The Jewel in the Skull

“It was my crowning achievement! It should have shown them all that Pandit Freud was just a crazed charlatan, obsessing only about the most simple of biological functions, ignoring the wider world and its infinite fractal nature, in his perverted pursuit of fleshly perfection. While he was busy with cutting up our experimental participants for his base interests, I managed to create a work of sublime beauty. A construction that was only intended to serve the simple need of water and waste disposal for our city, but it became so much more. Through my vision, and the simple application of basic sorcerous science, the city’s plumbing became a monument to my findings regarding the true nature of consciousness and reality itself. Trickling down through miniscule pipes, the fresh clean water of a multitude of mountain springs coalesced into a reservoir above the city, filling our minds, bodies and souls with cleanliness and the inspiration of the beyond, while beneath us, our waste was washed down into the primordial ooze, along with our unfulfilled desires failed dreams and nightmares.” Pandit Jung took a deep breath, looking around, before remarking, “In the case of my mentor, this was not just figuratively speaking. His waste was often caused by his failed experiments, some of whom were quite nightmarish, even to us.”

“I managed to harness the strength of the beautiful symbolism of this system into raw power, fuelling my mentor’s experiments. Of course, he couldn’t stand this. Here he was, pandering his flawed theories to our people, while all the while, secretly needing the fruits of my superior thought to even conduct the most basic of experiments. The situation was untenable. The adventurers’ arrival was the catalyst for the events that followed. He knew he had been weakened by us having to negotiate with the subderro, and so he had to get rid of me. He cast me out to fend for myself. I was captured by the Broken Lance Orcs, who tormented me with their pitifully banal tortures. I must admit, I was certain that I would die a rather nondescript death at the hands of the orcs, before I was acquired by your agents.”

Pandit Jung rubbed the manacles on his wrists. He eyed the self-dead pig in the corner with a gluttonous gaze.

“So you want me to map out my masterpiece? Yes there is a way directly into the treasure chamber from these tunnels, but do you think that this way is actually a feasible way to sneak into the city? I mean, there is something I didn’t tell you…Freud found a way of controlling the most heinous of the waste feeders. He inserted a scrying gem into its forehead. You would need to trick it into the vortex before he uses it to kill you.”

Interlude in Febril - The Mad God's Amulet

Szandor was not in the best of moods, Istvan realised. Having been his number one “problem solver” for the last few years, he had developed the skill of leaving a room before the fiery bolts of death appeared into a scientific discipline. Unfortunately, he had a nagging suspicion that Szandor would take an early exit in the worst possible way, so he just stood there, his eyes fixed squarely on the oddly shaped jewel hanging from a copper chain around Szandor’s neck.

“So let me get this straight,” Szandor was building up momentum. “Not only did you fail to see how letting Bodush and his merry band of hapless do-gooding idiots wander around with the disciples of Thereanthor, who have been talking for time immemorial about how to summon their master back from the pit,” Szandor took a deep breath. Why did his sentences have to be so long? “No, you had to report back to me how this was brilliant as it kept them from seeing our hand behind the scenes of the recent attack on Febril,”

If only he would finish this sentence, maybe there was a chance of giving an answer that would allow Istvan to avoid instant immolation, but no. “Not thinking about how this could lead to the most dramatic political upheaval since the Forbidden Lands became forbidden!” Istvan took a deep breath to say something, but Szandor kept droning on.

“And now, when I have finally found a way to save all of the ingrates of the furnace coast from being ruled by an infernal overlord you tell me that you have lost them? You tell me that they flew away? In a HAMSTER SHIP? If I wanted to appoint a household jester, I would go to the bard’s guild! I managed to capture a Derro, do you know how much hassle that was? Do you know how many hours I spent in the temple library, pretending to read about antique waste disposal systems, while researching how we can get rid of Zatark, only to find out that the only reliable way of getting that done is in the hands of some insane, flesh fetishising derro tailors with delusions of grandeur? Do you even care that my dire cats are starving, because even in his captivity, Pandit Jung managed to get hold of needles and threads and are using the rat-population in my dungeons to feed his compulsive need to create new and interesting life-forms, well do you? Of course not, nobody appreciates my sacrifices, nobody realises what I go through to keep the Furnace coast safe. All they talk about is that I am some sort of creepy old man, nly interested in dusty old artefacts. I hear them gossiping endlessly about my simple pleasures. I think I deserve some recognition.”

Szandor motioned to one of army of identical female servants who was bringing in a tray of dried fruits. Istvan breathed a sigh of relief. Szandor’s anger at him had been channelled into general disgruntlement with the world, so any immediate danger had passed.

“Right, let me know when Bodush, or any of his compatriots are spotted. I need adventurers stupid enough to go into a Derro infested hell-hole, and I know only of one group that fit that description that have the capability of making it out of there alive with the item I need to save the world. Without the Mad God’s Amulet, we have no hope, any of us.”

Living on in Infamy

Bodush looked down at Febril, the fires were under control and soon the rebuilding would begin. It had been such a waste of life. Throughout his life, he hadn’t had many days when he doubted himself, but this was one of them. While the plot of the Admiral had been thwarted, and already stories were spreading throughout the coast about the madness of the Cuthbertite, this massacre could possibly have been averted if he only had made a greater effort to contact his friends earlier.

“Still feeling the pangs of guilt, sorcerer? The dragonmen would have come, no matter what you or your friends had done. It was better this way. That is one thing that I agreed with the late Admiral Flaertes on. The sharp shock of a burning city is worth a thousand reports of gruesome naval battles in a far-off ocean. The Furnace Coast will respond to this threat with a healthy dose of fear, and fear leads to strong leadership. Unfortunately for Flaertes, that leadership will not be his. Your friends made sure of that. With the patriarch resurrected, the church will not be a threat to my... I mean…our plans. Aware of the crimes committed by his underlings, he will put checks in place to make sure that his church will never live up to its political potential. All that remains is to decide who gets to rule. My guess, it will be some sort of merchant’s council with representatives off all the great trading houses. That will last a week. Perhaps it is time to reinstate the divine right of kings, or possibly emperors. The Third Empire has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

But enough of my ramblings, how are you finding your new accommodation?”

Bodush learns a new trick

Bodush hoped that his host would not notice just how uncomfortable the smell in the room made him. While he had the greatest appreciation for why the hooded figure preferred to be underground, he wished that he had not picked such a particular damp area of the underdark to conduct his studies

“Well, young Bodush”, the figure whispered, “It seems that you may be ready to attempt the spell yourself now. While sorcery such as ours depend on the personal power of the sorcerer, rather than the book-learning of wizards, the writings of ancient Theynar do contain considerable insight. I would even go as far as saying that when it comes to the art of necromancy, none could surpass them.”

Bodush swallowed and nodded. He looked down at the decaying body on the slab in front of them. He opened his mouth and started a low, guttural chant. His mind was reaching out, calling up the power of the shadow, the plane of negative energy, the source of death, just like his host had shown him. He felt strange, his body feeling limp, as if his very life was giving way to the force he was wielding.

As he continued his chant, his hands motioned slowly over the face of the dead orc.

“Very Good! Keep going!” His host kept encouraging him, as the dead orc started twitching.

Bodush strained, feeling an alien presence within the orc, trying to break free. He focused his mind, mentally locking the body into place, making it nothing more than an extension of himself.

Bodush grinned as he growled 'Get up', in orcish. The zombie rose from the slab, and stood in front of him, almost as if to attention.

Bodush made a dismissing gesture, and the orc collapsed to the ground. “Not bad, for a first attempt?” He turned to his host.

“No, young Bodush. Not bad at all. But there is more power within the dark arts of Theynar than you can imagine.The powers of the Imperial line of Theynar was immense, their infernal blood strengthened through generations of incestous marriage The dread tome of Zhuanol Oloth, contained knowledge beyond any living man.”

Bodush found himself smiling despite himself “Living, you say?”.

His host shrugged, “...and me as well, I am afraid. The tome is lost forever, destroyed in the madness that is the forbidden lands. ”

Bodush looked down at the corpse in front of him. He was content with this spell, for now.

A History of the Forbidden Lands

There is a great deal of uncertainty regarding the fall of the first empire of the furnace coast. The few reliable written sources all date from at least half a millenia past its fall, and most histories rely on orally transmitted myths and legends as well as two notable folk songs, The Lay of the King's Curse and The Fall of Theynar.

Most historians agree that Theynar, the capital city of the first empire, was situated somewhere on the border of the region known now as the forbidden lands. Its early history was stept in blood and warfare as it fought a continuous war, first to absorb the neighbouring city-states of the Inland Sea (also known as Lenthan Lake) followed by a swift campaign against the budding cities of the Furnace Coast. It was also plagued by several invasions orcish and goblinoid tribes from the west, stories of which have survived into modern times. While the complete sequence of events is lost to antiquity, most sources do hint at the ruling line of Theynar turning to the magical arts to stave off the serious problems facing the empire. By drawing upon sorcerous means, they were able to keep the whole region of Lenthan Lake, as well as the furnace coast under their rule. Still, even with this power at their disposal, their resources were spread thin, and at some point the Kings of Theynar turned to fiends and demons for aid. It would seem to be this fiendish connection which finally led to the destruction of the empire. The exact circumstances of this destructions are not known. The two songs mentioned earlier both consider this event to be caused by a spell cast by its ruler. The Lay of the King's Curse describes it like this:

Fair Leana, falling swiftly
River steals away her ruin

Sorrow robs the Sorcerer's senses
Nerull's song he will sing next

Fell words flowing from the wizard
Land itself reveals its loss

Carrion once, now creatures rising
Death brings living to their doom.

Fertile lands, now fields of ashes
Life in Theynar forever lost

Laughing now, the Lord of ruin
Casts his final spell, a curse

Time is shattered, torn is fate
loom weaves final weak lament

Shadows creeping, stretching tendrils
Drives the fleeing throng past death

The song describes the casting of the spell as a precursor for cataclysm, the final act of the king of Theynar, driven mad by jealousy and grief. The King's Curse, suggests that his young queen, Leana, fell in love with a prince of the furnace coast, and threw herself from her tower as her infidelity was discovered. The King's Curse seems to favour the queen and her lover, casting the king as a villain driving his wife to suicide and destroying his realm out of spite. This view is not echoed in the Fall of Theynar, which seems to suggest that the young prince was in the process of assaulting the city in order to steal Queen Leana away from her husband by force, as the following stanzas suggest:

Watchful City! Wake to Carnage!
Landlocked Master of Lenthan Lake.
Winding Streets! Wake to Slaughter!
Steelshod foes move silent and still.

Saintly Leana! Stir and Listen!
Courting Prince creeps in your chamber.
Sleeping Consort! Sorcerous King!
Still the casting of savage spells.

Noble Princess! Know the Price!
Handsome face hides haughty horror!
Usurping Villain! Youthful Folly!
Lascivious gaze turns love to loss.

While tragic stories of starcrossed lovers seem to capture the attentions of wandering bards everywhere, it is more likely that the cause of the unnamed prince' assault on Theynar was a battle for control over the resources commanded by the first empire. What does seem probable, is that the current state of the forbidden lands is due to a magical cataclysmic event, likely of an infernal or abyssal nature. The horrors that were unleashed, were so immense and profound that even to this day, few dare enter the forbidden lands.

Those few who return, tell strange stories of horrible creatures, a strange landscape and a treacherous land where time and space itself is twisted and corrupted. Even the humanoid tribes do not venture far into the wastes. There have been stories of isolated communities eking out an existence within this region, and some sages have speculated that the King's curse may not have reached the entirety of the area, but others scoff at these tales dismissing them as mere delusions.