Unbroken Circle Of Zerthimon, Part III

We appeared in a city, obviously not Sigil. There was a grey sky overhead, not the city curving back upon itself. The buildings around us were made from stone and rusted metal, and the dried, cracked mud of the street hinted at infrequent but heavy downpours. We stood next to a closed gate in a wall, and two bored guards were looking at us.

I turned to one of the guards, and asked where we were. He explained we were in Curst, which I recognized as a border town in the Outlands. When I asked what else he could tell me about the city, he replied in a laconic voice.

“We’re under lockdown right now because of the plague. Don’t know what’s causing it, but we’re quarantining sections of the town ‘til we find out. You want something else?”

“I'd like to see the person in charge.”

“What, the Burgher? He’s in the administration building. Good luck getting to him, though. He don’t see anyone these days. His mind’s definitely going someplace else…” I wondered if there were any rumors about town of the deva Ravel had mentioned. Something like that would be hard to keep quiet.

“I'm looking for a deva.”

“Then you’re looking at the wrong end of the Great Ring, berk, because even if there were one here, you'd not be finding it. It'd be locked away like a miser’s gold.”

I turned away, to look for an inn. It looked to be getting on towards dusk here, and after the events in Ravel’s maze I figured we all needed a rest. Fortunately, an inn was only a few steps away, and we soon obtained rooms for the night.

Once in the inn, I visited Dak'kon in his room. He and Annah were sharing it, but she was out scouting Curst, so I was able to talk to him alone.

I was actually more interested in the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon Dak'kon carried. I borrowed it from him, for I was interested in re-reading Zerthimon’s sayings for any new insights. I looked at the stone, ready to unlock one of my previous readings.

As I examined the rings of the Second Circle, I found a strange link in the plate that mentioned the laboring of the Gith people to achieve the Rising. A new circle emerged from the link, and I unlocked it, pulling the plate forth so I could study it. I had, I realized, found a seventh circle, which I began to read.

“Know that the Rising of the People against the illithid was a thing built upon many turnings. Many were the People who lived and died under time’s blade while the Rising was shaped.”

“The Rising was shaped upon a slow foundation. Steel was gathered so that it might mark illithid flesh. A means of knowing the movements of the illithids was established, at first weak and confused, then stronger, like a child finding its voice. When the movements were known, then the illithids were observed. In observing them, their ways of the mind were known.”

“When the ways of the illithid were known, many of the People were gathered and taught in secret the means to shield their minds, and the way to harness their will as weapons. They were taught the scripture of steel, and most importantly, they were given the knowing of freedom.”

“These things were not learned quickly. The knowing of much of the ways was slow, and in all these things, time’s weight fell upon all. From the knowing of one’s reflection in a steel blade, to the knowing of submerging the will, to the knowing of seeing itself. All of these things and more the People built upon. In time, they came to know the whole.”

Dak'kon had been silently watching me all this time. I told him I had found a seventh circle, and told him what it spoke of.

“It speaks of time as an ally, not as an enemy. It says that patience can sharpen even the smallest of efforts into a weapon that can strike the heart of an empire. Your victories may be small, but over time, a greater victory may be achieved.” Dak'kon was silent for a moment, then he spoke.

“Will you make this Circle known to me?” I showed him how to unlock the seventh circle. There were also two plates containing githzerai ‘spells’ for us as well. Dak'kon looked at the plate I gave him, then shifted his gaze to me.

“There is much you have come to know of the Circle, and your knowing carries a greater weight than mine.” Dak'kon matched my gaze. “Know that your path is mine, and it shall come to pass that as you knew the Way of Zerthimon from me, I shall know the Way of Zerthimon from you.”

I studied the circle for more hidden texts. I suddenly become aware of a pattern in the way the links were formed… I hooked my fingers into the sides of the Circle, and unlocked a hidden segment, pulling the plate forth so I could study it.

“Know that a mind divided divides the man. The will and the hand must be as one. In knowing the self, one becomes strong.”

“Know that if you know a course of action to be true in your heart, do not betray it because the path leads to hardship. Know that without suffering, the Rising would have never been, and the People would never have come to know themselves.”

“Know that there is nothing in all the Worlds that can stand against unity. When all know a single purpose, when all hands are guided by one will, and all act with the same intent, the Planes themselves may be moved.”

“A divided mind is one that does not know itself. When it is divided, it cleaves the body in two. When one has a single purpose, the body is strengthened. In knowing the self, grow strong.”

I spoke to Dak'kon of what I had learned in this eighth circle.

“It speaks of focus and discipline… about how not knowing oneself can physically divide the man. It also speaks of the weaknesses that division causes. It seems to me that it tells one to not only know themselves and take strength from that, but that your focus can reveal weaknesses in your enemy.” I then showed Dak'kon how to unlock the eighth circle, and again gained two plates with ‘spells.’ I looked into Dak'kon’s black eyes.

“There are two plates here… we should both study them, you and I. I think when you know the Eighth Circle, perhaps then you will know Zerthimon’s heart when he made the Pronouncement of Two Skies. His words were not those of the illithids, but of the People.”

Dak'kon stared at the plates, his eyes flickering over the geometries upon them, then looked up and matched my gaze. His blade bent, shifted, until the shimmering I noticed before had become a silver glow. He seemed stronger somehow.

“Know that when death comes for you, know that I shall meet its blade with mine. Know that when all dies around you, know I shall live for your sake.”

“When we die, Dak'kon, it shall be the same death. It shall be the Pronouncement of Two Deaths As One.”

My discovery of the Eighth Circle brought Dak'kon to a greater understanding of himself and removed the doubt that had afflicted him. I literally watched him shed the coat of years when I told him of the Eighth Circle. In hearing my words, Dak'kon made the Pronouncement of Two Deaths As One, where he swore that when death came for me, he would meet its blade with his.

I felt as though I had finally accomplished something worthwhile in this incarnation. Dak'kon was no longer the tormented slave; although still bound by his words, I believe he now thought of himself as my companion, and that he would have continued to travel with me even without his oath.

Curst

Annah came into the room. She had finished wandering about Curst picking up local information. I thought to see a smile begin to form on her lips as she saw me in her room, but her eyes traveled to Dak'kon and a frown turned down her mouth instead. She brusquely told me what she had learned of Curst.

“Don’t yeh trust anyone here. Yeh got me?” She then abruptly turned me out of her room.

I awoke the next day in the room I shared with Morte, who was already awake. This wasn’t too surprising, since he seemed to need very little sleep. Seeing I was awake, he bobbed over in my direction, seemingly anxious to impart some advice.

“Chief, you watch your back here, ok? This place is filled with back-stabbers.”

We assembled in the main room of the inn, for a meal. Grace addressed me, but she obviously meant her words for everyone.

“Curst is a prison town filled with betrayers in both words and deeds. We must take care, and watch each other.”

I looked at Nordom, wondering if he had any advice to give me, but he wore his usual demeanor which made it hard to tell if he was taking any notice of his surroundings.

Last night I hadn’t been interested in talking to anyone in the inn, but this morning I needed to gather some information about Curse. I entered the common room, and approached the man standing behind the bar. I saw a haggard, grim man. His coarse face was lined and weathered, and his eyes were red-rimmed. He straightened as he saw me.

“Welcome to the Traitor’s Gate. I'm Tainted Barse, the innkeep.”

“What kind of a name is that?” I was not in a good mood; Ravel had raised more questions than she had answered, I still didn’t have a line on my enemy, and now Ravel was gone. If I fumbled my mission, no future incarnation would ever be able to ask her questions again. The innkeeper, meanwhile, hadn’t taken my question well. He glared at me as he bit off an answer.

“Barse is my given name, berk. I got the Tainted later because of some former friends spreading baseless chant.” He looked very angry. “What the hell do you want, anyway? You an adventurer or something?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that my daughter got herself kidnapped by slavers, and now the place is going to fall behind on its bills and I'm going to lose the place to one of those rich pikers in the first circle.” He looked at me more closely. “You’re the fellow asking about the deva, ain’t you? Tell you what. You help me out, I'll help you.”

“What do you know about the deva?” He smiled craftily as I asked my question.

“You’re looking for him, ain’t you? I can tell you that he’s hidden far beneath the prison. I can tell you how to get there, too, apart from being arrested or trying to bribe your way in — which wouldn’t work anyway.”

“Go over there and talk to Marquez. He’s the ex-Harmonium fellow. He knows about these slavers — and he holds the first part of the key that'll put you on the path of seein’ the deva. There are five parts to the Key, but it ain’t a physical key. When you've got the parts together, you come tell me — and it unlocks knowledge in my mind. ‘Til then, though, it stays secret. You got to satisfy the keyholders.”

I was willing to agree — for now. I didn’t have a problem with rescuing his daughter, assuming he told the truth, and while I was looking about town I might stumble across another avenue to the deva. I asked what was going on in the town.

“What this place is, is a hotbed of rumors and innuendo. No one trusts no one. Y'don’t do favors for someone without makin’ sure they’re in your debt. Everyone hates everyone else, and everyone’s looking for a hold to get on everyone. Someone like you… you’re a ripe target of opportunity for people, because you don’t know the politics. And I guarantee you'll be sucked in.”

“Heh. Troubles a-plenty, as always. First, they keep digging holes in the ground to make the prison bigger — and they discover this deva, wrapped up in a big obsidian bubble, chained to the floor. They take his sword and use its power to keep the criminals in their cages. They’re busy debating what to do about the celestial, tearing their hair out trying to figure out how they can make a profit off its discovery and cross their ‘friends'… and then the plague hits.”

“The plague. Something that lays folks low. Makes people all ornery and bad-tempered — and too weak to do anything about it. The guards've closed off portions of the town, and they’re all tight-wound. They'll take you into jail on the slightest pretext these days. I don’t know how you got in to town, but you ain’t getting out unless you find a portal.”

I talked to Marquez, a burly blond man, who was a former Harmonium officer. He told me where to find the slavers, who were Harmonium members. His reasons for helping were outlined in a few sentences.

“I found out that the Harmonium — a group I'd believed in from the start — was buying people, kidnapping them, taking them against their will and ruining their lives. It was sucking the life out of people for daring to be different, and I couldn’t take it anymore. The slavers you'll be fighting are old comrades of mine.” He spat on the floor. “Berks. Liars. You can’t trust anyone anymore.”

The Harmonium slavers were not hard to find; evidently the town was so corrupt they had felt no need to hide their activities. We easily defeated them. The innkeepers daughter was freed, and I obtained the first part of the verbal key from Marquez when we returned to the Traitor’s Gate. He told me the person to talk to for the second part of the key, named Kitla.

I talked to the tall, striking woman. She wanted me to settle the question of an inheritance between Crumplepunch the smith and Kester the distiller. She was willing to accept any resolution, even their deaths. I didn’t see why that would be necessary, and agreed to her demand.

I talked to the two feuding men. Crumplepunch was poorly educated, and seemed glad to let an outsider settle the details of the inheritance. He gave me a crumpled sheet of vellum on which his father had written to him. Kester was more reluctant, but I managed to talk him into allowing me to mediate as well. He too had a document written by his father. The documents were poorly written, and unclear, but based on what I could puzzle out I split the inheritance between the two brothers. Crumplepunch was satisfied, but predictably Kester was not.

I returned to Kitla, who gave me the second part of the key, and pointed out the holder of the third part, one Nabat. He was friendly enough, and asked me to prevent a group of ruffians from roughing up Kyse, the caretaker of the town dump, and taking his money. When I asked why this was so important to him, he would only answer my question with another question.

“Does it really matter? What if I said he was my grandfather? What if I said I wanted revenge on the people who are going to try to attack him? What if I said that I wanted that money for myself? Does the motivation matter? You’re getting what you want — the Key — and I'm getting something out of this for myself.”

The dump was easy enough to find. I saw a scruffy old man who reeked of garbage. He seemed somehow more vital than most of the people of this town, more vibrant, as if he didn’t quite belong here. He looked up at me as I approached, and straightened his back.

“Come to see Kyse? Heard stories of wisdom and righteousness? Examples to be set and lived by?” I asked who he was.

“I am Kyse, caretaker of the town’s refuse. I tend to their garbage, and in metaphor I have seen a fair number of souls float this way as well. I am the voice that urges them to goodness — and I fear they ignore me.” I then asked about the thugs who had threatened him.

“Wernet is the man, a leader of lice, a collector of sins. He tells me I have coin, that I should give it to him, but my wealth lies solely in my heart and my faith. I have told him this. I fear he does not believe. Go, convince him of this. Please. He stands in Inner Curst, on the southern side, near the wagons.”

I tried talking to Wernet, but he, not surprisingly, refused to listen. I was forced instead to fight off the thugs Wernet sent to the dump. Kyse seemed stupefied that anyone in Curst would save his life, but I was glad to have helped him.

I returned to Nabat to get the third part of the key. Now that I had done his job, he was willing to admit that he wanted revenge on the gang that had threatened Kyse, and that he himself had started the rumors that Kyse was hiding a stash of gold.

I talked to the next key-holder, Dallan, a tall man with shoulder-length black hair and piercing blue eyes. He asked me to settle a… situation involving a city leader, a githyanki named An'izius, but he refused to say what outcome he preferred.

I found An'izius near the town’s gate to Carceri, the prison plane. He requested I frame his enemy, a woman named Siabha. I talked to Siabha, to get her side of the story. She barely listened to what I said, immediately offering to double any money An'izius offered if I would double cross him.

I was disgusted by the double-dealing I had found in Curst, and told the captain of the city guard that both An'izius and Siabha were attempting to frame one another. He eagerly used my testimony to arrest the two, not from any sense of civic duty, but because it served to further schemes of his own.

When I returned to Dallan I considered asking why he was interested in An'izius, but I didn’t bother. It was undoubtedly another design for personal gain. I was already heartily sick of Curst, and couldn’t wait to leave it. I got his part of the key, and moved on to the last key-holder.

Dono Quisho was a red-haired woman, short and plump. Her request was simple. Use the scroll she gave me to summon the fiend Agril-Shanak to a pentagram, and then free it when it appeared. I resolved to follow her instructions exactly.

The pentagram was located in an old grain elevator. I used Dono Quisho’s scroll to summon Agril-Shanak. Then I ordered my companions to attack the fiend. As we attacked, our feet scuffed out portions of the pentagram, which ‘freed’ it to leave the pentagram. Our attack, which had come as a surprise to the fiend, shortly freed it from its body as well. I doubted whether we had permanently destroyed it, but it wouldn’t be bothering anyone for quite some time.

Dono Quisho was upset that I had killed the fiend, but her word never the less bound her to give me the fifth part of the key. I returned to Barse the innkeep again, telling him the five part key.

“Such place eternal justice had prepared for those rebellious…

Here their Prison ordained in utter darkness…

…their portion set…

As far removed from Gods and light of Heaven…

As from the Center thrice to the utmost pole.”

Barse opened his secret tunnel for us, and we went down it, under the streets of Curst.

Trias

The tunnels under Curst were thick with fiends and other nasty creatures. We fought trelons, nupperibo, lemures, abishai, even a gehreleth.

We also encountered a fiend which named itself Tek'elach, a cornugon, a greater Baatezu. The creature seemed to feel that my actions were actually serving its purpose. Whether or not what I was doing would benefit the Baatezu, I wondered at its faith in talking so openly to me. I resolved that whatever happened, Tek'elach would not be around to see it.

I ordered my companions to attack the fiend. By itself without any support, we rapidly dispatched it, or at least removed its form from Curst, since I doubted we could permanently kill it.

We also, unexpectedly, met a human in the tunnels. I saw a dirty man, hunched and crabbed with age and darkness. His lank, greasy hair flew from his shoulders as he spied us, and his eyes went wide with fear. His fingers began twisting through arcane patterns… After what we had been through, though, I didn’t fear any spell he might get off, and just grinned at him. He dropped his hands, and gave me a peculiar stare.

“Ach, another visitor, eh? You'll all be wantin’ to scare the ol’ hermit half to death, eh? These tunnels’re no place for a casual spring walk, y'know. What d'you want from me?”

“I'm looking for a deva,” I asked him, getting right to the point.

“Heard rumors about it, but this ol’ hermit ain’t seen it. I thought it might be underground, since this place locks up all good things, but I still can’t find it. If I could, I'd ask if it'd heard about my god.” He rattled off a sigh, and looked down the hallway. “Somehow, it feels like it'd be off to the west there. But I still haven’t found it. It must have a guardian.” He winked at me.

“What are you doing down here, anyway?” He sighed again noisily, caught himself, and looked around wildly for a moment.

“I came to Curst because my god was exiled to Carceri. I've been movin’ closer to him alla the time, but I'm not goin’ into the prison plane after him. I'm tryin’ to find a way to get him out. Since he’s a power o’ good, he shouldn’t even be there, but that’s how exile works, I guess.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Too long, too long, in the service of a god who’s all but forgotten. I remember him, though… I'll find him, if I have to duck all the monsters around forever. I'll find him.” He stared off, mumbling.

He refused to say any more about himself, or his god. He might possibly have been another fiend, but if he was he at least had the sense to hide himself in the form of a man, thereby preventing my ordering his destruction.

The tunnels past here led into the underground prison level of Curst. After fighting through a score or so of Curst guards, I finally found who I was looking for. I saw a being with skin of the purest ivory and hair of blinding white. His wings were charred, the feathers destroyed, yet he still radiated peace and love. He stood as if in meditation, taking no notice of my presence, holding his arms out to either side. Chains held his forearms tightly, attached to the dais on which he stood. Though I did not recall having ever seen a deva, I knew in my heart what this was.

The deva raised his head and rested his gaze upon me. His voice was pure and melodic. “What is it you wish of Trias, mortal? Speak your mind and leave me to my memories of paradise.” Before I could answer, the deva’s face tightened and changed to a frown. The deva turned its head and rested its gaze upon Morte.

“The stench of Baator lies thick about you, skull.” Morte immediately shot back a reply.

“You don’t smell any better. When was the last time you bathed?”

Meanwhile, Fall-From-Grace had been closely examining the deva. She moved close to me, so that only I could hear her comment.

“A deva… yet those chains do not seem to bind him so much as smother his mind…” Dak'kon, however, had overheard, and chose to add his own observation, founded in personal experience.

“The chains do not hold him. Belief chains him.”

I was curious about the deva’s comments, and decided to question him about other matters before asking for help for myself. I also wished to learn something about this deva before committing myself.

“Memories of paradise?” A shadow passed over his face at my words.

“Never again shall I see them, I fear, the ordered beauty of Arcadia, the vistas of Elysium, the Seven Mounts of Mount Celestia… all the ugliness contained in these Lower Planes is effaced there, where it is truly possible to believe in redemption. Too many look only to the Lower Planes for their inspiration and aid, I fear… That is all I have left to me in this place. Now what is it you wish of me, mortal? Speak your mind and then leave.”

“How did your wings get burnt?” I asked, curious how he had been injured, but not destroyed.

“It was part of the grand betrayal — they seared my wings as they manacled me, that I might not flee them even through the earth. It is the nature of this place that things of beauty are not tolerated.”

“Why were you confined?”

“The people of this town — traitors all — know nothing of truth and beauty. They cannot tolerate it. They lured me here and chained me. Mortals do not possess the perspective that allows them to grow the strength of character to rise above desires, as I sought to teach them.”

“I disagree, Lord Trias,” Fall-From-Grace interjected. “You simply had an overabundance of trust in your spirit for them.” A sneer twisted his beautiful face.

“Surely, mistress tanar’ri, you don’t believe that mortals can ever gain that perspective? Not when you are what you are — your very nature cries out to subdue any chance mortals might have to rise above their base instincts.” I was surprised by his strong reaction, although interminable imprisonment might sour even a deva. In any case, I needed to find a way to remove the chains holding him if I wished to learn anything of value.

“How can you be freed?”

“An act of kindness done to me shall set me free. My sword — my soul — is an agent of such kindness. Fetch the blade for me and strike my chains off. It is kept somewhere in this prison, in a locked and guarded chamber. I know the combination to the entrance.” He spoke three arcane syllables that burned into my memory. “Free me, and I should be… in your debt. Perhaps I can aid you in what you seek.” It was as Grace said, he seemed to be hesitant in what he said, as if confused. I was therefore surprised to hear him speak as though he knew of what I sought.

“What do you know of what I seek?” He smiled, sadly.

“You wear the marks of it upon your face and carry it within your heart. Should these chains be lifted from me… then I should be able to divine your purpose more deeply, guide you more truly. Until then…” The deva shrugged. “Until then I cannot even give you the benefit of good advice. These chains smother memory and instinct.”

“Ravel the hag sent me to you. She said you had knowledge for me about my stolen mortality.”

“Ravel… the night hag… a stolen mortality… this all seems so familiar to me, yet I fear I cannot dredge up the knowledge while these chains confine me.”

There was no further point in questioning him until I had found his sword. Unfortunately, that meant penetrating to the heart of the prison on this level. We had to penetrate several circles of cells and passageways, fighting another score of guards along the way.

The final guardian was a being known as Cassius. It made the mistake of challenging me to a game of wits, at which I readily defeated it. I quickly grabbed the sword it had been guarding. The heavy blade was warm to the touch, and flames had been carved across the surface of the blade. The intricacy of the carvings was breathtaking; they were done with such skill that the sword seemed to be burning with metallic flames… someone must have spent several centuries rendering them. The metal of the blade was unfamiliar… it was heavy, but it shined like silver. I quickly wrapped the sword in a cloth and thrust it into my pack; the sword might literally have a mind of its own, and I didn’t wish to risk prolonged contact with it.

The Curst authorities had switched over the prison to use the sword to power its magical wards. With the sword’s removal, every door in the prison was unlocked, and the prisoners swarmed the halls seeking freedom. The remaining guards, summoned to stop me, now turned to slaughtering the prisoners rather than let them escape. I aided the prisoners as best I could, but many died nonetheless.

The prisoners themselves did not trust me or my companions, so once we had driven off the remaining guards I left them to seek freedom on their own. I returned to the chained deva, and showed him the sword I had found. Trias looked shocked for a moment.

“Celestial Fire? You have recovered my blade? Will you free me? Then strike a blow against the chain!”

Rather than answering, I took its cloth-wrapped hilt in hand and stuck a blow against the chain holding him. The chains sundered easily under the blade, and the sound of a thunderclap resonated between my ears. Everything went black for a moment, and I felt the blade vanish from between my fingers.

“I thank you for freeing me. I owe you much.” His charred wings fluttered. “What would you ask of me, mortal? I'm afraid I can offer little in the way of boons.”

“My mortality has been stolen from me. I wish to reclaim it.”

“You speak foolishness. Yet… there is one who might be able to help you with what you seek. It is a fiend, named Fhjull Forked-Tongue. He shall aid you.” The deva’s lips quirked in a small smile. “He is under an obligation to do charity.”

“How do I reach him?”

“There lies a portal to the north of this prison. Its key is a broken chain link.” He peered at the shattered links around his feet, stooped, and pressed one into my hand. “An appropriate key for one who seeks to leave Curst.”

“Farewell, mortal. I have… business… to attend to.” He looked meaningfully at the ceiling of his prison, and leaped into the earth above him like a diver into an ocean.