afraid of the pain she might inflict with it. Even though they’re talking to a painting, the composition is so lifelike that it feels like she’s speaking to an actual person. This feeling is confirmed even more when the grieving lady nods.
“Do you know what happened to Phenilias?”
This time, Dargothoth asks the question and his intonation is a lot less cautious. The painted woman nods again and gets up slowly. She needs to push herself up from the armrests of her chair. She shuffles steadily towards her right, to the left side of the frame. When she reaches the edge of her portrait, she continues walking and disappears entirely. Unexpectedly, she reappears again in the painting hanging left from her own one. The other painting is a realistic depiction of the home they’re in right now, but in a totally different state. In contrast with the chaos and havoc in this home, the painting shows where everything stood before, everything neatly ordered and nothing smashed or broken. She picks up a big potion off the table, turns towards the adventurers and points with her other hand to the corner of the room.
“I think I recognize it”, Oslando says as he tries to read the intelligible scribbles on the flask. “Guessing by the size of it, I’d say it’s the invisibility ointment. Mrs. Arkhon, is something hidden there? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
She comes closer to them, until the painting is nothing more than a close-up portrait of her face. Her eye sockets are empty and the contours of her head are very much like a bare skull. She slowly nods her head. She raises her hand in front of her face and taps on the ring again. With small steps she back up, grabs her head with both hands and lifts it off of her neck. She stumbles towards the desk and places her head on it, after which she falls on both knees and disappears from the painting.
“Gruesome”, the half-elf says.
As he keeps inspecting the two pieces of art, Dargothoth turns around and approaches the table. He moves away an opened book to reveal what is hidden below it.
“I have found her head”, he says.

Chapter 5.13: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

The iron and copper box vanish into thin air when the bluish-grey chest folds open. The singing stops and the key disappears.
“Thank the gods.” Lyssa sighs as she rubs her fingers against her temple. “Thank you, Oslando. I don’t think I’m ever getting used to this.”
She puts her head on the floor and closes her eyes for a second. Tranquility has returned inside her mind and it’s so soothing that the lingering ringing the key left doesn’t even disturb her. She tries to recognize by touch whatever was hidden inside the mysterious box. She moves a thin metal strand between her fingertips, feeling the small rings connected with one another. The moment she feels a disc in the shape and size of a coin she opens her eyes immediately. Her delighted expressions diminishes when she gazes upon what she hoped to be golden jewelry.
“Too bad.” She dangles the amulet in front of her eyes, boredom written across her entire face. “This is not really my colour. Anyone else interested?”
Lyssa holds up the necklace for the others to behold. The string itself is made out of small oval chains with a tiny beat between every few chains. The material seems to be iron or something similar to it. The circular pendant is outlined with the same metal as the necklace. The entire coin is black and thin symbols are engraved across the edge.
“I don’t think we could stand the sound of that thing dangling against my metal body”, Mero says, trying to withhold laughing. “That’s going to be annoying with every step I take. So, please, someone else take it.”
Lyssa gets up as the conversation continues.
“I already have my own talisman”, Dargothoth replies. “Keep it.”
Without paying attention to the rest of the discussion he turns his attention to the jewelry hanging around his neck. He rubs his scaled finger across the gold surface and rests his eyes on the glyph that Cyrzana told him about, the Mark.
“Find the Mark.” The deafening voice of the Faceless God echoes in his head. “I will guide you.”
The sivak zones out, listening to what his deity has to say, eager to follow his every command.
“Well, if I can be forward”, Oslando says, “I would like to have closer look to see if I want it. Maybe I make something of the inscription.”
(Arcana 21)
The siren hands the amulet over to the half-elf. The black coin is cold to the touch, but not as cold as the metal around it. It helps him determine the pendant is made out of a stone or crystal like obsidian or onyx. The symbols carved into it are fairly basic and he recognizes them as glyphs of the magic school of abjuration. Based on the limited knowledge he has about wardings and their complexity, he deducts this piece of jewelry to be an amulet of spell warding, one with minor magical properties, but magical properties nonetheless.
“I would like to have it”, he says after he’s finished his inspection. “It gives a small advantage when someone or something throws a spell at me, improving my chance to endure whatever is cast on me. Since I’m on the frontline of battle, it would be wise for me to wear it.”
He looks at his companions. The eye contact he has with them, Dargothoth being the exception, tells him it’s fine if he keeps it. He nods to them as a silent ‘thank you’.
“This is turning out to be a very useful investigation”, Bruq says enthusiastically. “Mero has a new kind of spell, you have a magical amulet and Lyssa’s very pleased with the grain or seed or whatever it is she found.”
He stops talking for a bit, picks up the lit that fell earlier and puts it back on the jar. He holds it front of his face, observing the tiny gelatinous cube that munched on his hand.
“And I… I have a new trophy.”

Chapter 5.12: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“The Vault of the Singing Key”, Dargothoth exclaims and he turns away from Lyssa and towards the others. “Cyrzana told us about this. She told us these magical keys would keep returning for Lyssa and-”
The siren whips her hand up quickly, commanding him to silence himself.
“It’s singing another verse”, she says loudly, trying to be louder than the sharp voice in her mind.

“Three chests hiding below you in the ground,
but only one can be opened when they are found.
Twist me and turn me, use me to your delight.
Then use what’s inside it and win your next fight.”

Her hands cover her ears, but the screeching voice doesn’t die out. It gets louder and louder with every line it sings.
“Get that damned key!” Lyssa is screaming. “Give it to me, please! Hurry!”
Without hesitation Bruq grabs the jar and frantically turns the lid. His fingers slip a few times before getting a good grip. The few drops of ooze smudged across the glass surface sting his fingers. It doesn’t bode well for what’s coming up next. The lid falls onto the floor. The gelatinous cube starts moving immediately, climbing its way towards freedom via the glass walls of its prison. Bruq swallows, squints his eyes a bit and pushes his hand fiercely into the jar, right into the corrosive slime.
“Fuck!”

The satyr screams and he tries to wrap his fingers around the key. They move slowly in the ooze and with every second that passes, the burning pain in Bruq’s hand and wrist increases. When he finally gets hold of the brass key, he pulls his hand back and out of the jar. However, the gelatinous monster doesn't give up that easily. It’s still stuck to his prey, engulfing his hand and very slowly devouring his fur and flesh.
Bruq raises his hand above his hand and slams it down, using the inertia to fling the cube onto the ground as he stops his movement abruptly. The slime makes a squishy and moist sound as it splatters against the rug. Its shape remains intact and it starts moving towards the satyr immediately. Luckily for him it moves leisurely, so he has enough time to toss the key to Lyssa and grab the jar again.
“Oh, no, you don’t”, he says, grinding his teeth. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He kneels down, traps the cube again within the jar and sighs. With this minor threat caught, he notices the stinging pain again. Some slime remnants still corrode his hand. He quickly rubs his arm across the carpet to get rid of the sticky mess. He looks at his hand. Most of his hairs have been eaten away and the upper layer of his skin has disappeared on multiple spots, revealing the pink and red deeper layers of his body.
Lyssa rapidly wraps her hand in a piece of cloth and picks up the key.
“Three chests hiding below you”, she murmurs between the deep breaths she’s taking. “Three chests below…”
She crawls towards the carpet and flips it over, messing up all the piles Mero created. As the pieces of parchment fall like dry leaves from a tree, a small hatch is revealed. She grabs the latch and the sensation of cold metal tingles her palm, but it’s not the only thing she feels. It’s as if the handle attracts her hand and, now that they’re connected, static electricity runs through her entire body.
“Help me with this.”
She speaks with her teeth grinding. At least the key’s irritating rhyme isn’t getting louder anymore. The volume it’s maintaining is already painful enough to fight through.
Mero, being the closest to the struggling pirate, comes to her aid. They lift the hatch and the stale odor of a dusty room that’s been sealed off for too long comes their way. It makes Lyssa cough. She makes a sickly noise as she does so. Mero, however, remains unbothered and can keep his focus on the three small chests.
“Which one do you want to open, Lyssa?” Mero’ draws her attention. “There is nothing written on them, however. I think you’re going to have to guess?”
He picks up the three chests and places them in front of the siren. The shape and size are identical, only the material the chests are made with differ from each other. The left one seems to be made out of copper, the middle one out of a bluish-grey metal and the right one out of iron. They all have the same small keyhole on top.
“Okay, okay, okay.” She keeps repeating until no one can hear her anymore, even though her lips keep forming the words. “I can’t choose. It just needs to stop. Someone help me pick.”
Oslando remembers how difficult this was back at the church in Bleakwight and it seems this time she’s in even more agony. He sits down beside her.
“Don’t think”, he says and he puts his hands on hers, trying to contain the trembling. “Make it easy. Just pick the colour you like the most and put the key in.”
Her eyes jump from one chest to another a few times before she keeps staring at one. With the help of the half-elf, she pushes the key into the top of the box and turns it.

Chapter 5.11: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

Mero looks through the piles of scrolls arranged by his satyr friend. He quickly lost interest in looking through Phenilias’ personal notes and administration of his sales. What does draw his attention is the smallest stack of parchment.
(Arcana 7)
“What are you looking at?”
Bruqs leans towards the sorcerer. He sees the various glyphs and sigils drawn in different colours of ink. He assumes the papers have something to do with magic, but he hasn’t seen any scrolls like these before in his life, let alone the mysterious writings on it.
(Arcana 12)
“These are all spells.” Mero answers without looking away from them. “I have seen these symbols before. My former master had books full of these. Flaming sphere, cloud of daggers, witch bolt… These are all relatively easy spells to learn, nothing too complicated and nothing that requires rare components.”
He stops talking as he lies down all pieces of parchment but one. The deep red swirling lines drawn on it seem like a cloud of some sort. Slightly darker squiggly lines sprout out of the cloud, resembling something like tendrils or tentacles.
“I have never seen this spell before”, the golem says, amazed by this fact, and he looks what’s written above it. “It’s called ‘Zhylech’s grasp’. Fascinating!”
That name triggers something within the hunter’s memory.
“That’s Achalion’s twin”, he shouts out in excitement. “If I remember correctly, he’s the Father of Chaos.”
Mero looks at the spell, gobsmacked and shaking his head with disbelief.
“This spell is unique! Nothing like this exists in our world. This place has forms of magic of its own. This is so exciting! I need to know more about this. I’m going to take this with me. I’ll give it back to Phenilias when we find him, I promise.”
No one objects, not out loud anway. They’re all too busy searching through the premises: Oslando is looking over the vials on a small table near the desk and Lyssa’s mind is still occupied with fantasizing about her new pet pit. Dargothoth doesn't care enough to respond, even though he heard the sorcerer loud and clear, and Bruq’s attention has shifted from the pile of paper to the closet they most likely fell from.
“He has so much stuff”, the hunter mumbles. “I don’t know where to begin!”
Bruq is right. The entire cupboard is loaded with stuff, only a few spots are free, but only because its content has fallen onto the floor. There are loads of books, one even dustier than the other, all with titles that speak to his imagination, some more than others: ‘Abaddonian Hierarchies throughout the Ages’, ‘Architectural Wonders: Twenty to Discover’, ‘Ascendence of the Archdemons’, ‘Aximedes’ Bestiary’, ‘Azmal: The Legendary Tale of the All-Hoarder’, it just keeps going and those are only the books starting with the letter ‘a’.
Separating the books when going to the next letter of the alphabet are some little trinkets and knick knacks, Bruq’s greatest hobby and weakness. The quills and crystals are not remarkable enough to distract him from the jar standing on his eye height. A small colourless square made out of jelly sits inside and moves around very slowly, thumping one of its sides repetitively against the glass. If it wasn’t for small bits and pieces of bone and metal stuck in it, the jar would have been easily mistaken for an empty one.
(Intelligence 8)
“Look”, Bruq says, “it’s one of those slime creatures that roam through dungeons. You’ve heard about these before, right?”
He looks at Lyssa and Dargothoth, who both stopped their own investigations to see what the satyr is staring at.
(Intelligence 17)
“This species of ooze is called a gelatinous cube. The upper levels of the catacombs my former of clergy was full of them, only a lot bigger than this one. They’re nearly invisible for those who raid or invade the unlit halls and when they walk into the cube, they get absorbed. After that they suffocate before their bodies are slowly dissolved. They’re mindless creatures, but they form a great line of defense.”
Bruq stares at Dargothoth. Normally, hearing something like this would instill fear in his heart and make him wonder why he’s keeping someone like this in his company. However, these few days have blunted his susceptibility to horrid stories like this one.
“They’re really useful.” Dargothoth continues. “Our clergy had an alliance with the Cult of Juiblex, the Lord of Nothing and demon lord of all shapeless monsters. We provided undead guards for them and they gave us all kinds of their minions: grey oozes, ochre jellies, black puddings. They don’t sound like much, but they were the bane of every trespasser.”
(Wisdom 5)
Bruq nods understandingly and turns away to look at Lyssa with his eyebrows raised. Instead of making eye contact, the siren is occupied with the jar as well, not blinking as she keeps staring intensely at the gelatinous cube.
“I know that voice”, she says without looking away. “I heard this singing before.”
She tries to swallow down the anxious feeling beating in her chest.

“Three chests hiding in front of my eyes,
but only from one you may claim your prize.
Unlock one to fulfill your desires and greed.
Word of advise: only to use when in need.”

As she mumbles these words melodically, Bruq and Dargothoth recognize what she’s singing and look at one of the metal objects floating inside the ooze. A brass key is slowly rotating around its own axis and mesmerizes Lyssa in the same manner as it did before in the church when the siren met the singing key for the first time.

Chapter 5.10: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“The door is already open.”
Bruq looks at the large padlock dangling at the door frame. It’s unlocked, but obviously not in its normal fashion. The upper part of the lock’s body is intact, but the lower half looks like it’s molten. Small drops of dried up metal lie on the doorstep and grey thin strands stick to the wood.
(Investigation 8) (Investigation 15)
“It looks like Phenilias was trying to keep some people out.” Lyssa grabs the lock and a small part that was dangling inside falls on the ground. “He failed miserably by the look of it.”
Oslando shakes his head.
“No, I don’t think so”, he says, trying not to sound pedantic. “If he wanted to lock himself in, the lock would be on the inside. Maybe he tried to keep something inside. Or he just locked the door so his stuff didn’t get stolen while being away from home. Let’s go inside and have a look.”
The satyr nods affirmingly and pushes against the door. The first thing they notice is the incredible mess. Broken jars and crumpled pieces of parchment decorate the rug. Shards of glass float in the ink on the table, staining a few of the books on the table, and the portraits on the wall are all crooked.

“Well, this looks like a hurricane came through”, Lyssa says as she quickly scans the room. “There are a lot of things here, but no Phenilias.”
They take a few steps inside, careful not to break anything else. A desk stands against the left wall and a large cupboard fills up the entire wall in front of them. On their right, between the paintings, is a small ladder leading up to a whole in the ceiling.
“Shall we all just start looking somewhere?” Mero asks this while already inspecting the art on the wall. “We’re looking for the spectator, any sign of Phenilias and something that could be tied to curing the curse.”

(History 21)
“Look at these!”
The siren holds up a ceramic jar with both her hands. Thanks to the translation stones they can read the strange symbols that make up to Abaddonian alphabet, understanding that it says ‘pet pits’. She puts it on the ground and digs in, apparently looking for something special inside.
“Morgan O’Hare, one of my former crew members, had a few of these things, traded some for a bottle of my finest wine. I wanted keelhaul him until he showed me what they were for. Depending on how you bury one of these seeds, a small familiar appears. If you bury it in mud or sand, a sea creature sprouts from the pit. Morgan’s recent pet was a piranha. It took him literally less than an afternoon to lose half of his finger. The idiot called him Captain Nibbles after that. The fish had a great sense of humor. Morgan was always laughing when talking to him.”
Bruq looks up from the scrolls he’s reading on the floor. He stops ordening them in small piles.
“A talking fish?” Bruq bleats shortly and he shakes his head. “How could that be? And how am I still amazed by these little things after all we’ve already been through?”
Lyssa raises her eyebrows.
“You never heard about familiars?” She sounds genuinely surprised. “It’s not uncommon for the owners to be able to speak with their familiars, especially spellcasters. I always wanted one of these. There are so many in here… I think I could take one for our efforts, right?”
She stares at a couple of the seeds in her hand. They are very similar in shape and the colours are all pretty much the same. One of them, however, is the proverbial stranger in their midst. Instead of being entirely tear-shaped it’s tip is slightly crooked and the dark brown, almost deep red tones remind her of the dregs at the bottom of a bottle of wine.
“We’re not here to steal his stuff, Lyssa.”
Oslando hears himself speak. Stern and righteous, again. Maybe he should loosen up a bit. They are indeed providing the town and the mage a favor with this investigation. He smiles at the siren and changes his mind.
“But this one thing won’t harm him. Just ask him if we find him, okay?”
She nods vigorously and brings the kernel to her lips.
“I’m going to keep you safe”, she says after giving it a quick kiss and she puts it away. “I can’t wait to see what wonders you hold.”

Chapter 5.9: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Do you have any idea why the town is cursed?”
Dargothoth looks around while asking the priest in front of him. Many would say it’s a sad sight to see all these people struggling with their day-to-day activities. He would rather describe it as pathetic and natural selection. The weak are always the first ones to fall prey to things like this.
“We have prayed to Achalion, but he says the Parents are not to blame. We are not being punished by them, but by someone or something else.”
Dargothoth turns back to the talking demon heads and he sees the subtle tells of despair in his eyes. Another sign of weakness and another thing that could be exploited.
“Luckily for us”, Mero says cheerfully. “I would rather not defy a Parent on our second day in Abaddon or any day in Abaddon, actually.”
Karrion makes a rather large movement with his neck to nod affirmingly with all three heads.
“We mamgagon normally see everything in the past, present and near future when it comes to restoring balance. We look back into the past to spot what created the imbalance, observe the present to see what’s maintaining it and have visions of the near future how balance should be restored. But now we only see clouded and blurry images. We might have not gone blind literally, but we are seeing less than we’ve ever experienced.”
The three-headed one, as mamgagon translates in their heads, closes his eyes and sighs.
“It’s just like Oanoa.” The golem’s voice is filled with perplexity. “My uncle has children here in Abaddon, called spectators. They’re these floating round creatures with four eyestalks. He can see through their eyes, but he seeing less and less every day as well, just like you. He told us to come here. Have you seen them around?”
The priest opens his eyes again and stares intensely at the sorcerer.
“Yes.” He answers and pauses, the silence filled with revelation. “We’ve seen one at Phenilias’ home. He told us the other spectators were hidden, but he found this one a couple of weeks ago. It was attacked by something and was in need of help. He took it in. We’ve not looked for it when Phenilias disappeared, but maybe it’s still at his home. If you’re heading over there, you should probably look for it.”
Mero turns to his allies, hope burning in his eyes. Even though he’s miles away from being reunited with his fabled father, it feels like a small first step in the right direction. Finding this child of his uncle, doing something for his family, fills him with optimism.
“Can we go already?”
The sorcerer sounds impatient. He awaits the reaction of his friends, hoping they agree to go immediately.
“Before you go”, father Karrion says, “we would like to ask you for something. Phenilias was working on the ritual to reverse the curse. If you could find anything useful, please, bring it to us. We want to offer it to Achalion in the hope that he will bless us and protect us from this foul magic that has befallen us. Can you do that for us?”
Oslando thinks. The gods are known to work in mysterious ways, ways that don’t always help the mortals directly. If they give up a possible solution to this problem, maybe the only solution, they could doom this city forever.
“Of course we will”, Mero says hastily. “We will do so. We’ll return immediately when we find something useful.”
The half-elf regrets how rash his friend makes this promise. He doesn’t want to break a promise to a religious figure, but praying and bowing to altars seems so pointless. Maybe it’s different here in Abaddon, but the gods in his own world have let down his people, his family and him often enough.
“Let’s go and look for it”, Oslando says with a frugal smile on his pale lips. “We’ll be back.”

Chapter 5.8: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

The dark pink and purple neck of the demon in front of them is long and thick. It needs to be, or at least they think that, because how could it support three heads anyway?
The head at the bottom is coloured with a mixture of dark purple and grey tones. The sockets are empty and his mouth is toothless. The wrinkly skin makes the face look very old. If a human looked like this, they would assume him to be at least one hundred years old.
The head in the middle is dark red with burning yellow eyes. He seems to be untouched by the blinding curse, as his eyes don’t glow with orange light and he seems to be looking at them. Around his mouth are little holes, about two dozen of them, and from a few hang thin pieces of cut string. His jawline is strong and three small horns sprout from his forehead.
The upper head almost looks like a skull cut out of stone. The harsh skin is chipped. Two horns, formed like short curved blades, are on the side of his head and
Shortly after the middle head inhales, the upper one exhales, pushing the air through the narrow slits and cracks of his deformed mouth.
“Welcome to the altar of Achalion.”
They hear three voices coming from the priest. They can see the middle head actually speak, the movement of his lips in sync with the words he speaks. The mouth of the lowest head barely moves, making him mostly intelligible due to the vague wailing sounds he makes. The process of elimination leads them to believe the sharp whispering voice, still echoing somewhere in the back of their heads, comes from the upper head.
“Are you father Karrion?” Bruq speaks hesitantly and he doesn’t know for sure which head to look at. “We have come to Saal to help you lift the curse. We were told to speak to you.”
The demon keeps walking towards them. His heads nod in the same rhythm.
“Yes.” He answers without any visible emotion on his faces. “We are the ones you seek. Our Father told us the scales of balance would be tipped and now we meet his foretold instruments. Welcome to his altar.”
They move out of his way, the priest’s faces fixated on the magnificent statue. He raises his arms and the oversized white sleeves roll back, revealing his gaunt arms. His lower arms are the same kind of red as his middle face, while his hands look like as stoney as the upper one.
“We would ask if you want to pray to our Father, but we see you talked to his uncle only recently. We welcome you as our family as your Father is family to my Father.”
At least his words are kind, even if the eerie sounds accompanying his words startle them.
“Thank you for your kind words, father”, Oslando says with his hand stretched out to the priest. “The one who told us to look for you was the patron of the Ebony Hoof. He said you and Phenilias Arkhon were figuring out how and why this curse struck your town and its citizens. We were wondering what you could tell us.”
The demon grabs his hand. The half-elf feels the rough and uneven the craggy skin press against his own. He can’t describe it in any other way than uncomfortable.
He maintains eye contact with the second head, but can’t help but notice the upper head turning towards the vibrant part of the garden surrounding the altar.
“Brother Rendor.” The upper head’s voice sounds like the draft blowing into your house during a storm. “Join us.”
Oslando and his companions turn as well, looking who of the few demons tending to the garden will join them. One of them stands up quickly, dropping his fairly primitive gardening tools, and tries to grab the robe that will guide him to the altar. He is blind, obviously. He moves carefully into their direction, one hand reaching out in front of him to warn him when he’s about to bump into someone or something.
“Kaldare, father Karrion?”
Now that he’s closer, they can see and hear that he’s still a young demon. His skin is fair, his horns are small and his voice cracks like a boy who just reached puberty.
“Yes, we called for you, indeed. We want you to tell our visitors what you told us when you lost your sight.” He sees the hesitation in Rendor’s body language. “Hurry, nemon, spit it out.”
Apparently the degree of Karrion’s kindness fluctuates heavily depending on whom he’s speaking to. The stern voice he calls him “boy” with makes the young brother shiver shortly with fright, after which he lifts his head, creating the illusion of making eye contact when he clearly can’t. A well-known orange glow around his eyes gives it away immediately.
“I was praying”, Rendor says with a nervous trembling. “Then I heard a voice calling out for me. It was a woman’s voice, first soft and kind, but it became louder and louder, until her screaming was the only thing left. I looked up and everything was dark. In that darkness I saw countless milky eyes staring back at me. After those disappeared, the screaming stopped and then there was nothing left.”

Chapter 5.7: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Did everyone sleep well?”
Lyssa pulls back her chair and sits down, joining her companions eating their breakfast. She looks across the table. They look like they’ve had a night of sleep. Who would have thought their first night in Abaddon would be in a nice bed?
“Very well”, Bruq says and he takes a quick sip of his mug. “I stayed up late, reading the book Sa’arlach and Daemion gave me. Fascinating how well those translation stones keep working. It would be impossible to read without them.”
Oslando moves a strand of blond hair with his middle finger, locking it behind his ear and keeping it out of his drink.
“Anything worth sharing or something that’s important before we go visit father Karrion?” The half-elf looks at the satyr over the rim of his mug. “We might as well use it to our advantage.”
Bruq raises his shoulders ambivalently, but nods his head quickly after.
“I only read about how the pantheon of Abaddon came to. There are forty Parents and Gor-Thar is from the second generation of the three. Achalion, the deity who’s all about Balance, is the child of Gor-Thar’s sister, Metrona. Not much that we didn’t already knew about that. I could search the book for more details if you think that’s useful.”
Mero shakes his head.
“Can’t we just go and talk to the priest?” He makes a soft screeching sound when he moves his head from left to right. “I’m sure he’s willing to help if we say we’re here to lift the curse. I mean, why wouldn’t he?”
Dargothoth nods and he stands up.
“The puppet is right. We should go now instead of wasting our time here.”
Lyssa groans in discontent as she points at the full plate in front of her.
“I just started eating!”
“Then take two big bites and get up. We’ve got a curse to lift and a world to save.”
She looks at the preaching sivak with her eyebrows raised. She jams her fork into whatever it is that’s on her plate without breaking eye contact and shoves it into her mouth.
“Very good, Lyssa”, he says with a smile, obviously pleased with himself. “Let’s go see father Karrion.”

Luckily, in such a small city, everything lies relatively close together. The way over to the temple is a short one and gives them a look at the few inhabitants of Saal that walk around. It’s a rather sad sight. Most of them are blind and are trying to find their way around the city. Only three of them, for so far they can observe, are able to see and guide their sightless fellow citizens.
Ingeniously, they seem to have found at least one way to make sure everyone stays at least a little autonomous. Wooden and metal poles are spread across the few streets and are all connected with string. The demons without others guiding them hold on to the robes, following it to, hopefully, reach their destination.
“Innovative,” Oslando says to himself under his breath, “but so tragic.”
He wonders how many citizens are left. Did most of them just sit around, waiting for the curse to strike them, or are there so few demons on the streets because most of them fled this place? Whatever it is, it’s a somber sight.
“I think that’s the home of Phenilias Arkhon, based on the description the patron gave us.”
Bruq points to their left, his finger aiming at a building that looks twisted and uncanny. The building is partially sunken into the ground and is tilted slightly to the right. On top of the rectangular house stands a cylindrical tower, gradually leaning more and more over the street as it reaches for the sky. How the mage ever lived in that part of his house is a mystery to the satyr, but so are many things to him. A spellcaster often live in strange or vagarious places, making a home out of them with their enchantment or transmutation spells.
“Well, we know where to go after we visit the priest”, Mero says, his curiosity ignited.
As they walk past the peculiar house, they focus on what lies ahead of them. They notice a big statue in the middle of a garden, which is split in twain by a stone path. The flowers on the right side are a sight for sore eyes: vibrant orange, yellow and red flowers stand up straight, their stalks strong and their aromas sweet. It’s a big contrast with the other side of the garden. Withered plants with black and dried up leaves, hanging heads and a musty odor fill up the entirety of the left field.
They walk straight down the path, distracting by these signs of nature in a land that seemed mostly barren. In front of them is the statue of who they assume is Achalion: a tall and thin body, its hips, arms and torso decorated with bones and small horns. The head however is what stands out the most. It’s a large cube with a face on each side. It looks like they’re made out of something like marble and each face has a horn coming out of its forehead, bending across the side of the face towards the chin. It becomes a more horrid spectacle when they close in and see the smaller details of the statue. The vertical edge of the cube facing them is opened slightly and small demonic hands seem to try to claw their way out of the head.
“Will there ever be a statue that won’t scare the living hell out of me?”
Lyssa says it with a faint smile on her face, hoping their visit to an altar won’t be as intense as their previous one.
“Achalion jzerai, gamin verai.” 
They hear voices coming from behind them and as they turn around, they see a man and they assume it's father Karrion: a demon with three heads stacked upon each other.

Lore 3: The Five Born from Sin

“Together with La’ava Sheran, her only sister, Metrona had one child, a son named Segherzi. He became the Father of Lies, spreading rumours and untruths wherever he was sent to. He became an asset to all of his uncles. For Neg’Crûn, he told the mortals the afterlife was better than their current one and that rewards lied ahead for those who collected souls in name of the Father of Death. For Gor-Thar, he convinced the mortals not to face their fears and taught them not to overcome them, making sure fear controlled their lives forever. For Mahaeleax, he led those seeking divine knowledge and power astray, telling false prophecies and creating fake runes and glyphs to cloud the minds of spellcasters. For Ur-Gha-Belesh, strife and misinformation brought down entire armies and misguided those with ill intent against the Abaddonian pantheon. Because Segherzi needed to tell lies for all four uncles, he had four faces, all of them always whispering and smirking with everything they told.

La’ava Sheran, Mother of Sins, saw how her sister Metrona was continuously busy with creating new life together with their brothers. She did not envy her, even though that was one of the sins demonkind associated her with, but she did want more children of her own. She consulted her brothers, trying to find something she could give them that her sister hadn't already given him. They all found something.

Neg’Crûn wanted to use his own realm to count souls in and toy with them, but he wished he could bring a part of that world into Abaddon. The dismal grey tones contrast the red and earthy colours of Abaddon, just as his cold contrasts the world’s hellish heat. His last son, Baphaan, would become the Father of Darkness. He darkened the nights and blew freezing winds across the land. When mortals got lost, Baphaan would guide them away from civilization and onto a path towards the realm of his Father. Within the black smog that left his body he made his followers invisible for their enemies. They never saw them coming and after that, they didn’t see anything ever again.

Gor-Thar noticed something else, beside fear, drove the demons and devils of Abaddon: their desires, their lust for carnal pleasures. Uninterested to do this on his own, he imposed a new daughter with this task. Graxi’Bela, Mother of Temptations, looked into the hearts of demonkind and clouded their minds with false promises and superficial delights. Looking upon her face made everyone see whoever they desired most and listening to her voice made their wills waver until nothing was left but the yearning for their Mother’s approval. Even the invaders of Abaddon weren’t immune to her mind numbing influence. They laid down their weapons wherever she appeared and followed her to her chamber, walking the illusionary path straight into the burning seas of the demonic plane.

Mahaeleax saw the most inspiring sights when looking into the planes next to Abaddon, but there was truly only one thing he always came back for. The majestic presence of dragons seemed to leave the mortals of the other worlds in awe. They followed their commands, collected treasure for them. They adored or feared them. That’s why the Father of Magic created a dragonkind of his own, starting the draconic lineage with his latest child, Kihil’Varex, Parent of Dragons. Being both male and female, Kihil’Varex created its own dragons without the help of the other Parents. Theoretically, his children were mortal, but they would not die of old age. They could be wounded, but demonkind was wise enough to not taunt them. Very few had aggravated a dragon and lived to tell the tale.

Ur-Gha-Belesh wanted only one thing: to expand his army even further. His demons and devils were loyal and expendable, but their enemies knew what to expect from them. He needed forces they had not seen before, creatures with even more bloodlust and rage. And so his final son came to be. Zhun Xeron, Father of Monsters, did not create one or two creatures to add to the races of Abaddon, but tens of them, one kind even more horrid and dreadful than the other. With these titanic terrors they wiped out a lot of the angelic forces that invaded Abaddon the second time. After seeing the destruction Zhun Xeron’s monsters brought, even the demons and devils felt intimated. They were unwelcome in cities due to their size and brutal nature. They were destined to walk the uncultured lands of Abaddon, swim the burning seas or roam the sky, all ever watching and waiting for their Father to call them to his aid once again.”

“It all started with Baltor and Vexys and finished with their children’s children. Forty Parents to those who walk the world of Abaddon. One more powerful than the other, one more worshipped than the other. They all watch over Abaddon as demonkind lives its life. They see when they are born and when they die. They see who enters their world and who leaves it. At this point in time, their attention is drawn to five strangers that have come to save their plane. They will play their part in the pantheon’s plans, each hero for his or her own Parent. They just don’t know yet which one they will choose in the end.”

Lore 2: The Children of The Abaddonian Pantheon

“Metrona, Mother of Creation, was the only Parent who didn’t need someone else to create life. Before she wanted to help their siblings with expanding their pantheon, she decided to create two children of her own. She created Achalion and Zhylech, the Twins of Balance and Chaos. She understood the delicate balance of the plane she lived in, how one power needs to be in equilibrium with another. Her children, both neither male or female, became her observers, both tipping the scales into whatever way was necessary to keep their plane from falling apart.

Family Tree: The Twins of Metrona and the Children of Neg'Crûn and Metrona

Together with Neg’Crûn, Metrona had the most children. Over the course of time they had seven, starting with Eskellen, the Father of Slumber. As his Father sees death as the eternal sleep, he wanted a son to guide the souls of Abaddon into their next life. The souls didn’t wander the realm of Neg’Crûn forever, for these souls were to be divided between his brothers and sisters, maintaining the balance Metrona and his Parents desired so deeply.

To increase his own power, a second son came to be: Gairyun, Father of Diseases. When a single life was to end, but there was no time of war to help claim a soul for the afterlife, sickness needed to take them instead. The natural causes of death were called forth to the world to make sure no mortal would ever become immortal.

Some mortals were lucky enough to never be struck by whatever illness Gairyun created. Another way to make sure demons and devils didn’t live too long needed to be created and so came forth the third son. Az-Kamal, the Father of Suffering, came for those who took too long to be reunited with their makers. When the body didn’t get struck by the hideousness of disease, the mind makes an excellent target as well. Az-Kamal’s whispers drove them insane. After their will became twisted enough, they would take their own life and became one with all other souls once again.

The problem with diseases is they can be treated and cured, at least most of them. A different approach of diseases needed to be created and some forth the Twins of Plagues, the Father Hortherom and the Mother Gyryxa. New diseases, brought forth by the creatures they both created, spread across the land at an alarming rate, cleansing overpopulated land and expanding the population in the land after Abaddon.

Some mortals found their way to outlive every child of Neg’Crûn with magic or pacts with other beings of other planes. Immune to disease and their minds belonging to other gods, beyond the reach of the Abaddonian Parents, the Father of Death created a son to walk the land and destroy their bodies in other ways. Neg’Krell became the Father of Decay, able to lay waste to flesh and bone, freeing the soul from its mortal cage and taking it with him when it was set free.

The last of Death’s children was Ves’Quia, Mother of Pestilence. She took away the cattle and ruined the crops when her siblings were occupied with death elsewhere or when her Father wished so. Many ways to die came to be when Neg’Crûn’s family grew and some questioned how necessary and useful her way was. When she unleashed her locusts and spiders, no one ever doubted her power once again.

Family Tree: The Children of Gor-Thar and Metrona

Together with Gor-Thar, she had five children. The Father of Fear wanted his first child to be the direct consequence of his own power, a child that would embody the hopelessness of his victims. Phaeler, his first-born and Father of Despair, appeared everywhere when Gor-Thar walked the earth, reaping with his Father had sown.

To cope with fear, rest was necessary. Gor-Thar made sure that sleep would become the enemy of all his enemies. His second child was a daughter, Valdrad. As the Mother of Nightmares she took away the comfort of sleep, making those who opposed her Father more susceptible to his ghastly influence.

But then magic interfered. Mages learned spells to protect themselves and others from the effects of fear and they needed to amerce. His third child, Gyla Kalera, became his executioner as the Mother of Punishment. She bound Gor-Thar’s enemies in chains, pulverized their bones and flayed their skin. Effigies were made in her name, made of the spines and limbs of those sacrificed to her. Some of those dreadful sculptures still stand today, as wide as the fields the farmers tend to and as tall as the towers of the castles of kings and queens.

When the first great pest spread across Abaddon, the fear of starving to death became a harsh reality many of the inhabitants. The Father of Fear tapped into this terror with his fourth child. Krranz, Father of Famine, became a very powerful Parent in a short period of time. His followers symbolized his ever growing hunger. They lost their lower jaw and their mouth reached all the way down to their abdomen. Even after the time of shortage and deprivation the demons and devils prayed to him, hoping it would never happen again.

His last child was his daughter Jez-Behla, Mother of Tragedies. Fear inspired the hearts of many to act too rash, leading to disarray and disruption. From there Jez-Behla took over. After the right push, she would weave further on the tapestry of the future, spreading sorrow where sorrow needed to be.

Family Tree: The Children of Mahaeleax and Metrona

Together with Mahaeleax she also had five children. The Father of Magic took less interest stabilizing the realm with death, fear and war, like his brothers. He wanted to discover what world lied beyond Abaddon and what kinds of deities and magic could be found there. Knowing the followers of his brethren would abuse this information, he locked it all away in his first son, Xaviziel, Father of Forbidden Knowledge.

With all users of magic worshipping him, Mahaeleax took a special interest in the covens of witches. Their resourcefulness was remarkable and their rituals exciting, but they required more attention. Too curious for their own good, always pushing the lines of what they were supposed to know. The witches needed a patron for their own and so they found one in his second son, Dhae-Laher, Father of Witchcraft.

Every creature must follow the path laid out by fate, but those paths are unclear, even to the Parents of Abaddon. Uncertain when disaster would strike, the Father of Magic wanted to help fate to pave the paths. He knew trying to entirely control the future of every living create would take away the entire point of creating mortals, he found a different way. If he could shift disaster and misery from one person to another, he would have at least some influence on the times yet to come. And so he had his first daughter and third child, Mor’Chadalla, Mother of Misfortune.

His followers learned other ways to influence their own fate. With the powers of the different schools of magic granted by Mahaeleax, some of them learned how to speak directly to him by diving into divination magic. At first he was impressed with the innovativeness of his worshippers, but he grew tired of answering every question on every meaningless little thing in live. They stopped living their own lives and focused solely on reading the near future and acting on the knowledge they acquired. He wanted this no longer. To contact the pantheon of Abaddon, they would have to bring a sacrifice to a different Parent, to his fourth child, Ozephelyx, Father of Oracles.

After this, it took a long time for Mahaeleax to have his last child, a final daughter. With his first child, Xaviziel, he hid much knowledge away from his kin and mortals, knowing they would abuse it if they got the chance. However, just as he expected, the magic users of Abaddon found ways on their own to discover the methods of magic too dangerous for demonkind. He commanded some of his archmagi to stay in their own plane of existence as punishment for needless explorations. The most well-known mortal would be Oanoa, one of the first mortal children of the Father of Magic. Those who rebelled needed to be silenced. So came to be the legendary tale of Iavolof, his other mortal son, driven mad by knowing everything but unable to share his endless knowledge. This sentence was passed by his second daughter, Al’Kra Daresh, the Mother of Secrets.

Family Tree: The Children of Ur-Gha-Belesh and Metrona

Together with Ur-Gha-Belesh she had six children. The first child was not to created to wage war on mortals created by their Parents - the Father of War kept this pleasure to himself - she was created to devastate their resources. Both the walls of their castles they hid away in and the instruments to take them down took away too much of the more primal form of combat he liked. And so the Mother of Destruction, Shea’Val-Zara, came to be. Wherever she walked, everything built by demonkind came crumbling down and returned to dust.

The demons and devils of Abaddon learned to coexist. Beside the few minor struggles that remained, it was peaceful. The Father’s thirst for bloodshed remained unquenched and he needed to rekindle the fires of rage within demonkind. He had his second child, a son named Vor’Tros. He became the Father of Hate and inspired the inhabitants of Abaddon to never live in peace for too long. It was never his intent for all mortals to kill each other, but without war, he would become absolute, at least until the first invaders came for their world.

Sometimes, Ur-Gha-Belesh didn’t need an entire war to get what he wanted. Sometimes, it were just some individuals who imagined they didn’t need to follow orders. When a warlord claimed to be Avatar of War or a false prophet claimed to speak for the Father of War, that person needed to be eliminated. The third child, Mari Hatesh, Mother of Murder, whispered the command to one of their many followers and the deed was done. The Father of War didn’t give second chances.

During battle, killing wasn’t the only solution to win the war. During the invasions of Abaddon, information was necessary and the ways of torture invented by the Father of War were nearly endless. Pain became the most important instrument and so he created the Mother of Pain, Gladryhix. Whenever a blade became the tool of interrogation, it became her blade. She always found the perfect way to break the body and then break the mind.

During the wars, some followers turned to other Parents, but during the invasions, some followers turned to a different pantheon. So was the case when the Enochian forces of the archangels began the war for dominion over Abaddon. Ur-Gha-Belesh didn’t came for those who still prayed to his family, but he did not tolerate these blasphemous acts. Two sons came to be, twins, named Ur-Ka-Mahesh and Namun-Ahr, the Fathers of Vengeance and Treachery. While the first of the two came for those who abandoned their Parents, the second one came to influence their enemies, turning them on their masters. Without them, the number of casualties would have been so much higher. For that, the Festival of Blood is annually thrown in their name.”