18. Infernal Rites Of Cania
Astor and Kal reconvened with Night and Shadowheart at the campsite. They caught them up on what they learned about this ‘Absolute’, with Kal raving about Mint’s beauty and elegance.
Volo was still at camp, enjoying a meal of bread, dried fruit and cheese. He listened to their conversation with fascination, madly scribbling in his own notebook.
The sun was starting to set, the warmth of the day leaching from the air. They gathered by the fire to keep warm.
Astor looked wistfully at the setting sun. He hadn’t seen or felt the sun since they first fell into the Underdark, and now the sun was setting all too soon.
He turned his attention to Volo. “I’ve been reading your Guide to the Weave,” he began, “and I must say, it’s been incredibly helpful in understanding the fundamentals of how magic works in the Realms.”
“Ah, a wizard-in-training, are you? Let me know if there’s anything I can teach you. I am an accomplished mage myself.”
Night choked back her laughter. “He’s my student, Volo.”
“Well, for all the things Nightingale can’t answer, then.”
“Actually,” Night said, “there is something I need help with.”
Night led Volo into her tent, with Astor following.
“I haven’t been in here in years. Something seems different.” Volo glanced around. “Did you redecorate?”
“I painted the walls a different color last year.”
Night rolled out the parchment with Astor’s scars onto the low table. She then gestured to it. “These are Infernal runes carved into flesh.” She tapped a different paper. “Here is the Common translation of it. We think it’s used for a ritual marking sacrifices, but I haven’t been able to track down which one. Do you think it could be an original ritual?”
Volo rubbed his chin. “Or just an obscure one, if it’s not similar to any ritual in the popular reference books.”
He pointed at one spot on the drawing of the runes. “I’m not fluent in Infernal, but this term, I know it is more commonly used in Cania.”
“The eighth layer of the Hells?” Astor asked.
“I’ve been there, it’s frigid. Tons of ice and snow and wind. Not fun,” Night said.
Astor gave her a flat look. “I don’t think anyone goes to the Hells for fun, Night.”
Volo thought for a moment. “Cania is ruled by the archdevil Mephistopheles.”
Astor cursed suddenly.
“What?” Night asked.
“Velith—she worships Mephistopheles,” Astor explained.
“Well, that’s a lead,” Night replied.
“I happen to have a book of rituals from Cania,” Volo said, digging into the bag of holding that was strapped across his hips. “It is written by mages who interviewed Mephistopheles himself. I believe he is using the publicity to promote Cania’s advancements in hellfire and funnel investors into his research.”
Astor wore a look of surprise. The way Volo talked about Mephistopheles made the archdevil sound like a politician or an entrepreneur. That contrasted with how he often heard Velith reference Mephistopheles, treating him with near-deific reverence.
Volo extracted the book and placed it on the low table. Astor read the title. Infernal Rites of Cania, An Overview.
The whole book was in Infernal. Night grabbed her Spectacles of Comprehend Languages while Volo downed a small vial of pale orange liquid that he said gave him the same ability for the next hour. Together, Volo and Night pored through the book.
Astor watched from across the table.
“Oooh,” Night said. “Here. It’s this.* The Rite of Profane Ascension*.”
“Some of the runes are depicted here,” Volo added. “But this book doesn’t go into much detail. It’s more of an advertisement for what rituals exist.” Then he looked closer at the page. “Vampiric ascension? By Mystra’s mysteries! What has Mephistopheles been studying for him to author a spell like this?”
Night handed the spectacles to Astor, and he sat down in front of the book. The page talked about sacrificing souls to Mephistopheles in a ritual that will allow the vampire performing the ritual to become a vampire ascendant.
Astor swallowed hard. This meant he was marked for sacrifice. But nothing else on the page described what exactly the ritual gave, or what the full scope of the required sacrifice was.
“We need to find more information,” Astor said finally, looking at Night.
Night nodded. She turned to Volo and asked, “do you still have your membership to Pigeon Pact Delivery?”
“I do. You still haven’t signed up?” Volo smiled slyly. “I have a referral bonus, twenty percent off for one year.”
“Dweomerheart had free mail services,” Night said slowly, “but now that I’m back in Faerûn, I might take you up on that offer. For today, can you help me? I want to send a letter to our dear friend, Elminster.”
Volo, Astor and Night stood on cliffs nearby the campsite. The sky was awash in shades of crimson, orange and soft purple as the sun slowly descended towards the horizon.
Night held in her hands an envelope sealed with purple wax, the stamp an illustration of a geometric magic circle with an open book. She held the stamp up to Astor’s face. “That’s the Dezarian family crest. Pretty, isn’t it?”
On the center of the letter was Elminster’s name and address, a location in Shadowdale, a farming community in the Dalelands of north Faerûn. In the left corner sat Night’s name and address in Waterdeep. On the right listed Volo’s membership information for the Pigeon Pact Delivery service.
“What if he’s not at home?” Astor asked.
“The service attempts full contact delivery. If the recipient cannot be found at the address, the company will use divination and teleportation magic to track the recipient down, even across planes,” Volo explained, to Astor’s complete astonishment.
“You do not want to know how much gold this membership costs,” Night said mildly.
Volo raised an arm towards the sky, holding a metal medallion with the image of a pigeon dressed in a courier uniform. He murmured an incantation and the metal flashed. Over the next ten minutes, clouds started forming high in the sky across the valley in front of them, dark wisps against the setting sun It spelt the words in Common for “Pigeon Pact Pickup Requested.”
There was a pop nearby, and a grey pigeon dressed in the same little outfit depicted on the medallion materialized out of a small portal. It sported a little scarf and landed on a tree branch near them, cooing for their attention.
“Awww, I can never get over how adorable their uniforms are.” Night held a little bit of bread in her palm and the pigeon pecked the crumbs out of her hand. “So cute.”
Volo showed his medallion to the pigeon, who looked at it for a moment before pecking it. The pigeon turned around, and Astor saw that it was wearing a brown leather bag, the strap wrapped around its neck and underneath its wing.
Night stepped forward and held out the envelope toward the pigeon. The letter shrunk, tucking itself into the bag.
The bird cooed once more and gave a salute before it flapped its wings and took off. They watched as it soared through the sky, disappearing through another portal.
“I still can’t believe you two both know the Elminster,” Astor murmured.
“It’s not strange for me, having worked for Mystra and all,” Night said with shrug.
“And for me, it’s important for such an accomplished author as myself to have connections to famous mages,” Volo said. “It only makes sense Elminster is friends with one such as I.”
“Of course,” Night agreed, though she winked at Astor.
Astor laughed under his breath.