Umber

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.

After training, after research, after preparation, we still had one more stop to make before we felt ready to leave on Bahamut’s errand. And so it was not entirely without apprehension that we went to the abode of the mad lich Lyzandred. We might not have returned at all if Klavicus hadn’t let slip that Lyzandred himself was the author of the prophecy whose translation we bought with a Tome of Ineffable Damnation. Uneasy about the prospect of negotiating his infernal maze again but unwilling to neglect even a straw of information, we arrived to find that the indirection had been dispensed with and we were escorted to his reception area by a plate mail-garbed escort who murmured that we were fortunate, Lyzandred was somewhat more lucid than usual. We put away our weapons, and I suppose it is a measure of what we have become that I don’t think any of us were comfortable not having them in hand. But Lyzandred is uncountably ancient, and I suspect if we sought conflict that our weapons would have been as toys to him, our spells as the stumblings of an apprentice.

The room appeared to be empty of inhabitants, although not lacking for objects. Bane’s arcane sight was nearly overwhelmed by the variety and power of magic that confronted him here. There were weapons, armor, cloaks, helms, candles, small packets of unknown function, even a few psionic items, and hidden, trapped exits seemingly everywhere Serge and I turned our eyes. Surveying the extraordinary range of objects which must have been collected from a diverse range of individuals, we began to understand the stakes we had been playing for running Lyzandred’s gauntlet. We wandered about, careful not to touch anything. Finally Kuhlefaran, growing impatient, cast a spell enabling her to penetrate illusions and there stood Lyzandred, in front of his throne where he’d been since we first walked in the door.

The Gift

He commended us on our patience and forbearance, and on our physical and mental agility at negotiating his maze; although at the latter he fixed his eye on me, and I knew that he thought of my fit of impatience when I cut down his illusionary men and threw them off a ship to short-circuit one of his puzzles. I have never felt an instant’s remorse for my action, and suspected that excuses wouldn’t play well with the old lich anyway, so I merely snapped, “I only play games for so long.” He stared at me a moment longer, then nodded and turned away.

He claimed that all he remembered of the prophecy was writing it in a fit of madness, and that he could be of no assistance in unraveling its meaning. He did know where we are going and what we intend to do, however, an announcement greeted with an annoyed chorus of, “Does everybody on Oerth always know what we’re up to?” He was even, he added, willing to help us, as he found us “worthy” of the equipment we already bore and therefore, perhaps, of gifts from his impressive collection. One item per person although the weapons, alas, were all cursed (a statement I didn’t buy for a second) and – only one of us would need to pay the cost.

Before we could object, Serge recklessly stepped forward and volunteered, and a sphere began to surround him. I didn’t believe he could possibly understand the consequences of what he was about to do, all for the sake of a few trinkets, however powerful, and contemplated trying to knock him out of it. I refrained – although I didn’t trust Lyzandred’s motives, I didn’t know whether his intent was evil – but I was uneasy about personally profiting from it, however much I coveted one or two of the psionic-enhancing toys. In the end Kuhlefaran and I both ceded our items to Serge, who thereby obtained additional pieces belonging to a set called the “Armor of the Shadowfiend.” And who knows? Perhaps even that was a mistake. Costs nest within costs when one consorts with liches and enacts trades with demons.

And the immediate price? Serge emerged from Lyzandred’s egg reborn, sporting a shiny mechanical apparatus where his natural right arm once grew. It granted him new power, but what did it take away? I think we all feared we knew the answer when, as we took our leave of the mad lich, the arm waved farewell to Lyzandred unbidden by the rogue. Iggwilv’s curse inevitably struck when we were at our weakest and most vulnerable. When will Lyzandred’s “gift” strike?

Tomorrow we’re off to the Abyss, and whatever fate awaits us there. My great sword, Crusader, is veritably humming with anticipation. Both it and Bane’s Nixie blade have done surprising and unexpected things before; I wonder if some new revelation will await us there.

Be well – Psydney