The Calamity

Crivelln looked out over the battlements of his keep, maintaining his eternal vigil over the twisted spires of the Temple of Elemental Evil. The dark edifice maintained its sinister aspect, but it had been quiet of late.

The stones of the keep shuddered, conveying to his fingertips a vast shock from deep within the earth on which it stood. Instantly his hand went to the hilt of his greatsword, alert for any danger, but the disturbance vanished as suddenly as it had come. The Temple stood unchanged.

Moments later, a breathless Knight-Captain joined him on the battlements. "Lord Commander, we're mustering our defences. Is it... do we know the cause?"

Crivelln shook his head grimly. "Nothing obvious. Yet."

From the darkening sky, a pale white dove descended to alight on the battlements. It ruffled its feathers with a strange sound - the rustling of paper, which Crivelln could now see that it was constructed from. It walked a few steps toward him, stretched its wings, and... unfolded itself, the intricate pleats and creases vanishing from its form until it lay as a flat sheet of white paper with words scribed in black ink. Crivelln caught it before it blew away in the chill wind. His own name was written at the top, in a familiar hand.

---

Silvanus stayed silent while the High Druids argued, showing no sign of supporting one side or the other. This was one of the more tedious aspects of these annual gatherings - banal matters of policy, funding allocation, the squabbles of those aligned in purpose but divided in approach. It wasn't truly necessary for the Arch-Druid himself to attend the discussions, but he felt it was important, both to keep himself informed and to provide final arbitration should the Circle be too evenly split to find resolution. Still, not all the details were essential, and he allowed his mind to wander as he stared into the Eternal Flame that illuminated their council.

The magical flame guttered, and for an instant it vanished entirely. Though it roared back to life in the span of a heartbeat, Silvanus was shaken. No mere movement of air could extinguish it; this was an ill omen indeed.

An oak leaf landed on the table in front of him. He barely noticed it amid the sudden silence as the druids waited, pondering what the flickering flame could portend. Then it began to move of its own accord, and suddenly had his full attention. It unfolded into a sheet of deep green paper with writing that looked to have been scorched into its surface.

---

Altea finished her sermon, the echoes of her clear voice ringing through the temple. The congregation of worshippers were hushed, staring up at her - most had tears in their eyes, a mixture of joy at being in her presence and sorrow that the sharing of her divine wisdom was concluded. She could read their faces, their emotions, so clearly... but could she truly sense their inner thoughts, their deepest fears and desires, as a goddess ought? She told herself that she could, and indeed, she truly believed it.

As she turned over the final page of her speech, she found an extra sheet of paper which she was certain hadn't been there when she began. She picked it up curiously, watching the words - which seemed to be written in gold leaf - catch the light. Her audience remained deathly silent, unsure of what was happening but grateful for a few moments more of her glory.

---

Avaris sat in a deep trance, his consciousness expanding in contemplation of the universe and its mysteries. It was a pure and perfect calm - the dissolution of self as he subsumed into all of Creation.

But like the shadow of a vast and deadly predator beneath the surface of a pristine lake, something moved with barely a ripple disturbing the tranquility - some Calamity, rushing swiftly toward Becoming. He barely had time to comprehend it before it became manifest, a terrible wrongness wrenching at the heart of everything. He cried out and fell as if struck, his meditation broken, a terrible fear coiling in his chest.

As he lay, trying to focus on his breathing as Master Fleeple had taught him so many years ago, an exquisite origami butterfly fluttered into his chamber and unfolded itself into his hand.

---

Silvanus, flanked by his High Druids, steps out from the mighty and ancient oak tree at the centre of Greyhawk's public square. Normally a riot of colour and activity, with vendors hawking their wares and performers putting on all manner of entertainment, the square now resembles a blasted wasteland - carts and bodies lie broken amongst the rubble of collapsed buildings, the air is thick with dust and smoke, and the scene is cast in a ghastly red light as the sun struggles to penetrate the thick pall that hangs over everything. The great tree from which they've emerged is mortally wounded, its limbs shattered, bleeding sap from huge cracks in its trunk. A few people are picking through the rubble, half-dazed and smeared with ash and blood, but otherwise the square is deathly silent.

Theobald's Tower, which should be a few hundred yards away from the square, is gone. In its place is a smoking crater a hundred yards wide and fifty feet deep, some of the stones still glowing red-hot near the centre. The smoke is thickest in that direction.

---

From the air, the scale of the devastation is more apparent. The rising column of smoke can be seen from miles away as Avaris and Crivelln approach at speed. A gaping hole has been torn in the city, buildings knocked aside and scattered like a child's blocks away from where the Tower used to stand. Crowds of battered, frightened survivors gather around makeshift field hospitals in the areas that remain intact, as the City Watch attempt to maintain order and prevent panic.

Fortunately there doesn't seem to be any significant damage to the city's hinterland, although falling ash and dust might cause problems for small waterways in the area. Whatever happened, it was very localised and surprisingly well contained.

The torrents of water from Silvanus' decanter produce huge clouds of steam as they hit the hot stone, which crackles and pops as it is rapidly cooled to the point where it is safe enough to walk on. The smoke and dust begin to clear, revealing an odd sight - a crumpled humanoid figure, bundled in heavy robes, suspended about a hundred feet above the floor of the crater. As the steam swirls around it, Silvanus can see the outlines of solid walls of force surrounding the figure on all sides.

---

Crivelln quickly locates the Lord Mayor - with the City Hall partially destroyed, a marquee has been set up as a headquarters for the Council. Some of the guards stand dumb-struck as Crivelln's pegasus lands near the tent; the higher-ranking veterans simply salute and wave him through to the makeshift Council Chamber. The Lord Mayor and various members of the Council are discussing their plans over a large map of the city. They turn to Crivelln as he enters, their tired faces displaying plain relief at his arrival.

"Lord Commander!" Lord Mayor Gasgal strides forward to clasp Crivelln's hand. "We just received word of your arrival - would that it were under better circumstances! We can't thank you enough for coming to the city's aid."

Avaris is quickly swarmed by confused and frightened citizens, most simply asking for help rather than offering any useful information. The best he can glean is that everything seemed normal - it was a typical market day, the weather was fine, and then the wizard's tower simply exploded, bursting from within. There was no warning, no sign of attack.

---

On closer inspection, Silvanus can recall seeing this kind of spell before - Theo used to call it a "force-cage". It is an impenetrable, barely-perceptible cube of pure magical energy, and while Silvanus does not fully grasp the nuances of its formation, he is aware that once conjured, it is stable for a considerable time without further attention from the caster. Roughly an hour, if he recalls correctly, which if it were cast around the time of the explosion would mean it could collapse at any moment...

As if on cue, the barrier shimmers and evaporates into nothingness. The figure begins to fall, screaming and flailing, and Silvanus catches it in his talons. Fists beat at him in panic, but weakly, and he ignores the blows while guiding them both to a relatively gentle landing. The figure collapses, then struggles to its feet. The hood of its robe falls back, revealing a dark-haired human man - Silvanus vaguely recalls the name Peregrine, the most promising of Theobald's apprentices. The skin on his face and hands looks sunburned, and his eyes are clouded to the point where they appear almost completely white. He reaches out blindly with a shaking hand, and says, "Wh-who's there?"

Gasgal looks frankly relieved at Crivelln's suggestion of handling the investigation.

"We don't know much, unfortunately. Theobald would sometimes warn the Council in advance of one of his experiments if he thought there was a chance it might go awry, but we hadn't had word from him in some time. Today seemed much like any other, and then the whole damned tower exploded! Thank goodness we weren't in session, otherwise the whole Council might have been wiped out."

"If you're willing to help with the investigation, we would truly appreciate it. We've got our hands full just trying to make sure that everyone has food and shelter, and making tallies of the missing and the dead. We can't spare the guards to keep the area secure, though from what I'm told, everything in the tower was destroyed, so I can't imagine why anyone would want to go back there. But yes, by all means - bring in your knights if needed, and conduct the investigation however you wish. I'm officially placing you in charge of those matters, and I'll have my people report to you if they encounter anything suspicious or hear any credible rumours among the populace."

At the mere mention of Theobald's name, Peregrine's face crumples and he slumps to the ground in despair, weeping openly. He is inconsolable for quite some time, despite Silvanus' best efforts. By the time he has composed himself enough to speak, Crivelln and Avaris have returned to check in.

"Master Theobald was experimenting with the Heart of Scrallimenaxian - though the dragon is long dead, it still held considerable magical power, and he was convinced that if he could just find a way to harness it... I don't know how his ritual was supposed to work. He only had me assisting with circles and wards - the geometry was so complex. I must have made a mistake." His weak frame heaves with huge sobs.

"I'm finished as a wizard. Everything I've worked for, my whole life is over. There's no way he'll keep me on after this. Months of preparation, priceless components, all for nothing because of me. I'm sure there will be some damage to the Tower as well. And on top of all that, he'll have to start growing a new clone. I saw his body disintegrate - it's the last thing I saw, I can't stop seeing it - so he will certainly have had to rebirth. Is... is he back yet? I don't think I can face him. Oh, why couldn't he have just let me die!"