This is a joint post between Bronze and Dorym

This occurs after the meeting at the tavern in Westport shortly after Jarath’s Trial.

Jarath sat quietly in the great room of the hunting lodge sipping whiskey. He could feel the gentle warmth of the fireplace, though the flame was lit more for ambiance than necessity. The structure was designed to protect from all manner of weather, a gift from the elves of Arvandor for the return of the great relic Thaas, a demon slaying bow crafted by the very elves it was brought back to. It was built in a heavily forested region in Krigala, the first layer of the Beastlands relatively near the elvish settlement. It is a land of perpetual day, midday in fact, with the bright sun shining directly overhead and never moving, always appearing to be at its highest point in the sky no matter how far one might travel. Time does pass, but the glowing orb gives no indication of this; instead, time can be tracked by the fact that precipitation of some form falls exactly once per twenty-four hour period. “It’s good to take a reprieve from work for a bit isn’t it Gnash?”

The great mastiff yawned sleepily, stretching his front paws out toward the fire before returning to rest. “If you say so my lord. Though I’m finding it rather difficult to relax with the accusations of the parliament weighing heavy on my mind.”

“I can see your struggle.” Jarath jibed sarcastically.

“Thank you for noticing my lord.” The mastiff groaned and resumed his nap.

Jarath peered at a great grandfather clock, a magical item crafted by Devon, one of several placed about the residence. It had a great wheel depicting the movement of the sun and moon as they did on the prime. It was the Highlord’s belief that knowing the time of day would allow for less embarrassing sojourns to their homeland and offer a sense of stability for sleep cycles. On command, the artifact could darken the space it occupied representing the light or lack thereof in Westport. It would be early evening now. The sight of the time piece drew his thoughts to its designer. “I wonder how Devon fares?” He wondered aloud.

“He’s a competent wizard and resourceful rogue. I trust he knows what he’s doing.” Gnash replied without opening his eyes.

“Yeah…I’m sure he thinks he does. Maybe it was a bad idea. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.” He took another sip from his glass. “Maya didn’t look happy at all to be left behind.” 

“When does she ever look happy Jarath. I swear if she ever smiled her face would crack. I can’t say I’m an expert on dragon culture but you wouldn’t typically see a black dragon spending so much time around a human let alone serving one. They tend toward evil mostly and have vicious, cruel reputations. Yet, he seems to trust her implicitly. Perhaps there’s something I’m missing.”

“Planar dragons are different from their prime cousins. Their society is gregarious, balanced by good and evil. That’s not to say there are no disagreements or in fighting but for the most part the Queen of Dragons is obeyed and the peace maintained. The Black Queen, Sable, is Tal…Aliyeah’s clutchmate, I believe he calls her? Maya was her handmaiden and appointed by her to protect him. She does a fine job too though occasionally takes her duties far too seriously.”

“Can one ever take the well being of their charge too seriously? I would have been irate had you done the same to me. May I ask? What makes you think he can treat with an infernal?”

“Now that’s a longer story my friend.” He drew a deep pull from his pipe and exhaled. Smoke, sweet with the scent of tobacco and cherry filled the air. “A tale for another day perhaps.” The next hour or so passed in relative silence until Jarath stood from the comfortable chair and made his way over to the library. It was a rather large room. It’s walls filled with books and tomes the four residents had acquired in their travels. Some contained spells of wizardly magic, others religious rituals dedicated to the gods they served as well as other deities not venerated by anyone who dwelt within. Devon had contributed copies of the many books they studied as children in Sanguinar written in the native tongue of the settlement, containing the history, laws, customs and legends of his adoptive people. For Jarath’s part, there was a collection dedicated to Heironeous. It was one of these librams he sought, a compilation of the history of the church and more specifically its knightly orders. He found the chapter relating to the formation of the Order of the Chalice and walked back to the cushioned chair he had been enjoying in the parlor.

Hours more passed. The fire had waned to embers. The book rested gently against his chest. His breathing was deep and slow as sleep claimed his exhausted body. Jarath was completely immersed in the restful sea of darkness that enveloped him. He could smell the fragrant odor of flowers, a garden perhaps and the soothing trickle of a small waterfall. A light hand brushed his cheek. A soft voice whispered in his ear. “Jareth.” He leaned into the touch but did not wake. “Jarath.” The voice repeated. Open your eyes. There is much we need to discuss.”

“Keira?” He called as his eyes blinked away the sleep. He was in a familiar place, The Gardens of Opulent Splendor. She had her back to him leaning against the wooden rail of the gazebo looking out to the pond and crystal water running down the rock wall. “Is everything ok? How did I get here?”

“I brought you my love.” She answered without turning. “As I said there is much we need to discuss.”

He stood from the wooden recliner. “What’s happened?” He asked with concern in his voice.

“Have I been unkind to you?” She questioned. “Have I not granted you my favor, gifted you more than any other mortal?”

Jarath looked at her confused. “No of course not. You’re wonderful…what do you mean gifted?”

“Why would you betray my trust then. Why would you defy my will and deprive me that which is so precious to me?”

“I don’t understand.” He stepped closer to her. “Why won’t you look at me? What did I take?”

She turned around and blonde hair became brown as dark walnut wood. White feathered wings morphed into batlike, leathery things with sharp spikes at their apex. Terrible horns sprouted from her skull and vicious red eyes ablaze with anger flickered with abyssal fire. She spoke with contempt and utter disdain. “You kidnapped and liberated one of my lieutenants and I forgave you. You stole five of my demons and I chose not to reprise. Now you have broken my hold on six of my favored daughters, setting them free from my service. I’m beginning to think you are more trouble than you’re worth. The cost of keeping you in my court has begun to exceed your value. What’s more is you don’t seem to appreciate the kindness I’ve shown you. My benevolence has limits mortal.” Malcanthet’s tone was scornful, though Jarath could detect a sense of disappointment.

“Malcanthet… How?… Is this a dream?”

“Is it?” She smirked.

“I don’t know what you mean? I don’t serve you.”

“No. Though it had been my hope you’d agree to lead my forces in the upcoming conflict. I believed you could be wooed, that you might agree to stand with me on your own accord, if I handled you gently.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Obviously. Sugar hasn’t worked, little fly, perhaps you require more forceful convincing.” She snatched a butterfly from the air and crushed it in her hand allowing the remains of it to grind and fall from her palm.

Jarath stood tall. “Are you threatening me?”

The Queen of the Succubi smiled. “Why yes. Yes I am. I’m glad to see you are finally beginning to understand me.”

He reached for his sword. Nothing there.

“Tsk tsk.” She launched herself at him, talons extended then grabbed him by the throat. He stiffened, his feet leaving the ground. “I’ve endured all the disrespect I intend to from you.” She threw him across the gazebo, wood crashed as he landed in the pond. “You recall the rule of three, boy… don’t you? Every insult you’ve visited upon me shall be returned three fold.” She reached out with her hand, her fingers flicking and bending in arcane form. “I withdraw my mark.”

Jarath felt like his heart had burst into flame then been yanked from his chest. Barely on his feet he fell to a knee.

“You will no longer enjoy my protections. Perhaps, when you are sufficiently humbled, you will return to me… on bended knee… and we can discuss your worthiness of such a gift.”

Jarath shook his head sprinkling pond water from his hair. “Don’t count on it.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear.” She opened her arms and the garden burst into flames, the gazebo went up like dry tinder and the serene landscape became an inferno. “That’s better.”

Jareth quickly began an invocation of his own hoping to summon a deluge of water to douse the flames. His prayer went unanswered. 

Malcanthet grinned malevolently. “This is only the beginning. You know where to find me when you’re ready to beg my forgiveness.”

Jarath awoke with a start. He was back in the lodge. Gnash was still asleep in front of the hearth. The fire had all but gone out. Was it a dream? A nightmare perhaps. No. It couldn’t be. His clothes were still soaked from his fall into the pond.”Gnash!” he called.

The mastiff sprung to his feet alert and ready. “What is it my lord?” He slowly approached Jarath. “Why are you wet and why do you stink of ash?”

“It was Malcanthet.”

The archon morphed and became bipedal. He drew his sword as he surveyed the area. “Where?”

“Relax. She’s not here. Did you not notice I was gone?”

“But you weren’t my lord. Aside from your walk to the library you’ve been in that chair the entire evening. I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps it was just a dream.” Jarath bent down to retrieve his book. It was covered in the crumpled remains of a butterfly. As he stared at it in disbelief, he could swear he heard a voice in his head. 

“Was it?”……