Siegfiend pulled the safe door open. Its interior was upholstered in ruby-red padding and contained a few objects of note, arrayed carefully upon the pillowed surface. The first was an ornate scroll tube of black ivory with a silver stopper in each end. Siegfiend handed the tube over to Varien, intending to identify it later. Varien shrugged and unstopped the tube, peering inside. There was a small rolled-up parchment, upon which something was inscribed in Infernal. “Don’t read it out loud,” Siegfiend cautioned. Varien rolled his eyes and looked at the script. Written in the ornate, practiced calligraphy of an archdevil were six words: “Starboard means right, Port means left.” “Very insightful,” Erwen said. Varien nodded, rolled the parchment back up, and put it back in the tube. Behind the scroll were arrayed three jars. Each jar was filled with a yellow-amber, viscous liquid and contained what looked like a misshapen lump of embryonic flesh. “Are these creatures of some kind?” Siegfiend asked himself. “Varien’s what’s this?” Varien leaned in and looked. “Seems fiendish to me,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Yeah, those are definitely baatezu embryos, but they look all, uh, messed up, like they’ve been planewarped.” “Embryonic devils?” Siegfiend asked. Varien gingerly picked up one of the jars and examined it. “Warm to the touch,” he said. The base of the jar had a receptacle that could fit a soul coin, and sure enough there was a coin loaded inside. He made as if to remove the coin. “Hold on,” Siegfiend said. “That power source might be keeping these creatures in some sort of suspended animation, or gentle repose, if you will, and if you remove the power supply, perhaps that would wake them up.” Varien frowned. “Let’s just wait a moment,” Siegfiend requested. He looked inside the safe, past the remaining jars, and saw a pair of bracers nestled here, and near the back of the safe there appeared to be a polished wooden rack containing eight small vials. “Hmmm,” Siegfiend said. Over his shoulder he asked the Air Marshal, “how long to our destination?” “The navigator is calculating the course now,” Zuvok replied. “At full throttle, approximately three hours, if we don’t encounter any resistance along the way.” “Well, then we have time to identify these treasures,” Siegfiend said. He set about casting the appropriate ritual. Varien shrugged and sat down in the nearest nail-studded chair, his armour squeaking. Erwen examined the bar and sideboard. “Careful Erwen, those drinks are Rimmon’s pornography,” Siegfiend said. Erwen grimaced. “Not interested,” he murmured. “All right, what have we got here?” Siegfiend said. “Eight vials of hellish ichor, first and foremost. Pour one of these out and you’ve got a lemure on demand before you know it.” He handed them to Varien. “Devils in a jar. Pour one out and wait for it to grow.” The jars gave off a strong aura of transmutation magic. The embryos were definitely in some sort of suspended animation via the soul coin-powered jar. The embryos had been warped via exposure to planar magic from the Far Realm or worse. Removing the soul coin would likely lead to the embryo’s degradation. Siegfiend recalled that the party had encountered planewarped creatures before, usually when going too deep into the Ethereal Plane, most recently at the Tower in Leilon. Removing the suspended animation could kill whatever was inside, or it could accelerate the growth that had been arrested by the magic. “Think fast!” Siegfiend said, tossing the jars at Varien. Varien cast destructive wave and blasted the jars out of the air, shattering the glass and splattering the walls with the blue-black ichor and fleshy gobbets of the embryos. “Nice,” Air Marshal Zuvok said with a wince. “Varien, you have no taste for clay pigeon shooting,” Siegfiend said. The final item was a pair of hellforged bracers , which, when worn and attuned, could be used to summon a loyal imp familiar. “That’s a neat thing to have,” Siegfiend said. “Air Marshal, I request a tour of this vessel.” As Air Marshal Zuvok opened her mouth to reply, a device on Rimmon’s desk began to buzz insistently. It was an ivory sounding horn lying in a brass cradle, and a small ruby gem inset in the cradle was pulsing brightly. Siegfiend put the horn to his ear. “Ahoy-hoy?” There was a scratchy electromechanical echo. “To whom am I speaking?” a deep voice rumbled. “Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?” Siegfried replied. “Iseddon, Executive Officer of the Subjugator ,” the voice growled. Siegfried mouthed the name in Fiendsbane’s direction. Varien knew that Iseddon was a high-ranking gelugon in service to Rimmon. Air Marshal Zuvok confirmed that Iseddon was the ship’s XO. “Iseddon, yes, I’m afraid Rimmon has had to take a sudden leave of absence,” Siegfiend said. I’m sure Optio Dundarth can fill you in, but I will be serving as his chief replacement until HQ sends word.” “Fascinating,” Iseddon replied. “That the Chain of Command could be broken in such a way.” “Well, if you have your resume prepared, I’d be willing to read over it and see if a promotion is available in your near future.” There was a bass-heavy growl from the sounding horn. “I’ve also noticed a change in heading. What is our destination?” “Yes, I have business with Many-Arrows and with Gruumsh.” There was a dark chuckle from Iseddon. “Don’t we all.” “Shortly after which I will be disembarking and I’m sure the next-in-command will be required in the Captain’s seat to chart the next course. Would that be yourself?” There was a pause. “I’m sorry, there must be some interference on the line, because I thought I heard you say that you were taking the Subjugator into the heart of enemy territory for a meeting? With Gruumsh? While we are flying under the flag of Magubliyet? You can see why I’m concerned.” “Well then, let’s change our flag!” Siegfiend replied. “I’m looking for a reason to trust this change in course,” Iseddon said. “Bear in mind, you may control navigation, but propulsion is another story entirely.” “I’m confused, Iseddon,” Siegfiend said. “I thought ambition was inherent to all devils. Does that not include yourself? Are you a coward with no goals in your unlife?” “Not at all.” “Surely a devil of your position and ranking would be Captain after Rimmon’s inevitable demotion for his failures.” “Well, you’ve hit the nail on the head,” Isedoon replied. “I am indeed in charge.” “No,” Siegfiend replied. “Yes,” said Iseddon. “You’re in charge once HQ promotes you,” Siegfiend said. “And in the meantime your objective to keep as much of this ship and crew intact as possible so that it becomes yours after we leave. Something we’re happy to meet you in the middle on.” “We’ll be meeting soon,” Iseddon replied, and the line went dead. Siegfiend replaced the sounding horn in its cradle. “Hey Varien, if this guy Iseddon does give us lip, just do what comes naturally.” Varien rolled his eyes in response. “Now then, Air Marshal, my chief interests are guns and blueprints,” Siegfiend said. “But in the meantime are there diplomatic colours we can fly?” “Fascinating,” Air Marshal Zuvok replied. “We could try a flag of neutrality, but I’m not sure how the orcs would respond.” “Neutrality means an enemy of both sides,” Siegfiend said. “I suppose we could raise the black flag.” “This vessel was operating under Magubliyet’s aegis,” Zuvok replied. “But the work appears to have been cut short.” “Partly our fault,” Siegfiend admitted. “Now, it’s not seen often on this Plane of War, but you could try flying a Flag of Peace. I’m not sure how it would be interpreted.” “Oh, confusing!” Siegfiend said. “I love it!” Zuvok smiled uncertainly. “I’ll see if there’s one on board, then.” She chuckled. “Not a lot of peace on this plane.” Siegfiend smiled. “Now that we’ve cracked this safe, what about Rimmon’s vault?” “That would be in his private quarters,” Zuvok said. “Let’s definitely check that out,” Siegfiend said. “Lead the way. Have Iseddon meet us there. Optio Dundarth and his squad can join us.” Air Marshal Zuvok saluted out of habit. The party walked back out onto the bridge. Siegfried eyed the puddle of ichor left behind by Rimmon’s demise. Scattered about the smear were meticulous metalwork jewelry – valour decorations from the Blood War. Sifting through the ichor, Siegfried came up with an infernal key. Erwen was consumed by thoughts of Gilbo the Nimble. Yeemik mentioned something about him, but what? He recalled the ice statues in the Deepwinter Vault and how they goaded the party into rage. Who is Gilbo the Nimble and what does he have to do with Gnash the Slash? Before Yeemik was reincarnated as a Tiefling, he and Gilbo were cousins in service to the Cragmaw Goblins, and then the Black Spider. He was a master of the watery escape, fleeing from the party repeatedly. They last encountered him in the flesh in Ierithymbul. Erwen paced back and forth, muttering to himself. He picked up a chalice of frozen memories from Rimmon’s liquor cabinet and threw it on the ground, where it bounced rather than shattered. “If Gilbo’s in the water, then the water is our enemy!” he declared. He began shouting. “The ice is our enemy! Gilbo is our enemy! It’s in the water, people!” He shook his head, collected himself, and joined Varien and Siegfried as they marched, escorted, towards Rimmon’s private quarters. The corridors of the airship stank of sulfur and cold-wrought iron. The hallway was scaled to allow greater devils free passage, though deep scratches in the bulkheads showed where the horns of taller specimens might have snagged. Lesser devils dashed and flitted to and fro along the passageways, careful to deferentially cede the deck to the curious troupe of Pit Fiend, Gelugon escort, Tiefling Air Marshal and assorted Humans and Halflings. Most of the crew had the presence of mind to not question the situation. “Make way,” Dundarth said, banging his blade against his carapace. The Optio had the courtesy to disengage the scourge ooze barriers at the bulkhead portals as they moved. Soon they arrived at Rimmon’s quarters. There was an honour guard consisting of an Erinyes and Spined Devil posted at the door, but Optio Dundarth entered into a quick, tense negotiation and the guards stood down, being replaced with the Optio’s underlings for the time being. The party entered. The exquisite opulence of the archdevil’s expansive quarters was contrasted by the stench of vile darkness that assailed Varien’s nostrils. The greatroom’s walls were an ever-shifting mosaic of frost-rimed obsidian black slabs, limned with light of the coldest blue. The temperature plunged and the party members felt chilled to the bone. Floating glow globes drifted through the suite, illuminating its darkest corners. There was an entrance to a side chamber directly ahead, and Erwen’s keen ears picked up the faint sound of what he could only describe as a sarcastic soothing, like a parent pretending to calm their hysterical child with complete insincerity. The voice echoed in low tones that Erwen couldn’t quite make out. Curious, Erwen moved ahead stealthily and listened. He heard a high-pitched, weaselly voice mockingly say, “now then, that’s not so bad, is it? Just hold still, there’s a good girl.” Then the mocking tone gave way to a chilling chorus of infernal speech for a few seconds before breaking back into the nasal sound. “Told you it wouldn’t hurt, my dear. Much, that is.” Out of the corner of his eye Siegfiend saw Erwen creeping forward into the antechamber, ears pricked up. Erwen looked the new room over. Here the obsidian black slabs became bookshelves, inset into the walls, where dozens of black-spined volumes were stored. There was a reading chair and a sidetable with a glowing icy shard serving as a lamp. But the well-appointed study is not what grabbed the Halfing’s attention. He saw the naked body of a young woman reclinds upon a cantilevered obsidian slab. The woman’s expression was entranced, her face a rictus of stunned submission as she stares sightlessly at the shifting ceiling of the chamber. She was of uncommon beauty. Though her upper body was unspoiled, it was clear that some terrible black magic was being wrought upon her as her narrow midsection and lower limbs were partially transformed into the shape of a book – its front covers clearly forming from her flesh and bone, her skin becoming the parchment of its pages, tendon and muscle fibre become the binding, and her blood serving as ink, having pooled in decanted receptacles build into channels in the slab. Crouched on a tall iron stool next to her was a wizened imp wearing a pince-nez, who was tattooing infernal runes with that same red ink with a long jet-black feather quill. The imp was muttering something in Infernal as though recalling the words to write and was utterly captivated by its task. Erwen blinked as he realized the horrible book’s outer cover matched those over volumes that sat upon the shelves of the reading room. “The writing’s on the wall, buddy!” Erwen shouted as he and the rest of the party entered the chamber proper. Surprised, the imp whirled about, his pince-nez popping from the bridge of its beaked nose in surprise. Varien teleported in behind the imp, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the nearest bookshelf. “I will ask you one question, worm,” Varien growled. “Can you reverse what you have done to that woman?” The imp dropped his feather quill. “Ow! Ugh!” Varien shook him vigorously. Soul coins dropped from the impish scribe’s pockets. “Reverse it? Reverse it!? The Master wouldn’t like that, no he would not, not one little bit!” The imp wheezed. “Not when there’s still so much transcribing to be done, so much of his Revelation to get down in ink and parchment!” “I am your Master!” Varien said. “Can you fix it, or do you die?” Siegfiend loomed over the imp, backing up Varien’s threat. The imp cringed. “B-but, I live to record the Revelation! How would I even begin to undo what the Master has bade me done?” “This thing’s worthless,” Siegfiend growled. Varien nodded. He shoved the imp to the ground, crushing him with his shield. Then he unsheathed Fiendsbane and stabbed deftly downward. The imp’s wings flapped weakly against the carpet. “Master, save me!” he wailed. “I told you, I am your Master,” Varien said. “Now, can you or can you not undo what you have done?” The imp floundered on the ground making injured imp noises. Siegfiend leaned over the cowering creature, pulling out his StrideGnome and letting it play some Ierithyn acid jazz to lighten the mood. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR A JOKE, LITTLE IMP?” The imp squeaked and shakily nodded. “WHAT FLAILS ON THE GROUND PISSING AND SOILING ITSELF IN TERROR AS IT IS SLOWLY TORTURED TO DEATH BY THE MORTALS IT THOUGHT ITSELF BETTER THAN?” There was a pregnant pause. “What?” the imp asked. “YOU!” Siegfiend roared. “IF YOU DO NOT REVERSE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!” He turned and cast dispel magic on the stricken woman. “No!” the imp wailed. “You don’t understand! There was an arrangement! A contract that cannot be voided! Certainly not by the likes of you!” “DOES AN IMP SEEK TO TELL A PIT FIEND ITS BUSINESS?” Siegfiend roared. The imp cringed and stuttered. There was a gasp from the obsidian slab as the woman suddenly convulsed as Siegfiend’s magic washed over her. In what looked like an incredibly painful process, the transformation began to slowly reverse itself. Siegfiend scanned the dozens of similar volumes upon the shelves and wondered whether or not they could be transmogrified back into human form. It would likely not be a simple task. Siegfiend turned to the pathetic imp. “NOW, WITH YOUR LAST BREATH, IMP, DID YOUR MASTER HAVE ANY WARDS ON HIS VAULT?” The imp perked up. “The vault? The vault is warded to hell and back, if you’ll pardon the pun! Yes, yes, you’ll never…” “WELL THEN,” Siegfiend replied. “NOT EVEN WITH THIS?” He held up the infernal key. The imp’s eyes widened. “Oh, crap.” Siegfiend picked up the imp and pressed the key firmly into his clawed hand. “YOU WILL BE THE KEYMASTER THEN, IMP. WHICH WAY TO THE VAULT!” He waved the imp around like a vault detector. “TELL ME, AM I COLD, OR WARM? WHICH WAY?” Varien looked at the woman, who shivered as she stared sightlessly at the ceiling. He examined her chastely. She appeared to be a human woman of breathtaking beauty and noble bearing. “High-born,” Varien murmured to himself, taking into account her soft, uncalloused hands and manicured fingernails. Her curves suggested a good diet, her porcelain complexion and smooth skin suggesting aristocratic refinement. A rare beauty, Varien mused. The woman shuddered at Varien’s touch as he tried to make her comfortable. She relaxed under the paladin’s ministrations. Varien grabbed the bedspread from Rimmon’s pentagram-shaped bed to cover the woman against the chill of the reading room. The quilted cover depicted female humanoids of every variety engaged in unspeakable acts of debauchery, but Varien saw no alternative. As he returned with the blanket, the woman was chanting something in Infernal in voice that he recognized as Rimmon’s. Yes, my dear, just there. Yes. Hmm? Ah, did our newest, the young Lord Pashtum not explain? How unfortunate. Still, you’re here now. Learn by doing, yes? I shall explain. What? My yes, it is a devil. A minor creature of little consequence is Takriq, and quite harmless. He exists to record my Revelation. Part of the terms of my arrangement. You may speak freely. Bound to set down only my words. Consider me a confidant. Your predecessors often sought to unburden themselves to me. I invite you to do the same. No? Perhaps in time. Are you quite comfortable? Well, to business then…