Dorn's Deep
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He turns back to Ilmadia. "You know what problems they have caused for our Master. I was just about to end their meddling once and for all when this," he gestures at the glowing symbol, "put a stop to it."
The archmage raises both both hands up in a helpless gesture. "I could not very well reason with these invaders." The drow's eyes flick to the throne and the imp-raven still seated upon it. "Belhifet himself told us how dangerous they are. One might be inclined to wonder why our general, the Black Swan, feels so strongly about protecting them."
"If needbe, my familiar can show all that has transpired, but..." He's suddenly reminded again of the image of the blood-stained sword. His gaze turns back to Ildmadia in desperation as the despair washes over him again. "What happened in Kuldahar...?"
Rolls
Arcana - (1d20+8)
(4) + 8 = 12
Help from Vincent - (1d20+8)
(7) + 8 = 15
Ilmadia looks to her son. "Later," comes the terse reply.
Malavon jerks at the sound of Belhifet's voice, and then after an initial moment of shock he perks up, a smile creeping across his face.
"What is it that distracted you from the duties to which I appointed you? What is it that drew you to... Kuldahar... my Swan?"
Rolls
Cha save - (1d20+4)
(7) + 4 = 11
Druzil turns his head to consider Malavon. The movement is strained, and muscles in the small creature's neck spasm.
"And this one... Whatever mistakes he made, he did under your watch, yes? You will decide his fate. You are the one to render judgment, and none will question your motives." A weighty pause. "But know that whatever punishment you lay on his shoulders sets a... precedent."
You finally find the energy to do something and you poke the devil?
Does it matter either way?
Tendons pop in Druzil's arm as it lifts to point a claw at Ilmadia. "Handle this. I will not tolerate further failure."
The imp's eyes roll up into the back of its head, and it passes out on the seat of the throne.
The wizard collapses, dead, no more able to resist than an ant beneath a boot. An echo of Erestor's death under Valiance's power.
Ilmadia doesn't spare a glance for the man she killed. She paces in a tight circle, pulling at her white hair. She stops quickly, and turns to face the party. "Surround them, and watch them closely," she commands her giants. A slice of her hand ends the despair trap, and the giants advance.
The half-elf marches quickly up to her son and grabs his wrist, then drags Zenithral, still under the effects of the spell, away from his friends and the giants.
"Zenithral, the twins have never been in more danger." Her voice is frantic and breathy. "You must help me get them back. You are their last chance now." Are those tears in her eyes?
Rolls
Stealth - (1d20+5)
(13) + 5 = 18
One of the giants they recognize from when they first entered the forge area above. He is unapologetic with his herding. "Come on now, tinies. Not a weapon or chant, or you'll feel our wrath. Which you won't like."