38: The City of Rel Astra

Lord Soth on a Greater Death Dragon

Bessok’s potion provided a much-needed surge of vitality, but the reprieve was shorter than a heartbeat. Lord Soth was a relentless predator, urging his skeletal dragon across the sky in a lethal arc. On its way toward the Black Tower, the beast’s massive bulk slammed into the hovering Vinthanamel, swatting the wizard out of the air and sending him tumbling to the courtyard floor. As the dragon gripped the stones of the tower’s summit, Soth dismounted with grim purpose, his heavy boots echoing as he followed Bessok into the stairwell.

Across the divide, Joe remained the group’s silent guardian. From the White Tower, he unleashed a punishing volley of arrows that whistled through the lunar light, the shafts biting deep into the dragon’s rotting hide and rattling Soth’s ancient plate armour. This intervention was interrupted, however, by the vengeful necromancer; desperate to escape his own frenzied minions, the dark mage tore a gate through reality and stepped through, appearing on the White Tower to engage Joe in a close-quarters duel of dark energy and bowstring.

Deep within the Black Tower, Bessok found himself hunted. Lord Soth moved with terrifying speed, his blade flickering in the dim light, but the Displacement Cloak proved its worth once more. Soth’s strikes, capable of cleaving stone, passed through the shimmering after-images of the dwarf, the momentum of the near-misses whistling past Bessok’s ears.

Outside, the dragon took flight again, diving toward the grounded Vinthanamel. In a moment of sheer desperation, the wizard unleashed a disintegration ray, the beam of pure annihilation cutting through the night. The death dragon twisted with unnatural agility, and the spell only grazed the black mist clinging to its wings. Seeing his friend in peril, Bessok abandoned the duel with Soth and teleported to the courtyard, appearing at Vinthanamel’s side just as the dragon unleashed a gout of necrotic fire. Bessok braced behind his shield, the divine protection holding firm against the tide of rot, before the beast slammed into the earth before them, its claws ready to rend.

A Bone Roc

The situation had reached a breaking point. The veteran guards were closing in, their crossbow bolts clattering harmlessly against the stones as they surrounded Morthwyl. Above, the Bone Rocs screeched, ready to dive. Recognizing that their luck had finally run dry, Vinthanamel cast a shimmering Force Cage around himself and Bessok, creating a momentary sanctuary that neither dragon nor guard could penetrate.

Inside the translucent walls, Bessok reached into his bag and withdrew a specialized rod. As the necromancer’s dark bolts peppered Joe’s position and the guards lunged for Morthwyl, Bessok spoke the command words. Reality didn't just bend; it folded. The Three Moons Vault, the screaming dragon, and the cold, silent fury of Lord Soth vanished in an instant, replaced by the disorienting silence of a new, unknown horizon.

The transition from the frantic, necrotic heat of Lord Soth’s assault to the stillness of Bessok’s private sanctuary was a shock to the senses. This pocket dimension was a well-kept secret, a Dwarven traveller's refuge that felt like a fragment of a more peaceful age. Here, under the roof of a rustic tavern and the rhythmic clanging of a smithy, the group found the time that Krynn had denied them. The smith, a figure who bore a striking resemblance to Bessok’s father - or perhaps an avatar of Marthammor Duin himself - offered a silent, steady comfort. As they repaired their dented armour and tended to their charred skin, the reflection began. They had the rod piece, but the encounter with Lord Soth had left a mark; for the first time, they had faced an enemy they could not conquer, only escape. The revelation that Takhisis, known to them as Tiamat, was personally guarding a piece suggested that their journey was no longer a mere retrieval mission, but a direct challenge to the gods of darkness.

Acererak

When wounds had closed and spirits had steadied, Vinthanamel wove the magic to return them to the Sanctum in Sigil. Only half a day had passed in the City of Doors, and Mordenkainen’s usual mask of detached superiority slipped for a moment, replaced by genuine surprise at their efficiency. 

However, the respite was brief. The group gathered once more for the ritual of clairvoyance, watching as the spell’s eye drifted across the multiverse to settle upon Oerth, Mordenkainen’s own homeland. The vision pointed toward the Isle of Serpents and a tomb of Acererak’s design - a place so riddled with horror that it had been magically sealed away from the world. Tasha, ever the fountain of dangerous knowledge, informed them that the key to this tomb lay in Rel Astra, a city ruled with an iron fist by an undead dictator, Lord Drax the Invulnerable.

Infiltration would not be a matter of stealth, but of high-stakes diplomacy with a tyrant. Tasha provided the leverage: a Soul Coin from the pits of Avernus. The coin was a grim currency, housing a specific soul that Drax, a collector of such miseries, would find irresistible. With the coin in hand and a letter of introduction from the Witch herself, the group teleported to a lonely, ruined tower on the outskirts of Rel Astra. They arrived in a torrential downpour, the sky as grey and oppressive as the reputation of the city before them.

A Map of Rel Astra

Tasha

Their trek through the "Barbarian City" - a muddy, dilapidated slum outside the main walls - brought them to the formidable gates of Rel Astra. The city’s xenophobia was on full display; Iron Knights mounted on massive warhorses stood like statues of cold steel, while guards weeded through a line of desperate travellers. When the party reached the front, Bessok attempted a polite diplomatic approach, only to be met with immediate, harsh dismissal. Even Vinthanamel’s subtle charms, usually enough to sway the mind of any sentry, failed against the Iron Knights, whose wills seemed as rigid as their plate.

It was only when they presented the Soul Coin and invoked the name of Tasha that the atmosphere shifted from hostility to a wary, clinical interest. The guard took the coin, the weight of the soul within it vibrating against his gauntlet, as the group waited in the mud for word from the lord of the city.

The wait at the gates was a cold reminder of their standing in Rel Astra. Denied entry to the marble halls for the night, the group sought shelter in the Barge Inn, a dilapidated dockside tavern that shared a name - if not the quality - with their old haunt in the Dessarin Valley. While the others rested, Joe’s eyes remained sharp. He watched the shadows of the Barbarian City, noting the subtle hand signals and rhythmic slang of the local underworld. Thieves and rogues were thick on the ground here, their Thieves' Cant buzzing with talk of illicit shipments and whispered schemes, a stark contrast to the rigid law that supposedly governed the gates.

The following morning brought a shift in scenery as the group was marched into the Common City under the heavy gaze of the Iron Knights. Rel Astra was a study in contradictions; for a city ruled by the dead, it was vibrantly beautiful, filled with white marble spires and gardens that sparkled even under the heavy rain. Inside Lord Drax’s estate, the luxury was even more pronounced, but the danger was just as present. Vinthanamel noticed that the servants pouring their wine were not mere laborers; they wore concealed arcane tattoos, marking them as sorcerers held in reserve to counter any magical outburst from the "visitors."

The Fiend-Sage of Rel Astra

Lord Drax himself was a chilling figure of stillness. Pale as marble with amber eyes that never blinked, he moved with the unnerving precision of a statue come to life. Beside him stood the Fiend-Sage, a monstrous twelve-foot-tall wolf-headed demon that radiated a primal, predatory malice. The negotiation, however, was a disaster. Drax’s arrogance was as invulnerable as his title. He dismissed the impending collapse of the multiverse with a sneer, confident that his city could weather even the end of existence. To Drax, the fragility of a reality that required a single key for its salvation was a reality not worth saving.

Thrown back into the mud of the Barbarian City, the group felt the weight of their failure. As they trudged toward the Barge Inn, Joe felt the prickle of eyes on the back of his neck. It wasn't just one tail; a relay of watchers followed them, expertly handing off the scent from one shadow to the next. The mystery culminated at the inn’s bar, where a nondescript man signalled Joe to join him for a drink.

The man was none other than the Fiend-Sage in human form, and his motives were far from loyal to the crown. Bored by the stagnation of Drax's absolute law, the demon hungered for the chaos that the group’s presence promised. He revealed that the Hells were already whispering of the heroes who had dared to cross Tiamat, making their identity an open secret to those with the right connections. Bound by a contract he could not break, the Sage could not hand them the key directly, but he gave Joe a breadcrumb: the mention of thieves who had nearly succeeded in stealing the artifact once before.

As he stood to vanish, he left Joe with a phrase in an ancient tongue: "Krona-Sonn-Vex" - Time Bows to the Worthy. With a final, knowing look, the demon disappeared into the air, leaving the group with a cryptic clue and the realization that their path to the key might lie not through the throne room, but through the very rogues Joe had spotted in the docks.

The trail left by the Fiend-Sage was enough to set the group’s plan in motion. Identifying the need to bypass the city's rigid exterior, Joe ventured back into the muddy labyrinth of the Barbarian City. He moved with a deliberate rhythm, broadcasting subtle signals that only those of the underworld would recognize. It didn't take long for the "Guild of Whispers" to bite. Under the watchful but distant eye of Bessok, Joe was led through a series of back alleys and nondescript warehouses, undergoing a tiered interrogation to ensure he wasn't an agent of Drax’s Iron Knights.

Vesper Kincaid

Eventually, the group was granted an audience with Vesper Kincaid. They found him in an underground safehouse that was surprisingly opulent, though the man himself was a hollow shell of his former self. Vesper was a broken man, his hands trembling and his eyes darting toward every shadow. It took a soothing miracle from Bessok - a gentle wave of divine calm - to still the thief's nerves long enough for him to recount his ill-fated heist.

The Key, he explained, was housed within the Palace of the Eternal Sun, a former temple of Pelor that had been repurposed into a grim vault. Vesper detailed the three-tiered gauntlet of defences that had claimed his crew. The outermost layer was a Wall of Force that required a biological or symbolic "handshake" from Lord Drax himself to pass; Vesper had managed this by pilfering a signet ring during a previous, less ambitious job. The second layer was a deadly Prismatic Wall, which his now-deceased wizard companion had managed to unravel spell by spell.

The final defence, however, was what had shattered Vesper’s mind: a localized Time Stop. As the chrono-anchor took hold, Vesper had been frozen in a terrifying stasis, forced to watch in a blur of motionless horror as guards systematically executed his friend. He had been completely at Drax’s mercy until the Lord spoke a phrase in an ancient tongue that released the temporal lock. Vesper hadn't understood the words, but the group exchanged a knowing glance. The Fiend-Sage’s parting whisper, "Krona-Sonn-Vex," was the missing piece of the puzzle.

With the knowledge of the vault's layout and the phrase to navigate the time-trap, the mission's objective became clear. They didn't need Drax's permission, but they did need his essence - or at least something intimately tied to his authority. The heist was on, but before they could storm the Palace of the Eternal Sun, they would first have to infiltrate the Estate once more to acquire a signet ring or a similar personal artifact from the Invulnerable Lord himself.

Morthwyl’s attempt at a more subtle approach was certainly a departure from her usual reliance on the vorpal blade. Using her natural dwarven rapport, she managed to charm her way past the northern gates in the company of a few local kin, blending into the crowd with surprising ease. However, the Common City’s antique dealer proved to be a sharper predator than she had anticipated. Sensing an outsider with a heavy purse and a specific need, the merchant attempted to palm off a worthless bauble under the guise of it being a relic from Drax’s mortal past. Morthwyl, far from the naive wanderer the merchant expected, caught the scent of the lie immediately. With a sharp huff of frustration and a few choice dwarven words regarding the man's lineage, she abandoned the shop and returned to the mud of the Barbarian City.

Lord Drax's Estate

With the diplomatic and commercial avenues exhausted, the task fell to the more subtle members of the group. Vinthanamel decided that a feline’s touch was better suited for a heist than a warrior’s boot. He focused his mind, channelling his senses through his familiar - an unassuming and adorable cat. The creature slipped through the city's cracks, navigating the marble streets like a shadow. Reaching the Lord's estate, the cat found a neglected window on the flank of the building and squeezed inside. It moved with a ghost’s silence, timing its dashes through heavy doors just as they were swinging shut behind oblivious guards, until it finally reached the cold, still air of Lord Drax’s private bedchamber.

Guided by the faint, rhythmic pulse of the Soul Coin they had traded earlier, the cat leapt atop a polished dresser and nudged a heavy storage box over the edge. The wood splintered upon the floor, spilling out a collection of Drax's most intimate adornments. Among the scattered jewels lay a signet ring, heavy with the cold magic of the Lord’s authority. The familiar acted quickly, looping the ring over its tail and snatching up the Soul Coin - the very leverage Tasha had provided - between its teeth.

The journey back was a harrowing game of hide-and-seek. The cat darted beneath the legs of patrolling Iron Knights and scurried along rain-slicked gutters, its heart racing in time with Vinthanamel's focused breaths. When the small creature finally slipped through the doorway of the Barge Inn, it was greeted with a collective sigh of relief. Vinthanamel gathered the ring and the coin with a triumphant smile, his familiar curling up to recover from the stress of the mission. They now had the key to the first barrier and the verbal command to shatter the last.