The Tower of Azgan

The firelight danced across Faeryn’s dark eyes as she stared into the embers of their campfire. After a week of slogging through the Briar Witch’s Bog and heavy casualties they had made it to the edge of the Demon Fields. Behind them they could hear the screeches and monstrous cries of the creatures within the Bog. However, Faeryn had cast a concealing enchantment around them, tonight they would remain hidden and may rest. The dead trees of the bog loomed over their magic bubble of calm as the Enchantress poked the embers with a stick and the Cleric polished his mace tenderly. Their party had once been four, but the journey had been long, filled with peril, and it was Faeryn’s fault that they were here. For she was one of the most talented Mages to grace these lands and destiny had called her to purpose. It had been many moons since she was struck with a terrible vision, a calamity brought forth onto the lands by lesser men pursuing dark arts they did not understand. She had seen chaos and devastation burning swaths through the countryside, killing all life and bringing the world to its knees. The evil that would bring about this catastrophe would come from a lone tower, malevolent and ancient, standing on a desert field of bones. The Demon Fields.

As a long-standing recluse – as most high mages are – few things could pull Faeryn from her tower nestled far off in the lush hillsides of Ritherhithe. Yet after witnessing the horror of her premonition she had gathered herself for the wider world and sought the help of those brave enough to aid her. She traveled far and wide searching for anyone willing to help her cause and follow her into the cursed lands. Weeks began to pass by as Faeryn moved through kingdoms, villages, and even some unsavory taverns in her quest. But with no reputation from her solitary life and little more than her word on the doom to come, not one kingdom let alone person had joined her, and time was running short. She had feared that after all these years alone, beautiful as she may be, she had lost the touch of actually talking with other people. With extended life and altered beauty many found Sorcerers intimidating and unnatural. She began to feel cast out and alone in her journey. It wasn’t until she had passed by a small nomadic tribe in the High Plains that she had found the help she was looking for. A small band of adventurers had been tasked by a beneficiary to look for a lost knight among the Spired Sanctum. After many days of unsuccessful searching in one of the most dangerous regions in the world a terrible storm had chased them down the mountains and into the plains for refuge.

The party had found the Nomads and bargained for lodging and trade for the night. It was on this night that Faeryn had stumbled across the tribes’ camp on her travels. With each passing day bringing the world closer and closer to her premonition Faeryn steeled her nerves of speaking with the tribe and entered the camp. Immediately the Enchantress had found herself in the heart of a campfire celebration amongst the folk. The Nomads danced around a fire pit as a musician playing a lute sang and strummed a tune for them. It was here she met the first of the party Gazmir, a travelling bard. With tousled brown hair and cocky side grin he was the life of the party and immediately took note of the hooded beauty that entered the camp. After finishing his song, he introduced himself and called her into the circle to join the festivities. Never before had she been in a gathering of this nature and knew little of what to do. But the smiles and laughs of all those around her brought a warmth to her heart that she had never felt and wanted to know more. It wasn’t long before the rest of the adventurers came over to introduce themselves. First there was Thomnin a grizzled Ranger from the greater woodlands of Sanctimonium. He was tall, lithe, and even though he looked like a rugged man of the wilds the Ranger was kind and welcoming to Faeryn. The second was a stout, bald, and stern looking man in silver plated armor and face paint. Though he didn’t smile he greeted the Enchantress and introduced himself as Sandsin the Cleric and servant to the Templar Order. He welcomed her to the camp, brought food, and honey wine as a token of friendship. As the group Celebrated with the Nomads they danced, drank, laughed, and even Faeryn was smiling and clapping along to the music. Never in all her years had she had genuine fun with other people. It was at once that she decided she wanted to make friends with these people. She began to open up about her origins, her life in Ritherhithe, her pursuit of the arcane, and her new experiences in the world. The party in turn shared stories of their adventures, monsters they have conquered, villages they’ve helped, and wonderous sights they’ve seen. All masterfully preformed in song form by Gazmir. It was a wonderful night for the Enchantress and one that she would hold in her heart forever.

But her destiny would not wait for the pleasantries of newfound friends. After spending the night with the adventurers and Nomads, the draw of her premonition forced Faeryn to confront the party about her plight. That morning around the fire during breakfast she told them about her premonition. Stoically they listened as the Enchantress explained her vision and the dire need for whatever was happening in the tower to be stopped now. She feared yet again another rejection after all her failures, yet when the group asked each other what they thought the unanimous decision was to help their newly found friend on the promise that she would use her magic to help find the lost knight when they return. Elated she agreed to the terms and their fellowship was formed. That very day they acquired the provisions they would need from the Nomads and set out on their quest.

Their trek would take weeks of travel, but the newfound friends were determined to see the journey through. After passing below the Spired Sanctum through the High Plains and crossing the Greater Woodlands the group of heroes had found themselves face to face with the Briar Witch’s Bog. Crossing through the cursed swamp was deemed an ill-advised task by Thomnin yet circumventing the bog would have taken them over a month when a straight line through would get them to the Fields in a mere weeks’ time, and time was running out. So, they entered the haunted swamp battling slime golems, polyp fae, and waterlogged undead. The party was four days into their expedition when they had gained the attention, and the ire of The Briar Witch. If ever the party had come across anything as ancient and full of malice as the old crone, they were hard pressed to remember it. It is rumored that the Witch is centuries old, and in that time, she had reached a power that borders the strength of a demigod. The bog has always been her domain, no one ever enters, and she never comes out. For untold years that has been the unspoken rule and even the surrounding kingdoms heed that wisdom. The very borders of the swamp are lined with torches and totems to warn anyone that passes by to never cross into the Mistress of the Bogs domain. Those who have been seen crossing the borders of the bog are almost never seen again. On the fourth day the very bog itself rose up against the travelers becoming an extension of the Briar Witches will and hatred for trespassers. Trees began to move, the fog had thickened to near invisibility, and the bog water began to rise trying to swallow the adventurers into the earth. They had no other choice but to run.

Under grasping branches, quicksand mud, and the relentless attacks of the denizens of the swap the party hurdled forward as fast as they could. The Mistress of the bog was not even near them yet her power and grasp of the woods mercilessly assailed the adventurers as they tried to escape. While running and shooting his bow Thomnin had not seen the vine ahead noose itself before running straight into it. He was strung up by the neck and dragged away by tree beasts before the party could even launch a counter assault. Even if they wanted to pursue, they had no chance when the entirety of the bog was now a living entity with the soul purpose of exterminating them. They were forced to press on without Thomnin. On the last day of their mad dash through the swap as exhaustion had ravaged their bodies and senses Gazmir had slipped over a stone and into a mud pit. The last thing the remaining two heard from their Bard friend was him screaming, “JUST GO!” As the earth swallowed him whole. Wracked with grief and exhaustion Faeryn and Sandsin stumbled their way out of the forest and onto the dusty cracked earth that signaled they had made it to the fields. Staggering they walked to the edge of a craggy cliff and peered at the malevolent obelisk that loomed before the horizon. They had found the Demon Fields, and its cursed tower lay before them. It is here they now sit and rest next to their campfire, mourning the loss of their friends, and preparing for the evil they face tomorrow.

Faeryn tore her gaze from the fire and in a small voice she asked Sandsin something that was plaguing her mind.

“Sandsin?"

Not raising his eyes, the cleric continued to polish his mace. “Hm?”

“Do you regret meeting me?”

At this the Cleric set down his great mace and looked at her with the same stern face he always wore. “Lady Enchantress you asked the same question when we sat in that cave soaked to the bone while that tempest rolled across the hills. You asked when were out of rations and had to roast muck rats for our dinner. You ask me the same question now, and my answer remains the same. I do not regret taking on an endeavor that is righteous and just. Though I mourn the loss of our friends I know they are in grace now and for us here on earth we still have a cause. There are still people who depend on us.”

It was not quite the answer she was looking for but at least he had not outright told Faeryn he hated her. Sandsin decided it was time to turn in for rest and laid down next to his mace and yawned, “I do wish our friends would have been able to help us find the lost Captain like we promised.”

“I promise to uphold my end of the bargain for you Sandsin. And for them.” Then Faeryn looked out across the dark sky towards the towers malevolent silhouette and thought, ‘And I will protect you Sandsin. No matter the cost.’

The Enchantress’s dreams were fitful and full of grief as visions of losing the only friends she ever had flowed through her mind. She could see Gazmir, Thomnin, and Sandsin running in slow motion as a great looming tower edged ever closer to them. No matter how she screamed her magic would not come to her and she couldn’t run to them. Eventually she watched the tower come crashing down on her friends and smothering her vision in darkness, she screamed.

Faeryn awoke to Sandsin shaking her in the early morning hours before the sun had even risen. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “Wha...what’s going on?”

His eyes flashed in brilliant determination as he spoke to her at a frantic pace, “Something is happening at the tower right now, something terrible. Can you feel it??”

She did. There was a pulse emanating from the tower that made her tanned skin crawl and go cold as ice. When Faeryn turned to look at the structure she gasped. From its dark base radiating out across the ground was an orange aura. It pulsed vibrantly then dimmed, vibrantly again and then dimmed. It was beating, like a heartbeat. The dread she felt only rose as her eyes traced up the tower now illuminated by a crimson glow, and at the very top of the obelisk in its highest room, the windows thrummed with red light.

“It’s happening now. Whatever they’re doing Sandsin they’re doing it now! We have to run!”

Like a flash Faeryn and Sandsin had grabbed their weapons and ran to the closest slope down the side of the cliff. They slid and scurried, occasionally fell on their bottoms as they slipped down the slopes into the dried and craggy ground of the Demon Fields. Thankfully, ages of harsh and merciless sun had baked the earth into solid footing and the adventurers were able to run flat out as hard as they could towards the tower. Their feet powdered the sunbaked skeletons of travelers long passed as they ran across the arid fields. This dead and terrible land flew by their peripherals as they stared solely on the lone glowing tower. There was no time for a plan, no time for stopping to think at all! Whatever lay ahead they would have to slam into head on and Faeryn swore to herself she would be ready for it. For Sandsin. For her friends. As they approached the tower the pulsing magic emitting from the base began to taint the very air around them. The temperature had risen noticeably, the air began to reek of death, and softly from the top of the tower, they could hear the beat of drums. When they finally made it to the base of the tower it’s true malevolence began to take hold. Beyond the magic emitting from the wretched obelisk tainting the very air around it, visually it was awful on its own. Staked into the ground a hundred feet out from its base and on either side of the path were large wooden posts. From each post dangled a warped sun beaten cage, and within each cage, was a corpse. Some thankfully had been up there long enough for the sun and the buzzards to do their dirty work leaving only skeletons in dirty rags. However, the fresh ones…well, only a few of them still had eyes to blankly stare down at the adventurers. A warning for any who would come to trespass on the lands of these cultists. Hurriedly they ran under the cages to the main gate and were greeted by a small cabal.

Out of the entrance to the tower came five robed figures, cultists of whatever horror this tower stood for. From the center of their line a woman stepped forward and called out to the heroes, “You trespass on the hollowed grounds of the Tower of Azgan on our holiest of morns. You will not be allowed to disturb our sacred ritual. Turn back now with your lives or suffer like all those before you.”

Faeryn swallowed, her mouth was dry, her black hair was matted in sweat to the back of her neck, and she was panting from running but she steadied herself and yelled back, “You have to stop! You have no idea what you’re tampering with! Can you not feel it in the air?! You’ll doom us all!”

The cabal stood indifferent at the doorway momentarily, then simply the woman said. “Very well.”

All five cultists simultaneously put a hand out palm facing the ground. There was a pulse of green light from them and suddenly five skeletons clawed their way out of the dirt in front of the hooded figures.

Sandsin spat on the ground in disgust. “Necromancy. Abominations.” The runes on his great maul flared in righteous indignation at the sight of the undead and the bald man stepped forward. “Don’t let the necromancers cast anything on me, I’ll cleave us a way inside.” And he was off in a run.

Already etching runes in the air with her left-hand Faeryn channeled the energy from her conduit staff. They would force their way inside and stop this catastrophe from ever happening, she was willing to put her life on it. Sandsin charged in roaring as the pack of skeletons shambled over to him with jerky but inhuman speed. With a mighty cross swing of his holy mace two of the skeletons were reduced to shattered bones and powder. The bleached and brittle skeletons stood no chance against the Cleric’s righteous fury. The three that remained immediately pounced on him trying to pry off armor and claw at his unprotected face with their rough bone fingers. He swung an elbow back and cracked the jaw of one knocking it back far enough for Sandsin to have enough space to throw another over his shoulder. He spun around grabbing at the third, but as he did, he could see the cabal had drawn their weapons, each member wielding a ritualistic dagger or scythe. One held his dagger straight pointing it at the Cleric and began to chant. The moment he began to speak however an arcane bolt ripped past Sandsin’s shoulder and into the mouth of the cultist knocking him to the ground. The zealot thrashed and kicked in the dirt as his head disintegrated from the inside out with arcane fire. Suddenly two more curses shot out from the cabal at the cleric but before they could strike, and crystalline blue shield had appeared before him and absorbed the impact. Faeryn’s spellcasting had fully taken to the field. Sandsin took the opening to rip the last skeleton from his back and screaming swung it around into the two shambling constructs coming towards him. The three skeletons exploded into bits from the force of impact leaving the four cultists open to attack. They stood no chance against the Cleric and Sorceress. With blasting rays of arcane energy and bone crushing swings of a war maul the welcome party of Azgan was left eviscerated at the front door of the tower.

The heroes bolted inside and were greeted with a torture chamber for the first floor. Across the room were dark stained tables covered in unknown giblets of meat and slime. On the wall hung shackles, cages, and unimaginable instruments of torture. This place stank of strange incense and rotten blood. No doubt this floor was meant for the preparation of the sacrifices these monsters use for their designs. Above them they could see the spiral staircase swirling around the wall up to the next floor. They had nowhere to go but up. Sandsin wiped the blood from his eyes smearing his cleric warpaint and rasped, “We run straight to the top, no matter what we see on each floor, no matter what comes clambering after us, we run straight to the top. I’ll punch us a way through, and you keep everything off our backs. You ready?”

Faeryn squeezed her staff until her knuckles were white. The power of destiny had broken like a dam and surged into her veins like a mighty river. She was ready for whatever lay ahead, and she would stop it at any cost. “Lead the way my friend.”

They charged up the steps with abandon, Sandsin breaking the legs and skulls of any cultist unfortunate enough to cross his path and throwing them over the staircase rails to fall to the base of the tower. Their daggers and scythes bounced off his mace and armor and the lucky few that got past his defenses barely nicked his face in more than a few places. With every floor the duo passed fresh horrors opened to them. They passed shackled halls of captured victims stored and waiting to be sacrificed, ritualistic worship rooms of bone and blood, they even ran by a dining hall where the flesh of humans was being prepared for a feast. As they barreled past each floor, they crossed more and more of the zealots willing to leap in the way of the heroes or chase after them. For the unlucky behind, Faeryn would smite them with incendiary arcane missiles while igniting the stairs in arcane blue flame so none may pursue. They were panting, sweating, covered in blood, bone, and bits of flesh but finally they stumbled onto the top floor of the tower. Faeryn brushed her matted black hair out of her face and quickly traced another formula in the air. The incantation blasted blue flame through the passage they had just charged through, none shall be able to follow lest they be charred by her magic fire. Then she turned to look at the antechamber at the pinnacle of the tower. It was worse than she thought.

In a circle at the center of the room were nine of the devout, kneeling and chanting in an ancient tongue below a large flaming orb. They bashed their heads into the floor while they sang with enough force that pools of blood were forming below their faces. To their shock and horror, the heroes realized it was not drums they had heard earlier, but the smashing of skulls against stone floor. Behind the circle and with his back turned to them was the cults High Priest. Adorned in antlers and a tattered black robe the man shook a sling that was filled with skulls. The orb was the cause of the pulse of energy radiating from the tower, and its heartbeat had quickened immensely. Sandsin’s armored hands creaked as he squeezed the handle of his maul and said, “I’ll cave the leaders head in. You incinerate the re- “

“You’re too late.” The priest called behind himself. “The ritual is complete, and Azgan Lord of the Seventh Hell has been beckoned! Behold! A portal to Hell has been made! AND OUR RULER WILL REAP WHAT HE SO CHOOSES!”

The sound of a wooden beam snapping ripped through the air as the fabric of the realms was broken within the room. In horror Faeryn and Sandsin watched as the devout nine suddenly thrashed and spasmed as their very souls ripped from their bodies spewing blood and guts across the floor. The physical essence of their beings rose in a circle then rushed into the orb in a flash of blinding green light. Sandsin screamed, “NO!” And rushed forward swinging his war maul with enough force he liquified the High Priests head and dropped his corpse to the ground.

But it meant nothing, the sound of wooden beams snapping echoed again across the world and the orb exploded into a portal. The massive gateway tore apart the roof of the tower showering down rocks and debris to the ground below. Unbearable heat rushed over Sandsin and Faeryn as the sweltering wind from the Seventh Hell washed over them like a tempest gust. Beyond the portal they saw nothing but fire, molten stone, and eldritch horrors their mortal brains could not comprehend. Before they could stare any further a massive, clawed hand – the size of a man – gripped one edge of the portal, and through the center, Azgan Lord of the Seventh Hell, began pushing his face through. The Lord’s head looked like giant man’s skull covered in wild long green hair. However, at the center of his forehead was a third and twice as large empty eye socket. His scream as he tried to tear himself into reality roared across the Demon Fields nearly deafening Faeryn and Sandsin. The Sorceress could feel the end coming, the damnation and devastation of the entire world was neigh. Every ounce of magic roared through her veins as she snapped her staff over her leg releasing the stored Arcana she had in the conduit. Her body flooded with magic that was nearly tearing Faeryn apart. Eyes flashing brilliant blue she screamed, “I WON’T LET YOU DO THIS!”

She stretched her hands outwards, and the magic ripped out of her body slamming into Azgan and his portal. The gateway constricted momentarily then ceased to grow, however the Lord had already gotten an arm and head through. He thrashed and clawed at the ground, ripping the stonework from the floor, and shaking the tower to its very core. The demon began flexing his frame against the portal fighting the very magic that was trying to seal it shut. The demon growled and hissed at Faeryn, “Do you THINK you can best a GOD little witch?? YOU are an insect that I will pull apart like a child’s play thing. You will suffer beyond your wildest DREAMS! I will peel your flesh from BONES! I WILL EAT THE VERY ESSENCE OF YOUR BEING!!”

The portal began to groan as Azgan forced his way back against the magic closing his gateway. Sandsin turned from the horror of it to regard Faeryn. The Enchantress was surrounded by radiating blue light that seemingly erupted from her body. Her hair whipped about wildly as if she were caught in the center of a maelstrom and her body shook convulsively as she strained to channel the magic that was fighting the portal Azgan was forcing himself through. Then, blood began to leak from her nose and eyes. The strain of this magical duel was killing her right before his eyes. The Demon Lord would need a distraction.

Grinding her teeth as magical energy ravaged her body that was now a conduit, Faeryn turned to see Sandsin looking right at her. A soft smile crossed his face – unlike any expression he had ever shown her – and he nodded to her. She strained to shake her head and groaned out, “Wa-it! Don’t do it!”

But it was too late. With a mighty roar Sandsin charged straight to Azgan war maul high above his head, the runes on the handle glowing with brilliant holy light. The Lord slammed a hand down trying to flatten the Cleric, but he had mistimed it and provided the holy warrior with the perfect ramp. Sandsin stomped over Azgan’s hand, running up his forearm and bicep. He leapt off the arm screaming and with all his holy might and slammed his maul into the jaw of the Lord of the Seventh Hell with an audible crack. In Faeryn’s shocked awe she could see a tooth had even been knocked loose from the Demon pushing his head back just far enough into the portal. Sandsin fell to the ground in a tumbling roll and was off balance when the enraged Azgan extended his arm and swatted the Cleric with all his might into the wall of the tower. The stonework cracked and crumbled under the impact of Sandsin slamming into it, then the warrior slumped to the ground in a broken heap. Faeryn’s heart screamed as she unleashed everything she had left; magic began ripping itself out of her body and slamming into the gateway. The Demon Lord had been distracted and did not have enough of his body in the portal. His hand gripped the edges, straining and screaming as he hopelessly lost more and more ground against the wave of pure Arcana. He bellowed one last cry of dismay, “THIS ISN’T OVER! YOUR WORLD WILL BE MINE! CURSE YOU WRETCHED WITCH! I CURSE YOU!” Before the fiery gateway snapped shut with an audible pop that resonated across the land.

She slumped to her knees spitting blood, utterly exhausted and shaking from the ravages of unleashing pure Arcana. Her body was wracked with pain, and she could barely move her limbs, but she forced herself to crawl across the chamber leaving bloody prints every space she moved. Faeryn’s body was so weak now but she dragged herself to the wall and grabbed onto Sandsin pulling him close to her so he may lay his head on her lap. Blood already began to leak out of his armor and pool around the floor beneath them. She rested a hand on his face and his eyes lifted just enough for them to see each other. Tears flowed from Faeryn’s eyes mixing with blood and streaming down her face. A ragged gasp escaped the Clerics lips, “Th-there will be none of that…...Lady…. Enchantress. We…did it.”

“Please.” Faeryn sobbed, “Call me Faeryn just once.”

Another ragged gasp followed by a cough of blood. “As…you wish…. Faeryn.”

The tears were flowing freely now, and she held him close and shook her head. She was completely spent, there was no magic left for her to use to help him. There was nothing more in this world that she wanted than to deny the hand fate had given them. But there was nothing to be done. She stared into his deep brown eyes and spoke one last time, “Sandsin. Do you regret meeting me?”

A spark flashed across the Cleric’s eyes as he gazed up at Sorceress. “My only regret… Is that we hadn’t met sooner… Faeryn.” And then he was gone. Here in the pinnacle that nearly ended all life as we know it, Faeryn screamed into the sky and said goodbye to the last friend she had ever known.