Visions in Gravenhollow
Following her feet, as if in a dream, Jhelnae descended a spiraling staircase into the depths of Gravenhollow. The crystalline glow of the library's ceiling and bottom shell suffused the place with a soft, shifting, surreal light, its prismatic hues somehow refracted into hallways and alcoves and left no space untouched. In the time she had wandered the library she noticed the glowing crystalline bottom never drew nearer. No matter how many stairs she descended it remained unchangingly distant. Was this place endless?
She twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding a materializing time-displaced echo. The shadowy wild haired derro who ascended the stairs in the opposite direction shared a wide eyed look of surprise with her as he too stumbled aside to avoid a collision. Then, as abruptly as he had appeared, he vanished, slipping fully back into his present. The half-drow exhaled, shook her head, and steadied herself with a calming breath. She'd grown used to this strange phenomenon of ghostly echoes of past and future visitors manifesting, but normally they hovered in the periphery of her awareness instead of almost barreling right into her.
Now she wondered what would have happened if they had collided? Would they have felt anything? Or simply ghosted out of each other's existence like passing apparitions? Vizeran said some could be interacted with – but to what extent? None so far had lingered long enough for her to attempt an exchange.
Pushing these thoughts aside, she glanced at the long shard of quartz in her hand – a Stonespeaker Crystal. Each of their group had received one. The moment Jhelnae touched it she felt a pull, and knew the library wanted her to follow it. According to the others, they felt something similar. Each had wandered off in different directions.
Jhelnae resumed her descent. At the next landing, she paused, sensing she had reached the appropriate level, and turned onto the wide, giant-sized walkway encircling the central well. A galeb duhr, one of the library's boulder-like guardians, lumbered past her, its heavy steps reverberating through the floor. She gave it plenty of space, not wanting to be accidentally crushed or buried under the stack of stone tablets it carried if it dropped them.
As she walked, she studied the arched passageways leading into various rooms. Finally, she stopped before her destination. The half-drow didn't know the giant script, but through the magic of Gravenhollow understood the inscription above the doorway.
"The past is a crystal, for it can be seen from many facets yet it always remains the same."
An Archive of the Past – one of the chambers belonging to Ulthar, Keeper of the Past. She entered and found a room containing crystals glowing of many colors. Tablets and stelae were stacked neatly throughout the chamber, towering over her in organized volumes. Jhelnae was thankful she wouldn't be searching through the tablets. She didn't even know if she would be able to lift one and move it aside to get at the others below. Raising her Stonespeaker Crystal, she stared into its shimmering depths. Her thoughts turned to the demons plaguing the Underdark. What to ask about? From the past? A moment's hesitation, then she nodded to herself.
"Show me the succubus of Gracklstugh," she said. "Who is she disguised as?"
In her mind's eye, a vision unfolded of the large bathing room in Ghohlbrorn's Lair, in the heart of the Darklake District of Gracklstugh. She saw herself in the pool alongside Aleina, Sky, Eldeth, and Rhianne — and the succubus, cloaked in the guise of Ilvara. A pang of guilt stabbed at Jhelnae as the memory replayed itself with unnerving clarity. She and the aasimar had panicked at the sight of the false drow priestess, their hands blazing with eldritch power and fire. The sudden burst of conjured light had inadvertently hurt their new darkling companion, who cried out in pain and splashed beneath the water in a desperate attempt to escape.
The succubus raised a tsking finger and a familiar mocking conversation followed. This time, however, Jhelnae continued to see the succubus after she faded into the ethereal. Her disguise melted away – skin shifting from ebony black to tanned and red-tinged and her silvery-white hair became a cascade of auburn. A pair of small curved horns emerged from her forehead and great crimson bat-like leathery wings unfurled from her back.
For a moment she lingered, seated invisibly in the pool, laughing softly as she watched Jhelnae and her companions hurry from the water to dry themselves. With a final smirk and a playful wink in their direction, she rose and stepped from the pool herself. Magic flared and a flattering body hugging leather outfit now encased her form. With a languid beat of wings, she took flight, flying up out of the bathing room, her ethereal form unhindered by the presence of the stone ceiling of the Ghohlbrorn's Lair.
As much as Jhelnae hated to admit it, the succubus was a beautiful creature. As she arrowed upward through the smog choked air of Gracklstugh, Jhelnae couldn't help but wonder — what had her grandmother, an alu-fiend born of a succubus and a wizard, been like? Had she also been able to go ethereal? Flown like this, unfazed by physical constraints? The half-drow's father had barely known his mother before she died.
Upward the succubus flew, rising higher and higher until she hovered just below the hanging stalactites of the great cavern housing the duergar city. For a moment, she paused midair, surveying the view below her. The fiery molten glow of the city's forges shone bright amidst the blocky stone buildings and pillars of living rock. Beyond, the Darklake stretched out in cold, black stillness — a stark void against the igneous blaze of the city's industry.
Downward the succubus swooped, weaving between pillars of stone and over the Darklake District. She skimmed low, gliding over the wall barring non-duergar from the city proper and on over Laduguer's Furrow — the massive ravine that split the city in two, bridged by twelve sturdy spans of stone.
Ahead, a dark and foreboding edifice emerged, lodged between two towering columns of rock. Giant basalt braziers brimming with molten lava cast the fortress in a hellish glow, illuminating its thick stone walls bristling with iron turrets and battlements. The succubus swept in through a high window into a vast hall of foreboding grandeur, lit in hues of orange and red. At the far end, an iron throne loomed atop a polished obsidian dais, glowing faintly from the lava that streamed down troughs carved into the black basalt walls.
Her form still ethereal, the succubus proceeded moving through a wall behind the throne and into the corridor beyond. There, she slipped through a door without opening it and entered a lavishly appointed bedchamber. Within, she shifted once more – her crimson wings folded in and disappeared, her horns receded, and her tanned and fiendish features dissolved as she shrank into the shape of a white-haired, gray-skinned female duergar. Becoming visible, she reached for a shimmering gown laid over a chair fashioned entirely of golden coins. The vision ended as the metallic fabric clinked softly as she began to dress.
Jhelnae slowly lowered the Stonespeaker Crystal, her thoughts recalling the duergar in Mantol-Derith who had complained about the Deepking's concubine.
"They say she has a dress crafted of naught but glittering gold coins. Ain't like a duergar to wear such."
Those words now proved prophetically true. The concubine wasn't a duergar. She was a succubus.
But how did that knowledge serve Jhelnae and her companions with regards to the greater demon threat? Why had she even asked that question? Did she ever plan on returning to Gracklstugh? Not if she could help it. Why then was this the knowledge Gravenhollow chose to share?
"By all that dances," the half-drow breathed, shaking her head in frustration as she turned and left the room.
As her steps carried her absently toward the guest quarters, her mind churned on the possible reasons the library revealed the identity of the succubus of Gracklstugh. Perhaps it had to do with the demon lord she served, which was it again?
"Graz'zt," she muttered, remembering.
The name was like a growl in her throat and though she spoke it quietly, under her breath, it felt unnaturally loud to her ears and seemed to echo off the stone and crystal of Gravenhollow. Time seemed to falter and her own step froze before it found the next stair. A shadowy presence from her periphery suddenly loomed to dominate her awareness.
"What have we here?"
Did he speak or did his voice echo in the space of her heartbeats? The towering figure bore the ebon skin and tapered ears of the drow, but his features were layered with something far more alien. His black hair drank light like midnight, and his pupil-less, white-hot gaze burned with the promise of — nothing good. Subtle distortions in his form — the extra digits on his hands and feet, the sharp, predatory angles of his face — somehow added to his terrible allure rather than diminished it.
He was not truly here, was only a time-displaced echo. And yet, his presence felt suffocating. Even so, Jhelnae lifted her chin, meeting his burning gaze with defiance. Her finger lifted in accusation.
"You," she growled.
"Me?" the voice echoed in her mind, smooth and mocking.
"Why did you send that nightmare fantasy of the grotto and the pool to all the others," she demanded, "But not to me?"
The demon lord's eyes widened in surprise, his expression warring between amusement and something unreadable. Then his presence wavered and dissipated, dissolving fully back into his present.
Aleina found herself waiting for a galeb duhr to enter under a stone archway ahead of her, a burden of tablets balanced in its sturdy stone arms, while its slow, thunderous steps reverberated through the corridor. As she waited her turn, her gaze drifted up to the inscription carved above the doorway.
"The present is like sand, ever flowing and escaping one's grasp without mercy or respite."
This was an Archive of the Present — one of the chambers overseen by Urmas, the Keeper of the Present.
She stood on an unknown level of the library — time and distance being slippery concepts in Gravenhollow. Had she descended three floors? Ten? She didn't know.
The way now clear, she stepped inside. The shifting radiance of glowing crystals reflected off towering stacks of stone tablets and arrayed clusters of stone cylinders filled with carved scripts. The stacks and clusters were clearly organized, but some leaned at odd angles that made her nervous, their arrangement haphazard but stable, yet teetering on the edge of disarray. She sensed this chaotic organization mirrored the fleeting, ever-changing nature of the present.
As she watched, the galeb duhr deposited its burden of cylinders onto the floor with little ceremony, adding to the countless groupings already gathered. Without hesitation, it lumbered to the far side of a massive, giant-sized stone desk, where it bent and gathered a load of tablets into its sturdy arms. Then it turned and trudged out, its booming footsteps receding into the corridor.
Aleina's gaze swept across the room. How many chambers like this, filled with ever-growing clusters of carved cylinders, did Urmas, Keeper of the Present, have awaiting him? The thought of such a monumental, unending task sent a ripple of sympathetic unease through her. Urmas was the only librarian she and her companions had encountered, and when he had given them their Stonespeaker Crystals, he had done so with polite efficiency, then strode off to leave them all staring after him uncertainly. Now, she understood why.
The stark reminder of the ever-pressing nature of time pulled the aasimar back to her purpose. She lifted the length of quartz and gazed into its crystalline depths. Should she ask about the location and activities of the demon lords? Or would such questions risk making them aware of her and her companions? The thought sent a shudder through her and the memory of the twinned stares of the Prince of Demons — Demogorgon — threatened to engulf her awareness.
She shook her head to push that memory aside and, as she did, the vision she most wanted to see revealed itself. Steeling herself with hopeful anticipation, she tightened her grip on the Stonespeaker Crystal and made her request.
"Show me the myconid sprouts – Stool and Rumpadump."
A faint smile softened her lips as the vision began to take shape. The scene revealed a serene circle of standing myconids, their calm unity flowing like an unspoken melody between them. At the center of the circle, protected by their kin, nestled amidst the others of their age, were two familiar sprouts. Stool and Rumpadump stood together, a little larger than when she had last seen them, their tiny forms brimming with a quiet, contentment.
"They're safe," she murmured, her chest loosening as the weight of worry lifted.
Aleina sighed and closed her eyes, letting relief wash over her. Her smile faltered when she reopened them. The vision shifted, revealing a vast cavern illuminated by swirling patterns of luminous lichen that scattered across the ceilings and walls like an underground starfield — the Neverlight Grove. Soft hues of yellow, blue, and violet glowed with an almost ethereal beauty, their radiance blending with the pulsing faerzress to light the fungi growing in the marshy expanse of the cavern floor, which shimmered with its own bioluminescence. The scene was surreal, almost hypnotic in its splendor.
Yet beneath the beauty, something was wrong. Infection lurked at the heart of it all, a rot spreading unseen but palpable to whatever the extra sense Gravenhollow provided to this vision, tainting the grove from within.
She saw a towering mushroom that nearly touched the cavern ceiling, its massive stalk covered in thousands of smaller fungi clinging like parasitic growths. The main trunk split into several lesser stalks, each stretching outward, their caps vast enough to resemble the roofs of great towers. From slitted windows carved into the mushroom's immense trunk, an eerie luminescence poured forth, casting sickly light over the bodies writhing on the carpet of fungi below.
Around the base of the great mushroom, deformed creatures danced in chaotic revelry. The grotesque crowd was a hideous medley of humanoids and beasts, their bodies riddled with tumors, cankers, and patches of rotting flesh. Among them danced fungi warped into twisted, humanoid shapes, their movements a mockery of living grace.
Aleina knew who dwelt in the mushroom tower from her mad vision in the Garden of Welcome — Zuggtmoy — Demon Queen of Fungi.
The vision faded, leaving its stark and undeniable impression. The sprouts would never be truly safe — never be able to grow and thrive in the ways of their kind — so long as the demonic presence plagued the Underdark. A wave of despair crashed over the aasimar and at that moment all she wanted was to collapse to the ground, curl into a ball, and cry. Cry and refuse to move and make giant librarians and boulderlike galeb duhr step over her until someone, anyone else, took care of this insurmountable problem.
Instead she took a breath, a long deep one. Then another. They were here in Gravenhollow to find a way to drive the demons from the Underdark. There had to be a way. Slowly, the weight in her chest lightened, though a knot of anxious tension remained. Feeling steadier, she exited the chamber.
She decided to see what the others might have uncovered before seeking another vision. Cradling the length of quartz in her hand, she retraced her steps, willing her feet to guide her back toward the guest quarters. As always in Gravenhollow, the shadowy presence of time-displaced echoes hovered at the edges of her awareness. But one, this time, caught her eye.
When she focused on it, the figure seemed to hesitate, then glanced at her in turn. Their gazes met, recognition flaring in widening eyes, and both froze on the spiraling stairway. Aleina broke the silence first.
"Sophiya," she breathed.
"Alana?" the genasi questioned, her voice tinged with surprise and uncertainty.
As they spoke, the shadowy presence sharpened, resolving into the ghostly figure of a robed genasi. Over her right shoulder, the distinct black hilt of a greatsword peeked. Aleina's gaze flicked to the weapon. She had once carried that sword — an artifact of the kingdom of Impiltur — within a portable hole during the rescue mission of Kuhl and Sky from the depths of Undermountain. Then the half-elf had given it to this woman, receiving a kiss on the cheek in return.
"Aleina," Aleina corrected softly.
"Aleina, that is right," Sophiya said, nodding quickly. Her gaze searched the stairs to either side of the aasimar. "Is Kuhl with you?"
"Kuhl is here in Gravenhollow," the aasimar said, voice measured. "And Sky. And Jhelnae."
Those were the companions Sophiya would know. Something in Aleina's tone — or perhaps her expression — made the genasi wince.
"Yes, and Sky," she added. "Of course I meant to ask about Sky as well. Why would I ask just about Kuhl? I wouldn't."
Until this moment, Aleina hadn't known it was possible for a ghostly apparition to visibly flush with embarrassment. Despite the awkwardness that initially hung between them, she found herself warming to the woman.
"Are your brothers with you?" she asked.
"Koger is here," Sophiya replied, "With Ancilla, of course."
The genasi rolled her eyes. That would be the golden mechanical construct brother, along with his silver shield-maiden creation, which bore more than a passing resemblance to his sister.
"A modron in Undermountain told him about something called the Maze Engine," Sophiya continued. "So, we're investigating. And we're helping Raelyn and Fel'rekt learn more about the demonic incursion."
"Fel'rekt is with you?" Aleina asked, cocking her head.
The fact that the drow gunslinger was still traveling with the genasi surprised the aasimar — though Raelyn was his twin, so it wasn't too much of a surprise considering that.
"Fel'rekt is with us," Sophiya confirmed, her tone casual, but there was something in it, along with the impish, not-so-secretive little smile that piqued Aleina's interest.
"Did something happen with Fel'rekt?" Aleina asked, raising an eyebrow.
The impish smile grew wider.
"Something happened," Sophiya confirmed, smile growing wistful, then apologetic. "Sorry, I've been dying to talk with someone about this, anyone other than his sister or my brother or a silver construct who can only stare back at me blankly while looking like my mother."
"I can see how those might be a bit awkward to talk with," Aleina chuckled.
"Just a bit," the genasi deadpanned.
They both maintained a straight-faced stare for less than a moment before they burst out laughing.
"Well, when we see each other again you can tell me all about it," the aasimar sighed after their shared amusement subsided. "Wait — there are two drow with you? You're the other group Vizeran spoke about."
"The old drow wizard?" Sophiya said, straightening. "You've met him too?"
"Are you planning to visit his tower?" Aleina asked. "Take him up on his offer? Hear his plan for dealing with the demons in the Underdark?"
"We're leaning towards it," the genasi answered. "He's either crazy or the only one with an idea. You?"
"The same," the aasimar replied. "Only now it occurs to me… he doesn't know we know each other. So, if he's up to something, and we both accept, at least we can watch each other's backs."
"We can, and I'll also tell you about other things" Sophiya said with a wink, then her tone grew serious and hurried. "You're starting to fade."
"You too," Aleina replied, as the edges of the genasi's form began to blur.
"Go to his tower," Sophiya said. "We can meet again…"
"…there," the aasimar finished for the now vanished genasi.
The stairway around her was empty.
Kuhl watched through his Stonespeaker Crystal as a vision unfolded — a drow archwizard deep into a casting. Though the half-elf wasn't an arcane practitioner himself, he could tell this was no simple incantation. The deliberate way the drow slid back the sleeves of his elegant black robes and the intense look of concentration etched onto his sharp features spoke of a complex ritual. The caster's expression remained calm and imperious, his gestures precise and controlled — a display of absolute mastery.
But then a frown crept across his smooth elven features — subtle at first, then deepening into unmistakable concern, and finally, panic. The spell's conjured energy faltered, rippling and surging unpredictably. It spread outward, leaking into nearby patches of faerzress and coursing along these veins of ambient magic that threaded through the Underdark. Distant and scattered cracks in reality began to form, fracturing the glowing, swirling faerzress into patches of unstable chaos.
The rifts widened, yawning open to disgorge horrors from the Abyss. A tentacled and twin-headed beast, an oozing faceless mass of fluid slime, a horned and hulking monstrosity with rotting flesh wielding a skull headed wand — these and countless others spilled forth, an invading tide of rushing nightmares. The drow archwizard stumbled back, his composure shattered as he stared in horror at what he had unwittingly unleashed. A dark, feminine laugh echoed in his mind — mocking, resonant, and brimming with cold delight.
Kuhl lowered the length of quartz as the vision faded from his mind. He'd asked for the source of the demonic invasion in the Underdark. Could it really have stemmed from one miscast spell by a lone wizard?
"Remember the woman's laughter," Dawnbringer telepathically reminded. "I think she caused his spell to go awry."
The half-elf nodded and left the chamber, intent on finding an Archive of the Present. As always, intuition guided his steps in Gravenhollow's shifting halls. Time-displaced echoes flickered at the edges of his vision — vague forms of visitors to the library from the past and future — but he ignored their subtle tugs on his senses and remained focused. Soon he stood before a stone archway carved with an inscription.
"The present is like sand, ever flowing and escaping one's grasp without mercy or respite."
Entering, he lifted his Stonespeaker Crystal, and drew a calming breath before speaking.
"Show me the source of the laughter from my previous vision," he said.
Through the crystal, Kuhl saw an impossibly vast, endlessly spreading web, its strands shimmering threads of silver against a black void. At its heart, amidst thousands upon thousands of ashen-grey eggs, rested a bloated arachnid form. The creature's lower body was that of a monstrous spider, but her torso and head bore the shape of a dark elf.
Despite her grotesque form, it was the femininity of her upper half that drew his attention — a curvaceous figure wrapped in clinging spider silk that accentuated her body. His gaze traveled upward, drawn to the dark face framed by glinting silver hair. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful, a loveliness tinged with the dangerous allure of all things steeped in dark mystery.
Her grey eyes locked onto his, capturing him in their unfathomable depths. An elegant eyebrow arched, a flicker of amusement and interest playing across her flawless features. But then, the pale radiant presence of the goddess he served surged within him — staking her claim — the arched eyebrow fell, and those hauntingly captivating eyes narrowed and hardened. Kuhl felt her dismissal like a physical blow against his soul.
He staggered back, cast out of the vision, his heart pounding, cold sweat dampening his brow, and his breath quickened. He recognized the figure in the vision of course — Lolth — Demon Queen of Spiders. The enemy and rival of his goddess — Sehanine Moonbow. Yet instead of rejecting her he had wanted nothing more than to stare and stare and drink in as much of her cold beauty as he could. If she hadn't dismissed him from the vision, he'd doubtless still be staring, enthralled by her dark allure.
"Do not blame yourself for being overwhelmed," Dawnbringer's calm voice echoed in his mind. "You are a mortal and she is a goddess. What is important is that you have learned the source of the demonic incursion."
Kuhl nodded, then shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of that lovely dark-elf face, now a rapidly receding haunting memory beyond full recollection. Half walking, half stumbling, he emerged from the Archive of the Present into the wide, echoing hallway beyond. The air felt heavier now, or perhaps it was the weight of what he had witnessed. Several flights of spiraling stairs passed beneath his feet before his pulse slowed and the cold sweat dried from his skin.
His steps, guided as much by instinct as intent, carried him to another stone archway. Above it, carved in flowing script, was an inscription.
"The future is a song we remember, but we cannot rush to its end lest we destroy the melody."
This was an Archive of the Future – a chamber under the stewardship of Ustova, Keeper of the Future. The soft murmur of running water echoed through the room, emanating from fountains built into wall niches. Within these niches, carved stone cylinders rested — records of Ustova's divinations. Kuhl barely spared them a glance, knowing they would chronicle divinations of the futures for Stone Giant settlements which likely held little use to his purpose.
The weight of future possibility seemed to press against him as he stepped into the chamber. The sound of flowing water, however, put him in a meditative trance that gave him a calm focus. Raising the length of quartz in his hand, he spoke, his voice nearly drowned out by the ceaseless murmur of flowing water.
"How can we deal with the demon threat of the Underdark?"
Dual visions assaulted his mind. In one, a vast cavern filled with crumbling ruins spread before him. Demons of every shape and size tore into each other in a chaotic maelstrom of fighting — their howls, screeches, and shrieks echoing off the cavern's walls and ceilings. Simultaneously, he saw a fiery gate opening in a wide tunnel deep in the Underdark. Out of it marched the fiendish legions of the Hells – copper-red-skinned soldiers with living beards, wielding wicked glaives like those Kuhl had fought in the Vault of Dragons beneath Waterdeep; skeletal malformed warriors made of bony husks; hard-shelled, bipedal insectoids with wicked mandibles; and winged, horned fiends of countless varieties.
The twin visions twisted and merged in his mind as he struggled and failed to perceive them separately. With a sudden rush of disorientation, the visions shattered and faded, leaving him reeling and dazed, unable to form a coherent thought.
It makes sense," Dawnbringer mused telepathically as he mentally recovered. "The best way to destroy demons en masse? Use them against each other or employ their natural enemies — devils."
Kuhl again found himself nodding at Dawnbringer's mental words. Yet the story Aligor told in the lair of Morning Glory Blade — the bard elf-spider hybrid Amaraea — warned of the danger of dealings with devils. Contracts of the Hells came barbed with traps, no matter how carefully worded. And extending the Blood War into the Underdark… it was the proverbial cure worse than the sickness.
It was clear he and his companions should then focus on getting the demons to destroy each other and send them back to the Abyss where they belonged. But how? No strategy came to mind.
"You now know the who and how behind the demonic incursion," his sentient sword said in his mind. "So, you know more than you did. Others may provide answers for what is missing"
Kuhl sighed. Unless his companions learned more in Gravenhollow than he did, the only possible answers would come from a wizened dark-elf wizard of dubious trustworthiness. With this troubling thought, he left the Archive of the Future and headed towards a stairwell, intending to ascend back to the guest quarters of the library.
One of the ever-present ghostly echoes flitting at the edges of his awareness caught his attention, especially when she lowered a unicorn-headed staff to bar his way.
"That armor," she said. "I recognize my sister's craftsmanship. It fits you well."
The last part was said with a smile and an appraising gaze that traveled the length of him. Her resemblance was so striking to Laeral Silverhand there was no need to ask who her sister was.
"Wait, are you an echo from the future?" she asked, her voice growing tentative and expression shifting to one of concern. "A child of my sister's I haven't met yet?"
Confused, Kuhl could only shake his head wordlessly. Her look of horror grew, and panic began to edge into her voice.
"You're not one of my descendants are you?" she asked. "Wearing a gift from your aunt? Or great aunt as the case might be."
Finding his voice, the half-elf answered.
"I don't think we are related," he said.
A breath of relief escaped her, and she barked out a sharp laugh.
"Thank Mystra's Starry Gown," she sighed, leaning close. "Otherwise, I would've just had the most inappropriate of thoughts."
She tried to place a hand on his shoulder, her continued laughter soft and amused, but as her hand made contact, her form dissipated into nothingness.
"Which of the Seven Sisters was that?" Dawnbringer's voice questioned in his mind, curious.
Not knowing, Kuhl just shrugged.
I hope this works. I started this out strong making it through Jhelnae's section. Then I moved on to Aleina's and that went fine. Then I lost all motivation writing Kuhl's. I just couldn't find the will. Hopefully it still came out okay.
Also, I based some of the description of Graz'zt on the Erin Evans novel Ashes of the Tyrant. I liked the way she described him and so liberally borrowed from her as a canon reference.
The expression 'Mystra's Starry Gown' I borrowed from Auriana Valoria and her Way of the Chosen fic over at AO3