James Davis - Circle of Skulls

Jinnaoth listened to the exchange intently, quietly urging the souls to act upon their greed and reveal the location of their long-hidden souls. With that, he might draw out the angel, lure Sathariel with valuable secrets to within reach of his blade.

"Very well," the skulls growled at length, too close to the immortal flesh they so desired to resist its siren call. "Find them here…"

They drew a series of dark symbols upon the wooden chest, the characters matching the existing arcane designs as Jinn cursed under his breath, unable to read the language upon the box.

"Do not try us further, wizard. As it is, we shall have an interesting discussion when this business is concluded," they said, backing away from the pedestal, eyes flaring excitedly at sight of the wooden chest.

With an echoing whisper of magic, the nine skulls and the possessed body of Callak Saerfynn were gone. Taking their secrets with them, they left Jinn, bereft of all that he'd come for, alone and barred from the hellish circle where Tallus orchestrated a symphony of immortality for himself-and death for every soul within the reach of the foul ritual.

NIGHTAL 22, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

" I am sorry about your brother, dear Rilyana," Tallus muttered absently as he worked the clasps on the wooden chest, tracing a sigil upon each with the tip of his finger. "Callak's death will be slow and painful, but it will pave the way for you to join me… forever."

She smiled, her hand sliding from his right shoulder to around his waist, kissing him roughly and pressing her body close. Jinn turned away from the spectacle, collecting his scattered thoughts toward some other plan, some way to foil Tallus and draw Sathariel out of hiding.

"Never worry, my love. I mourn no lost brother," Rilyana purred, and something in her voice caught

Jinn's attention, her words reverberating like a slipped secret plucked from the air on a crowded street. He glanced up, curious, his thoughts racing back to Rilyana's mansion and the paintings upon the walls of the drawing room. Rilyana's tongue traced the lobe of Tallus's ear as she continued, looking sidelong at the dawning realization on the deva's face. A flash of curved steel appeared in her left hand, hidden at her side, as she added in a husky whisper, "I was adopted, my dear uncle."

Tallus's eyes widened in horror half a breath before Rilyana's blade plunged into his chest. The archmage gasped once, waving his hands as he tried to push away from the young woman, but she held on, wrestling his arms down and covering his mouth, foiling his attempts to save himself with magic. His next breaths gurgled in his throat as his face turned red, eyes burning into Rilyana's as she bore him to the floor, her white gown stained with his blood. She held him tightly, as though squeezing the last dregs of life from his body before rising to survey her work.

Her fingers dripping with blood, she traced a symbol upon the last clasp of the chest, and the house shuddered as the box slowly opened. A column of blue-white light erupted from the pedestal, giving Jinn a brief glimpse at the chest's contents before he was forced to turn away. He was not surprised at the sight of dried blood on gold satin, of yellowed bone and gray flesh-the collected fingers of the skulls' victims, vessels for their souls, to burn on the pyre of immortality.

Rilyana smiled, chanting over the box's contents, spatters of Tallus's blood dripping onto the circle as she took up the ritual chant. The energy over the runes spun ever faster, blurring into a disk of flickering yellow flames before she fell silent and knelt over the body of the archmage. She ripped open the front of his robes, her blade poised over his chest as she prepared his body for the rite, one more soul for the fire and a tenth family, the Saerfynns, added to the list of would-be immortals.

A blanket of white clouds rolled slowly eastward beneath Quessahn as a sky full of stars wheeled overhead. Somewhere below the clouds, locked in the throes of magic, she could faintly feel the pressure of her body, the tightness of her skin and the cold sweat running down her neck, but it was as a dream, something outside of herself and bordering on the unreal. Close by she could feel the presence of Sathariel, caught in her spell, his future and fragments of his past feeding the magic as he struggled to free himself. Little tremors of pain danced in her distant wrists, traveling up her arms as she fought to hold him for just a few breaths more.

Weightless, she soared through the air, borne on the currents of time past and yet to be, spinning in the occasional whirlpools of random events until that which she sought came surging from the depths, showing her visions of the angel's future.

The stars flashed and her entire being shuddered as she plunged through the clouds, hurtling forward-or possibly backward, she couldn't tell which. Waterdeep stretched out beneath her, the streets a blur of activity and changing shadows as day and night turned over one another more than a dozen times in the space of a breath. Turning toward Sea Ward, she descended over its many-spired homes and grandiose temples as the moon took dominance over the sun. All across the city, streetlamps were lit, tracing a maze of light through main streets and winding avenues alike, though in Sea Ward the streets remained dark and foreboding.

Watch patrols rushed from block to block, like ants running in inexplicable patterns, chasing screams and shadows. Windows were lit in the House of Wonder as sleeping wizards awoke, responding to some commotion or another outside. The Watchful Order had roused the mages, separating and questioning them, keeping them from leaving the house. Instinct made her want to call out, to warn them that something was coming, but the course of the spell carried her quietly by, heading south, where a dark and dilapidated house awaited her.

The House of Thorne throbbed with energy as she neared, light pouring from dirty windows and exciting the once-dead gardens to life. Vines thrashed and writhed against brick and iron as thunder rumbled through the sky, orange flames erupting within the clouds as tiny motes of blue light drifted from the house and swirled around her. The motes whispered as they passed, their somber light guttering as they were drawn together to a single place. She saw the angel then, rising above the house, black wings outstretched, the tips of his clawlike hands close enough to touch. He was beautiful and horrifying all at once, bathed in a shaft of crimson light that crackled and hummed as he began to speak.

"Let it be done," he said, cold eyes rising to the sky. "The invitation has been given."

The roof below him exploded in a shower of wild energy, engulfing them as the ground quaked. Homes and businesses shifted on their foundations, and shards of glass rained down to the streets. Several spires shook from their places and crashed to the cobbles as Quessahn gaped in disbelief, unable to breathe.

She flinched as the screams began.

Those nobles and wealthy who had remained in the ward ran from their homes, filling the nearly empty avenues with renewed life; suddenly another day to live had become more valuable than the gold they left behind. Bodyguards and servants abandoned their frightened masters, shoving them aside in their haste to escape. The Watch marshaled their scattered forces, converging on the House of Thorne with strident horns and swinging lanterns. The House of

Wonder erupted with flashes of magic as several wizards teleported away, leaving the rest to rush outside, gaping at the spectacle in the sky as the Watchful Order abandoned their interrogations.

Quessahn felt other eyes across the city, powerful eyes, finally turn their attentions to Sea Ward.