Umber

The party takes on an avatar of Tiamat and destroys Orcus’ most prized possession.

A middle-aged man with an expensive lute of, if anyone with magical sight had been witness, nearly blinding arcane properties slung across his back winked into existence in a plain room containing nothing but a chest. Taking the instrument in hand, he played a few measures of an eerie piece of music, then pulled out of his pack a tall, slender-necked bottle filled with a deep ruby liquid and waited.

“Music to soothe the savage beast?” a gruff voice asked as the speaker emerged from an adjoining room.
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In the midst of raging over the loss of his wand, Orcus receives a visitor who enrages him still further. (sab)

The voice that bellows “NO!” sends imps fleeing with shattered eardrums while the fist that smashes into the table sends fine cracks running across its basalt surface. “I will have it BACK!” Flames, hot enough to scorch stone, erupt from his form. Orcus, Demon Lord of Thanatos, flares in incandescent fury.

The figure at the other end of the table remains unperturbed. “That was a nice table. And I think it will be destroyed.”
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Dimwold visits Klavicus with startling news.

Klavicus Starton the Second, Jr., MA, AW, COE (honorary), and GWG Esteemed Fellow, sat at his desk surrounded by Suloise dictionaries and ancient arcane reference works, poring over a parchment gone yellow and then brown with age. He had reached a particularly thorny patch in Lyzandred’s prophecies, and mulling over etymological alternatives had led him onto other roads. He appreciated Lyzandred’s madness as one might a fine wine; its contemplation had given him many pleasant hours over the years. He drifted into thoughts about the benefits and shortcomings of insanity. If Lyzandred were any indication, it yielded much creativity. But if fits of forgetfulness rendered one incapable of enjoying the fruits of one’s labor, what was the point? And how did madness affect the pursuit and retention of power? Power – now there was an entirely different issue… 
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The planetar Crusader updates Nixie goddess Lalibela on events in the Abyss.

My lady liege,

We are resting once again, gathering strength before we broach Orcus’ fortress proper. There is, as far as we have been able to ascertain, only a single entrance. I think the adventurers feel too much like cattle being herded to the slaughter. They are fond of stealth, subtlety and subterfuge, and in this infernal place it has largely served them well, but they have found no way to make it serve them here. Not that they are averse to drawing their swords, and indeed I share their concern over treading the obvious path. But tomorrow shall bring what it may, and I’ve no doubt they will acquit themselves well.
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In which Klavicus receives a visitor.

The fire mephit and the balor sat in comfortable chairs in the well-appointed library, the smoke from their cigars drifting about their heads. They went through the motions of warming themselves by the fire, though neither particularly felt the heat. “Some friends of yours dropped in to the Abyss for a visit. You’ve been keeping interesting company, Klavicus.”

“Friends of mine?” the demon yawned. “But it seems I have so few these days.”
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Psydney’s exchange of skulls with the erudite demon Klavicus unearths a surprise. (sab)

With one last look at the hellish landscape, Bane closes the trapdoor. The sights and sounds of the Abyss are shut out, but the odors linger, and someone mutters something about deserving a mansion to rest in, not a shoebox to hide in.
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Enai has an unexpected visitor with an alluring, and dangerous, offer. (sab)

It has been the end of another long day of training. The weather has turned cold again, and you sit in front of a roaring fire with your comrades for some much deserved respite. Without warning, everything stops – your friend’s voices – the crackling of the fire – the motion of the flames – the wine, midair as it pours from a jug – everything. Everything, that is, except for a faint, ever-so-slightly moving glow to your left…
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With nearly half the party rabid on the subject of killing demons, the adventurers nonetheless sheath their swords and make a mad, stealthy dash for the realm of Orcus.

Dear Erenil,

I’m glad to hear that you are doing well and that your count of drow heads is coming along nicely. I suspect it will be a while before this missive reaches you, even with Thiff’s generous offer to provide courier service between the Glitterhame and the Underdark, since I’m writing from a cozy little extradimensional space Bane has conjured up for us – a pocket of relative safety in the bowels of the Abyss.
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In which the party visits the ancient lich in search of information, but leaves with tangible items. For better or worse, who can say?

Dear Erenil,

Don’t worry – I’m not ready to turn the Eight into a favored enemy quite yet. But anyone who claims to understand the bigger picture had better convince me that the bigger picture encompasses the greater good, or I’ll be perfectly happy to rip his pretty painting from the wall and toss it onto the fire.
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Psydney reflects on the destruction of the Witchking and Mordenkainen’s irritation in a letter to her brother Erenil.

Dear Erenil,

Yes, the latest rumors you’ve heard are also true – the organized battle is mostly over. Evidently the disorganized skirmishes have just begun, but that’s a different matter, and for now not our immediate concern. We’re back at the Glitterhame, gearing up for a sojourn in the Abyss. It’s maddening to me that you might be not that far away, but I just don’t have time for a personal visit. Someday soon, perhaps.
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