Chapter 10: The Shadow of Thassilon

Errezha sat at a table in the Rusty Dragon's common room, staring down at her gloved hands for a long moment before looking up at her companions. Caelum's sleeve was still torn from where the monster had clawed him, but Harann had said a prayer over the injuries themselves and healed them with his goddess's magic. The dwarf looked thoughtful; his human friend, determined. Shaenn still looked disturbed by what they'd seen in the catacombs, and though Drall was hard to read, Errezha thought he seemed thoughtful. Calassara, though, was staring down into the mug she'd set in front of her, looking uncharacteristically subdued.

After the fight with the demon they'd searched through the tunnels again and found no other monsters, nor any passages that lead further down other than the blocked staircase. The newer tunnel, the one they'd figured Lonjiku had been using for his under-the-table dealings, came out near the coast but was otherwise unremarkable; it was a far newer construction, bearing none of the strange signs or beings that marked the catacombs themselves. Still, the companions had been happy to be able to return to Sandpoint, leaving the darkness underground behind.

"Calassara," Caelum finally said, "if you're ready to talk, I think we'd all like to hear what you think about what that all was about down there?"

The elf drew a deep sigh and took a drink from her mug before she began. "I've told you all that I'm a singer of songs and a teller of tales," she said. "That's true, so far as it goes. But I'm also a student of history – especially ancient history. My people are much longer lived than any of yours, and so the past is often closer for us than it is for you – something that is ten or more generations ago for humans may yet be in living memory for elves, and our cultural memory is longer still. I've always been interested in the history and legends of the ancient world and I've spent my life studying them." She noticed Caelum's surprised expression and winked. "I'm an elf, remember? I'm older than I look, though still fairly young as my kind count such things.

"It was that interest that drew me here, to Varisia. This land is dotted by remnants of a time so old it has passed almost entirely from memory. I'd learned some of what there is to know – which isn't much – and came here hoping to learn more. I… didn't expect it to experience that history firsthand. But it seems to me that there is something stirring in this land, reaching its hand out from the dim mists of the world's youth, and someone – Nualia, perhaps – is interested in meeting it halfway."

Calassara looked around the table again before continuing. "Our tale begins," she said, "as so many such tales do – with Azlant. Azlant! The word itself is steeped in legends. The first great empire of man, where humankind rose from barbarism on an island continent in the Arcadian Ocean and built a nation of magic and wonders that even we, more than ten millennia after, can scarcely imagine them! Azlant, from which empires from Cheliax to Taldor claim descent and consider themselves its heirs, when they are naught but the faintest shadow of its greatness."

"Many of the noble houses of Cheliax claim Azlanti blood," Errezha said. "I can attest to that. Not sure how much I believe it – and I certainly didn't qualify as anyone's idea of an Azlanti – but it's what they say. Azlant casts a long shadow still."

"Indeed," said Calassara. "But there were other realms that cast shadows nearly as long. It is said that during the height of Azlant's power, a wizard named Xin quarreled with the island's rulers. He disagreed with their leadership and proposed a theory of governance based on what he called the seven virtues of just rule, which he felt Azlant, for all its glory, didn't embody. Furthermore, he was a student of magic as well as political theory, and he became a master of a new form of magic distinct from that which other Azlanti practiced – rune magic. In time, Xin and the ruling council had a falling out and he was exiled from Azlant. He and his followers came to the land that we now call Varisia, and there he founded a new nation, which he called Thassilon, and took for himself the title of First King.

"But whatever First King Xin's dream of a perfect society, it was not to be. Xin shared his magical knowledge with his seven lieutenants, whom he called runelords, but they chafed under his dominion. In time, the runelords betrayed Xin; they rose against the First King and overthrew him, claiming Thassilon for themselves. The sages teach that great good and great evil are but two sides of the same coin, and so the runelords, twisted by ambition, perverted Xin's seven virtues of rule into the seven great sins. Each runelord claimed one of Thassilon's seven provinces as their domain and ruled it as an absolute tyrant. The peoples of their lands, human or giant, they enslaved and worked brutally, expanding their power, building monuments to themselves, and warring with each other for dominion over all of Thassilon. For a thousand years they reigned – for the runelords were wizards of such power that time couldn't touch them – and the land groaned beneath them. Above all their works there flew the banner of the Sihedron, the seven-pointed star – seven points for the seven runelords, seven domains, and seven sins of Thassilon.

"The runelords feared each other, it is said, and they feared the wrath of Azlant or the other nations that were rising in the young world. But in the end, their doom didn't come from within or from without. It came from above."

"Earthfall," Errezha breathed, and around the table she saw the others nodding in understanding.

"Earthfall," Calassara agreed. "At the height of Thassilon's power, a star fell from the sky and struck Azlant, smashing the island asunder and striking the empire and all its people down to the depths of the sea. But the desolation didn't end there; the whole world trembled at the Starstone's fall. The skies burned and the seas boiled; the earth cracked, and the coastlines were changed. The lands of Avistan and Garund were torn asunder and the waters poured in, forming the Inner Sea. The ancestors of my people fled to another realm through magical gateways to escape the destruction; humanity was scattered to the corners of Golarion, and the survivors prayed for death. And Thassilon – ah, half of Thassilon broke from the mainland and fell into the sea, and in the half which survived the earth shook and towers fell and the empire of the runelords perished. The runelords themselves vanished in the cataclysm, presumed to be dead, their final fates lost to history. In time, earth and sea stilled and the remnants of the world's people were able to emerge and rebuild from the rubble – in those places where even rubble remained. But Azlant and Thassilon, and other empires whose names were lost to memory, they were no more and never rose again. All that remains of those first flowerings of humankind are their ruins – and knowledge that fools might use to gain power, at the peril of themselves and everyone else."

"So, you're saying those catacombs were some leftover from ancient Thassilon?" Caelum asked after a long silence; Calassara nodded. "And that woman in the statue, she was…?"

"A runelord, I assume," the elf replied. "But I couldn't tell you which one. Little is known of the individual runelords, and that hasn't been my area of study. It… isn't pleasant reading."

Shaenn whistled loudly. "My people have long memories too," she said, "but a lot can get garbled over ten thousand years. The lorekeepers say we used to be slaves to an empire of devils, and I still remember my mother telling me not to wander off into the woods when I was a little kid or the runelords would get me, but, well, I never thought it was real. But after what we saw earlier – well, I guess it puts a new perspective on things."

"So you think Nualia is trying to wake up some power from Thassilon and these catacombs were part of that?" Harann asked. "And I guess Lamashtu is too, though who knows why a demon goddess does anything. Do you have any idea what she might be after?"

"I don't," Calassara said. "Thassilon isn't my area of expertise – I've told you almost all I know, and I came here hoping to be able to learn more. But from what I do know, I think that yes, Nualia is somehow involved with something from Thassilon, though I couldn't say to what degree. I do know this – if that is true, then she must be stopped. If she isn't, I fear she may unearth things so terrible that they should never again see the light of day."

/

"Well," Caelum finally said after a long silence. "I guess that settles it. The sheriff's still gone and none of us knows when he'll be back, and we do know that Nualia plans to come back and burn this whole town to the ground. I for one don't intend to let that happen. Right now, it looks like the six of us are the only real defense Sandpoint has. I say we don't let Nualia dig up whatever power it is she's looking for; we'll take the fight to her. We'll go to Thistletop and put a stop to whatever it is she's planning. Who's with me?"

"I'll always have your back," Harann said. "Even if you weren't my best friend, I don't think Desna would forgive me if I stood aside and let a town full of innocents get massacred. I'm in."

"Me too," Calassara said. "It'd be worth a song, at least. And there's mysteries here I still want to get to the bottom of."

"Sandpoint's my home, and I'm not abandoning it," Drall rumbled. "Besides, I know the land around here better than any of you, and I know how to get to Thistletop. You'll need my help."

"What he said," Shaenn said, pointing at Drall. "Besides, goblins always have lots of junk lying around – bet there's some good salvage at Thistletop I could get some pretty coin for."

A cold, mocking laugh echoed around the table; Caelum turned to see Errezha, who had a mirthless grin on her face. "Are the five of you completely insane?" she asked. "Does a pretty speech by a boy desperate to play hero keep you from thinking about what you're walking into? This isn't going to be like fighting a handful of disorganized goblin raiders, a drunken man or a senile quasit. This is walking into the beast's lair and giving yourself up to be eaten. You're all going to die, you realize that? Maybe none of you have enough sense of self-preservation to recognize that fact, but I do, and Asmodeus damn me before I let you get me killed too. Go to Thistletop if you want. You'll be doing it without me." The tiefling stood, shoved her chair under the table, and stormed from the in, her black coat swirling behind her.

Shaenn sighed. "Well, now it looks like we've just lost our mage. Not that she was exactly pleasant company but fighting a fortress full of goblins isn't going to be any easier without her throwing fire at them."

"She's my friend," Calassara said. "I'll talk to her." She started to rise, but Harann put his hand on her arm.

"I'll do it," he said. "I don't know her as well as you do, but I know someone caught in a bad place when I see them. I think she needs a priest as much as a friend."

"Good luck with that," Caelum said, his tone dubious. As far as he could tell, it sounded like Errezha had meant every word she said.

Harann smiled. "Thankfully," he said, "Desna is the goddess of good luck."

/

The sky was dark out as Errezha left the Rusty Dragon; they'd spent most of the day in the catacombs and it was now late in the evening. Rather than walking far, she found a bench near the inn and sat down on it, staring down at her gloved hands. Fools, all of them. They were going to get themselves killed, and she was going to have no part of it. And she'd barely known them for more than a couple of weeks, in any case. She owed them nothing.

She owed Sandpoint nothing.

Footsteps sounded nearby, and then someone sat on the bench beside her; looking up, she saw it was Harann. "Come to change my mind?" she asked. "Don't bother. It's not going to work. I'm not going."

The dwarf shrugged. "I just thought you might enjoy some company," he said. The two of them sat silently for a long moment, staring up at the stars that were slowly twinkling into existence in the sky above. Finally, Harann sighed. "You know what the first thing people almost always ask when they meet me is?"

Errezha shrugged; she honestly had no idea.

Harann smiled. "They ask how exactly it is that a dwarf ends up as a priest of Desna. It's not that my people aren't religious, because we are, on the whole. But most dwarves prefer to worship a god like Torag – a good, strong, practical god. That's who my parents pray to most often. They're both metalsmiths over in Magnimar. Me, though, I spent most of my childhood daydreaming when I should have been working. Always wondering what lay beyond the horizon and wanting to travel there, to see new places and meet new people rather than spending my whole life wedged away in Ma and Pa's blacksmith shop. And then one day I heard a priestess of Desna preaching, and something just fit. I knew even then that I'd found my calling. My parents never understood it, of course. They keep wondering when I'll come back, settle down, and take up a practical trade and have never been quite able to accept that it'll never happen."

Errezha glanced over at him from the corner of her eye. "Is that how you ended up traveling with Caelum? You two always seem to get along; you must know each other well."

"We grew up in the same neighborhood," Harann said. "He was a dreamer too; his parents taught him to fight, but he had some notion of wanting to be a great hero rather than being stuck in the city guard. We both wanted to go traveling and decided to do it together. I ended up convincing him to come down here to the cathedral dedication, and, well, you know how that turned out."

"So a dwarf who never fit in and a boy with his head filled with chivalric nonsense," Errezha said, snorting quietly. "No wonder you two ended up falling in together – and no wonder you're both so hells-bent on getting yourselves nobly killed fighting goblins at Thistletop. All I have to wonder is, how does any of this have anything to do with me."

"Because," Harann said slowly, "I know enough about tieflings and Cheliax to take a guess that you never quite fit in where you come from either. And from the way you always try to hold yourself aloof and push people away, I'd guess you're afraid of getting close to people. Am I near the mark?"

Errezha clenched her fists. "You are," he whispered. "Damn you, but you are. As you can clearly tell, I'm a tiefling. And, as you may have guessed, I'm a bastard. Where I come from, those aren't good things to be. Especially not as the illegitimate hellspawn daughter of Lady Mediana Leroung."

"So, your name is Errezha Leroung?" Harann asked; she nodded silently in response. "Isn't that one of the Great Houses of Cheliax?"

"It is, though I'm not from a very important branch," Errezha said. "Mother was – is – a diabolist of moderate power and greater ambition. The House of Thrune that rules Cheliax gained its throne by bargaining with devils for power, and other noble houses have followed suit. But one thing that the rulers of Cheliax always make clear on is that they are partners with the hells, not its servants. And they don't take kindly to any insinuation otherwise. In any case Mother, in her youth, was not quite as discrete as could be hoped – from what I've been able to piece together, she summoned a devil she became rather taken with, and the predictable happed and a short time afterwards I was born, a child of obvious mixed mortal and diabolical blood. Mother's maternal instincts extended just far enough she didn't have me drowned at birth, and not an inch farther."

"By the gods," Harann said. "I didn't know. I'm sorry for bringing it up; I didn't mean to cause you pain. You don't have to tell me more if you don't want to."

But having started, Errezha thought it best to get it all out. She'd been holding it in for too long. "You might think tieflings would be respected in Cheliax," she continued. "Living proof of the pacts with the hells and all. But that's not how it works. Like I said, the nobility are proud and like to pretend the devils aren't the ones really pulling their strings, and one way they do that is by making sure no one with a drop of devil blood in their veins gets anywhere near real power or respect. I grew up little better than a servant in my own home. Eventually Mother married; my stepfather is as decent a man as can be expected from the Chelish aristocracy, but he never knew what to make of me and we were more like distant acquaintances than family. I have three younger half-siblings, two sisters and a brother. They treated me as one part curiosity, one part embarrassment, and one part rival.

"Eventually I got old enough that Mother started using me to run her errands, the kind she didn't want publicly known. Finally, I had enough. If she was going to use me to do her dirty work, I was going to get something out of it; I went to her and demanded she publicly acknowledge me as her daughter and a lady of House Leroung. She said she'd consider it, in a tone that said it would never happen. A few days later my half-siblings tried to have me assassinated for the first time. It wasn't the last."

Harann stared in mute horror; Errezha continued, her story almost done. "After a few months of dodging knives in the dark, I had enough. I knew I'd never win in Cheliax, not with the whole empire against people like me. So I snuck into Mother's office one night, stole some money from her desk, and bought passage on a ship out of the city. I wanted to find somewhere I could disappear, and no one would ever think to find me. Eventually, I ended up here." She let her voice fall silent, remembering the night she'd fled, remembering her youngest sister – the only one of the three who'd ever treated her as something approaching a person, the only one she was sure had nothing to do with the attempts on her life – begging her not to go. But she didn't mention any of that to Harann. She needed some secrets to keep, after all.

"So that's my story," she finally said. "And the moral of this happy little tale is that if you're a hellspawn you have no one you can rely on but yourself. Varisia isn't as bad as Cheliax, but you've still seen the looks people give me in the street. Everyone thinks I'm a monster, they're just too well-mannered to actually say it. But I'm not like the rest of you. No matter what I do nobody will ever really think I'm a hero or mourn me when I'm gone. So why should I bother looking out for anyone but myself?"

"I'm sorry I made you relive all of that, Errezha," Harann said. "I can't pretend to know how much your life has hurt you. But I do have to wonder – if you're really as selfish and cynical as you claim, why did you fight the goblins during the raid? And why did you help us at the glassworks and the catacombs?"

"Because sometimes I'm a fool too," she said. And because I know what it's like to be alone and afraid and I don't like watching people be victimized when they can't fight back. Because some part of me wants to prove I'm not a monster, no matter what anyone else says. Because I've spent my whole life alone in my own family and even I feel a need for companionship, even if its an elf who talks too much or a human with an over-inflated sense of his swordsmanship. Or a dwarf who sees more than his pleasant demeanor suggests. But she said none of that. "But I'm not a fool today," were the words that actually came out.

"Well, I'm not going to make you do anything," Harann said, "though I do wish you'd reconsider. But I want you to know that what you told me is absolutely confidential – I won't share it with anyone without your permission. You have my word, and I appreciate your trust." The dwarf stood, gave a polite bow, and went back into the inn.

Errezha sat in the darkness for a long time, staring at her lap. She owed Sandpoint nothing, she told herself. She owed Varisia nothing. She certainly owed the fools inside nothing. Not even Calassara, who had befriended her when she first came here. Not even Harann, who'd listened to her story and not judged her. None of them…

An angry hiss of breath escaped her. "Damn you," she muttered angrily. "I've spent my whole life learning not to care. Damn you all for making me forget that."

/

Nualia knelt in prayer in Thistletop's chapel of Lamashtu when she heard the sound of footsteps echoing behind her. Quickly ending her devotions with a quiet blessing, she stood and turned to face the person who had disturbed her and saw that it was Lyrie. The wizard's cat familiar seated itself by her side and began indifferently grooming its paw, but Lyrie herself looked troubled.

"What is it?" Nualia asked. "Any word from Tsuto? He should have been back by now."

"Nothing," Lyrie said, a look of concern crossing her face. "We have no word from Tsuto, or from any of the goblins he took with him. I'm worried something has gone wrong. The goblins are growing restless, too. Bruthazmus is convinced we're holding him back from the attack on Sandpoint, and I think he's not far from marching off by himself regardless of your orders. Ripnugget is trying to keep him under control, but I think he's starting to get impatient as well. He only agreed to work with us because you promised to release Malfeshnekor; I think he's starting to wonder when you're going to deliver."

Nualia stood silent for a long moment, flexing the claws of her new fiendish hand and watching the lava-like glow move beneath the skin. A stab of fear for Tsuto was working its way into her soul; a part of her wanted to run to Sandpoint now, alone if need be, to make certain her lover was safe – or to avenge him if he wasn't. But that wasn't the will of Lamashtu. Nualia had sacrificed everything in the name of her new goddess. She couldn't back out now, not for anything – or anyone.

"Nualia?" Lyrie asked, her voice breaking Nualia from her reverie.

"It may be nothing," she said, allowing herself a smile that she hoped Lyrie would think was genuine. "You know Tsuto; he probably couldn't resist celebrating after finally defeating his jackass of a father. He's probably just late. But in case he's not… tell Ripnugget to put his troops on the alert. If someone captured Tsuto, they may know where we are. But if they think to take us unawares, we'll have a surprise for them. Lamashtu's work here won't be stopped."

"And Tsuto?" Lyrie asked.

Nualia put her hand – her original, human hand – on the other woman's shoulders. "If a hair on Tsuto's head has been harmed, then once I've come into my own, whoever did it will wish they were dead. I promise you that. Now go. I have preparations to make."

Lyrie looked somewhat dubious, but sketched a salute, nonetheless. "Of course," she said, and then turned and left the sanctuary, her familiar padding alone silently behind her.

Nualia watched her go, and then started back down at her transformed hand. Soon her whole body would be changed like this – the taint of both mortal and angelic blood would be cast out and she would be a demon, a true daughter of Lamashtu. And she would have a powerful ally by her side – the goblins thought the creature called Malfeshnekor, bound deep beneath Thistletop, was some kind of god, but Nualia thought she knew better. Malfeshnekor was nothing less than a remnant of fallen Thassilon, a mighty servant of its dark lords, and when he was freed, he would fight by her side.

Nualia had avenged herself on her father for his cruelty and neglect; soon all of Sandpoint would burn for how she had been ostracized and scorned. And if anyone dared oppose her – if they had harmed Tsuto and now sought to thwart her plans – they would pay too. She'd come too far to be stopped now.

Reaching up with her fiendish hand, she fingered the necklace at her throat, from which hung the symbol of a seven-pointed star. It had been a gift from the powerful friends she'd made in Magnimar, friends who'd shown her a new path after she'd been scorned and cast out. Now the end of that path was in sight, and Nualia didn't intend to fail in the final stretch.

/

Drall had unrolled a long parchment across the table and had sketched out a rough map of the Lost Coast, chiefly depicting Sandpoint, Thistletop, and the lands between. "As you can see, it's not far," he said. "Just a couple of hours on foot, assuming the goblins haven't set up traps to delay anyone on the way. What's inside, though, I couldn't tell you."

"We'll need supplies, though," Caelum said, drawing his finger from the town to the goblin stronghold. "Who knows what's waiting for us in there? I don't want to be going in unprepared."

"I'll go to the mayor," Calassara said. "Tell her what we're doing – and warn her what might happen if we fail. Maybe she can get the town some warning, at least. Maybe I can get Ameiko to help too, if she's not… otherwise occupied." The companions shared a quiet, sad look around the table. None of them had seen Ameiko since they'd come up from the catacombs; as far as they knew, she was still tending to her father's body and what was left of the glassworks. Bethana had been running the inn in her absence.

"I'll ask around a bit, see if anyone else knows anything more about Thistletop," Shaenn said. "A pity Shalelu's not here; bet she'd be handy to have around for this sort of thing…"

Her words were interrupted as the common room door opened; it wasn't Shalelu who stepped through, however, but Errezha, looking somewhat haggard but determined. "I hope it's not too late to change my mind," the tiefling said, taking a seat at the table. "I still think you're all fools for doing this, but maybe if you have one person with you who has some intelligence, you'll have better odds of getting out in one piece."

"It'll be good to have you," Calassara said, smiling and leaning over to wrap an arm around Errezha's shoulders. The tiefling stiffened but, surprising Caelum, didn't pull away.

"I had a feeling she was a better person than she lets or – or than she thinks she is," Harann said quietly, leaning in to Caelum's side. "She just needed to work things out in her own time, in her own way."

"If you say so," Caelum murmured back; Errezha had surprised him, but he trusted his friend's judgment. "Now that we're all here together," he said louder, "let's get down to work. Maybe Errezha's right and going to Thistletop is foolish. Honestly, she probably is. But we're the only defense Sandpoint has, so let's not go in without a plan."