Jess Lebow: Master of Chains

1359dr

Young Lord Purdun stepped around a ruined tombstone and pulled his sword from its sheath.

"Quiet now," Purdun said.

"What is this place?" asked Menrick.

"From the looks of it, I'd say it's the entrance to a family tomb." Purdun pushed aside the dried, thorny vines covering the facade of the stone building with the tip of his blade. The dark, dead plants made a light grinding noise as they slid across the decrepit, withered stone.

"Well, well," said Lord Purdun. "What do we have here?"

Unlike the rest of the tomb, cracked and worn smooth from hundreds of years of rain and the elements, the stone underneath the hanging vines was a slick, polished black that shone like a mirror. Carved into its surface were hundreds of tiny figures. Each of them had been crafted down to the most minute detail.

"Help me clear away the vines so we can get a better look."

Menrick stepped up beside the young lord, and the two of them together cut down the dead vegetation.

A rectangular slab of jet black stone covered most of the front of the tomb. At the center of the wall an archway cut the slab in two. It looked to be outlining what must have been the entrance to the tomb, but the one-time doorway was now bricked up.

Menrick bent close to the stone, examining the carvings. "It appears to be obsidian."

Lord Purdun ran his hands across the smooth, black stone. "This is remarkable. It looks to have been carved within the last tenday." He took a step back and scanned the path leading up to the tomb. "But there isn't so much as a single footprint or chip of stone. No one has visited this place for years."

"My lord, the stone is likely enchanted," said Menrick. "Judging from these carvings, whoever rests here left behind a lot of mourners."

Purdun turned his attention back to the carvings. The figures were mostly human, though there were some dwarves, elves, and what appeared to be half-orcs depicted in the scene as well. All of them were looking toward a large ziggurat in the distance with a lone figure standing atop it. The figure was of a woman, wearing a cape with a thick collar. She held over her head a large box. Beams of energy or light radiated from the box, and the woman's eyes gazed upon it in obvious adoration.

Carved in the middle of the box was a strange rune. It looked like two entwined threes, twisted and gnarled, reaching toward the ground-a bodiless, headless spider ready to sink its clawed legs into an unsuspecting victim.

On both sides of the archway, the scene was repeated in exact detail. Same woman, same box, and same strange, twisted rune.

"Look at this." Menrick ran his hand over the edge of the arch. "Oh my."

Purdun took a step closer. A jagged, rather chaotic pattern was inscribed around the archway. It reminded Purdun of the golden illumination on the pages of one of his favorite books, back in the manor library.

"What am I looking at? This pattern?"

Menrick nodded.

"Yes, that's very exciting," said Purdun, shaking his head. "Whoever crafted this stone had a real flare for decoration."

"This isn't decoration, my lord. It's an invocation."

"A spell?"

Menrick nodded again, not taking his eyes off the carvings. "The spell that opens this doorway."

Purdun squinted his eyes. "Why would a sealed doorway require an invocation to be opened?" The characters were so tiny, he couldn't discern where one ended and the next began. "I don't recognize the language."

Menrick took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's because it's Infernal."

"Infernal?"

Menrick looked down his long nose at his young master. "Yes, Infernal. And I don't know why the door would need an invocation to be opened, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it wasn't a door that was meant to be opened more than once."

"I don't understand."

"The invocation likely summons a spirit or phantasm," explained Menrick, "some creature from another realm who can destroy the enchantment that guards this portal."

Purdun smiled. "You're saying this isn't a tomb-it's a vault, a treasure trove."

Menrick cocked his head, a stern look on his face.

"Well, I don't know, but… I would say it is quite likely. But I do not think it would-"

Purdun cut him off. "Can you open this door?"

"My lord, I really must protest-"

"Can you or can you not open this door?" demanded the young lord.

Menrick stood silent for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, my lord. I can."

Purdun stepped aside. "Then open it."

"My lord-"

"Open it."

Menrick bowed his head. "As you wish."

The old wizard pushed back the sleeves of his white robe and fished around inside his pack, eventually pulling a handful of scrolls from the cluttered sack. Unrolling them one at a time, he scanned the text until he located the correct passage.

Menrick cleared his throat then began reading. He spoke softly at first. So softly that Purdun could barely hear him. But slowly his voice rose in volume, until eventually Menrick was shouting. Lord Purdun still didn't understand the words his manservant spoke, but the sounds he made were familiar. They had the same tenor and pitch as words Purdun himself used every day.

Menrick fell silent. The runes inscribed so tightly around the edge of the archway began to glow a pale green and the pattern changed shape, transforming from a jumble of lines and curves into recognizable letters and words.

"Thank you," said Purdun. Then it was his turn to read.

Handmaidens of Lolth

Ghouls of Baphomet

Harbingers of death and despair

Bring forth the suffering

Release the shackles of night

Bear down the walls of Dis

Evade the hunters,

The Bebilith, the Retriever, the Vrock

Come now from your places of darkness

As once you were born from good

Return now to do thy bidding

Flaming Balor in the bowels of the Abyss

Accept mine invitation

From the pit I command of you

Tanar'ri come forth

Purdun finished intoning the last word and the ground began to rumble. Rolling waves of earth washed through the ruined cemetery like the wake of a ship slapping up against the shore. Headstones crumbled. Partially collapsed mausoleums moaned under the assault as if the dead themselves were lamenting this intrusion. Trees shook, birds scattered, and both the young lord and his companion were tossed from their feet by the shaking ground.

A hole opened in the dirt just in front of the old tomb. It was rimmed in the same pale green light as the runes inscribed on the archway. A thick gas spilled out, covering the ground like fog. Then the earth went still. All was quiet except for a scraping noise that grew louder and louder.

Purdun swallowed hard, unable to take his gaze off the glowing pit.

The foggy gas swirled, disturbed from the inside. A shadow filled the cloud, nearly blocking out the green glow. And out of the shadow a hideous beast emerged.

"Glabrezu," whispered Menrick. His voice sounded far away, strangled, as if he had tried to hold back the foul word, but it had been pulled forcibly from his lips.

The demon's skin creaked as it stretched and moved across piles of muscle. Standing almost three times the height of a man, the creature turned its massive bulk, shifting its entire body to look at Purdun and Menrick. Its eyes, glowing with the color of rotting flesh, were little more than withered and wrinkled husks. They seemed ready to fall from the demon's oversized eye sockets, attached by stretched, desiccated tendons that looked more frail than a thin strip of vellum.

Its head was like that of a dog's. Long, sharp, dripping fangs protruded from under a blackened lip that ran the length of its pointed snout. It snarled at the two men, revealing two more jagged rows of teeth behind rotting, pockmarked gums.