A portal.
Through the portal, Pharaun caught a glimpse of night on another world, another plane.
A lush jungle of twisted trees, grasses, and bushes waited beyond the gate, growing from a soil the color of blood. Yellowed bones of all types and sizes jutted from the earth, as though the whole plane was a graveyard. Turgid rivers covered in a brown foam squirmed their circuitous way through the befouled landscape. Thin, twisted forms moved furtively in the shadows, mortal souls trying desperately to hide from something. Pharaun could see the terror in their eyes, and it made him vaguely uneasy.
A blast of humid air escaped the portal. It smelled like a charnel house, as though tens of thousands of corpses lay rotting in the jungle heat. It bore groans with it, the soft susurration of agonized souls.
"Zerevimeel, come forth!" Quenthel shouted.
The view in the portal changed as its perspective whipped across the landscape, passing ruined cities of crimson stone, lakes of watery sludge, huge, twisted things prowling the jungle in pursuit of the souls.
A form took shape in the portal, a towering muscular form that dwarfed even Jeggred and blotted out Pharaun's view of the demon's home plane.
Nalfeshnee, Pharaun recognized from the silhouette. Quenthel had summoned a fairly powerful demon. Not as powerful as she could have but powerful nevertheless.
Pharaun readied to mind a spell that would shroud the demon in lightning should Quenthel not be able to convince it with her offer. He knew that demons, even powerful ones, were vulnerable to lightning.
The huge demon stepped through the portal and solidified fully in Quenthel's circle, naked and slicked in something sticky and red. The creature smelled sickly-sweet, like half-cooked meat.
Behind them, Danifae continued her own summoning, her voice rising. She would complete her own spell soon, but for the moment, Pharaun ignored her and focused on Quenthel's demon.
Huge tusks erupted from the nalfeshnee's muzzle. Burning red eyes dominated its bestial face.
With each breath the demon's huge chest, covered in dark, coarse fur, rose and fell like a bellows.
Two ridiculously small feathered wings sprouted from its back. Clawed hands at the end of muscular arms clenched and unclenched reflexively. The demon inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring,
and wrinkled its snout.
"The Pits of the Spider Bitch," he spat, his voice deep and resonant. "It is bad enough that her stink infests all of the Lower Planes, but now I must abide it directly?" He fixed his eyes on
Quenthel, who stood before him, seeming small and insignificant. "You will pay for this, drow priestess. I was swimming in the gore pits of-"
Quenthel's whip cracked, and five sets of fangs sank into the sensitive flesh of the demon's thigh, very near its genitals. The blow was meant to be more a painful threat than injurious.
The nalfeshnee roared and grabbed at the whip heads but was too slow.
Quenthel spoke in a low tone. "Speak another heresy, demon, and I'll offer your manhood to
Lolth as penance."
Zerevimeel's burning red eyes narrowed. He looked around for the first time, as though to evaluate his situation. His eyes moved to Pharaun, to Jeggred (at whom he sneered in contempt),
to Danifae, who was finalizing her own spell.
Pharaun felt the tingle of divination magic against his skin. The demon was attempting to measure their power, to get a sense of their souls. Pharaun did not contest the spell, though he could have easily enough.
Gently, as though expecting a backlash, Zerevimeel tested the boundaries of the summoning circle. He seemed surprised when it did not hold him within its confines.
He smiled, dripping huge droplets of saliva, and said, "You have left me unbound, drow whore."
He stepped out of the scribing on hoofed legs, towering over Quenthel. Pharaun readied his lightning spell, but the Baenre priestess gave no ground.
"My spell was a calling, dolt," she said. "Not a binding. Are males such fools even among demons?"
All five of her whip serpents stared up at the nalfeshnee, hissing with laughter.
The demon regarded her with the arrogance endemic to his kind and said, "You are either a great fool or have much to offer."
"Neither," Quenthel replied. She brandished her holy symbol, stared up at the towering demon, and said, "You just cast your divination. You know the scope of my power. The Spider
Queen once again answers the prayers of her faithful, and I can destroy you at my whim. You can perform willingly, or I can shred your body and summon another of your kind."
The demon rumbled low in his deep chest, a sound reminiscent of Jeggred, but did not dispute
Quenthel's claim.
The high priestess went on, "If you accept willingly, you will be recompensed fairly in souls,
upon my return to Menzoberranzan."
"If you return," the demon said, and his face twisted in an expression that Pharaun took to be a tusked grin. The creature looked skyward and for the first time seemed to notice the line of souls floating high above them. He eyed them with a predatory gaze and licked his thick lips.
"Souls, you say," he said, returning his gaze to Quenthel.
Quenthel cracked her whip and said, "Souls, yes. But not those. Those belong to Lolth. You will be paid with others, after you have flown me to the base of the mountains thence, to the Pass of the Reaver."
She pointed her whip in the direction of the far mountains, still hidden by night.
Pharaun cocked his head. He had never before heard Quenthel mention the name of their destination at the base of the mountains, though he had long suspected she knew what they would find there.
"You cannot attempt the pass and live," the demon said.
Quenthel put her hands on her hips and said, "I can and will. As will those who accompany me."
The demon licked his lips, seeming to consider his options. Finally, he said, "I am not a beast of burden, drowess."
"No," Quenthel replied, "but you will bear Lolth's Chosen and be honored to do so."
The demon's lips peeled back from oversized, yellowed canines. He turned his head to the side and spat a glob of stinking spittle onto the dirt. He crossed his arms over his huge chest and said, "Perhaps you are the Chosen, priestess, but perhaps you are not. In either case, let the
Reaver claim you in his pass. But for the indignity you ask, my price shall be sixty-six souls."
Pharaun raised his eyebrows. Sixty-six souls was a very modest demand. Quenthel had cowed the demon effectively.
"Done," Quenthel agreed. "Attempt to betray me and you die."
"No betrayal, priestess," said the demon in a low voice. "I am looking forward to the feel of your soft flesh against mine. And when I return again to the blood pools of my home, I will think fondly of your soul being devoured by the Reaver."
Quenthel sneered and her whips laughed.
"Let us leave now, priestess," the demon said. "I wish to return to the familiar gore of my home."
"Not yet," Quenthel said. She turned her back to the demon-a show of supreme confidence-
and watched as Danifae finally finished her own calling.
Danifae stood before her summoning circle, her arms outstretched, and called out a name:
"Vakuul!"
Power flared in Danifae's circle. The air tore open. A circular portal, outlined in blue light,