As Erwen’s army of giant constrictor snakes began to worm their way throughout the ship, Siegfried stepped forward. “Captain Laurel!” he shouted smartly to the bosun, emphasizing her brevet promotion. “The wheel of this ship needs tending to!” Laurel paused the litany of abuse she was hurling at the last of the dead and dying pirates and turned to face the half-orc. Her eyes, visible above her veil, widened as she took in the meaning of his order. “Wait, what?” shouted Captain Ironclaw from her position on the deck of the Tide-Runner . Siegfried cast sending to Varien. We’ve taken the ship. Where are you, what are you doing, and do you need help? Varien’s reply was immediate. Below deck with Markosian. I still stand, but the Trevelyans falter. My eyes fail me but my Goddess will not. Be with you soon, Brother. Siegfried paused, hoping that more specific information was forthcoming from Varien, but the paladin was silent. The half-orc shook his head in anger. “Hold on!” Siegfried muttered. “You’re not going to tell me where below deck? I know you’re below deck, but where, you fool of a paladin?” He slammed his fist against the nearest deck railing, and then wrung it painfully. “Oh, right. Treated wood. Very nice finishing.” He turned to the crew. “Stop celebrating!” he said to the Tide-Runner crew. “There’s more blood to shed! Below decks with the lot of you!” He rushed to the nearest stairway, hopping from the quarterdeck to the main deck, passing Yeemik on the way. “You owe Bob,” he said to the Tiefling. “Save him.” Yeemik set his jaw, but nodded slowly. “We will stand together,” he said in agreement. Siegfried could tell from Yeemik’s disposition that in the Tiefling’s mind, only he could land the killing blow on Bob, given their shared history, but that this sentiment would serve him well as an ally this day. Theryn stood stock-still and silent, meditating as the half-man, half-manta prowled the corridors in a vain effort to locate him. His muscles coiled as he readied to strike when the creature strayed within range. Elsewhere in the rotten recesses of the graveyard, the moaning of the hapless zombies continued apace. Though blind, Varien could feel the flames left behind by the fireball spell as flammable objects burned fiercely. Markosian’s voice was like the cold chill of death on his face as the warlock spoke. “If it was Vell who commissioned you to interfere with my plans, know this – he will not suffer you to live after you have discharged your duty. You are loose ends that he will not hesitate to tie up.” The paladin could not see Markosian teleport out of reach across the bonestrewn deck. Varien moved away from the closed his eyes, breathed deeply, held his sword close to his chest, its blade pointing to the deck above. He expelled his breath and invoked his aura of vitality . Bob’s eyes fluttered open. Varien kept his eyes closed and concentrated, the supernatural focus of his vow of enmity searching for Markosian’s location like a form of echolocation. “To your left! One step forward toward the cage!” Alec shouted helpfully. “Then turn right. No, not my right, your right!” Varien could sense, with the vaguest of outlines in his inner vision, that Markosian was somewhere astern. The paladin began to move, slowly but resolutely, towards where he thought the warlock was hiding. He shook off the blindness and saw Markosian standing before him, looking perplexed. “So, you have sight beyond sight, do you, Varien Aether?” Markosian said with a frown. “I am guided by my goddess,” Varien said, pointing Fiendsbane at him. “You have underestimated your foe.” “Perhaps I have,” Markosian mused. “But you’ll have to catch me first.” He teleported out of sight. Varien whirled and saw where Markosian had disappeared to. The warlock was standing next to his thrall Joelle. “Why are you running?” the paladin shouted. “Hiding behind your lady friend won’t help!” Alec cast chill touch on Markosian. A ghostly, skeletal hand appeared with its icy fingers around the warlock’s throat. “No more healing for you!” The warlock made a strangled sound as he was wracked with necrotic damage. “I can do this all day!” Alec shouted. Markosian glared at Alec. “I might have misjudged you,” he said, “but I know how to deal with you and your weakened brother,” firing eldritch blasts at the Trevelyans. One blast struck Alec, who reeled back from the force damage, but the one aimed at Bob splashed harmlessly against the invisible forcecage. “How the turn tables!” Bob shouted triumphantly. “Ha ha!” “Right, forcecage , of course,” Markosian muttered. “You could remove the cage and fight me like a man!” Alec called. “Silence, whelp,” Markosian said. He shook his head and began to rant. “I had intended such great things…” trailing off, he conjured an iron flask into his outstretched hand. “You fools have no concept, no understanding of what this truly represents. In your clumsy blundering somehow, you have thwarted me and ruined my plans. How you defeated the Hand of Nessus and my minions at the lighthouse, I must know. What happened? You would do well to answer me, as your tortures would be lessened somewhat if you loosened your tongues.” He glared at the adventurers. “Well, it’s a similar story to what’s going on here,” Varien said offhandedly. “But you’re putting up more of a fight than they did.” “Indeed,” Markosian growled. “Perhaps I should have exercised greater discretion in choosing my allies. Sadly, there was to be such a ceremony, such a flattering homecoming, but now, now all I have is my wrath.” His expression turned fatalistically thoughtful. “Perhaps I should open this flask anyway, here and now. But why are you not willing to divulge your own secrets? Is it not your turn to gloat, to sing your own victorious praises?” “Boasting is unseemly,” Varien replied. “Ah,” Markosian said. “Oftentimes it betrays certain truths and illuminates. But enough of this prattling nonsense. It is time.” The warlock sighed heavily, gathered his strength and stretched out his staff, aiming its barbed head at a point below deck. He began to chant in Infernal. Oh, izub burz goth, haldarak ob ioz rubek, feranos, inderek, oth ob krith Hells. Latob sharbtur, latob arokk sharbtur ofan lat za dautus. Oh, glorizak Asmodeus, izg zam nalt dhak su izg ghulum za diinek zomaar, zatal, ishi uluk bonaarom, izg shag tug ghashan u Nyxthseht, mubi ulu turkurz fli latob agh verfaas, verfaassak, marfarak tuz! Bob got to his feet unsteadily, his eyes focusing on the chanting warlock. Varien translated Markosian’s words as his heart sank. “Oh, my Dark Master, Holder of the Ruby Rod, Fearsome, Indulgent, Supreme Master of the Nine Hells. Your servant, your arrogant servant has a gift for you this day. Oh, glorious Asmodeus, I had such high hopes for a flattering ceremony as I called for aid that was interrupted most despicably, so, in all supplication, I ask for only the word to release Nyxthseht upon these interlopers as they are a most worthy sacrifice for your most martial and fearsome aspect.” The flask flashed in his hand as he spoke. “Hey Markosian,” Bob said hoarsely. “Go to Hell!” He cast fireball , which blasted Markosian and Joelle. Joelle screamed as she was charred by the flames. Markosian, however, continued to chant in Infernal as the flames played over his body, searing but not scarring him. “Resistant to fire, eh Markosian?” Bob shouted. “Well then, it was ice to meet you!” Using his sorcerous abilities, he made an elemental change to the fireball spell, turning it into a flashing burst of frozen flames. Joelle’s screams reached even higher heights as a rime of fearsome frost flashed over her body, causing her nose, ears, fingers and toes to rot away and fall off. Her skin blackened over as the frostbite took hold, and she collapsed, dead. Markosian’s triumphant expression turned to one of confusion as ice began to form over his sweat-sheened body. “What is this?” he shouted in alarm as his feet froze to the deck. “What is happening?” His skin, too, began to blacken, the flesh sloughing off his outstretched hands as though struck by a terrible case of frostbite. He locked eyes with Bob, hatred spilling out along with tears of blood. “You…you were dead! You should be dead!” “I got better,” Bob said. “This is not right,” Markosian said, struggling to get the words out as Alec’s spectral hand continued to choke him. “This is not how Markosian’s story ends!” His body, chilled to the bone, froze into a tableau of interrupted anger. There was a hissing sound of evaporating bilgewater turning into an icy fog in the air around him. The image of the iron flask flickered and disappeared. “The…Devil…Behind…Thrones…will…have…vengeance!” he wheezed as the ice covered his face, freezing it into a snarl of rage. A great tremor blasted out, causing the ship’s hull to crack and groan throughout the ship. Siegfried was hurled to the deck, losing his footing, as the St. Asmod’s Hope rocked back and forth. Erwen ran full-tilt into Siegfried’s legs, knocking himself down as well. Siegfried’s healing spirit disappeared. Silence, broken only by the groaning of hull planking and the crackling of ice and burning objects fell over the cargo deck of the pirate ship. “It’s done,” Bob whispered. He put out his hand to feel the resistance of the invisible cage. “Damn it,” he whispered. Varien could smell seawater seeping into the hold. “That’s not good,” he said. Theryn remained standing as all but one of the zombies were bowled over, and the aquatic searcher fell to its hands and knees. The monk chose that moment to strike. Pulling his dagger of warning , he stabbed into the creature’s gilled neck, wrenching it savagely and opening a long wound around the creature’s throat. The monster began to gag, black ichor spraying the walls, ceiling and floor of the deck. Theryn chopped into the fins on both side of the monster’s head. Then, the monk cocked his fist and punched the creature in the back of the head with all his strength. There was a wet popping sound as the creature’s head was knocked from its shoulders, spinning across the deck with a horrible squishing noise. “That’s called a Damarran necktie,” Theryn whispered. The headless body fell prone, black blood gushing out in too-great a volume. The monk stepped deftly out of the way, sneaking back down the corridor as the zombies, attracted by the smell of blood, began to lurch towards the corpse. Above Siegfried, the drow sniper used a complicated array of pulleys and ropes to artfully abseil down from the crow’s nest to land smartly on the deck. His musket was holstered across his back. He bowed, flourishing it with his floppy hat. “Belaern Illustyn, at your service.” Siegfried painfully got back to his feet. “I will call you Billy.” “I wish that you would not,” Belaern said primly, “However, you are the boss.” He sniffed theatrically. “Do you smell that?” Siegfried snorted and spat out a wad of bloody phlegm. “It smells like blood.” “Maybe,” Belaern said. “Are you okay? You look as though you’ve been through it.” The drow’s expression changed. “Did I perhaps shoot you?” I hope not. Perhaps it was one of my counterparts who were a little less discerning in their choice of target, we’ll say.” “We’re looking for Markosian,” Siegfried said slowly, “because your continued employment depends on whether or not my friends killed him, or if he killed them.” “Well,” Belaern said. “It’s a smell one should never smell on board a ship. It is the smell of FIRE! Ring the bells, get the buckets, there’s a fire on board!” The drow pointed to one of the cargo hatches, covered by a wooden grating, where thin wisps of smoke were even now curling up. “You see my friends, where there’s smoke there’s fire!” “Ah,” Yeemik said. “I would have never noticed that.” Siegfried pulled out his shard of the ise rune . “I have something for that.” He moved towards the grate. Other crew members were going below decks looking for any pirates to capture or kill. Erwen cast cure wounds on himself. He then looked about, saw the smoke, and ordered his giant snakes to congregate. “Adders, assemble!” he shouted. The snakes began to twist together into a braided uroboros, several of them grasping the grating with their fanged jaws and hurling it aside. The multi-snake descended into the lower crew deck, again throwing aside the cargo grating, and descended further. Siegfried began to slide down the living snake-chute. Yeemik looked impressed. “Do you have yuan-ti blood in you? That’s amazing!” Erwen elbowed Yeemik in the thigh. “isn’t it hissterical ?” Varien heard a cracking sound from above. Looking up, he saw the cargo grate snap in two and a multi-headed snake descended into the hold. “What’s this now?” Varien said, his sword at the ready. The snakes descended to the bone pile and planted themselves like the root of a scaly plant. Sliding down the snakes was a triumphant Siegfried, battered, bloody, but still dignified. He used his shard of the ise rune to cast sleet storm at the burning section of the ship. A disturbing wet patch of seawater leaking through the hull was now a frozen morass. “That’s probably not necessary!” Varien shouted over the sound of the sleet. The icy rain smothered the flames. Siegfried looked about, taking note of the fact he was shins-deep in broken bloody bones, the motionless bulk of Skraper laying near the Trevelyans, who both appeared to be beating their limbs against an invisible barrier. Varien stood before him, sword out. Beyond the paladin were two frozen bodies, one of which looked quite imposing even in death. “Did we get him?” Siegfried asked. “Yes,” Varien said. Siegfried turned to the warlock and attempted to cast a hex , which failed, proving the man was dead. Siegfried grabbed up Varien in a bear hug. Varien healed him. “We’re not out of the woods yet. We need to get the Trevelyans out of that forcecage.” “Forcecage?” Siegfried said. “Never heard of such a thing.” Varien moved to Markosian’s corpse to search it. The warlock was wearing a cloak of great quality, a pouch full of small gems and ruby dust, and Varien found a ring on the corpse’s left hand, which was holding an unholy-looking staff. Varien also found a black square of fabric, like a silk handkerchief. “What’s this, a sort of pocket square? These all seem like magical items to me.” He piled the items to one side and then paid closer attention to the folded fabric. Kicking aside enough bones to clear the deck. He unfolded the square, which was larger than he originally expected. He laid the circular fabric on the deck, and created a magical hole. “Interesting,” Varien said, peering over the side of the hole, which appeared to extend ten feet downwards, but had not affected the structural integrity of the ship in any way. “Well, I’ll be right back then,” Varien said, jumping down into the hole. He landed at the bottom of the hole. Varien looked around, his magical illumination allowing him a clear look at his surroundings. He saw on the floor a maple footlocker, very finely crafted, a small oaken coffer of exquisite workmanship, and an applewood chest varnished to a polish. Leaning against the curved wall were six paintings in fancy gold frames. And in the centre of the chamber, sitting on a raised dais, was an iron flask inside a reliquary formed of bones and barbed wire. “What the hell are you doing?” Siegfried called out. “I have magical methods of figuring out what things are! Don’t poke anything magical down there! Did you know that necromancers put their souls into magical objects and then steal the bodies of those who touch their items uninvited? I learned about this in school! Don’t touch anything!” Varien used his divine sense and smelled the stench of desecration from the chests and the reliquary. However, the paintings appeared to be consecrated. “Why are you in such a rush?” Siegfried called. “We have two Trevelyans in a box!” “Then find them a way out!” Varien called over his shoulder. Varien inspected the elegant paintings. The paladin recognized several inscriptions worked into the carved golden frames marking them as artifacts of Lathander, and as he carefully looked over the paintings, he could see that each of them depicted an aspect of the sun in its daily journey around the world. “How were you not sure this wasn’t a portal to Hell?” Siegfreid said. “Shut up, Siegfried,” Varien replied. “Fine then,” Siegfried said. “Keep your secrets.” He folded up the portable hole . As the mouth of the hole closed up, Varien shrugged. “The paintings can wait, he said, his voice now strangely muffled by the sound-absorbing walls of the extradimensional hole. He gingerly removed the iron flask from its horrid reliquary. Nothing happened. Varien expelled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and pocketed the flask. He turned his attention to the chests, which appeared unlocked. Opening the applewood chest, he saw that it was stacked top to bottom with coins, with two scrolls laid across them. The oaken coffer was full of loose diamonds. Varien pocketed two of the largest ones. The maple footlocker contained golden ingots, and two crystal goblets carved with flaming wings rested atop the pyramid of ingots. These also appeared to be relics of Lathander, likely used in temple rituals when they weren’t being found in a pile of pirate swag. “Jumping into mysterious handkerchiefs, I mean really,” Siegfried muttered as he shoved the wadded-up portable hole into the forcecage. “Brothers, fold that out on the floor,” Siegfried said. “But Bob, leave your bag of holding behind, or else you won’t like what happens when you hop into that hole.” “There’s going to be a hole?” Alec said. “Through the bottom of the ship?” “Not that kind of hole,” Siegfried said. “I’ll take my chances with misty step ,” Bob said. He concentrated for a moment and then misty stepped beyond the barrier of the forcecage. Siegfried applauded. Alec shrugged and hopped into the hole. “This is different,” he said, looking around at Varien. “Hey, Alec,” Varien said. Siegfried reached back in between the invisible bars with the blade of a longsword and tugged the edge of the portable hole until he was able to pull it back out, unfolding it for Alec and Varien to make an exit. Then, he swept up the pile of Markosian’s other belongings in one arm, stepped onto a waiting snake’s head, tugged the scaly rope, and ascended to the main deck.