The Mark of Tyranny

Parallel to the Party - The Assault on Under-Tyr

The party descends into Under-Tyr one last time, to purge the caverns of their infestation and rescue, or slay, their ally Losk.

Standing on the roof of a repurposed tailor’s shop, Davion looked out towards the Warrens. The sun overhead beat down, making him almost regret wearing his dark robe. But to leave behind any magical item would be foolish, he would need every bit of power he could muster.

Down below, the line of Golems advanced forward, leaving only a handful of breaks in their lines. If it weren’t for this living wall, the city would have been overrun hours ago. Up ahead, Davion spotted movement. Another attack would happen in a moment.

If only we knew where all the entrances were! Instead, we have to go hovel by hovel, not risking leaving one behind.

Suddenly, an arrow arced out from the cluster of hovels up ahead. Throwing himself to the side, Davion barely managed to dodge the missile, it embedding itself into the roof beside him.

All at once, hell broke loose. The Warrens came alive, as thousands of brain-rats, humans, and twisted abominations surged out of the buildings ahead. The largest attack so far, by a wide margin.


Nihlus Vor stirred the cauldron, immense in it’s size, that he had been tasked with monitoring.

This is beneath me. I am a noble, not a common servant.

Nihlus gazed longingly at his bow, propped up in the corner. Inside the quiver next to it were two very unique arrows, specially commissioned.

Soon. But not soon enough.

Well, at least I’m not on fire.

Bite’s internal reverie was interrupted by having to slice low at a particularly large brain rat. Standing at the entrance to the Citadel, Bite and his brother, along with an overlarge Lizard named Lar, had been tasked with holding the door against the oncoming horde.

Glancing at the oncoming enemies, Bite held no delusions about their chances.

Still, no reason not to do the best we can. At least we can buy them a few more minutes.

Above, Mr. Bread and Harzen rode that insidious Shadow Ray, Stormchaser, and rained down fire and death. Bite was happy to be off that beast, he swore it was trying to end him.

Once again, his inner monologue was interrupted, this time by a burrowing worm attempting to turn him into lunch.

Focus, Bite, Focus.

Moiraine sat slumped in her chair, watching the messengers and officers run back and forth, issuing orders. The wound in her side ached mightily, Adran had only been able to perform basic healing on it, though Moiraine wouldn’t be surprised if she left the pain just to spite her.

I would have done the same, but still…

The sun streamed in through one of the Manor’s high windows, illuminating the center of the room. The Dragonborn Arena Master, his plate armor glinting, stood in the center of the chaos, and barked commands to the soldiers attending him.

At the edge of hearing, there was a light keening, echoing through the room.


With an ear shattering shriek, the walls came alive, and chaos reigned.

Cha’ka climbed the last dune between Tyr and the Dark Fortress. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of battle rising.

Irrelevant. This one hopes the clutch does not burn.

Looking towards the Black Fortress, Cha’ka looked for any sign of movement. There had been no word from the Black Fortress in two days. Cha’ka knew Elthea still lived, but something was wrong.

Pulling his orange and purple sash close, Cha’ka leaned on his Lotulis, and began to limp down the dune.

Titarion, through Losk’s eyes, glanced about the Throne Room.

“Is everything prepared?”

Light, it sounds weird, speaking in her voice.

“Yes, my lord.” One of the dominated servants uttered in a pleasing monotone. Two rows of servants knelt on the floor, arrayed before the throne.

On their knees, as all should be.

Focusing his will, Titarion sent a command to the lurkers he had hidden in the Tunnels leading to Under-Tyr. Soon, the usurpers would arrive, now that the Thri-Kreen’s mind was free.

A quick ambush, a bash on the head, and then they will be brought before their rightful king. To beg for forgiveness, or to perish.

Chuckling to him/herself, Titarion raised Losk’s head, to look out the window overlooking Under-Tyr. Below, the Horde waited, eager to sack Tyr.

Suddenly, a blur of fire and shadow dropped past the window. Mere moments later, a series of explosions rocked Under-Tyr.


Those light-blighted usurpers! Throne hijackers! PIRATES OF THE RIGHTFUL KING!


HeskAmity HeskAmity

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