WoW C3.S7.14 Assault on Kolat Towers

Leaving Yellowspire

Following the events of WoW C3.S6.13 The Prospect of Leadership, most of the party had just left Yellowspire and were walking north to Trollskull Alley along the High Road. Meanwhile Vonna had been at the Halls of Justice meeting with her adoptive father Hykros Allumen. Fearonuh was still missing since disappearing the night before from her bedroom under mysterious circumstances.
Suddenly they saw Fearonuh round the corner at a full sprint, followed closely by a cloud of over 20 imps. The red skinned monsters were hot on her tail. Fearonuh waved franticly to her friends to turn around and yelled “RUN!!”
Everyone turned and began running the other direction except TMM05, who took a few seconds to get his engine revved up. He was quickly swarmed by the imps, but most of them continued to go after Fearounuh. TMM05 was then able to get up to running speed, blasting through the clinging imps and the party members grabbed onto his siding as he jetted past them, slashing at the few imps who remained onboard. Finally TMM05 got up to full speed and the party was able to leave the imps in their dust.
Fearonuh pulled the Unknown from her pouch, one of its three eye sockets now filled with a jet-black eye, and said to the party: “We have to get to Yellowspire…”

Revelations from Hykros

A day or so after the Lost and Found defeated the The Overseer, Vonna received a letter from her adoptive father, High Priest Hykros Allumen, inviting her to the Halls of Justice. They hadn't spoken in over two years. He said he wanted to congratulate her personally on her accomplishment and that they had much to discuss. Meanwhile, the rest of the party was making plans to go investigate Yellowspire, on intel from Jarlaxle that this appeared to have been Urstul Floxin's base of operations. Vonna didn't think this was a good idea with tensions with the Zhents still quite high and the prospect of the Unknown taking over leadership of the Zhents on the table.
Vonna had been apprehensive—skeptical, even. After all that had passed between them, was this a peace offering or a summons cloaked in velvet? But curiosity—and a sense of unfinished business—won out. When she arrived at the Halls of Justice the pews were full. She hadn't expected to walk in during a sermon. She felt that this had to be some sort of power move by Hykros. She slipped into a pew at the back of the grand chamber, the air heavy with incense and righteousness.
Hykros took the pulpit and began: “Brothers and sisters, we gather today under the gaze of Tyr, the Even-Handed, to reflect on our sacred duty to uphold and spread the rule of law. It is law that turns chaos into order and ensures that peace and prosperity can flourish. Without it, society would crumble, leaving only strife and darkness in its wake.”
“The law is more than a set of decrees. It is the foundation of civilization, the structure that protects the weak, curbs the excesses of the strong, and binds all to a common standard. Tyr reminds us that no one—not kings, not heroes, not even the gods—stands above the law. It is this principle that brings stability to the world, and it is our divine calling to ensure that its light shines everywhere.”
“Today, let us pause to honor a group who answered that call with unmatched valor. A group who may not be devout followers of Tyr, but walk his path all the same. And among them—Vonna. Once a student of our faith. Now, an agent of justice in her own right.” That startled a few heads to turn. Vonna took off her helmet but remained seated.
“This week the members of Unknown struck a decisive blow against the forces of chaos and corruption by defeating the Overseer, the vile architect of the criminal underworld. Through their courage and determination, they have cut out the heart of lawlessness that had plagued Waterdeep for far too long.
“To these brave souls, we offer our deepest gratitude. Your deeds have done more than bring justice to one villain—you have restored faith in the power of the law and order. You are living proof of what we can achieve when we stand united in his name.”
“But let this victory also serve as a reminder of our ongoing mission. The battle against lawlessness is never truly finished. We must remain vigilant, ever ready to confront those who would undermine the order we hold sacred. For where law is absent, chaos will always seek to return.”
“Let us carry this spirit of resolve forward. May we live as examples of Tyr’s teachings, spreading the rule of law not through fear or force, but through the strength of its principles. Let us build courts where there is anarchy, teach governance where there is ignorance, and bring hope to those who suffer under the shadow of lawlessness.”
“Go forth, faithful of Tyr. Carry the light of law into the world, honor the sacrifices of those who fight for its preservation, and may the Maimed God guide and protect you always. In the name of Tyr, the Bringer of Order. Amen.”
The attendees started to get up and file out, a few who know Vonna approached her and give her a handshake, but didn't linger to chat. Hykros remained near the front of the room and he made eye contact with Vonna, but didn't move.
Vonna cast thaumaturgy to mirror the volume of his voice. And she said: "What do you want Dad?"
He said: "Hello Vonna, it's good to see you. I wasn't sure you'd come. Would you walk with me? We can talk privately—in my office.”
Vonna: "We can talk here just fine. I have nothing to hide. Do you?"
Hykros: "Very well." He said, and walked over to sit with her on the pew.
"Like I said up there, slaying the Overseer is an incredible achievement. The city owes you a great deal of thanks. I wanted to tell you how proud of you I am. I also need to apologize to you..."
His gaze wandered, towards a small alcove where a weapon sat displayed. A maul with its great hammer resting on a simple stone pedestal. The Hammer of Judgement. She had head the tales of it from others, but Hykros didn't like to speak of it. It was said he laid it down over 150 years ago when he took up the robes of the priesthood and magister. He left behind his former life as one of the most formidable paladins in all of Faerun, one of Tyr’s Grimjaws. It was said that only someone worthy could pick up the hammer. Vonna turned towards Hykros but stays silent. She waited for him to continue
"I was wrong for what I did when you found those documents, to make you out to be a liar. To banish you from this place. I just didn't know what else to do at the time. The truth is, the documents you saw were real, you just didnt understand what you were looking at. There is a lot more to the story. The truth is I was hurt... hurt you didn't come talk to me first. And my hurt turned to anger, and I did things I deeply regret."
Vonna couldn't get a good read on him, but he seemed to be being truthful and heartfelt. Vonna: "We've both done things we regret. I wish it was sooner, but I came to talk to you now."
Hykros: "In time I hope you will forgive me, once you understand the position I’ve been in. It all started when Dagult Neverember approached me under the banner of hope. The New Neverwinter Corporation, he called it—a mission to restore a city broken by calamity. He spoke of rebuilding not just its walls, but its spirit. Of restoring the Neverwinter Halls of Justice.”
“I believed him. I wanted to. He promised a partnership. Said Neverwinter needed order, that Tyr’s teachings could form the moral backbone of a new civic code. It felt like a moment of divine providence.”
"The Hall of Justice,” Hykros continued, sweeping his gaze across the marble and stained glass, “was not just a temple. It was the final outpost of stability when the city fell apart. After the cataclysm, the plague, the chaos… it stood when almost nothing else did. A lone flame in a city smothered by darkness.”
“Dagult wanted my blessing, but he wanted much more,” Hykros said. “He needed legitimacy. To win over the council and secure investment in the corporation from the noble houses, he had to frame his plan as righteous. Not just a political or economic, venture—but a moral crusade. And for that, he needed me.”
He met her gaze. “He asked me to publicly endorse the New Neverwinter Corporation, and to oversee the rebuilding funds. He said that with the Church of Tyr's hand guiding the purse, it would put the nobles at ease. Give the Masked Lords of Waterdeep confidence.”
“And I agreed—not out of ambition, but out of duty. I thought, if I could keep an eye on the gold, I could ensure it was used properly. That it would go to rebuilding homes, repairing streets, hiring honest laborers—not lining pockets. I wanted to be a check on the corruption I feared would follow.”
"And so the Council approved, the noble investors put up coin and the project began. Dagult set up his base of operations at the Hall of Justice, and for a time, things looked well and good. The Hall of Justice was restored, they fortified the area around it, and there was real momentum for the project."
"The ongoing costs were funded from a portion of the new tax that Dagult instituted, one silver per adult per month. But after a few years our collections were coming in far too low. The city guard was stretched too thin and had been having trouble getting people to cough up the payments from the new tax. Then Dagult hatched the idea of hiring the Zhentarim to be supplemental guard and tax collectors, to be paid from a portion of the tax collections. Overall it made sense, and I supported it, as long as the collections still came through me for audit."
"And so the Zhents were brought on, and things seemed to be above board, even if they were a bit thuggish with their collection tactics. But then Dagult began dragging his feet on turning over the now renovated Hall of Justice to us. He never said it, but it became clear to me he was holding it as leverage."
Vonna had a better read on him now, she could feel his emotion as he talked about the slow escalation of the engagement towards corruption, and the strain he was under. He was being honest and bearing his soul
"And then came Thornhold. You saw it in the ledgers. On paper, just a property sale item. Dagult Neverember bought it from the Margasters for 40,000 gold. Then sold it to the Stoneshaft dwarves for a million. The Stoneshafts, conveniently, couldn’t be reached. And the magister who recorded the deed? Dead of old age within the month. I caught wind of it and confronted Dagult."
"Thornhold is sacred to Tyr," he said bitterly. "The Knights of Samular held it for generations. Reclaiming it would have been... historic."
"Dagult called a secret meeting that included the Cassalanters, the Maragasters, and myself. The Cassalanter Family revealed a painful and confidential secret, that their children's souls were to be claimed by a devil within a few years if they didn't come up with a massive sum of gold. The source of the money... well... the Zhentarim had been collecting more tax dollars than the reported on paper. Had been depositing it elsewhere... Dagult made it sound like this was the only way. They showed me the infernal contract, it was all very real. They planned to make up the missing funds within a few years, to make it all even. I was skeptical, as you might imagine, and didn't commit to keeping their secret at the meeting. Shortly after... I received a surprise visit from Dagult. He promised to pin this all on me if I didn't back down. Said that the church was well known to be interested in re-acquiring Thornhold, that my motive for laundering the money would be crystal clear. The rest wrote itself..."
"He had me cornered, I had no moves left to make. And at the same time, the threat to the Cassalanter twins weighed heavily on me. Two innocent souls doomed to eternal suffering. I agreed to keep quiet, but I continued collecting evidence, helped to try to steer this monstrosity in the least corrupt direction I could."
"That was only a year before you found the documents in my office. But there were signs even then that Dagult's control was unraveling. The council was losing faith, seeing him devote all his time to Neverwinter, whispers of improper use of funds. In a last ditch effort he used the magic of the Stone of Golorr to erase all memory of the embezzlement details, himself included. But you found the evidence I had hidden in my office and reported it to the paper. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was furious with you then, because I couldn't remember the scope of Dagult's sins, but in hindsight, it was the best thing that could have happened. I was just too weak and scared to do it myself."
“You exposed him, Vonna. You were right to. And I see that now more clearly than ever. But I—I let myself become the face of it. I lent my name, and by doing so, stained the Church. There are whispers in every temple that we were complicit. That I was. And maybe I was."
He looked her in the eye, pain rippling beneath the surface of his stern façade. “But I believe Tyr still sees truth in me. In us. And I believe you do, too. The Unknown—if it's found, it could reveal everything. The embezzlement. The full chain of deceit. If we can return the gold, we clear not only my name, but the name of Tyr’s church. We bring justice. Real justice.”
He paused, the silence heavy between them. “I’m asking you, Vonna. Not as a priest. Not even as your father. But as a man who lost his way trying to do what was right. Help me set this straight. Finish what you started. Let’s end this the way Tyr would demand—truthfully, and without fear.”
With tears in her eyes, Vonna said: "Why did you wait so long to tell me?"
Hykros: "I didn't know if you'd believe me... and I feared you would be even more disappointed in me than I am of myself. I guess I couldn't bear the thought of you turning your back on me again..."
Hykros took a breath, steadying himself. “I never wanted you to be a fighter,” he said. “I wanted you to keep you safe. For you to wield words, not weapons. To sit in judgment, not war. ” His eyes glistened. “That was my dream, not yours. taught you to speak truth, to weigh justice… but I see now—I have to let you forge your own path.”
"I hope you can forgive an old fool in time." He grabbed her hand. For a moment, time stilled—just an old priest and the woman he had raised, both burdened with choices and regrets.
Vonna: "This is a lot to take in but I want to forgive you. I dearly miss our old days. And Maybe we can fix this mess by working together."
He nodded and said "I'd like that. I can offer my connections and knowledge wherever it may be helpful. Plus, we can always put out the call to the Grimjaws if there is dire need." They spoke a bit more and when they parted, he placed a hand on her shoulder and offered a faint, warm smile. “Come by for dinner soon, will you? Marta keeps setting an extra place for you. I think she still hopes you'll come back for good.”
Then Hykros turned and made his way down the hall, robes whispering against the polished stone. As he disappeared from view, Vonna felt it—something in the chamber seemed to shift. Her gaze drifted, unbidden, to the far alcove where the Hammer of Judgment rested atop its plain pedestal, as it had for over a century.
She had heard the stories, everyone had. How Hykros had once carried it across Faerûn as one of Tyr’s Grimjaws—righteous, unrelenting, indomitable. How he had laid it down when he chose the robe over the sword. How, since then, many had tried to claim it. None had succeeded. Even she had tried, once, years ago—when no one was watching. She had crept into the sanctuary and gripped the handle with both hands. It hadn’t moved. Not a fraction of an inch. She had walked away, ashamed but unsurprised.
Now, drawn to it once again, she stepped toward the pedestal. Her breath quickened as she neared the weapon. Without thinking, her hands reached out, fingers wrapping around the haft. She tried to lift it. It didn’t budge. Her grip tightened, her muscles straining, but the hammer was resolute, unmoving, as though it had never known the touch of another.
A heavy silence fell over her as the weight of the hammer seemed to anchor her to the stone floor. For a moment, she stood there, her hands still locked around it, disappointment settling over her like a shadow.
Then something stirred deep within her—a pull she couldn’t ignore. She let go of the hammer and took a step back, her gaze never leaving it. She closed her eyes, the room filling with the hum of ancient power. Her breath steadied, and she lowered her head. She didn’t know what had compelled her, but she felt something beyond her own will, something older.
Vonna heard the booming voice of Tyr in her head: “Vonna is NOT worthy of this weapon. Her brash and chaotic nature is ill suited for a Grimjaw. And yet, evil is festering in this city and it must be rebuked by any means necessary. For now Vonna will wield the hammer of judgement.
Then, slowly, the hammer began to lift. It rose into her hands, lighter than a feather, and a surge of power flooded through her. She felt unshackled—like a weight had lifted from her, as though everything had finally aligned. Her grip tightened, and for the first time, she knew: she was ready. Ready to take on anything.

Fearonuh’s Dream

Fearonuh drifted in a starless void. No ground. No sky. No sound. She was weightless, timeless—adrift in a realm between breath and memory. Then the shard at her belt pulsed.
Memory surged through her—not like thought, but like being pulled under water. She could not stop it. Could not look away. Her mother, bloodied and breathless, shielding a small Fearonuh beneath falling rubble and flame. Arms wrapped around her like iron roots, unmoving even as death claimed her.
Another memory. Fearonuh at the head of a howling horde, sprinting across bloodstained fields. Steel in hand. Eyes burning. Her blade falls upon orcish flesh—no mercy, no hesitation. Bloodlust surged through her like fire, drowning all thought. She did not stop.
Then— The burning halls of the Obould dynasty. King. Queen. All fallen by her hand. Except one. Baby Lorgru—spared, not by strategy, but because something in her cracked. Because she, too, had once been small. And lost. And alone.
Another memory crashed in. Fearonuh, still bloodstained from the throne room, slips away while the war celebrations rage. She trades her armor for rags, rips a tusk from her jaw, and steals as much of the royal hoard as she can carry. She takes a horse and rides through the night, vanishing into the dark. Not defeated—choosing exile over a crown. She couldn’t bear to repeat the cycle. Couldn’t be what the gods demanded, if this was their way.
Then—Older now. Slower. Cornered in Waterdeep. Ambushed by the Thieves’ Guild. Dragged down into the fetid dark of the sewers—stripped of weapons, shackled, mocked. They saw her as nothing more than salvage. But chaos erupted between guild factions—Zhentarim blades flashing in the dark. In the chaos, she broke free, shattered her chains, and escaped with the surviving Zhentarim and her future companions of the Lost and Found Crew. Bloodied, breathless—but alive. And for the first time in years, she felt it: the spark. The hunger not for battle—but for life.
The relic shard pulsed again—brighter now, the beat steady, like a second heart.
From the dark, a figure stepped forward. Robes of deep black, heavy and immaculate, seeming to drink in the dim glow from the shard. It was faceless, its presence immense. Its voice emerged like shifting stone.
Mysterious Figure: “I’ve always taken interest in people like you, Fearonuh. Those who have yet to meet their full potential. Those who may just need a little push, and the whole course of history would shift.” It lifted its hand. Fearonuh's relic shard drifted toward it, hovering above its palm, glowing faintly with memory.
Mysterious Figure: “I’ve seen the path you walked. The glories you won, and the pain you buried. You fled not only your past—but the gods who shaped your people.”
A pause. Mysterious Figure: “You turned away from Gruumsh—the One-Eye, whose fury forged an empire. And Luthic... Cave Mother. You feared the cycle. You feared becoming what made you. You believed the gods demanded blood... and that you had spilled enough.”
The void throbbed gently around her. She said nothing.
Mysterious Figure: “But Luthic was not distant. Perhaps you didn’t know how to call to her. She is not rage. She is the heart of orcish memory—the keeper of what is built, not broken. The warmth of the fire that feeds the horde. The claw that defends it. The voice passed down in story, in scar, in perseverance. She is what remains when the warband dies and the children must go on.”
The figure tilted its head, watching her. Mysterious Figure: “She has waited for you. And waits still.”
Fearonuh closed her eyes and shed called—not with words, not with ritual, but with breath. With longing. With the quiet yearning of someone who has wandered too long in the dark and no longer fears what waits in the light. Not a plea. Not a surrender. A reconnection.
And in that moment, she sees it: A snow-covered pine forest, hushed and untouched beneath a pale gray sky. At its edge, a white tiger. Still as moonlight. Its eyes—piercing, ancient—hold hers across the distance. Watching. Waiting. She does not flinch.
Mysterious Figure: “To walk this path, you must find the strength to face the pain you buried. The wounds you let fester.”
A pause. Then: “When you awaken, you will carry a purpose anew." It pressed something into her palm. The void around them began to fracture, edges splintering like cracked obsidian.
Fearonuh awakened in the Terasse House of Healing, twenty-four hours later. She lay on a stone slab, firelight casting long shadows across the chamber. Lutra Terasse, the elder shaman, sat beside her.
Lutra (softly): “You were found at our doorstep, child. No wounds. But poisoned. A rare kind—silent, creeping. Meant to kill slowly, leave no trace. Someone meant for you to vanish.”
Fearonuh breathed. Stillness surrounded her. But something within now stirred.
Lutra (with awe): “But you did not vanish. You returned. And not alone.” (quietly) “You have been chosen, Fearonuh. By Luthic.”
Fearonuh said nothing. But her gaze sharpened. Her breath deepened. Something had returned to her—rooted and real. The beginning of something not yet fully named.
She reached toward her belt and found it—an eye of Stone of Golorr. Slick. Black. Slightly slimy. Pulsing faintly in her palm, alien and cold. Her stomach turned. She knew what she must do.
Fearonuh (gruffly): “I need to go. Now.”
Lutra blinked. “Child—”
Fearonuh: “Thank you. But I can’t stay.”
She stands, wraps the Eye quickly, and hurries for the door. She needs to get it into the portable hole—now. Hide it. Protect it. Keep it safe.

Awakening The Stone of Golorr

The basement was still. The portable hole lay open on the floor, an ominous tear in the air. Fearonuh knelt beside it, her arm deep in its depths. Grinda Garloth, shrunken to half her size, stood at the far side of the room, eyes darting nervously.
“Be careful,” Grinda warned, her voice tight with concern. “That thing—if you take it out, it could be seen by any scrying magic. The Unknown is not safe. We need to keep it hidden!”
Fearonuh didn’t answer.
She reached into the hole, her fingers closing around the Stone of Golorr. Cold. Heavy. Dangerous. It seemed to hum under her touch.
From a pouch at her side, Fearonuh pulled out the black, slimy eye, still warm and pulsing in her hand. She pressed it into the center socket of the Stone. Shlk.
The Stone stirred. The cold surface rippled beneath her fingers as the eye slotted into place. The central eye of the Stone opened—deep black, staring into Fearonuh’s soul. “I must be made whole.” The voice wasn’t in her ears. It was inside her head.
Grinda’s eyes widened in fear as she noticed the change. “Fearonuh, no—put it back! Please! If anyone sees it—” But Fearonuh didn’t hear her. The voice of the Stone whispered: “I must be found.”
Grinda began to run towards toward the brass machine across the room—the device that could restore her to full size. But the distance was far, and Grinda was moving quickly, but her small, frantic steps were no match for the time they had left. “Don’t—don’t—if you don’t put it back now, the whole city could know it’s here.”
But Fearonuh lifted the Stone out of the portable hole. A faint glow radiated from it as she held it in her hands. Grinda’s voice became a frantic whisper. “Put it back Fearonuh please…”
Grinda’s words were drowned out by a sudden, CRASH. The sound of glass shattering echoed from above—sharp and violent. Fearonuh’s heart raced, the air seeming to tighten around them. Then—screams, and the fluttering of wings. Leathery wings.
“They’ve found me,” the Stone whispered to Fearonuh, its voice both calm and inevitable. The words hit her like a weight in the chest.
And then the imps dropped down into the basement. Three of them. Small, twisted bodies with gleaming claws, scorpion tails, their wings ragged and torn. Fearonuh’s grip tightened on the Stone. Without hesitation, she shoved it into her satchel, wrapping it quickly in cloth. She drew her axe. With a battle cry, Fearonuh cleaved one imp in two—its body splitting open with black ichor spilling onto the floor. Another imp rushed forward, its claws aimed for Grinda’s shrunken body. Fearonuh roared and grabbed the creature by its wings, crushing it with a single twist.
The flames of Grinda’s frustration burned bright. “Fearonuh, run!” With that, Fearonuh didn’t hesitate. She turned and sprinted out of the basement, with the imps following
As she ran she heard the voice of the mysterious figure from her dream. It said- “Take the stone to Yellowspire, your friends will be there, it will be safe with the Zhentarim.” Fearnouh didn’t know what else to do, and did as it said.

Back to Yellowspire

Vonna left the the Halls of Justice and decided to take a short walk to the south towards Yellowspire to see if her friends were still there. She heard a commotion behind her and turned to see the group speeding towards her clinging to TMM05. They waved to her to jump on and they proceeded to Yellowspire.
This time it seemed like the Zhents were expecting them and Agorn Fuoco ushered them inside with the cloud of imps approaching in the distance. He took them down into the basement where he unlocked the room they had been barred from entering previously. Inside was a teleportation circle. One by one everyone stepped inside and were teleported elsewhere.
They found themselves teleported to another teleportation circle in a round windowless room with walls made of stone that appeared to be at the top of a tower. They proceeded to follow a set of spiral stairs downward where they passed through a musty library on the floor below before encountering a talking stone statue on the next floor. It welcomed them and said that their plans unfortunately had to be accelerated. It said there wasn’t much time, that they should proceed to the other tower across the bridge. The party reluctantly proceeded across a creaking wooden bridge to a larger tower. They saw that they were still in Waterdeep, and inside of a shimmering forcefield that protected the two towers. Some remembered seeing these towers, it was now clear that an illusion had been cast to make them appear abandoned and near collapse. They were called Kolat Towers.
There they were welcomed by Kaevja Cynavern who ushered them upstairs and introduced them to an imposing wizard who stood watching them approach from the balcony above. He was a tall thin man wearing black robes, sporting long dark hair spilling out of his hood. Most of his face was obscured by a metal mask, but his watchful eyes were visible. They were calm, unblinking, and sharp as broken glass. His gaze didn’t need to be cruel to make you flinch. Party members recalled that Manshoonwas the original founder of the Zhentarim over 200 years ago. He was also well known to have been killed a little about 115 years ago. Upon his death more than a dozen clones awoke from stasis chambers hidden around the continent and proceeded to battle each other to claim the title of the “true” Manshoon. After about 15 years of open warfare, public accounts of Manshoon evaporated. Most assumed that one had prevailed, or all were dead.
Manshoon told the group it was clear someone had seen the Unknown with scrying magic. He said that creatures from Baator (The Nine Hells) were coming to claim it. He assured them that the tower was a very defensible location and said that if all else failed to retreat to the 4th floor where he had a magic circle in which he could trap creatures. Manshoon gave Bartholomew Glockenspiel a scroll of see invisibility.

Assault on Kolat Towers

Everyone took defensive positions. Fearonuh and Ziraj the Hunter stood outside on the bridge to ensure the attackers would know where the stone was, planning to lure them inside to her allies.
Just a few minutes later Manshoon murmured: “They’re here…” Then, the top floor of the smaller tower exploded. Ziraj and Fearonuh narrowly avoided falling stone and debris. They looked up and saw raging flames at the top of the tower. Then, Agorn Fuoco was thrown down from the top by some unseen force, screaming. He was bound in rope and at the bottom of his fall he was caught by a rope connected from his feet to the top of the tower. The impact broke his back, and he groaned in agony.
Next, everyone heard a deep gravely voice speak in their head telepathically: “To anyone listening, I’m here for the stone. Hand it over, or everyone here will be dead in a matter of minutes. Agorn, this is a Wizard’s tower isn’t it? Why don’t you tell me how to get to the Wizard. Maybe I’ll let you live.”
Agorn began stammering: “I’m not sure he’s here, but you can get to him if you just-” Before he could reveal anything more, Manshoon used Misty Step to teleport outside to the bridge next to Fearnonuh and killed Agorn with a bolt of fire.
A moment later a Manshoon let out a yelp as a dagger materialized, impaled in his side. It was wielded by a hulking 9-foot tall devil (Yurgir the Orthon) who had just dropped his invisibility magic. Manshoon was badly poisoned by the blade’s hellish magic.
Yurgir proceeded to pull 5 golden skulls from his bandolier and throw them onto the ground. Each of them summoned a heavily armored fiendish soldier wearing a metal mask (Merregon). The Orthon then jumped backwards onto the outstretched arms of the Merregon, and they crowd surfed him away from Manshoon and Fearonuh. Finally, Yurgir became invisible once again.
Vonna misty stepped across the bridge to where the Orthon had disappeared, but was able to see him using her blindsight within a few feet of her. She proceeded to say “Fiend, in the name of Tyr I shall slay you were you stand!” before attacking it with her newly acquired Hammer of Judgement which seared him with radiant fire. However, Merregon moved to intercept some of the attacks, absorbing damage on behalf of their commander. Once Yurgir was damaged, he was no longer invisible until his next turn. He wiped some blood from his mouth and laughed, saying: “That felt good, I’ve been trapped underground for a hundred years, I’ve been itching for a good fight.”
The Merregon proceeded to attack Manshoon and Vonna with their halberds for massive damage. Vonna was badly wounded and knocked unconscious.
Pyper cast Psychic Lance on Yurgir, causing him to be temporarily incapacitated. Ziraj shot at Yurgir with his longbow. Bart teleported over to Vonna to help heal her. Bruce did an acrobatic leap to join the fray on the bridge. TMM05 beginning revving up to charge at the first enemy through the door. Fearonuh slashed at the Merregon with her newly acquired Claws of Luthic before retreating inside the tower.
Manshoon returned fire with a Bolt of Lightning which hit all of the Merregon and Yurgir for massive damage. He next cast a spell intending to stupify Yurgir, but the Orthon was able to use legendary resistance to shake off the effect. He then retreated inside the tower and called out to the Orthon: “Meet me upstairs Orthon, if you dare to face me”
The Orthon fired his infernal crossbow and the projectile exploded near Ziraj and TMM05, and pushing them both away from the explosion. It launched Ziraj off of the bridge, who landed 30 feet below on hard stone, incurring significant injury. The Orthon then turned invisible and used his infernal jetpack to fly over the chaos on the bridge and inside the tower to a hiding spot on the first floor. He also dropped a device with a blinking indicator near the doorway that could only be assumed to be a bomb. The remaining Merregon moved inside the tower and attacked Fearonuh.
Bart teleported back to the other tower and used his Scroll of See Invisibility to spot Yurgir, hitting him with a spell attack to make him visible once again. Bruce threw the bomb off the of the bridge to neutralize the threat. Pyper used her magic to fly, triggering a wild magic surge which caused her clothing to grow incredibly tight, which was a bit distracting some onlookers. She flew through the towers glowing light a comet.
The battle continued up the spiral stairs towards the 4th floor of the tower where Manshoon had retreated and told the party to meet him to trap the Orthon. Yurgir used his jetpack to fly up to the 4th floor and stabbed Manshoon once again with his infernal dagger. Manshoon was once again subjected to the otherworldly poison, and crumpled to the ground unconscious. Yurgir became invisible once again and began to retreat back towards the stairs.
Even though he was invisible, Bruce was able to strike Yurgir with his Shau Lung Dao, capturing him in his sundering sphere for about 6 seconds. Meanwhile Metatronia helped heal Manshoon with a potion, getting him back into action.
Once Yurgir escaped the sundering sphere, he found himself surrounded. Spellcasters began taking their positions at the five nodes of the pentagram drawn on the floor. Bruce and TMM05 teamed up to grapple Yurgir and push him into the magic circle. Yurgir detonated a bomb on himself as a last ditch effort, dealing substantial damage to everyone in the room, before he escaped the circle briefly. However, he was then knocked unconscious by Bruce and dragged back into the circle.
Manshoon coached the spellcasters in the ritual as they activated the magic circle to trap Yurgir. A shimmering column of light rose to surround the unconscious devil.
TO BE CONTINUED…

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