Freedom!
With no more seal holding the seam shut, the egg-like prison split apart.
'No!' Melann fell to her knees before she ever reached Vheod.
Humid air belched forth from the opened capsule. The figure that emerged dripped with foul fluids. Burnt red skin pulled taut over sinewy muscles and sharp, wicked bones as it moved, stretching wide, bat-like- dragonlike-wings with a wet, fleshy crunch. Clawed hands clutched a long, black, many-tailed whip covered in spikes and a jagged sword of black iron, both dragging along the ground behind it, creating sparks of protest. The prisoner's wide head sported a flat face framed by broad, slightly curled horns.
A mouth of jagged teeth like rusty nails curled in what might have passed for a smile in some unthinkable nether plane. Powerful lungs inhaled deeply, expanding its chest to a surprising degree, and it exhaled a single word that echoed throughout the room.
'Freedom'
“I’ve won,' Vheod said, holding the silver-runed staff above his head, 'because I can give you what you need and still stand against the evil of Chare'en!'
Vheod tossed the staff to Melann and spun on the creature emerging from eons of imprisonment, drawing forth the blade with which he'd defeated Orrag. A wild look filled his dark eyes as he stared at his ancestor. He tossed the small sword back and forth from hand to hand as he poised tensely for battle.
Chare'en looked down and studied the cambion who stood before him. Black eyes like lances bore holes into Vheod, but he stood his ground. The balor threw his head back in a barking, echoing laugh.
'You are mine to control little man,' the demon said. 'You dance like a puppet on my strings, and you always have. You stand against what I tell you to stand against.'
Vheod's long red hair had been smeared with dirt, sweat, and blood, a little of each marring his dusky face as well. Mouth grim, he worked his jaw but stared up at the balor in front of him with only victory blazing in his eyes. A smile creeped across his lips, and he finally spoke. 'I reject you, great-grandfather. You don't control me.'
Chare'en's laughter exploded forth like a burst bubble. 'If I did not control you, I would not be free.' The words slid from his mouth like snakes.
'Vheod,' Melann said, raising her head. Through the fear and despair, she choked out, 'The Taint-it's the Taint. It's not you, you're not evil. It's not your fault.'
She was wrong, of course. Vheod knew that he was indeed evil. He was half tanar’ri, and tanar'ri were inherently malicious, cruel, and all that was wrong. That is what they were on some important, fundamental level. He couldn't blame the Taint, or Orrag, or even Chare'en for his own nature, not any more than a child can blame his parents for his eye or hair color.
At the same time, however, he was half human. Rather than worry about his nature, he could overcome it. Facing it head on, he could challenge evil and defeat it. Right now, that meant facing and defeating Chare'en once and for all. He would show himself and all the world that he was master of his own life, and his own destiny, by taking the offensive.
Nevertheless, Vheod had to admit to himself that it had seemed a better plan before actually seeing the towering figure of the balor standing before him, quite literally dripping with power, rage, and evil. Even if he died Vheod would still have won. He still would have fought against evil rather than having been mastered by it.
'Your freedom means nothing,' Vheod said through teeth gritted with determination. 'I will destroy you.' Again Chare'en threw back his head in a spasm of laughter. This time Vheod used the opportunity to his advantage. Summoning his strength, he grasped the hilt of the short sword in both hands and launched himself into the air. He came down with a stabbing strike over his head, plunging the sword into the huge tanar'ri's belly.
In the walled city of Tilverton, a less than reputable weaponsmith named Hirtho makes his living by selling low-cost, simple weapons to criminals and thugs. Hirtho once worked for a group in the city called the Fire Knives, an evil, roguish group that plagued the city. Eventually, the Fire Knives were completely driven out of the city, and Hirtho looked into a new line of work. His father had been a blacksmith, and Hirtho had learned a little of the trade when he was young. Possessed of none of his father's skill or artistry, he nevertheless discovered that the right clientele would be willing to buy his crude weapons for low prices. Because of his connections, he knew where to get cheap steel 'liberated' from merchant caravans.
Hirtho thus led a simple but comfortable life off his ill-gotten gains. One of his many sales went to a young man named Wenmer who was hired as an enforcer for a local criminal and-according to some-priest of some mysterious evil god. Little did Hirtho know, the young enforcer would be killed before he ever drew the blade-by his own criminal boss as a blood sacrifice no less. Hirtho would never have believed that a cambion from the Abyss would then take the sword and use it against that same criminal. The idea that one of Hirtho's crude creations would have been used in an attack against a balor-perhaps the most powerful of fiends in all the Lower Planes- would have been inconceivable to the shady smith.
Vheod shouldn't have needed to know the blade's short and lackluster history to realize that his actions were foolhardy. He shouldn't have been surprised when, on coming into contact with the flesh of dread Chare'en, the ungainly sword shattered into thousands of metal shards. The force of the blow and its results sent Vheod sprawling backward through the air, where he struck the stone floor with great force.
Chare'en appeared more stunned and surprised than hurt. In fact, he didn't appear hurt at all.
Vheod's vision swirled around him. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping to steady his vision. When he opened them again, Melann was kneeling over him.
'Vheod, get up,' she begged, her voice thin and panicked. 'He'll kill us all!'
She was attempting to lift him from the ground by his shoulders, and he allowed her to help him stumble to his feet. The demon's black gaze fell on them both.
'Now, young mortalheart, I swear by the Abyss that gave birth to us both,' Chare'en said in a voice like polished obsidian, 'you will die!'
Vheod and Melann ran, scrambling across the stone floor as fast as they could. The spine-covered whip slapped and scraped the ground behind them as Chare'en swung it over his head and crashed its tails where they had stood. The two of them ran, dodging the moving and whirling parts of the still rapidly moving metallic device.
Chare'en bellowed in rage, shaking both of them, body and soul. They reached the doorway and passed through the open bronze portals. Vheod looked around, blankly surveyed the bodies of the fallen thugs, Orrag, and Whitlock. He ran to where Whitlock lay.
'Is he… does he live?' Vheod asked, not looking back at Melann.
'Yes,' she replied, 'but he shouldn't be moved.' 'There's nowhere to move him to anyway, I'm afraid.' Vheod took Whitlock's sword and turned back to Melann. She'd begun some sort of prayer.
Next to her, Vheod saw Orrags fallen body by the doors. The floor shook as Chare'en followed them, loping slowly with legs cramped from centuries of captivity. With each step, the balor grew stronger. Vheod stepped up to the doorway but still looked down at Orrag. Surely the half-orc would have brought something of power with him here to this place. He seemed like a crafty planner-wouldn't he have brought along some sort of fail-safe plan?
Vheod reached down and picked up the falchion the half-orc still clutched in his quickly stiffening fingers. Orrag, obviously not wanting to inflict serious injury on Vheod, hadn't really attacked him with the weapon. Perhaps it was a magical blade-Orrag's backup?
Chare'en reached the doorway as Melann finished chanting the mysterious invocation. Lines of blue fire traced a complicated pattern across the floor inside the doorway. 'By the power of Chauntea, Mother of All,' Melann shouted at the fiend, 'you cannot cross this line, demon!'
To Vheod's surprise, Chare'en stopped. He studied the line of power and seemed to consider it, as if evaluating its power and limitations. Or perhaps he considered his own. Vheod couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, anything that stopped the balor's advance was mighty indeed and was an advantage that shouldn't be wasted.
Unfortunately, even as thoughts of escape began to form in Vheod's mind, he saw a glint of metal behind the balor. On the floor, near the middle of the chamber, lay the silver-runed staff. In her haste to help him, Melann had left the staff behind. He knew he couldn't leave without it.
