"The skulls were once priests of Mystra, but they betrayed her, called upon Asmodeus, and promised their souls to him. He gave them a part of his power, an exchange that they betrayed in the end, though ultimately they failed. The immortality they sought became undeath, a curse. But they still had the archdevil's power, and their spell, their grand ritual, was left here, carved into a forgotten basement floor, waiting for their return," Rilyana said, studying the wooden chest, as if making sure the eladrin had not somehow fouled the magic.
"In exchange for what? What did the skulls offer Asmodeus?" Quess asked, crawling onto her side and spitting blood. She knew the answer, having made her own dark pacts in recent years, but she wanted to keep the human talking and confident.
"Their souls, obviously, but also an invitation, one that they had no intention of fulfilling, but an invitation nonetheless. One that Asmodeus now wishes to answer," Rilyana answered, kneeling before the injured eladrin.
"The prophecy…," Quess whispered, one fist clenched around something cold and soft.
"Clever again," Rilyana replied, returning to the pedestal. "The skulls receive the damnation they deserve, Sathariel completes the prophecy, and I finish the ritual, joining him in immortality."
Quessahn crawled out of the ritual circle and rose on her hands, panting from the effort. She clutched one fist to her stomach as if in pain. Rilyana did not follow, hurled no more spells, and seemed to pay her no mind as she attended to the ritual's progress.
"Why are you telling me this?" Quessahn asked nervously, drawing the human's attention away from the chest.
"Isn't that how this all works?" Rilyana asked, smiling. "First I break your body; then I break your spirit. Besides, what fun is all this work without an audience?"
"I can still fight you," Quessahn replied angrily.
"Indeed you could," the human said, "but to what end?"
Quessahn stared at the woman for a breath before lowering her gaze. Pain wracked her limbs, and she felt brittle, like the bed of a dried river, wasted by floods of magic without rest. Stealthily she turned her hand up in her lap and opened her fist slowly to see the severed finger she'd stolen from the chest. Its blue glow gone, congealed blood stained her palm as she looked up, noting sluggish movement near Rilyana's foot.
"A bloody end," she replied at length and steeled herself to open the dam again, willing the first trickles of magic to well agonizingly in her mind.
Pain flowed through the skulls as they struggled to stand, Callak's legs failing as his suppressed mind grew stronger with every breath. They cursed in unison as the avolakia slithered out of the illusory skin of the old man, its alien form half hidden in shadow, tentacles writhing with a hideous grace. Green light glowed from its circular maw of hooks and tiny teeth, belching forth a wave of hissing liquid that flooded toward the skulls, spattering and popping across Callak's body.
Arguing among themselves, the five skulls remaining in the man's body managed to roll Callak's body beyond the widening pool of acid, one arm flailing madly as their legs twitched. The scent of burning flesh stung their sensitive nostrils, and bile rose in Callak's throat, an unfamiliar sense of nausea twisting in the body's gut.
Effram fumed as the others succumbed to mortal pain, howling as acid chewed through muscle and soft tissue, tendrils of foul smoke rising from the wounds. He could see the huddled children, pressed into a far comer of the room, staring at him with wide eyes beneath a painting of Callak Saerfynn as a young man. Taking control, Effram issued a swift chant and raised Callak's arm as silvery bolts of force ripped into the avolakia's body, leaving gaping wounds that wept with sickly yellow fluid.
But the beast merely twisted, undulating its quivering, boneless body until the bleeding stopped, its tentacled maw already screeching an arcane counterspell. Effram responded quickly, but the other skulls panicked, attempting to wrest away his control of Callak's body even as waves of mortal fear rose from the recesses of the man's mind. Effram's efforts faltered, his spell ruined in a stream of spewing gibberish, Callak's tongue useless as their cooperation fell apart. He could only watch as sheets of black flame rushed toward them.
They screamed together, the dark energy searing flesh and spirit alike as they were hurled against the wall, paralyzed and fighting to keep Callak's emotions at bay. His body twitched and thrashed against the wall, a broken puppet. The avolakia slithered nearer, multifaceted eyes turning among his many tentacles as he addressed them. His voice thundered through the space they occupied in Callak's mind, his tone soft and sinuous.
Hold still. This will only hurt for a moment.
"What do you want?" Effram shouted desperately as the others cursed, screaming in fury, everything they had worked for within sight, within reach, just a simple blood-letting away from their grasp, but still so far away, like a nightmare. "Tell us and it is yours! Anything!"
"Anything?"
Maranyuss grinned as she circled around the four skulls, limping and exhausted as thick smoke drifted through the scorched alley. Her hands flinched reflexively as the skulls withdrew from the edges of their circle, gathering together. She narrowed her crimson eyes and held her breath, suspecting a trick, but heard nothing but the wind whistling through the long alley, fluttering the tattered ends of her dark robes. She cast a furtive glance toward the House of Wonder, eyeing the courtyard through the gates and expecting her illusion to fall at any moment, exposing the battle and summoning the Watchful Order.
"Anything," they repeated in unison, their hollow voices small and desperate, dripping with a sickening weakness that Mara could almost taste. Her stomach growled and she bared her lionlike teeth, whipping stringy, black hair from her dark-skinned brow.
"Let me think," she replied slyly as a strange, distant wailing echoed from the ground.
The green flames of the circle flared brightly, roaring into an emerald pyre and turning the night into a pale, glowing day. Curses and shouts filled the circle as the remaining five manifested, spitting and burning with unparalleled fury. Mara backed away, smiling as they spun on one another, three hundred years of ruined work seeming to drive them entirely mad. She bowed mockingly as she retreated into the shadows but paused as an ominous tremor rumbled through the streets.
Her smile faded as thunder growled overhead in clouds that spun in slow, unnatural circles. Flashes of muted, orange flame hid behind the strange storm, and despite all, Mara sighed in brief contentment, recalling the tempests that would roar over the landscapes she'd once walked centuries ago. Strident horns echoed through the deserted avenues of Sea Ward as the Watch responded, booted feet on the march and drawing near as the circle of skulls fell eerily silent.
Their empty eyes fell on her, green fires flickering, mirroring the swinging lanterns of the Watch patrols.
"Enjoy this moment while you can, hag," they grumbled. "You have written the beginning of the end. The angel's prophecy will come. Our wrath is nothing next to what awaits you now."
Mara regarded them curiously then turned south, shivering despite herself as she imagined Jinnaoth facing down Sathariel. A thin column of pale crimson light, barely more than a staining mist, rose into the sky above the city. Another tremor rumbled beneath her feet, and shadowy figures turned a corner nearby, heading in her direction with lanterns blazing. Shouts echoed from within the House of Wonder as her illusion faded away. Robed figures streamed into the House's courtyard, drawn to the green flames of the skulls.