I. To Molag and the Cosmos

Crow and I passed the night peacefully on the hallowed ground around the monoliths, and with the first hint of daybreak, we  set our path towards the city of Molag, our hearts strangely buoyed and inspired by the dreams that had populated our rest amidst the ancient and mystic stones. 

As the day waned towards its close, we arrived upon the very outskirts of Molag. This city, perched upon a bend of the River Veng betwixt the northern Whyestil Lake and the great southern expanse of Nyr Dyv, serves as the heart of the infamous Horned Society. A place notorious throughout all the continent for its devilish cults and morbid fixation with death, Molag was yet reeling, for it was in the midst of a fraught rebuilding, scars remaining from a bitter and protracted civil war. Faint plumes of smoke still ascended from various quarters, and the city air was thick with the din and odours of demolition and new construction. 

The reins of power were now held by a Tiefling Mayor named Drixin, a moderate, who sought to encourage diversity and foster harmony among its species and distance the metropolis from the divisive strife that had so recently afflicted it. 

Though the city was the primary domain of Humans and Tieflings, a plethora of other races were visible upon the cobbled streets as Crow and I passed through the low, crumbling wall that served as the city’s outer defence. Our gaze was drawn to a motley assembly clustered about a noticeboard, eager to peruse the various job offerings displayed just beyond the city gate. 

The promise of employment was tempting, and a hundred gold pieces for the Imp-festation was a bounty we could ill afford to pass by. Yet, we kept fast in our minds the primary errand that brought us here: to seek the counsel of the enigmatic mage known as Gazbar. We questioned a cluster of burly Humans and Tieflings, their mien marking them as builders, as to the sorcerer’s lair. “Hie thee left down the road, and on the right thou shalt spy a sign for Ol’ Nan’s Bakery. That ancient fool doth dwell in the loft, or so he did,” one gruffly replied. Crow, ever keen on a profitable venture, enquired of the Meadery’s location and learned it lay just beyond the old bakery. Our path was now clear, and we made haste toward the wizard’s dwelling. 

Anon, we rounded the corner and beheld an old, somewhat dilapidated edifice, its sign depicting a loaf of bread and a wand from which sparks were issueing. Behind the counter, a youthful Tiefling lass scowled up at us. Upon our asking for Gazbar, that renowned user of magicks, her demeanour only worsened and she flicked a dismissive finger towards the stairs. “…and by the will of Asmodeus take him with thee when you leave!” she cried out as we began our ascent to the attic. 

II. The Mad Mage

We rapped upon the double doors to no avail, and when we did push them open, we were confronted by a scene that could only be named controlled chaos. Diagrams of every conceivable shape and size adorned the very walls from floor to ceiling; ancient scrolls lay scattered upon the floor and piled upon a massive rectangular table that spanned the room’s width. Potion bottles, pouches, and candles of every hue and measure covered every available surface. 

Behind this barricade of arcana stood an old man with a wizened face who, we surmised, must be Gazbar. “Who are ye?” he asked, not unkindly, but with a gaze that seemed to to be fixed upon worlds beyond our own. We spoke our names and began to relate that we had been sent by Jack of Sha—… Before I could utter the full, forbidden name, Gazbar swiftly snatched a wand and an old tome lying before him. With startling alacrity, he chanted an incantation, and the wand burst forth in a shower of sparks and a blinding light that settled into an unnervingly even illumination across the room. 

III. Ascendants in waiting

“NEVER speak his full name!” warned Gazbar, his eyes rolling with a palpable madness. “Thou art dead, I am dead!” he muttered, turning to a wall, his finger tracing the lines upon a diagram as if suddenly displaced to another plane of existence. 

Crow cleared his throat and drew nigh to Gazbar. “Jabbers alluded to the idea that he and the three others we encountered on the road to Orcatraz were seeking to ascend to godhood.” “Aye, aye indeed,” the mage swiftly agreed. 

“Why, then, did this Jabbers send us to your door?” I asked. “I know not,” the wizard replied. “But perchance we will discover his motives, for he whose name shall not be spoken aloud will surely have his reasons.  Listen well, and I shall tell thee of the six ascendants… or maybe seven. Yet, most likely six, but perchance seven, or indeed six…” 

He spoke of the Man of Shadows: “Jack of that which must not be named is perhaps the most formidable of them all. Utter not his name in vain. He is a figure of darkness, assuredly—his necromancers bear witness to that—yet he is not purely evil. He can journey freely but holds no central seat of power.” 

Then, Crow enquired of the brooding one: “What of the red-faced Tiefling?” 

“She is not for thy sort, nay, almost certainly not for thy sort!” Gazbar exclaimed. “A She-devil, she doth command no specific domain, yet she thrives in pockets of demonic cultists and amidst the downtrodden folk of Molag and Dorakaa. No, not thy type, she would devour thee whole!” The wizard paused, a finger to his chin. “Mmh… of all the captives, she may, however, struggle most to escape her undersea prison. She inhabits the worlds of fire scorching heat, and will undoubtedly have her powers doused in that watery hell.”

My turn came to speak: “And that colossal mass of muscle?” I asked, my voice hesitant. “Ah, yes, the Unavoidable! And yet, if wisdom guides thee, thou shalt seek to avoid him. As mighty as ten oxen, but be not deceived! Though brutal he appears in his grotesque cloak made of eyeballs, he is a sly one. Aye, an elite strategist, and far from the dull-witted Orc he pretends to be. His domain spans the Northeast region of the Flanaess.”  

“But there was one more?” Crow prompted, reminding Gazbar. “One more?” scoffed Gazbar. “There are three others, or four, but perhaps three. Yet the one you are thinking on is Brimaz. He calls himself a mere accountant, but he is far more than that. Complex, exceeding complex. Let not his diminutive stature nor detached manner beguile thee. He bears a colossal chip upon his shoulder—as do all bloody Gnomes, truth be told! Good with figures, certes, but much more. He is driven, methodical, calculating, controlling… mind-controlling!” Gazbar pointed to his head and rolled his eyes in a maniacal fashion, perfectly illustrating the notion of psychic domination. “It is said he hath amassed hidden armies in the Central regions of the Flanaess. I deem this to be true.” 

“You claim there are two more?” Crow sought to pry. “Aye, aye,” muttered the wizard, his attention returning to his diagrams. “Two, at the very least. But I have a notion that one of them you have already encountered.” Crow and I exchanged perplexed glances, utterly baffled as to who this unseen ascendant might be. 

IV. The Crystal and the Outer Planes

Gazbar then fixed his gaze upon the pouch fastened to Crow’s belt. “Pray tell, what does that hold? May I feast mine eyes upon it?” Crow untied the leather, held it upside down, and allowed the massive crystal to tumble into his palm. “Ahhh, as I suspected,” cooed the wizard, his bony fingers snaking out towards the gemstone. Before they could touch it, he spun away and vanished through a side door, returning moments later holding something small and reflective twixt finger and thumb. “Behold this! This is my memory crystal. I have poured my thoughts and notions into this shard for decades. Feeding it my waking memories and my unconscious dreams. And yet, it remains far less than a quarter full!” 

“I sense the near infinite scale of the ancient memories that nigh fill your massive crystal. A marvel beyond belief, had I not once heard whispers of such an object’s existence.” 

Gazbar once more retreated into his world, scrabbling amidst the scattered scrolls on the table as if searching for a forgotten something. Then, abruptly, he snapped back to us. 

“How did it fall into your possession?” We recounted the journey to Critwall and the prison carriage bearing the enormous eyeball that had pierced our minds and dropped the crystal. Crow and I exchanged glances. Like Gazbar, we pondered the question: Why us? 

“Vyzolta!” the mage shrieked. “An aberration! Oh, aye, an aberration indeed! The less said the better! For the love of Azuth, it is a god-forsaken Beholder! That vile thing shall fuck with your mind more savagely than Brittany might! Forgive my coarse tongue. My apologies. But know ye this… eek!”  

From beneath the table, the wizard produced a vast egg cup and placed it atop the table. From its underside, wires with small clips extended, and Gazbar attached one to his own eyebrow. He bade us likewise clip one upon our faces. I chose my nose; Crow chose his earlobes. Though baffled by this strange ritual, we sensed that the old man, despite his frenzied and bizzare countenance, was master of his craft and meant us no harm. 

He took the beholder’s memory crystal and gently placed it in the cup. 

Instantly, a crushing tightness enveloped our forms, both within and without. The crystal began to glow and shine. And then, in a blinding flash: stars and planets, the very universe and realms beyond. Incomprehensible and vast, the cosmos did unfold before our very eyes. 

A being of profound beauty, clad in white robes adorned with accents of gold and silver, appeared, distorting the cosmic view, and began to speak. Though the words were not clear, the meaning was imparted directly to our minds: 

• A God Hath Fallen: Thou shalt witness terrible suffering and a plague beyond all knowing; death upon a cosmic scale. 

• The Divine Scale Tips: There is a grave imbalance amongst the gods—a furious war, cunning fighting, and intrigue of incalculable complexity. 

• A Verdict Was Rendered: A new god, one promoted and not born, was decreed. Thou shalt behold an orgy of Gods’ complex lineages and fierce arguments, battles waged twixt faith and followers. 

• Thou shalt see the lands of Greyhawk and seven of the most potent and wise beings in the area made aware of the coming Ascendancy! 

• To Win is to gain all; to Lose is to face utter erasure. 

As the being of light ceased its speech, it did cast its gaze down upon us, the humble watchers, as the cosmos closed and folded in upon itself, the everything yielding to nothingness. A final thought was impressed upon our souls: Destroy the crystal. 

The crushing tightness mercifully lessened and released us, and our eyes once more began to focus upon the wizard’s cluttered chamber. For a long while, all three of us stood still yet gently swaying, striving to grasp the very enormity and significance of what we had just witnessed. Gazbar roused us from this state of spellbound awe with an incantation and quick, staccato flourishes of his wand, from which emerged a multitude of incorporeal hands. These hands hovered briefly in mid-air before darting throughout the room, packing objects into a vast Bag of Holding that Gazbar had laid upon the floor. 

Crow and I had identified five of the would-be ascendants in the vision, but two faces were new to us. “Who was the snake woman?” Crow asked. “She is Yuan-Ti,” Gazbar replied. “A naga-like race of serpent-folk possessed of psionic powers. They bend reality with their minds; they are masters of telepathy and telekinesis. This one is named Sarasha.” 

“May good fortune attend thee shouldst thou face a Yuan-Ti in the water; it is their domain, and there they draw extra might. Sarasha  rules over Grendep Bay, but I hear whispers that she is bound south to the Sea of Gearnat. Did you  sense her malice towards Chun and Brittany? She has been attacking them. Not directly, for she is no fool, but their holdings! Wherefore, I know not.”  

“And the bearded rogue? I am certain I recognized him.” “Ah, aye,” Gazbar responded. “Indeed you did! He was the missing seventh that you unwittingly brought to my attention. He is none other than Lord Nerof Gasgal, the Lord Mayor of the Free City of Greyhawk and the Assistant Guildmaster of Greyhawk’s Guild of Thieves. Now, the incarceration of so many of the other hopeful ascendants makes perfect sense, does it not? For how may one ascend whilst trapped beneath the bottom of a lake?” 

Perhaps this was Jabbers purpose; to reveal to us the nature of the shift in the cosmic order of things and reveal the of treachery of Lord Nerof Gasgal.

Gazbar whirled about and snatched an item from one of the disembodied hands as it was placing it in the Bag of Holding, casting it at me. A hat! “But not just any hat. That is a Hat of Disguise, young Bard. Place it upon your head, and thou shalt be able to disguise thyself as one similar in size as yourself. Careful though, the illusion may not stand up to close inspection. Enjoy the fun!”  

Hat of Disguise

Crow and I stood frozen as the last of the hands deposited a scroll in the bag and vanished into the void. In mere moments, the once chaotic room was utterly empty. Gazbar heaved the massive bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the door to the stairwell. He paused, turned, and tossed a leather pouch towards Crow, who caught it with deft ease. “Farewell! Thou shalt not see me again. I am dead, you are dead!” were his final words as he exited the chamber. 

Crow opened the large pouch, and with a soft tinkling sound, five common healing potions tumbled out. I pocketed two, and Crow stowed the remaining three in his pouch. 

Potion of Healing

We were now ready to go and bash some imps but one crucial task yet remained: What course to take with the memory crystal? 

The radiant being in the vision had commanded us to destroy it, yet what if it held secrets even more profound? It might be a font of great power, and if not, we could surely sell it for a handsome sum of gold. 

Crow and I consulted, and we agreed that the risk was too great. The memories of a Beholder were not a thing to be trifled with. 

We placed the crystal upon the hard floor, and Crow set about it with his short sword, smashing it repeatedly until naught but fine glassy fragments remained.  

III. Imp-Festation at the Meadery 🍺 

We descended the stairs to be met by a transformed and beaming tiefling. The very same girl who had rudely scowled at us as we entered. “Is he gone for good?” she beamed hopefully. “He will not step foot your bakery again,” replied Crow. “Thank you, sires” She hugged Crow and forced a box of pastries onto us while skipping around the store.  

We stepped forth onto the glistening cobbled street in front the bakery where a soft, light rain had begun to fall and made our way to the Meadery, a line of crumbs marking our path. We were eager to meet with Andra and discover the true nature of the so-called Imp-festation. 

Andra greeted us at the doorway and led us into a grand room, its walls lined with barrels of grain, the air thick with the pervasive, sweet scent of fermented honey. At the chamber’s farthest end, steep stairs descended into a dark basement. “I keep my store there,” she hissed. “Imps lurk below, pilfering my mead, shattering casks, and wreaking utter chaos. Drive them out, and the hundred gold is yours.” 

We descended the wooden stairs. The basement seemed empty, save for a few dark rats scurrying amongst the mead casks. I heard Crow unsheathe his sword, his hackles raised, though I sensed no peril. “The rats,” he simply said. And as he spoke, one, then two, then all three of the vermin transformed into imps. 

Two of the imps lurked in a nearby corner. I struck them both with a blast of Faerie Fire. One nimbly dodged the spell, but the other was caught in a shimmering violet light, making him a far easier target. Crow followed this with an Ensnaring Strike that rooted the imp fast in his tracks, and the ranger swiftly dispatched him. Another imp bolted behind a cask, while the third turned invisible. We slew the imp behind the barrel as she shrieked, “She’s going to kill you!” The third imp then reappeared from its invisible state, and he, too, cried that Andra was intent upon our murder. We pondered his desperate claim for a moment, considering his interrogation, but judged that he was surely up to the usual impish tricks, seeking only to deceive us. We ended his miserable life and thus fulfilled our contract, yet a deep, lingering doubt now festered in our minds. (The tone shifts darker here, with the omens of betrayal). 

Upstairs, Andra appeared well-pleased and paid us the hundred gold coins as promised. She offered two further tasks: to convey a barrel of mead each to the Molag Inn and the Limponn Inn, for which she would pay us ten gold per delivery.