Spellbound Epilogue

• Tasha goes to Chessenta to treat with great Tchazzar, rumored to be leaning in the direction of joining Tiamat's army and crushing Unther. Secretly, she's also gathering information on the dragon from the Night Masks, to aid in the possible assassination of the demon-dragon.
• Rylaun conducts research on the Tharchioness' behalf, to try to uncover the truth behind a vicious rumor: that her husband is funneling an invasion army into the new temples of Bane in Thay, and that he may not be all he appears to be. Aurora Phaundal of the rival Diamond Dancer gang is also on the case; they begrudgingly work together.
• Ardyn settles in, with regrets and solemn conviction, as the High Priest of Kossuth in all Thay. He vows to restore the old glory, a new standard of purity.

In Nightal 1375, Vhaeraun is ostensibly killed by his sister Eilistraee, abruptly cutting off the deity's power. Chaos ensues.

The Errant Spades are weakened, and Aurora, in partnership with Victus Tarkasian, take the opportunity to stab the rival gang in the back. Rylaun, as it were, is not at all weakened, and decimates the invading rogues. He animates the dead as servants, and restores all of his own men to prime condition. Their faith in Vhaeraun has never been stronger. Rylaun personally kills Tarkasian in his own sanctum, and his men defeat the shadow mage's gang. Aurora is captured, but her gang is wise enough to scatter.

In Unther, the Church of Enlil suddenly loses its power. Hamurza and many of his warpriests are slain. The armies of Tiamat overrun his outposts, and begin to descend on Messemprar. To her horror, Tasha learns that Tchazzar has chosen this moment to strike.

Her initial pleas to Rylaun, Ardyn, and the Tharchioness go unheeded. She teleports to Rashemen and challenges Sergei to fight the dragon. He has no choice but to accept. Precious hours remain before the armies arrive at Messemprar.

In Eltabbar, Rylaun is having an existential crisis. His power is uninterrupted. Everyone else he knows who channels Vhaeraun's power has been cut off. He retreats to Stormhome, where his prisoner is under guard by Dancers in Darkness. He calls for his deity to appear, that he may offer him a sacrifice: a powerful devotee of Eilistraee.

His god appears, but in a different form; he appears softer, almost female, behind a much broader mask. Gone is his signature violet aura, and instead of concealed daggers, he carries a gleaming long sword.

"You are both my children," he says, in an androgynous voice. "You must not fight one another. That is the will of the Spider Queen. Rylaun, do as you have always done. Do not let the faithless betray me; show them the true power of our race."

To Aurora, the avatar gave his sword. "You who have never known true faith, let it be cold steel in your hand. Every night, you dream of a destiny. Take that destiny now. My light will guide the way."

When the avatar faded, Aurora looked to Rylaun with a stunned expression. "How is it you came to be so familiar with the Dark Maiden?"

"Huh?"

Before they could finish their conversation, a gate appeared in Rylaun's realm. Through it, they saw a massive, climactic battle in Messemprar; the great Tchazzar ravaged the city even as the lesser spawn of Tiamat swarmed into its streets.

With a shrug, Rylaun shifted his form into that of a bronzed, muscled Untherite, the picture of Gilgeam. "Ah, the masks we wear." He jumped into the portal.

Tasha, Sergei, and Svetlana, aided by the Northern Wizards of Messemprar, were doing all they could merely to blunt the attack of the great dragon. He was more terrible than the eldest red dragon, empowered by infernal rage, and divine essence. He reveled in the destruction he caused, burning Untherites and dragonkin alike in his chaotic rampage. There was no hope of defeating him.

Suddenly, and most improbably, a chariot burst forth from the sun, carried by horses of fire. Riding the chariot was the enormous form of an Untherite warrior, larger than life, with a beard that could shatter empires. The massive warrior leapt from the chariot onto the dragon, clutching its eyelids to hold fast while he pounded its face with his meaty fists.

The bizarre battle looked for all the world to the Untherites like nothing short of divine intervention. They rallied behind their god and fought with new conviction.

Not to be outdone, Sergei flew on wings of magic to gouge the dragon with mighty sweeps of his epic blade. Svetlana called storms to steal the wind from the dragon's wings. As he crashed into the streets, the swarms of dragonkin saw a rare opportunity. In their greed for his power, his blood, they descended upon the great dragon like a plague of locusts, devouring him piece by piece, even as Sergei and the avatar of Gilgeam struck the killing blow to the dragon's hearts.

A great spell ripped open the sky, an epic incantation powered by all the Northern Wizards; a shower of flaming meteors and icy comets slammed into the earth, raining death upon the tides of dragonkin all about the city, especially the mass that had swarmed across the fallen form of Tchazzar.

The avatar of Gilgeam commanded that, with all speed, the bodies of all who died in the city be born to his Temple. Within hours, thousands of corpses had been laid in his massive hall. And then...a miracle happened.

Gilgeam brought forth the sun, though it had long set, it shone high in the sky, through the marble ceiling of the temple. The light entered the bodies of the dead and restored them, one and all. Before Gilgeam himself, the light coalesced into none other than Hamurza Lawbringer, first among warriors. Hamurza knelt before his god, who simply boarded his flaming chariot as it thundered into the temple, then rode it back into the sun.

In the wake of this series of miracles, Hamurza reformed his army to finally conquer western Unther and destroy the spawning grounds of the dragonkin. With the help of his epic allies, he slew the high priestess of Tiamat, and ended the scourge of dragons in Unther.

Meanwhile, Tasha helped herself to Tchazzar's unbelievably massive hoard.

In Stormhome, Rylaun basked in the glory of 4 million Untherites channeling their worship through his portrayal of Gilgeam to his god. He was busy exploring his new working relationship with Aurora, when he was interrupted by an unlikely visitor.

Szass Tam.

For all his outrage, and surprise at the archmage easily violating all of his divine wards, he lost the nerve to to fight when the lich showed him a fraction of his true power; the kind of power he glimpsed only in the divine presence of his god.

"Now that I have your attention," the lich rasped.

"The Tharchioness has learned too much. You were too effective in rooting out the secrets of the Banites. She now understands the full nature of the High Blade's deception." He paused.

"You must ensure she does not do anything foolish. I have invested quite a lot into her, and I would hate to see her throw it all away for petty vengeance."

"*I* must ensure...?" Rylaun was cut off abruptly...because he died.

In the twisted shadow of his realm, Rylaun's stunned spirit took stock of its situation. In a single moment of thought, Tam had ended his life. It just didn't make sense. Here, in his own god's home plane, in his divine sanctuary...

"There are things worse than death!" screamed the terrible, true visage of the lich, with no mortal shell to hold back the awful truth of his vile existence.

With a start, his body came to life, and he struggled through the pain of resuscitation to make sense of everything. Tam was still there, politely inquiring about his health. "You seem to have fainted."

"To hell with you!" Rylaun hissed, trying to summon the power of his god. It just wasn't coming.

"All in due time. Your god will return when the source of his fear is gone. Meanwhile, I advise you to see to the Tharchioness. For your own sake. A great darkness has her, the kind even I find distasteful. You will only benefit from her fortune, and you have a great deal to lose...should I lose her."

With that, the lich left. Rylaun's guardians had disappeared with the arrival of the lich; they soon returned, furious, but unable to explain why they had been suppressed. Aurora herself had been hiding, as best as possible.

"I will kill him," Rylaun swore.

Aurora gave him such a look. "Yuh-huh. Sure."

Back in Thay, the Tharchioness had a job for Rylaun. She bade him to end the infiltration of Bane once and for all. In no uncertain terms, she called for a night of long knives.

Rylaun had a better suggestion; perhaps if the high priests were replaced, the worship of Bane, and all the efforts of its clergy could be directed elsewhere.

She glared at him with a deadly conviction he'd not seen before. "I am done with deception and games. Kill them all, or you are dead to me."

She left, leaving Winter to sort out the details. "She has not been well lately," Winter seemed to excuse.

"Did you give her the remedy I prepared?" Winter simply arched an eyebrow, as if to suggest the opposite would be unthinkable. Rylaun simply chuckled.

"Then we will do what we must, won't we?" He sighed, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Killing like this is so distasteful."

"Says you."

The night that followed was one of death and blood. Hundreds of priests of Bane were slaughtered in their sleep. The gangs of Eltabbar, under one rule, and aided by the spies of the Tharchioness, made short work of the would-be usurpers. The hidden barracks beneath the temples were summarily emptied of their sleeping armies. By morning, the temples of Bane had become a testament to death itself.

The Tharchioness, who had clearly not slept in some time, gave little indication that she cared about what they'd done. Instead, she told them to ready themselves for travel. She would only need those she could trust most; Rylaun and Winter alone.

In her chambers, she had carved a teleportation glyph. This would lead not to the official portal in Mulmaster's palace, but directly into the bedchambers of the High Blade, where morning had not yet dawned.

"Do not delay. Kill everyone but him. Bar the doors. I will deal with him myself." With that, they teleported into the High Blade's bedroom...to find he was not there.

Enraged, she stormed out. All in her path were slain, save those who fled. They seemed almost to expect her, as guards hustled by the dozen toward the High Blade's throne room. She followed them, knowing they rushed there to protect their lord.

In the throne chambers, the High Blade sat, a hundred men arrayed about him. Amidst their number was a battle priest of Bane, resplendent in his wicked black plate armor. As he approached, a splitting headache set upon the three, as all their magic was annulled in his presence. He easily fended off the light blades of Rylaun and Winter, and seized the Tharchioness in his mighty grip. Guards seized the two drow, who watched helplessly as their lady was taken before the High Blade.

"My darling, I was hoping you would pay me a visit. It has been too long since you shared my bed."

"You are not my husband. You are a traitor to your own kind, Rassendyll." To this accusation, the High Blade only chuckled.

"Do you think my people are fools? They've always known. Selfaril was weak; here in the Moonsea, only the strong are fit to rule. You poor, foolish woman. You were the only one who couldn't figure it out. I suspect you wanted to believe that I was your precious Selfaril, your big, strong, handsome husband who would protect you from all the dangerous things and the monsters in the night."

Dmitra glared at the villain with unending hatred in her eyes. She was unfazed by his hateful words, and unafraid at the seemingly infallible ambush he'd planned for her.

"Your temples have been purged. My armies stand ready. I will burn your little castle to the ground, but not before I've shown you the price of your deceit."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" muttered the massive Banite warpriest who held her helpless.

She closed her eyes, and whispered a terrible oath. All light faded, as liquid shadow poured over the assembled soldiers, filling their mouths to muffle their agonized screams.

It took the drow's eyes a few seconds to adjust; by then, it was clear that every one of the High Blade's guards was dead, drained of life by the very essence of shadow. The guards who had held them lay twisted on the floor, their armor hanging wrongly on their wretched corpses.

Dmitra stood alone, amidst a ring of death, lit only by purple lightning that arced from her to the iron columns lining the room. From her emanated the subtle echo of a divine power so sublime, so understated in its colossal magnificence, Rylaun feared it more than the very visage of the most enraged evil god.

The High Blade was unguarded, defenseless in his feeble chair, King of Nothing. His black armor shone no more with the gleam of Bane's glory, and now rung hollow with the drab darkness of corroded iron, heavy on his shoulders with the stark realization of the futility and pointlessness of his long life.

Despair warred with terror in his eyes, as he shook with the indecision of flight or surrender. It was irrelevant; when she reached him, he was a babbling fool in her hands. She looked into his eyes, and with a soothing gaze, she calmed his fears. Her subtle suggestion restored his confidence, removed his doubt, and made him the man he was.

He was himself again, just in time to be torn horribly apart by tendrils of liquid pain. The darkness itself sliced into his body, rotting his sordid flesh as they violated him in body and soul. Even as his organs were ripped out through awkward tears in his skin, even as his limbs became fetid and decrepit in the paralyzing grasp of dark tentacles, her magic healed him, restoring his body that it might be violated again, and again, and again.

Rylaun watched the macabre spectacle with only pity--some for the pathetic man who so foolishly dove into darkness well above his head, but mostly for the woman he knew, who gave herself so freely to the depths of evil, simply to exact such simple vengeance.

When she finally had her fill, when the form of the betrayer could withstand no more, she let him fall to pieces, the ruined scraps of his corpse flopping meatily onto the piles of duplicated organs and chunks of rotting flesh that had accumulated beneath him. The oozing mass of shadow retreated from the throne room, shambling through the halls in search of fresh souls to drain.

"Is that enough? Do you feel better now?" Rylaun asked. She shot death from her eyes.

"I died long ago inside, just as he did."

She strode callously over the death beneath her feet, not noticing the grisly detail of the morbid mess that soaked her with black blood to her calves.

"This man was nothing but a puppet. The Zhentarim believed they could best Thay on her own ground. It's time they learned how truly insignificant they are." She opened a dark gate, leading to the Citadel of the Raven. She did not invite them to stay or go, but they shrugged and followed, if only to witness the end.

There was no battle. She came from a black sky, as a divine darkness blotted out the moonlight. The snow-covered fortress slept; the night watchmen died before they could even see the mass of shadows that descended upon them. They were the lucky ones.

Twisted echoes of the long-forgotten dead poured through the castle walls, their touch draining all life from the thousands of soldiers therein, and bidding their enervated souls to join them in their endless thirst. To see the creatures was to know utter despair; none fought back, in the face of such inevitable, hopeless defeat.

She turned her attention toward the tower of Manshoon, architect of the whole sordid affair. Its magical wards were built to keep out even the most determined assaults by archmages. In her divine wrath, she tore them asunder, literally destroying the fabric of magic of which they were woven, replacing it with a shadow weave of her goddess' own making.

The tower yielded to her, the walls crumbling to dust rather than dare to obstruct her passing. The circus of freakish monsters within, meant to scare off even the most daring adventurers, where no match for her army of shadows. Even the undead joined her army, rebuked by the presence of such overbearing divinity.

In a small time, she found her target, having eliminated all other things living and undead in the tower. Manshoon was impotent in her presence, robbed of his magic. Before she could strike him down, or even speak, the shadows descended on him, forcing their way into his armor, devouring him from the inside out. His robe, once a resplendent artifact of great power, fell soundlessly to the floor, covering nothing but a twisted skeleton.

There was no feeling in her eyes, no release from the pain she sought to soothe with revenge. They were black, empty, devoid of any hint of the woman who once was. She simply sat on the crumbling floor, as the tower around her shook awkwardly with its ongoing ruination. The shadows swarmed around her, bidding her onward, and she took their hand, even as they guided her to ruin.

Rylaun was powerless to stop her, his magic denied him. Winter's blade passed through the shadows as if they were nothing, even as their essence turned the blade to rust on first contact. Neither could budge her from the grasp of the shadows, as they coaxed her toward the precipice at the edge of the floor, where the wall no longer stood in the way of her long fall.

She looked back at them before the end. There was no smile, no frown, no sadness or joy. She was simply empty, as empty as the sound her body made when it crashed into the spiteful earth hundreds of feet below.

In a dark, secret chamber, in a strange, coffin-like pool, filled with an unsettlingly slimy fluid, was the Tharchioness. About her head was a crown of crystal, glowing with a strange, alien magic.

Rylaun and Winter stood by, watching over her, as she awoke from her long dream.

She jerked upright, the crown falling clumsily from her head. Despite the pain of her sudden awakening, she tried to stand, only to slip from the slimy fluid that dripped from her. Rylaun tried to help her, but she pushed him away, skittering into a corner with her knees drawn to her chest.

"You killed me. Didn't you."

Rylaun looked to Winter, who sighed with resolve.

"Yes, master. I did."

"And you. You tricked me. This was all your doing." Rylaun shrugged, inwardly thanking Alice for the gift of Deep Imaskari magic.

"And if I hadn't? If that had been real? Is that what you really want?"

Dmitra just stared straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular. "I don't want anything. Not anymore."

"Master-" Winter started, but she halted him with a glare.

"Get out. Leave my city and never return." She didn't speak another word to him. He didn't look back as he rushed away. Rylaun shook his head disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry we had to resort to such measures. It was the only way. It was...our duty...for the greater good of Thay." He couldn't really believe the words himself, but they weren't his. He could only do as he had been made to do.

"What do you know of duty? What do you know of sacrifice? You don't know what it means the be the whore of a whole nation! A slavering harlot who bends over when she is told, who gives of herself in and out, all so the filthy masses can go on with their stupid lives, and the wizards can sit in their towers and plot new ways to rape and kill their own people!" She buried her head in he knees.

To an extent, Rylaun was happy to see real emotion in her. He'd let her foolish comments slide; she would never understand him, and his obligations. He didn't need her support right now; she needed his. To hell with Szass Tam.

"Then run away. Run away with me. There's still time. This is all just another plot, Dmitra. Your master is playing with you, forcing you to see things his way, to give the rest of your life to his ambition. That's know way to live, Dmitra--believe me."

He knelt down close to her. "You can disappear. They will say you are dead. It matters not. Dmitra Flass is no more. You can be Zaal. No one will know, and no one will question. They'll just go on with their stupid lives and their plots."

She seemed to consider it for a moment as he went on.

"I will give up all I have. It means nothing to me. I have no use for a band of thieves and murderers. We can go somewhere were there is meaning to life."

"My life...belongs to Thay. All that I am. All I will ever be."

"Dmitra..."

She stood proudly, defiant of the slime, the darkness, the numbing cold, the harsh iron floor.

"I am the Tharchioness of Eltabbar. I will be the Empress of Thay. That is the meaning of my life. Nothing more. You may leave now."

She strode from the cloning chamber, leaving Rylaun in the darkness.

Rylaun quits Thay for a time. He and Aurora begin their own plans to retake their wayward faiths. Rylaun begins to gather distraught worshippers of Vhaeraun, demonstrating the god's power, and explaining to them what they must do to regain his favor. Aurora infiltrates Undrek'Thoz, and finds that the cults of Eilistraee have seized control of the cults of Vhaeraun, and are using them in a vain plot to overthrow the Lolth-worshipping matron mothers. They both agree this will only end in pain, and begin work to save the poor fools from themselves.

Meanwhile, in Thay, the Tharchioness declares her marriage to High Blade Rassendyll null and void, with the help of the High Priest of Kossuth. She expels all nationals of the Moonsea from Eltabbar, and pressures the other tharchions to do the same in their tharchs. The High Priest declares the Church of Bane heretical, and moves to expel them from all lands of Thay.

The zulkirs convene to debate an issue put forth by Lallara Mediocros: that the tharch system of Thay be dissolved, and that the Tharchioness of Eltabbar be declared Empress of Thay under the zulkirs' counsel.

The issue was hotly debated, but its opponents found themselves against a solid majority. Thrul, Nevron, and Lauzoril managed to press for a vote that any such decision would have to be unanimous; the measure passed.

Certain there would be treachery, Thrul retreated to his stronghold in Bezantur and planned for the inevitable civil war. She couldn't become Empress if she was dead, after all. For his part, Nevron was very careful to avoid the dagger of assassins, but he focused too much on dangers from outside; he was taken down by one of his own, Edwin Odesseiron, who had lined himself up to be the next Zulkir of Conjuration and Summoning.

Lauzoril went to the other tharchions, and found them to be unified against him, or at least too afraid to move. He realized that the Tharchioness had already gotten to them, and had dealt with the ones who had the capacity to oppose her. When he learned of the death of Nevron, he did the only wise thing; he joined Szass Tam in support of the new Empress.

Thrul had never counted on anyone else's help. The Priador's army was larger and stronger than the combined forces of the rest of Thay. He would take the country for himself, and those Zulkirs who didn't head for the hills when they heard him coming, he would offer a place in his service as chief of all Tharchions and Zulkirs.

Thrul called upon his allies in Unther, whose assistance would greatly tip the scales. At first, the Northern Wizards were inclined to acquiesce, having received such selfless and decisive aid from Thrul in their time of need. However, the priests of Gilgeam soon objected, saying their god had demanded that Unther remain neutral, citing the dishonorable nature of Thrul. The Empress had called in a favor.

Dmitra would have to fight the war on her own. Only those Tharchions completely loyal to her offered any serious aid, and the Zulkirs remained neutral; after all, if she couldn't suppress an uprising from Thrul, she wasn't fit to be Empress.

She revealed a surprise tactical advantage; tens of thousands of powerful undead soldiers, harvested from the Banite legions her agents had slain in their secret barracks. They were of exceptional quality, having been strong, well-trained, and well-armed in life, and expertly turned into undeath. She also had the support of the Church of Kossuth, who threatened Thrul with stern reprisal if he did not capitulate. It cost them their great temple in Bezantur, but earned Thrul the enmity of the mighty high priest.

The battles were many and vicious. Dmitra did her best to keep them in the open field, but Thrul pushed her to fight in the cities, where, should she win, she would have to endure the stinging resentment of the noncombatants whose homes and lives were destroyed in her struggle. It was a low tactic, and a sign of his desperation.

She made a strong showing on the battlefield, enough so that Szass Tam put forth a motion to strip Thrul of his Zulkir status unless he rescinded his claim to the Tharchionship of the Priador. The motion carried, with all but Thrul voting in favor; he hadn't bothered to show up for the obvious trap. He ignored their decree, and, in his absence, they promoted a new Zulkir of Evocation and Invocation, a puppet Red Wizard of no significance. With all eight Zulkirs now in favor, the motion to declare Dmitra the Empress passed.

The weight of the Zulkirs came down on Thrul. When it came to the final battle, Dmitra demanded that they do not interfere. Before all the Zulkirs, and both armies, she challenged Thrul to single combat. He laughed her off, but soon had to defend himself. He was an exceptionally powerful archmage, thought to be second only to Szass Tam, whereas she was barely a journeyman illusionist by the standards of Zulkirs. It was going to be a short battle.

It was.

With a combination of spells Thrul had never even seen, she rendered the archmage helpless, even as she turned away his mighty, earth-shaking assault spells. He was beset by shadows and green slime, his muscles paralyzed by dark lightning. He had no defense against her magic, while she was well-fortified against his own.

In the end, he lay helpless on the ground, unable to move, or even to speak. She declared before all that she would offer only the mercy of death; she would not enslave or torture him. All he needed do was blink in assent.

Stubbornly, he refused.

So she granted no mercy. Instead, she remanded his useless, quivering form to the custody of his former slave, Mari Agneh, former and rightful Tharchioness of the Priador, whom the Empress had freed from her captivity and restored to a bitter sanity. As for the Empress herself, she kept her promise to the word.

Her victory was absolute, and lauded by every sane citizen of Thay, most of which were excited at the prospect of a single, strong ruler, though they hadn't yet faced the reality of having to deal as equals with the other tharchs; their petty, stupid rivalries remained a top concern for the new Empress, as she settled into her newly-constructed Grand Palace in Eltabbar.