A frigid breeze permeates through the Lower Ward. A dilapidated shack appearing to be long uninhabited – standing inconspicuously among the more desolate alleys of Tinker Avenue sways gently in the wind. It’s about antipeak, and the dull, now dark haze covering the sky blocks vision of one trying to observe the opposite side of the Ring.
Now turning into Tinker Avenue appears a large bipedal. Red-orange scales, large black wings curving beyond it’s 12 foot height and completely white eyes glowing as molten steel. An unfortunate half-orc beggar happens to be standing directly in the Cornugon’s path – apparently looking for something she dropped.
She feels a colossal force on her shoulder – a heat like she’s never felt before emanates from the massive maw into her body for the short instant she is in contact. Then she is airborne - her yelp of pain and surprise stopped short when she makes contact- headfirst with an adjacent marble building ending with a sickening thud. Her world blackens as she falls unconscious, the last thing on her mind being the incredible heat on her shoulder.
The few remaining dwellers quickly scuttle away – wisely - after witnessing the Cornugon’s sudden swipe of the woman. It stands for a second where the half-orc was, and sneers – its alligator-like maw filled with teeth sharp enough to slice diamonds. It lets out a slow, menacing growl that is more fearsome than loud– much like the calm before a storm.
The Cornugon waits for a few seconds and ensures the area is completely desolate… using its innate magical abilities to confirm that nothing alive, nor dead is in the immediate vicinity – except the unfortunate, comatose woman, who may be either… although that would not matter in the least.
It casts an invisibility spell and approaches the dilapidated shack. A short time later, a swirling, ovular portal opens up in front of the shack. The invisible Cornugon steps into the portal resembling a blue-green whirlpool going in the counterclockwise direction. Then the portal disappears just as quickly as it had come into being.
“You’re late Shazz’ak’fr” goads a cold voice to the Cornugon.
“Forgive me Lieutenant, I was pressed for time and using-”
“You have wasted my time enough, don’t squander it further with your useless explanations.” The cold voice interruptes.
Shazz’ak’fr (still invisible) looks down and sneers at the man. The young man –perhaps no older than 30- has dull, dark eyes and jet black bangs that twirl along the sides of his sunken, unshaven face. The only mark of distinction on his face is a scar running diagonally from the corner of his left forehead, past the break in his eye, and down to the right side of his lips. Wearing bland studded leather and a commoner’s cloak, the unimpressive looking man could have passed for a commoner in the Hive – to the untrained eye. Shazz’ak’fr, however, could discern with his fiendish vision right past the disguise. The powerful magicks that cover the man make him glow like a candlestick in the eyes of the Cornugon.
As if suspecting the silent insolence, the man gives a simple wave of the hand, and Shazz’ak’far comes into view- his invisibility dispelled. No longer is he sneering, though, the fiend gives a reluctant half-bow/half-salute to the human. It seems almost comical, unreal that a greater fiend would humble himself so before a human. Shazz’ak’far, however, reminds himself that this is no ordinary human.
As if hearing the unspoken command, Shazz’ak’fr gives his report.
“We have found them, as well as some others who will be of assistance”
“And you are sure they are capable, Shazz’ak’fr?” the man speaks the last three syllables slowly, deliberately, taunting the fiend.
“Without question, Lieutenant” replies the Cornugon, placing a similar emphasis on the syllables of ‘lieutenant.’
“Very well then, put my machinations into motion – very soon now, we shall return to where we once were.”
Shazz’ak’fr smiles when he hears this, a genuine smile very rare among fiends… yet rare expressions are saved for rare occasions. Shazz’ak’fr looks up at the human and smiles even wider.
)
Oddly enough, the Sigilian ‘sky’ is clear for the moment. Anyone who looks up from the Hive simply sees the opposite half of the ring; tiny dots of light from miniature buildings speckle the opposite corner of the city in the Lady’s Ward. The skyscape is a gentle harmony, a luminous wonder for the observer.
Events are somewhat less serene on the ground.
At the intersection of two small streets lies a ravaged tiefling. Her off-white eyes rolled to the back of her head, face contorted and frozen forever into a twisted scream of horror. A scream that went unheard until it was too late. Two Sodkiller investigators are bent over the body, clearing the tousled hair from the woman’s face, double-checking her slim, finely robed body for marks of damage. There are none.
A third investigator barks orders to a full contingent of 15 armed guards. The streets are barricaded by a second and third contingent, while a fourth investigator begins the questioning of the 8 poor sods who happened to be in the immediate vicinity of the area. A motley bunch to say the least – the roundup includes a winged half-fey, an armed hobgoblin, an odd-looking drow, twin aasimars, a tiefling, a ratlike humanoid, a barbazu, and something that appears to be made of the ground itself.
The investigator approaches the fey first, flanked by two more armed guards (who are eagerly half-wishing that a berk will try and make a run for it).
His question is simple, and to no one in particular. He asks it monotone - although there is a hint of insinuation in his voice:
“What are you doing here?”
(Cue the PCs!)