The Severed Hand

"Revenge always ends badly Ug. Its too late for Fergy. Now we're trying to help you."

Her voice is lower, but beneath Alalla seethes. She's not even here and she's still making things difficult for us.

"Don't do it Ug." Zenithral has an arrow knocked, purple sparks flittering off of it, and from his glowing eyes. "It wasn't his fault either. This place does bad things to everyone. We need him. He might be the only one who knows how to use the Gem, the only one who can make sure more friends don't die." His tone is even and calm, not forceful, but it's clear he'll fire to disable Ug and save Larrel if necessary.

"you would fight Ug friend?!" Ug bellows at Al, his Rage no longer quiet, yet he does pause for a moment regarding her. "How many friends will Al leave or fight?!" he demands. He then stalks forward once more.

At Zenithrals words Ug stops and turns his glare on the half-elf. "And you too priest!" Ug practically spits out the last word.

And then there was Ras. Little friend Ras. Ras who had seemed to maybe understand before. How could he not understand now?

Though their words are empty and hollow to him, Ug lowers his weapon. Getting past the other two would be difficult, especially with that priests cursed arrow. but getting past Ras? Ug couldn’t bring himself to do it this time.

Ug let’s out a frustrated growl at Zen through gritted teeth and turns back to where they entered and makes to head back down the stairs, no longer caring why they were here.

"Look at me!" Al runs around to get in his face. "I don't protect you. I don't protect Fergy. I protect everyone. Fergy refused to cooperate. He made his choice, and I wouldn't sacrifice innocents to protect him from himself. Im trying to protect you, but I won't sacrifice them for you, either. I won't even sacrifice them for Erevain." Maybe he would see in her eyes how much that hurts. How it makes her want to scream. "Jermsy needs us. Conlan and his boy, and Natalie and everyone needs us. If you leave you're abandoning them, and Fergy really did die for nothing. Don't, Ug. Do the job. Mourn. Later."

The purple sparks on Zenithral's bow and in his eye die down and he lowers his bow, head cocked. "Priest?" He says, confused. He shakes his head quickly, then as Ug passes, he sets himself between Ug and Larrel. "Ug, I don't intend to fight you, I mean to protect Larrel from you so we have a shot at saving the Dale! Sometimes friends make mistakes. Sometimes friends have to stop their friends from making mistakes. We're all doing our best here..."

Ug pointedly ignores Zen, his mind recalling old memories of priests trying to tell him and his mother what to do. He does however lock eyes with Al, "But how many friends will we sacrifice? How many more?" his anger dissipates slightly at the last comment, suddenly feeling the drain of it all. For a fleeting thought he wonders if it all would be easier without friends. "Ug is done here." he says giving a backwards nod to the room. He walks past Al into the stairwell. He then sits in the steps by himself, his maul at his side.

Erevain's eyes widen as he looks between Ug and the others. His hand does not go toward his sword hilt, but it does start to flicker with magic.

When Ug leaves to sit on the stairs outside, the elf gives Alalla a small nod and moves near to the door, keeping an eye on both the goliath and the events in the room.

Larrel remains on his knees, thin fingers flipping through the diary. The Heartstone Gem, discarded to the dusty floor, continues to pulse with warm, red light.

The other elf in the room, the one who was tinkering with the strange equipment when the party arrived, steps forward hesitantly. Sweat drips down his pale face. "D-d-did you s-say... Arannis? G-grandson?" Beyond the obvious stutter, his Common is heavily accented. "I-I-I... knew your g-g-g-grandfather!"

The centuries have not been kind to this elf, but Zenithral recognizes him as Gelarith, the wizard he overheard speak with Kaylessa about Arannis during his first trip through the Hand.

Zenithral nods. "Yes, I know. That's correct. I recognize you from the...vision?" Zenithral searches for the words. "A strange magic was holding the Hand in...in between times. It seems to be the day the great attack happened, but other times, it was...well..." Zenithral gestures around the room. "This. Deathly creatures. Undead spirits. And people, like yourself, who have been stuck nothing has changed. The temporal magic collapsed when I tried summoning my familiar, yet defenses against conjuration still seem, to be tact. And against orcs."

He shakes his head. "But none of that really matters now. An Old Enemy is leading the entire Dale to its destruction, and we have reason to believe you, Larrel, can use the Heartstone Gem to somehow help."

The look on Alalla's face is frosted iron, but she takes a breath and it melts back into calm. Cool, collected, unconcerned.

She turns her back on Ug, trusting Erevain to watch him, and turns her focus to those still in the room.

You can only do what you can do.

Gelarith blinks. "Y-yes yes... the mythal, it failed... and doomed us more than the orcs ever could." The stutter disappears. "We took a terrible risk to save our people. Elven High Magic is not to be performed lightly even at the best of times, and our preparations were rushed."

His postures straightens and he paces the floor for a moment, a finger on his chin as he thinks. "We spun the mythal from the Weave itself, but imperfectly. It was not strong enough for the task, and so had to pull the energy from... somewhere." The elf's eyes trace the long barrel of the apparatus stuck through the roof. "The stars... the light... th-th-th....!"

With a cry of pain he grabs his head, then lunges again at the equipment, hands grasping at levers.

Larrel closes the diary, his narrow shoulders slumped in sorrow. "The Gem... it has great powers of divination, but there are limits to even its powers. I can see much of what transpired within the Hand, and yet I do not know why..."

He looks down at his rotting hands for a moment, then at Zenithral. "Your grandfather left my daughter in the hands of dwarves, and then returned too late to be any help here. And my daughter... My daughter is dead, centuries past. This, I see. But at least she escaped this fate. She was free to move on to the next life... For that, your family has my thanks."

The lich stands. "I will help you. I do not know what you mean by 'Old Enemy'. But perhaps..." He tucks the diary into his robe, then holds the Heartstone Gem forward atop his open palm. "If one of you is willing, I can read the history of your mind, and grant you the insight you lack."

"I'm willing, though Ras or Alalla might have more relevant memories than I."

Larrel frowns. "Have none of you seen this Old Enemy? Who knows it best?" He shakes his head. "The more you know of it, the better I can help you."

"As far as I'm aware, we've shared everything we know about him with each other. If my memories aren't enough, then we can try another," Zenithral says stepping forward. "Also, seeing my experiences with Arannis, and my experience of the Hand thus far may prove useful for you too, perhaps. Or if too stressful, maybe skim past those. I don't know how mind reading works..."

"Only Ug and Nessa have seen Poquelin in his true form. You've killed Nessa, so Ug won't help you. Zenithral will have to do." Alalla gives the Heartstone Gem a nervous glance.

Larrel steps forward to stand just in front of Zenithral. The smell of his decay is nearly overwhelming. The lich's withered face looks deeply into the half-elf's, and Zenithral can feel the weight and knowledge of a millennium press down upon him. "Your heritage is a tangled one. You are a son of the Hand, and yet the Seldarine are foreign to you. Your soul is laid up in store for another... You have human blood, but also something else. Something special. Unique."

Larrel touches one finger to Zenithral's forehead -

The half-elf stumbles back, reeling from the sensation of every memory being scoured in an instant. Larrel nods gravely, his eyes staring into some faraway place. "A darkness does indeed threaten the land. This Old Enemy you speak of - he is patient and cunning. And tenacious." The Heartstone Gem flares in the lich's hand. "But much of what he is and wants is hidden even from me. This artifact is of the land itself, and so excels at divining matters of the creatures that dwell here. But this Old Enemy is not of this plane. This much I do know: he is a Baatezu, a high-ranking archdevil of Baator, and his name is Belhifet."

The red light of the Gem darkens, casting the features of all those present into crimson shadows. "He wandered Faerûn for decades, learning of the peoples here and crafting plans. Making connections, alliances. I do not know his end goal, but his forces in the North stir for war even now." The light and shadows flicker like torchlight. Flames, all across the land...

"I do not know if he can be stopped. Every day he gathers strength. But perhaps..." Larrel frowns. "I need more. My connection to the Gem is not strong enough in this state." He turns sharply to look at Ras. "Druid. Come here."

Ras is still in shock from Fergy's death and Ug's outbreak. He is very hesitant to approach Larrel. Very hesitant. Once again, Ras has to reach down inside himself and find the strength to help his friends. Feeling scared is better than feeling helpless. Besides, he's kissed a dragon. How is this any scarier?

Ras takes a deep breath and then steps toward Larrel, his little heart racing. He can do this. For Fergy.

The undead archwizard holds out the hand carrying the Heartstone Gem. "Touch it. Focus on its beat. Match your own heart to its pace. Realize your place in the Balance, and accept the Gem as a bearer of nature's power."

As Ras does so, he feels a sudden warmth and vigor rush through his veins. Flowers erupt from the stones under his feet, and a summer breeze wells up about him.

Larrel gasps as the power floods through him as well, and for a moment he appears as he must have in life - with gold skin and silver hair, and piercing blue eyes. In that moment, Ras understands that if Larrel were truly an evil lich, he would have been destroyed by this power. Whatever the archmage is, he is not a true lich.

"We cannot know everything he does, but we can learn where he is right now." Ras feels his druidic magic being directed by Larrel through the Gem....All present can see, reflected within the mirrored facets of the stone, the image of a statue. It is clearly a monument of sorts, depicting an elf and a dwarf sitting side by side on a dual throne.

Ug, from his place on the stairs, cannot help but be drawn by the magic taking place. As the image resolves, he feels a jolt. He knows that statue. He knows that place! But it is much more weathered than he remembers...

"By Sehanine's Grace!" Larrel curses. "The dwarves... they suffered a fate similar to ours. Your 'Old Enemy' has made a lair within the ruins of Dorn's Deep."

"Dorn's Deep...Where is that, again?" Zenithral says, trying to remember if he knows anything of the place.