Alyx turned the ring over once again and silently read the inscription No Harm Unto Others…it had seemed so apt and now she wondered if the Goddess truly had mistaken her.  It had been so easy before, alone in her chambers, a quick flick of a paring knife and she could feel the hate and loathing at what she was physically drain from her.  Now the young warrior and the dark-skinned wizard seemed to be watching her incessantly.<br/><br/>The young Acolyte of Sûne squinted against the late winter sky, before returning her gaze to the town that preciously clung to the banks of the winding river.  It really was little more than a village, even though they claimed it was the capital of Tethyr!  She could the pillars surrounding its marketplace supported a roof that formed a sheltered arcade, which meant it would be a comfortable, welcoming place to mix with merchants, share gossip…Chathi had assured them that they would find the slave she sought in this small town…Chathi…so mysterious…so aloof…<br/><br/>To think, that but for Chathi, she would be dead.  The young warrior she’d rescued and somewhat playfully seduced from the village had been knocked unconscious when the Temple Guards had turned on her, rape and murder clear in their eyes.  Then as she had struggled for her life, the guards had been struck down quickly with magical missiles and then together they had slain the last guard.<br/><br/>Now the three of them sat astride their horses watching the slow meandering life of Tethyr’s capital play out before them.<br/><br/>“What’s that?” The young warrior asked.  He insisted on being called Rage, even though Alyx suspected he had once responded to another name.<br/><br/>Alyx and Chathi looked to where he pointed; a large globe festooned with little stalks seemed to be hovering over the large keep that formed the centre of the capital.  Faint sounds of screams and warnings reached their ears as suddenly a ray shot out from the globe and the centre of the keep seem to explode and moments later, black, armoured humanoid’s magically appeared above the castle and began to descend into the dust cloud…<br/>____________________<br/><br/>Chathi continued to watch the young Cleric.  Outwardly she appeared perfectly normal.  Attractive, seductive…desirable.  Yet under her skin lurked something dark, something that the cleric tried desperately to hide from the world.<br/><br/>She mused on the information that the slave-trader had revealed to her in Waterdeep.  He’d sold his entire stock of slaves to a terrifying half-man half-ogre who seemed to be death incarnate.  Apparently, the half-ogre had paid twice what the trader would have normally asked for his wares.  This half-ogre had also been buying every slave that was available in the northern parts of the Sword Coast, he lover included.  Chathi had left the slave trader consider the misspent aspects of his life as his life blood slowly drained from him.<br/>South had been the advice.  The half-ogre who loved black armour was heading south.  Despite Chathi’s best efforts he always seemed to be a day ahead of her.  She suspected that he was somehow using magic to make his slave caravan move faster.<br/><br/>Chathi’s musings were interrupted by a massive explosion across the river.  She squinted despite the weak late winter sun.  A plume of dust and smoke was billowing into the clear sky.  Sounds of battle emanated from within the keep.  Whatever was happening, Chathi suspected that it could only mean ill-tidings for the three of them.<br/>____________________<br/><br/>The crackle of energy and a faint smell of brimstone heralded the arrival of his master’s messenger.  With its whiny and nasal voice the red skinned Imp, cackled and demanded a report.  Velkath looked wearily at the little creature, wishing he could take it in his mighty fist and crush it, he imagined laughing as it’s beady eyes popped out its head…the half-ogre looked away, trying to clear the amusing images from his mind before the Imp detected what he was thinking.<br/><br/>“Well?” The Imp’s voice had risen several octaves.<br/><br/>“I’ve collected every possible slave on the Sword Coast, as per Master’s instructions.  But the items still elude me.  The wizard has the two rings, but I haven’t found the Bard or the Thief, so the necklace and book still elude me.”  He cursed silently for his failure to find the items that his Master had ordered him to recover.  His Master had used great magics to discern their locations, but whenever he got close they seemed to disappear.<br/><br/>“Bah! Forget the items – Master needs the slaves more than the items.  You must return with the slaves quickly so that they may be sacrificed as the prophecy requires, then the items will come to us!”<br/>Velkath grunted. “Master may believe the prophecy, but I don’t.  The items will release Him, not some blood sacrifice of which you seem so sure.”<br/><br/>“You forget your place Blackguard.  You have fallen from your God’s grace and if it weren’t for the master you would already be dead! Now get back to the Temple, the Master expects you there in no more than six days.”<br/><br/>With that final command, the Imp disappeared from sight.  Velkath retrieved his large full helm with the curved horns protruding from the sides.  He knew that the helmet was impractical, but it inspired such fear in his underlings.  His voice boomed from within the tent.<br/><br/>“Drury you useless son of a whore! Break camp, we move within the hour!”<br/>____________________<br/><br/>Brinner stood half a step behind his father.  Eyes darting nervously from side to side.   His father, William, may be convinced that their time had come and all would be well, but Brinner knew, just knew, that now was the time to strike.<br/><br/>The procession slowly wound its way through the central knave of the Keep’s main temple.  Within moments Laurence Bolare would be crowned King of Tethyr.  Years of civil war would be ended and the country could be united.  And all thanks to the wisdom, intelligence and ambition of his father.<br/><br/>Behind Laurence came the Arch-Deacon of Azuth who had travelled from Marsember to officiate the coronation.  Behind him came a virtual gaggle of nobles and other courtiers.  All of them had been at each other’s throats only weeks beforehand, and now that smiled and strode with a smugness that was almost sickening to Brinner, who knew them for the vipers that they were.  His father may believe that he could control them, but Brinner knew that as soon as their back was turned a dagger would be plunged deep and the hand that held the dagger would most certainly be noble.<br/><br/>Brinner’s hand drifted to his short sword, even though it was ostensibly peace-bonded, he knew that he could have it drawn and ready to strike within moments.  Yells and shrieks of terror suddenly reached his ears, as did the heavy thumping of the ballista’s mounted on the Keep’s towers.<br/><br/>Before his astonished mind could fully comprehend what was happening, the roof of the temple literally exploded, showering all within with chunks of masonry and distorted everything with a massive cloud of smoke and dust.  Screams, cries, crackling energy, all was chaos and confusion.<br/><br/>“Father! Father!” Brinner knew he was shouting, but his deafened ears could make out no sound.  He stumbled forward and his searching hands latched onto a man’s tunic.  Looking up, Brinner saw his father’s face, stoic and composed.  Magical sword glowing in his right hand.  And then a round, bulbous creature that Brinner could only have dreamed in a nightmare, made its way through the smoke and dust.  An impossible large eye in the centre, affixed above a too-wide mouth that itself was filled with rows of pointed teeth.  Upon the creatures head, a dozen little stalks squirmed and wiggled, each one affixed with its own little eyeball…Brinner’s hand was pushed away by his father, something hard and metallic being forced into his hand as the nightmarish creature turned its gaze upon father and son…<br/>____________________<br/><br/>Chantal had been leaning against a pillar, half concealed in a pool of shadow.  She had watched as the procession moved up the centre isle towards the dais upon which sat the Throne of Tethyr.  Having secured her position as Scribe of the Court, Chantal was soaking in every detail so as to better record it.  Gripped under her arm was her treasured book…The Book of Days…she called it.  For each day, new inscriptions appeared.  Sometimes the language of the writing was indecipherable to her and others times it was clear as if she’d written the words herself.   It was almost like she was reading half a conversation, so broken was the flow of the writing.<br/><br/>She felt the book…<em>squirm?</em>...under her arm and she knew that something new was appearing in the book.  Reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the royal procession, Chantal opened the book and saw that words of the common tongue were slowly etching their way across the page…<br/><br/><strong>…and when the Tyrant strikes, we’ll teleport the Bladesingers and they will dispatch all.  My magic…<br/><br/>…Interrupt me not! My magic is not flawed or mistaken.  All five items are there and soon they will…<br/><br/>…yes, yes..I know, but we must have all if we are to breach the walls of His prison and bring him to this world….<br/><br/>Now! now is the time!</strong><br/><br/>Chantal tore her eyes away from the script that always seem to draw her in, as if trying to pull her into the book.   Her mind registered screams just as she was deafened and the room became a scene of death and destruction.  People were running in all directions, guards were screaming for orders and all around her people died.  Moving through the confusion, desperately seeking a way out she had to choke back the vomit that threatened to escape her throat, Chantal stepped over the body of a lady-in-waiting whose head had been staved in by a chunk of falling roof.<br/><br/>The young Bard continued to stumble through the smoke and dust filled room and was almost paralyzed with fear when she saw the Beholder drift past her…its attention on something or someone else.  She had read about the Eye Tyrants, but had never seen one before…<em>Tyrant? The Book! The Book had been talking about this moment</em>…stepping around a pillar, she saw that the Beholder was focused on two men who had a striking resemblance to each other…Lord William, the King’s new Chamberlain and his son…she’d seen them occasionally as the town had prepared for the coronation.<br/><br/>Chantal’s hand reached out and pulled the son back…<em>Bron, Brod, Brin?</em>...a sickly green ray of light stabbed out from one of the Tyrant’s eye stalks, striking Lord William squarely in the chest.  Chantal was forced to blink and when she looked again, there stood Lord William as he had been but a second before…only he was composed entirely of stone!<br/><br/>Sobbing with fear and confusion, Chantal pulled the son backwards and towards a small shaft of light that had appeared.  She sensed more than saw the black armoured figures that moved through the room, dispatching death to all, irrespective if they resisted or not.<br/><br/>“Quickly! This way!” Urged the son who had regained his wits.  “This way leads through the back of the keep and to the stables!”