The battle was already raging for
quite some time between her companions and the wicked creatures in the Kensai’s
hall when she realized the tides of fortune were not moving in her their
favor.
Amalielle the Confessor had become quite
familiar with the ebb and flow of armed conflict in the few months of time that
she had spent in the prime material plane.
She assumed that the current engagement was what was meant by a
desperate battle against impossible odds . . .
The beholder was every bit the dread
creature of legend and infamy to which the ancient sagas alluded. The massive ropers that flanked it made the
situation even more dire and the blob of annihilation was but a gratuitous jest
sent by the Norns to mock them. It now fully
dawned upon her.
This was a fight they could not
win.
Not alone.
The words of her Lord’s greatest
servant returned unbidden to her mind.
Welcome, my children, to the Chapel
of Resounding Justice. Go forth, and
bring some part of this place with you, that it may comfort you and lighten
your heart in the dark times to come.
May the Lawbringer smile upon you and give you his grace.
“General Ambrielle!” the Aasimar
priestess cried aloud. “Lady of Grace! Hear our plea! Shine your light upon us
and aid us in this, our darkest hour!”
The priestess’ desperate entreaty
traversed the boundless realms of the Nine Worlds in less than a moment.
Ambrielle en’Teiva looked
plaintively to her Lord.
The Grimjaws nodded wordlessly in
reply.
Faster than the speed of thought,
the Fiendslayer, the great General of the Angelic Host of Gladsheim, launched
herself though the infinite cosmos.
* * *
Ullethane assessed his surroundings, observing as the orcish paladin and the dragonborn barbarian threw themselves heedlessly into
the fray, as the dark elven sorceress marshalled her potent incantations, and
even then, as the aasimar priestess cried out to her angelic intercessor. This wasn’t going well.
Before he could react further, his
eyes were beset by a great light, nearly blinding him in its radiant glory. In that moment, he beheld one of the most
amazing sights he was ever to see in all of his life.
Ambrielle en’Teiva had come.
An unearthly, winged woman in
gleaming armor had suddenly appeared on the very edge of his perception. In her hands she bore a fiery greatsword and
her fierce countenance was beset by a halo of indescribable glory. The angelic warrior swung her blade in a wide
arc and a great explosion of light filled the chamber, passing in a single
instant, almost before it had even occurred.
The others looked around for the
source of the flash, yet the General of Gladsheim had come and gone before they
could even take note.
It appeared that the intervention
had had no effect on the Reavers.
Ullethane quickly scanned the large chamber and noted that
the same could not be said for their foes, however.
The beholder’s main eye danced around crazily and when it’s gaze passed
over the ranger’s companions, their enchantments were not broken. The ropers flailed about randomly, where
before their attacks had been precise and devastating. The General’s sudden, blazing appearance had left
the Reavers’ foes blinded.
“They are blinded!” he cried
out. “Press the attack! They are
blinded!”
The tide of battle had turned.
* * *
Amalielle sank to one knee as the
presence of the patron of the Chapel of Resounding Justice washed over her.
The Chapel of Resounding Justice
rises as a beacon of hope and truth in the presence of the wicked and the
profane. Whenever evil shall arise, the Chapel
shall answer! Carry this message forth,
my child, and proclaim it to all this world!
For a fleeting moment, Amalielle
felt the touch of the Solar upon her brow, and with it, a great sense of peace
and clarity amidst all the tumult raging around her. The ranger’s cry suddenly returned her to
the material world.
“They are blinded! Press the attack! They are blinded!”
Amalielle rose again to her feet,
braced for this, and for all the battles to come.
* * *
In the heat of battle, Callista
heard Amalielle cry out to her angelic patron only to be taken unawares by a
sudden flash of blinding light and a receding echo of words in her mind—
The Chapel of Resounding Justice
rises as a beacon of hope and truth in the presence of the wicked and the
profane. Whenever evil shall arise, the Chapel
shall answer! Stand fast against the darkness that is to come,
my child, and always remember the Lawbringer's light!
Before she could look about for the
speaker of these words, she heard Ullethane also cry out—
“They are blinded! Press the attack! They are blinded!”
With a glance at their foes, she
confirmed the truth of it. She grinned
maliciously to herself as the old, long-buried red rage rose inside her.
* * *
“I’m not really sure what happened
there,” Callista noted, chewing on a large piece of jerky after the fight had
ended and the party had set up camp in the Modron’s abandoned quarters in a more
secure part of the dungeon. “It sure was pretty awesome, though.”
“Yes, what did happen?” Grend
asked in his deep, rolling voice from where he sat against the chamber wall.
“We were weighted down under a great assault, and with a burst of light, the
battlefield shifted in our favor.”
“Did you not hear Amalielle cry out
to the Lady of Grace?” Ullethane replied
bemusedly. “It was Ambrielle en’Teiva herself who interceded on our behalf. It seems that the Angelic Host of Gladsheim
has taken an interest in our endeavors here.”
“Could she have not saved us the
trouble and simply obliterated our foes instead of just blinding them?” Aunrae asked skeptically. “Or better yet,
just retrieved the Illrigger’s key without any confrontation at all?”
“It is no small thing for such a
being to cross the planes,” Amalielle offered, thoughtfully. “Especially
spontaneously and particularly as these confines are warded against such
intrusions. It would be extremely taxing
just to intercede as she did. If she
were to attempt something greater, it might cause her great, irreparable harm .
. . or . . .”
“Or what?” the drow asked, her
silvery-white eyebrows arching.
“Her forced presence in this place
might create a small tear in reality.
Likely enough to put an end to all of this,” she said, gesturing around at their
surroundings. She looked at Ullethane, who nodded in agreement.
For his part, Ullethane was sure Aunrae already
knew all of this. She was a powerful
sorceress born and bred in the unforgiving Underdark of Toril. The interaction of the planes of existence
and various forms of warding and restrictive enchantments were part and parcel
of everyday life in the deep places of the world from whence she came. Something else was weighing on her.
In any case, Aunrae responded no
further, retreating back into silence, and with it, back into her own thoughts.
* * *
When the others had turned in,
Callista and Amalielle stepped away to share a final discussion of the day’s
events, as they so often did after a particularly momentous battle.
After some time had passed, and as
the conversation drew to a close and they themselves were about to retire for
the evening, Amalielle thought to ask her friend a somewhat unrelated question.
“May I ask, veninde,” she
began. “I have not seen you wield the heirloom weapon of your people in
battle. Is it not your desire to add to
its glorious reputation?”
Callista carefully considered all of
her thoughts on the matter before replying.
“Well, fighting with a two-hander of
any sort isn’t my best style. Using a
shield has been so much a part of how I move and position myself in a scrap, a
greatsword would just leave me too exposed on the front line,” she started.
“Even so, there’s something else . . . I think the damned blade might be
cursed, or something.”
“What makes you say so?” Amalielle
asked with some concern.
“The sword needs to . . . eat.”
“I do not understand, veninde.”
I am not sure that I totally
understand, either. It appears to have a
hunger for, well, souls.”
“How do you know this?” the aasimar
asked with horror.
“It told me.”
“It what?”
“This is not good news, veninde. Where is the weapon?”
“Not to worry, I’ve shunted it into
some kind of magical space.”
“How did you do this?”
“When the sword started bothering me,
something scratching at the back of my mind made me realize that I could bind Sivim’ii’kith
to my will by reciting some words and doing a little ritual, and then I could
drop it into the magic space and bring it back and forth whenever I needed to. So that’s what I did.”
Amalielle stared blankly at her friend
for several moments before speaking again.
“The weapon is in this space now?”
she finally asked.
Callista nodded.
“Have you . . . fed it yet?”
Callista shook her head.
“This vexes me. For the brief moments I was in the presence
of your family’s blade I did not sense any evil emanating from it, and yet,
eating souls is as wicked a deed as there is.
Not even the most iniquitous denizens of the Nine Hells do such a thing.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t actually eat
them? Or, maybe not right away? It seems to be more like it traps them
and kind of slowly siphons from them over time?”
Horror one again spread across the aasimar’s
face.
“How long will a soul survive such a
thing?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t tell me that yet.”
“How many souls are trapped inside
of it right now?”
“Great question. I’ve only interacted with one so far.”
“Who have you interacted with?”
“My mother.”
“Veninde!” Amalielle
exclaimed. “How did this come to pass!?”
“Someone or something used the blade
to kill my mother. She doesn’t know how
it happened. She only knows that she was
slain, most likely in her sleep.”
“What base treachery! We must find some means of finding out how
many unfortunate souls are trapped within the accursed blade, of how to undo
this!”
“I completely agree!”
Callista replied. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually. Ever since I had to banish the damned sword
into its magic box just to make it shut up I’ve been trying to come up with
something, some way to free those who are trapped inside it and I think I have
an idea. I am not sure how to find her
right now, but if anyone can help us find a way, it’s her.”
“Of whom do you speak, veninde?”
“My cousin, Orlaa the Shaper.”