Session 35

The group, with Tiny leaning heavily on Brabara, hurried through the never‑quiet streets of Sigil toward Alustriel’s Sanctuary. The thirty‑minute journey felt longer, each step thick with dread. When they reached the stairs, they climbed with trepidation, bracing for whatever waited inside.

Brabara nudged Tiny behind the others, hefted her hammer, and pushed open the wide double doors.

The smell hit them first. Burning paper, charred wood.

Inside, devastation reigned. Ornate furniture lay shattered. Chairs splintered. Shelves toppled, their trinkets and curios smashed across the floor. Entire sections of the library were scorched black, some still smouldering.

“With me!” Ebyn barked, sprinting toward Mordenkainen’s workroom without checking if anyone followed.

The destruction was worse inside.

Of Mordenkainen, or the six rod pieces, there was no sign.

“This cannot be!” Ebyn’s voice cracked. “Everything we’ve achieved, everything we’ve worked for, is gone.” He spun on Brabara, finger stabbing the air. “See what you’ve done? If you hadn’t insisted on bringing Tiny to Sigil, he wouldn’t have been taken, and we would have been here to stop this. You put your personal desires ahead of everything and now look where we are.”

Brabara’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“That’s not fair, Ebyn,” Seknafret said sharply. “You can’t put this all on her.”

“I can, and I have,” Ebyn snapped.

“We’re not dealing with fools,” Seknafret said, voice steady. “If Tiny hadn’t been here, they would have found another way to distract us. Blaming each other helps no one. We need to focus on what happened to Mordenkainen.”

Ebyn’s shoulders sagged. He exhaled shakily. “Fine.” His tone suggested it was anything but fine. “The rod pieces must be our priority. Mordenkainen is important, but secondary. Agreed?”

“Let’s get Alustriel back first,” Seknafret said. “Then we plan.”

Ebyn nodded. “We can’t wait for her to contact us. Let’s go to the portal, I’ll reach out directly.”

He and Seknafret hurried off while Brabara, Xalen, and Tiny began clearing debris. They extinguished the remaining fires and righted what furniture they could.

With Alustriel’s guidance, Ebyn recorded the portal’s current destination before reconfiguring it to allow her and Malaina to return. The process took hours. By the time the two women stepped through, most of the visible destruction had been cleaned or contained.

“Have you heard from Mordenkainen at all?” Alustriel asked, surveying the damage to her once‑beautiful home.

“No,” Seknafret said. “We’ve tried contacting him several times. He either cannot or will not respond.”

“Hmm.” Alustriel tapped her chin. “Any idea what happened while you were away?”

“The front door was closed, no sign of forced entry,” Brabara said, slipping into a crisp, report‑ready tone. “We found fires still burning in the library, workshop, and lounge. Signs of a struggle in all three rooms. No bodies. No indication of who, or how many, attackers there were.”

“You assume multiple attackers?” Alustriel asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Brabara said. “Mordenkainen is one of the most powerful archmages in the multiverse. Anyone attempting to kill or capture him would send multiple assailants. And the scale of destruction suggests several points of combat.”

Alustriel nodded. “Thank you, Brabara. A very professional assessment.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“There’s no need for formality,” Alustriel said gently. “We’re all on the same team.”

“Sorry,” Brabara said with a small smile. “Force of habit.”

Alustriel returned the smile. “Which of you was the last to speak with Mordenkainen?”

“That would be me,” Brabara said. “When I returned from Oerth with the sixth rod piece. Almost three days ago. I learned about Tiny’s kidnapping soon after, and we were all outside the sanctuary until you contacted Seknafret today.”

“Sanctuary,” Alustriel murmured. “I may need a new name for this place.” She paused. “You said you returned from Oerth three days ago?”

“That’s right,” Brabara said. “I came through the portal alone. The others stayed behind to… celebrate.”

“Celebrate is one word for it,” Xalen muttered.

Ebyn shot him a warning look.

“That is odd,” Alustriel said. “Before you changed it, the portal was configured to somewhere in Avernus, not Oerth.”

“Could the attackers have done that?” Ebyn asked.

“Unlikely,” Alustriel said. “You’ve seen the process. Even with experience, it takes hours to reconfigure the portal. And only a handful of people know how.”

Ebyn inhaled sharply. “Meaning Mordenkainen must have done it.”

“That is the logical assumption,” Alustriel said. “If they forced him to do it, we are dealing with a powerful group indeed. We must tread carefully.”

“There is another possibility,” Ebyn said quietly. “Mordenkainen went with them willingly.”

The mood in the sanctum darkened further. No one spoke for a long time.

---

Alustriel, Seknafret, and Brabara set about assessing the damage and cataloguing what had been stolen. Ebyn retreated to the bedroom he shared with Xalen and immediately began work on another simulacrum, while Malaina made repeated trips into Sigil for supplies.

Xalen helped Tiny gather the few belongings he had in his apartment and moved him, and Brabara, into what had once been Tasha’s room. Everyone agreed Tiny should remain in the Sanctum until the threat had passed, and it made sense for the two of them to share a room.

That night, as everyone prepared to sleep after an emotionally draining day, Brabara approached Ebyn.

“Can we talk?” she asked, eyes fixed on the floor.

“If we must,” Ebyn sighed.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said when we got back,” Brabara began. “And you’re right. This was my fault. I brought Tiny here. I let him be used against us. It was stupid, it was selfish, and…” She drew a steadying breath. “I’m sorry things turned out like this.”

Ebyn looked at her, expression unreadable. “And what do you expect me to do with your apology? How does your contrition help me? Help us?”

Brabara blinked. “I… don’t understand.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Ebyn snapped. “You crash through life with all the subtlety of a tarrasque, and when things inevitably go wrong, you come to me with an apology and assume that makes it all fine.” He slammed a hand on the table. “Your apology changes nothing. The rod pieces are gone. Everything we’ve worked toward is in ruins. So, you can take your sorry and shove it up your arse.”

Brabara’s face reddened. Shock, then embarrassment, then anger.

“I think you’ve misinterpreted my meaning,” she hissed. “I’m sorry for how things turned out. And I’m grateful for what you all did to save Tiny. But if I had to do it again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

She straightened, looming over him.

“Tiny means everything to me. I thought I’d lost him once already. I swore I’d never let that happen again. Maybe one day you’ll understand what it’s like to have someone else be the centre of your world, but clearly that day isn’t today.” She gestured toward the half‑formed ice sculpture. “You’re so wrapped up in your own self‑importance you don’t even see why the rest of us are doing this. For you it’s a task list. For us it’s people we love. For me that’s Tiny and…”

She stopped. Her hand had drifted to her stomach. The fire drained out of her.

“Anyway,” she said after a long, awkward moment. “I came to say sorry and thank you. So… Sorry, and thank you.”

Xalen entered before Ebyn could respond. Brabara glanced at him, then turned and walked away, leaving the two men staring after her.

“What happened?” Xalen asked.

Ebyn shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“I guess it’s good she and Tiny have their own room now,” Xalen said as he readied himself for bed.

“What?” Ebyn said distantly.

“Be crowded in here with Tiny and your half‑finished doppelganger.”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose so.” Ebyn paused. “Xalen… may I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you doing this? Why risk your life on this quest?”

Xalen thought for a moment. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Well… maybe at first. We didn’t have much choice after the wish brought us here. But even then, that was enough. Now? Since I found out I have a sister, and met her, I’m doing it for her. We finish this, and I get the chance to actually know her.”

“And that hope motivates you?” Ebyn asked.

“For sure. Just like Brabara has Tiny. And Seknafret has her people. I’m sure you’ve got something like that too.”

“Naturally,” Ebyn said, though his voice was far away. He rose. “Excuse me.”

He left the room and hurried across the Sanctum, catching Brabara just before she entered her new quarters.

“Wait,” he said, voice cracking.

She turned. “What? Come to yell at me again?”

Ebyn stepped closer.

“You want to know why I’m doing all this?” he said. “The real reason I’m trying to defeat Vecna? The reason I risked everything to help get Tiny back?”

Brabara nodded. “Tell me.”

“It’s because I care about you, you silly bitch.”

Brabara froze, mouth open. “You what?”

Ebyn flushed. “Don’t make me say it again. You heard me.”

Brabara jabbed a finger into his chest. “You bastard. You don’t get to tear strips off me and then come back and profess your love like it’s some kind of trump card. No. I won’t have it.”

Ebyn held her gaze. “You all think I’m some emotionless automaton, but I get to have feelings too. Maybe ‘love’ is a bit strong, but I’m being honest when I say I care about you. All of you. Even that damned fool husband of yours.”

Brabara stared at him for several breaths, then stepped forward and engulfed him in a crushing hug.

“Next time,” she said as she squeezed, “maybe we can get to this point without all the insults.”

Ebyn struggled free, gasping for air. “Next time,” he said, “just promise you won’t hug me.”

Brabara smiled. “Oh, Ebyn. You know I can’t do that.”

---

The nightmare came for them again.

 

Vecna stood beside an obsidian obelisk rising from the heart of a forest. Fog clung thick around the forest floor, swallowing the ground in a pale, shifting haze. Only thin shafts of light pierced the dense canopy above, giving the mist a sinister, living quality. Even here, in the Dreadwood, Vecna had nothing to fear from whatever prowled the shadows.

He studied the obelisk. Despite the choking undergrowth, the ground immediately around the black pillar was bare as though the plants sensed the ancient power within the carved stone and dared not grow too close. Vecna placed a hand on the cool surface. His fingers tingled at the touch, the artifact humming with latent potential.

This one on Oerth was identical to the four others he had found on Toril, Krynn, Eberron, and Athas. With each discovery, he had learned more about the beings who created them.

The Weavers.

Ancient entities of impossible power, capable of manipulating the flow of time itself. They had forged these obelisks as gateways, bridges through time and space.

Patient research and meticulous planning had revealed the secret to awakening the dormant magic within them. Vecna was ready. Ready to step back into an age when the Weavers still walked the worlds, when their knowledge was at its peak.

The power he would gain from them would be the advantage he had always lacked. Never again would the inertia of existence hold him back. Over millennia he had learned that reality itself resisted change, that the weight of ages pushed back against his ascension.

To succeed, he needed to change that current.

And the Weavers held the key.

Vecna touched the obelisk again and spoke the eldritch words, a series of clicks and buzzing tones unlike any mortal language. The stone vibrated in response.

A deep purple glow bloomed within the obelisk, faint at first, then swelling until it burst outward in a crackle of energy. Vecna knew the same awakening was happening now on four distant worlds, the entire network of obelisks activating for the first time in tens of thousands of years.

The temporal lattice sparked as it reached equilibrium. With a final thunderous crack, the rift opened.

Vecna stepped through.

 

For a heartbeat, they all felt something shift. A deep, instinctive sense that the world had changed in some fundamental way. Understanding flickered at the edge of consciousness… then vanished, leaving only a cold unease lurking beneath their thoughts.

---

“Fifteen healing potions,” Brabara said.

“Is that all?” Alustriel asked, staring at the meagre collection of vials on the table.

“I’m afraid so,” Brabara replied. “The attackers were thorough.”

“It’s almost like they knew where everything was,” Ebyn said.

Alustriel nodded slowly. “I’m reluctant to agree with you, Ebyn – the implications are terrible – but it does seem that way. I’ve sent Malaina into the city to begin replenishing the more common items.”

“How much was lost in the library?” Seknafret asked.

“Only about a quarter of the titles were salvageable,” Alustriel said. “It sounds worse than it is. Most of the rarer works survived but restoring them will take time. Until then, we’ll need to conduct our research in the city.”

“At least Sigil is well‑placed for that,” Ebyn said.

“It is,” Alustriel agreed, “though it will cost gold, and confidentiality will be limited depending on the subject.”

Any reply was cut short by a series of loud bangs on the front door.

Seknafret crossed the room and peered through the looking glass. “It’s one of the dabus.”

“Let them in,” Alustriel said, smoothing her robes and straightening her posture.

Seknafret opened the door. The emissary of the Lady of Pain drifted inside, its flowing robes whispering across the floor. It glided to Alustriel and paused, inclining its head.

Alustriel returned a respectful bow. “Welcome, emissary. How may I be of service?”

The dabus gestured around the room, symbols blooming and shifting above its horned head in a steady, repeating pattern.

“Of course,” Alustriel said. “You are free to explore the building. I will accompany you if you have questions.”

The dabus inclined its head again and floated away.

“Who is that?” Xalen whispered.

“One of the Lady of Pain’s emissaries,” Alustriel said. “They communicate only through the symbols above their heads.”

“And you understand them?” Ebyn asked.

“Only a little,” she admitted. “But I can use magic to bridge the gap. I’m curious why it’s here now.”

“I sent a letter to the Lady of Pain,” Ebyn said. “Alerting her to the presence of Vecna’s agents in the city. Honestly, I didn’t expect she’d ever see it, let alone respond.”

Alustriel nodded approvingly. “Good thinking, Ebyn. The Lady of Pain holds no love for Vecna. Perhaps her emissary will have something useful to share.”

The dabus drifted from room to room, pausing occasionally to pick up an item, turn it over, and place it back exactly where it had been. It lingered for a long moment before the completed ice sculpture in Ebyn and Xalen’s room, studying it with inscrutable interest, then moved on without touching it.

An hour later, its inspection complete, the dabus returned to Alustriel in the lounge. More symbols shimmered into being above its head.

Alustriel nodded. “Of course. Please, lead the way.”

The dabus drifted into the workroom where Mordenkainen had spent most of his time calculating the location of the rod pieces. It approached a column in the corner, floated up near the ceiling, and extended a hand to touch the wall.

One of the masonry bricks shimmered, turning a silvery hue. The dabus glanced down at the group, then back at the brick.

A ghostly image flickered into existence, projected from the silver surface. It showed the dabus entering the room moments earlier. The picture froze, then began to rewind. Faster and faster the image reversed: the group entering that morning, their first glimpse of the destruction, then further back still until the projection stopped on Mordenkainen sitting at the workbench, the six rod pieces laid out beside him.

The image resumed, now moving forward.

There was no sound, but the picture was crisp. Mordenkainen worked intently, quill scratching across parchment as he performed calculations. After several minutes he set the quill aside and punched the air in triumph.

Then he gathered the six rod pieces, tucked them into his pack, and left the room.

The projection continued. The room sat empty for several moments, then Mordenkainen returned, moving quickly, almost comically fast. The dabus slowed the image back to real time.

Mordenkainen was dressed for travel: pack on his shoulders, weapons at his belt. He plucked a bead from a chain around his neck and tossed it toward the workbench.

The bead exploded in a fireball, incinerating notes and equipment and setting the bench ablaze. He took another bead and hurled it into a different corner. Another explosion.

Alustriel gasped. “It cannot be true.”

“Interesting that he’s using a magic item rather than his own spells,” Seknafret murmured.

“Maybe he’s conserving his magic,” Xalen offered.

“Or that isn’t Mordenkainen at all,” Brabara said. “The kidnappers used a lookalike of me to lure Tiny away. Maybe we’re dealing with shapeshifters.”

Alustriel nodded, then shook her head, eyes distant. “Let’s not speculate until we’ve seen everything.”

The dabus floated down and moved into the library. It touched another brick, turning it silver, and projected a new image: Mordenkainen entering the room and tossing more beads into the stacks, each one erupting into flame.

In the lounge, the projection showed him sweeping the contents of Alustriel’s cabinet of curios into a portable hole before unleashing more fireballs to maximize the destruction.

The final scene unfolded in the portal room.

Mordenkainen tossed numerous packs and items, clearly taken from the sanctuary, through the portal. Then he turned, lobbed several more fireballs around the chamber, and stepped through the portal himself.

The image held for several seconds before the dabus descended and approached Alustriel, symbols blooming above its head.

“It’s asking if there’s anything we’d like to see again,” she said, voice hollow.

“Back to the workshop,” Ebyn said. “Just before he left. It looked like he’d figured out where the next rod piece was. We need to see what he found.”

The dabus nodded and returned to the workroom. The projection rewound to the moment before Mordenkainen stood and gathered the rod pieces.

“Can you focus on the workbench?” Ebyn asked, hope creeping into his voice.

The dabus obliged. The image zoomed in, revealing the scattered parchments, symbols, scribbles, and frantic crossings‑out.

“I can see mention of Avernus,” Ebyn said, pointing. “That matches where the portal was set. But the rest… I don’t recognize these words. Landmarks? Cities? Names?”

Alustriel stepped beside him. “Here,” she said, pointing. “The Red Belvedere. I’ve heard of that place.”

“The Red Belvedere,” Ebyn echoed. “At least now we know where he went.”

The dabus waited until they finished speaking, then ended the projection and floated down.

“Thank you, emissary,” Alustriel said. “Please convey our gratitude to your mistress.”

The dabus inclined its head and drifted out through the front doors.

“Did you know they could do that?” Xalen asked once it was gone.

“I did not,” Alustriel said, still staring after it. “Everything in Sigil is built and maintained by the dabus. I had no idea that gave them the ability to look back on anything that happens here. No wonder the Lady of Pain is always so well informed.”

---

Malaina returned to the sanctum later that evening. “I have some troubling news,” she announced as she stepped into the lounge, where everyone sat in heavy silence. A fire crackled in the massive hearth, but the warmth did nothing to lift the gloom. Only Ebyn looked animated – his expression carved into grim determination, hands clenched into fists.

“What news?” Alustriel asked, looking up.

“I was speaking with Velgar,” Malaina said, “and he told me Mordenkainen visited him a few days ago.”

Ebyn straightened. “Who is this Velgar fellow?”

“He runs an alchemy shop in the Market Ward,” Malaina replied. “We’ve bought potions from him for years. He wouldn’t lie to me. He knew we were working with Mordenkainen, so he asked him about it, and Mordenkainen said he had no idea what he was talking about. Claimed he’d only just arrived in Sigil and hadn’t seen Alustriel in over a year.”

“I guess that confirms it,” Brabara said.

“Confirms what?” Malaina asked, confused. “What did I miss?”

Seknafret explained the dabus’s arrival and the projections it had shown, the destruction, the theft, the false Mordenkainen.

“How could I have been so blind?” Alustriel whispered. “I thought I knew him well. Yet this imposter deceived me for months… in my own home.”

“There’s no sense dwelling on it,” Tiny rumbled, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Looking back over your mistakes ain’t gonna solve anything. What’s done is done. Put it behind you and move forward.”

Alustriel’s gaze softened. “You are absolutely right, Tiny. Thank you.”

Tiny blushed and looked away. “You’re welcome, milady.”

Alustriel rose and faced the group. “We know where the imposter is going, and we know what they’re after. They likely believe they destroyed all evidence of their actions. That gives us an advantage, they won’t expect pursuit.”

“Exactly,” Ebyn said, voice sharp. “Whether Mordenkainen turned traitor or the thief was never him at all is irrelevant. He has the rod pieces. We must get them back.”

“He’s got more than two days’ head start,” Xalen said. “Even if we left now, how could we catch him? And we know almost nothing about what’s waiting for us.”

“That’s true,” Alustriel said. “The thief did go through the portal two days ago, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re two days ahead.”

“How so?” Seknafret asked.

“The Nine Hells are… unpredictable,” Alustriel explained. “My gate cannot open to a precise location. Even configured the same way, it will only appear somewhere within a broad region, perhaps hundreds of miles apart. With luck, this second opening could be closer to the Red Belvedere than the first.”

“We’re due a little luck,” Seknafret said.

“In my experience,” Brabara muttered, “relying on luck means we’ve already failed.”

“Not so,” Ebyn countered. “Fate rewards those who trust in it. Don’t underestimate its value.”

“Even so,” Alustriel continued, “the thief must still reach the Red Belvedere. Avernus is not Toril, or Oerth, or any of the primes. It is a ravaged battlefield, decaying corpses, shattered war machines, and deranged devils and demons locked in endless slaughter. One person alone, even a cunning one, will struggle to cross it.”

“And we won’t?” Xalen scoffed.

“What choice do we have?” Brabara said. “Either we give chase and try to recover the rod pieces, or we give up and let Vecna win.”

“Besides,” Ebyn said, firelight reflecting in his eyes, “he doesn’t have what we have.”

“And what’s that?” Xalen asked.

Ebyn spread his arms. “Us. The four of us who have bled together, and the people we fight for. We’re more than the sum of our parts. Whoever the thief is, they have no idea who they’re up against.”

“We fought hard to get the rod,” he continued. “Whoever stole it cannot be allowed to keep it. They know the threat Vecna poses if he completes his ritual, yet they chose to take the one weapon that might stop him.”

“Doesn’t that prove this false Mordenkainen is working with Vecna?” Seknafret asked.

“Not necessarily,” Ebyn said. “Think about it. Why send us on this quest at all? If Vecna wanted the rod useless, he’d leave it in pieces. No, someone else is playing a deeper game.”

“I fear you may be right,” Alustriel said. “And whatever that game is, we cannot leave the Rod in the hands of someone willing to endanger the multiverse.”

Ebyn nodded. “Agreed. We must pursue the thief, but not blindly. First, we arm ourselves with knowledge.”

“Research?” Brabara groaned. “I thought time was against us.”

“It is,” Alustriel said, moving to stand beside her wife. “But Ebyn is right. Avernus is deadly, even for mortals as capable as you four. Malaina and I will go to the Clerk’s Ward and speak with Hanush. He knows more about the Nine Hells than anyone, and he owes us. A few hours should be enough to gather what we can about Avernus and the Red Belvedere.”

“Fine,” Brabara said. “What do we do in the meantime?”

“Get some sleep,” Malaina said. “You’re going to have a few busy days ahead of you.”

---

The nightmare came as it always did.

 

Decades slip by, each one a shadow deeper than the last. Vecna moves through time like a ghost, his existence a tapestry of subterfuge, manipulation, and carefully crafted lies – all to pry secrets from the Weavers, secrets they guard more fiercely than their own lives. The Ritual of Remaking looms, a forbidden promise that gnaws at his soul.

But before Vecna can reshape existence, he must ensure the Weavers’ knowledge is his alone. Their memory must vanish from history, their legacy erased. He does not need to destroy them – time itself will claim them eventually. Instead, he walks the timelines like corridors, stepping from age to age, world to world, cutting out every reference to the Weavers. He rewrites histories, burns archives, silences scholars, and reshapes the obelisks so none but he may ever use them again.

Patience is his only companion. Time no longer constrains him; it is a tool – a river he can divert, dam, or drown worlds in. Each secret he steals is a thread pulled from the fabric of reality, each erasure a wound that echoes across the ages.

He is relentless. The multiverse will be his. All he needs is time.

 

As the dream faded, they felt it again – that faint, sickening lurch in their stomachs, the sense that something fundamental had shifted beneath them. That history itself was no longer what it had been a moment before.

Understanding flickered at the edge of consciousness… then vanished, leaving only a cold unease coiled beneath their thoughts.

They awoke with the memories of eons slipping away like sand through fingers, yet the enormity of Vecna’s plan remained burned into their minds. For the first time, the true urgency of their task stood before them with brutal clarity.

“Holy shit,” Xalen muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “This guy is insane.”

“The sheer arrogance of it,” Seknafret said. “To literally place himself at the centre of reality.”

“It isn’t madness,” Ebyn said quietly. “It’s ambition. Imagine what he could have accomplished if he’d poured that boundless energy into the betterment of others instead of feeding his own hunger for power.”

“That would’ve made our lives less complicated,” Xalen said with a tired chuckle.

Ebyn stood, stretching the stiffness from his limbs. He reached into his pack and withdrew a pouch of powdered ruby. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he said, “I have a simulacrum to complete.”

---

Alustriel and Malaina returned to the sanctuary late in the afternoon. Neither looked as though they’d slept at all, but they carried several sheafs of parchment filled with notes and diagrams, which they spread across the lounge table.

“I see we have a new guest,” Alustriel said, eyeing the simulacrum Ebyn had crafted. “What should I call you?”

“I am Secondus,” the simulacrum replied with a polite bow. “It is an honour to meet you, Lady Alustriel, Lady Malaina.”

“Welcome, Secondus,” Malaina said warmly.

“This is everything we could find on Avernus and the Red Belvedere,” Alustriel said, gesturing to the papers. “Go through them with Malaina while I configure the portal.”

Once she left, Malaina gathered the notes. “So, Avernus. First layer of the Nine Hells. A blasted wasteland and frequent battleground of the Blood War.”

“Blood War?” Brabara asked.

“A perpetual conflict between the devils of the Hells and the demons of the Abyss,” Malaina explained. “It’s been raging for millennia. Much of it spills across Avernus.”

“Sounds delightful,” Xalen said dryly.

“Believe it or not,” Malaina said, rifling through the papers until she found the right one, “it used to be a paradise. Asmodeus created it to tempt mortals. But when the River Styx breached the plane, the demons poured in, and the paradise was destroyed. The war began.”

“How are we supposed to survive in a place like that?” Brabara asked.

“It is dangerous,” Malaina admitted. “But mortals who end up there are either powerful or incredibly foolish. You’re unlikely to be attacked on sight, but don’t start anything. You might win the first fight, but conflicts in Avernus escalate. Eventually, you will be overwhelmed.”

“Great,” Brabara muttered. “Just great.”

“We must remember we are the interlopers,” Ebyn said. “We cannot afford to play the hero for every soul we see suffering. We’ll be surrounded by evil beings doing evil deeds. We may have to look the other way.”

Malaina nodded. “Ebyn is right. There may be times you’ll need to work with fiends to find the missing rod pieces or secure the last one.”

“I don’t like this,” Tiny said, squeezing Brabara’s hand. “This sounds incredibly dangerous.”

Brabara smiled at him. “It is, darling. But if we don’t do this, we could lose everything.”

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Xalen said, trying for bravado, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “We’ll look after the little woman for you.”

“Hey, who are you calling little?” Brabara shot back.

Tiny laughed and squeezed her hand again. “You’ve all done a good job so far. I’ll trust you.”

“Can you tell us anything about the Red Belvedere?” Ebyn asked.

“Yes.” Malaina lifted another sheet. “The Red Belvedere is… a casino, of sorts. Built on the ruins of the former paradise by a champion of Tiamat. In truth, it’s a temple to the Dragon Queen’s greed and vanity.”

“A casino?” Seknafret said. “In hell?”

“Not so strange,” Brabara said. “I’ve seen what gambling debt does to people. Broken bones, ruined families, destroyed lives. Hell seems like the perfect place for that.”

“This champion of Tiamat,” Ebyn said. “Are they still around? What do we know?”

“Only a name,” Malaina said. “Windfall.” She glanced around the room. “If there are no more questions, feel free to read through the notes while you wait for Alustriel. I imagine you’ll want to leave as soon as the portal is ready.”

“Will either of you be coming with us?” Seknafret asked.

Malaina shook her head. “No. We’ll stay here and try to uncover who this false Mordenkainen really is. There may still be clues.”