Greywind decided to restore his arcane reserves first. He sat upon the cold cellar floor, centering his mind to perform a brief, esoteric ritual of focus. The dark energy of his Pact surged back, refilling his spent spell slot with a cold, thrumming power.
Turning his gaze to Mara, he asked, "I have heard from... my employer that there are three here who can be trusted. Who are the others besides yourself?"
Mara glanced around nervously before whispering, "Yes. There is Old Thom, the gatekeeper. He is the one who lets 'special' cargo pass without question. And Lyssa, Lord Valerius's personal chambermaid. She is our eyes on his schedule and habits. We three... we despise how he rules this land. He bribes, he oppresses, and rumors say he traffics with dark things."
"But," she continued, her voice dropping further, "Lyssa is away tonight on leave. And Old Thom... he will be at the rear gate, unless the commotion has drawn him elsewhere."
So, the Baroness's assets within the estate were Mara in the kitchens, Old Thom at the gate, and the absent Lyssa.
"Only two active pawns," Jannis commented, her voice like the grating of soft metal. "But they are enough. Use the girl as a living key to that passage perhaps she knows the trick of it."
Greywind fixed his eyes on the ancient wine rack in the corner. "Mara, do you know the mechanism for this hidden way? From this side?"
Mara approached the rack, her eyes searching the masonry. "I have never entered, but I have seen Lord Valerius come here. He always presses a seemingly ordinary stone in the back wall, then turns the oldest of the tuns." She pointed to a cask blackened by age and dust.
"A nobleman with a penchant for simple clockwork," Jannis whispered disdainfully. "Press the stone, turn the cask. If there is a magical lock, I shall feel its pulse."
Greywind found a stone slightly smoother than the rest and pressed it. There was a dull, heavy thud. He then gripped the ancient tun and wrenched it clockwise. The sound of shifting stone groaned from within the wall as the rack slid aside, revealing a dark, man-sized aperture. An exhale of damp air, smelling of brimstone and a sickly sweet rot, rushed out.
The passage sloped downward, illuminated by a sickly green luminescence flickering in the distance. "The scent... oh, I recognize that," Jannis hissed with anticipation. "A bearded devil, perhaps, or an imp. Stinging little things, but loyal if fed the right tribute. Be wary; they love the taste of a backstab."
Mara took a shuddering breath. "I will go no further, Master Gio. Please... do not speak my name."
Greywind gave her a curt nod. "Go, Mara. If you stay too long, they will notice." She retreated up the stairs with frantic haste.
Alone at the mouth of the tunnel, Greywind inhaled the thickening sulfur. "Come, darling," Jannis hissed in his ear. "I shall accompany you. And if we meet a little friend from my home, let me speak first. They tend to... respect a voice that is older and stronger."
Greywind descended. After thirty feet, the tunnel opened into a vast, circular vault. This was no cellar; the floor was etched with a complex ritual circle of silver and dried blood. At the center sat a black stone altar, and perched upon it was a creature the size of a cat, with dark red skin, bat-wings, and a barbed tail an Imp. Its glowing yellow eyes locked onto Greywind.
"Tee-hee-hee," the imp cackled like a rusty file. "A new master? Or... new meat?"
Behind the creature, seated in a high-backed chair, was Lord Valerius. He was pale, his eyes weary, dressed in black velvet. He was not surprised; he had felt the breach in his wards. "Who are you?" he asked tonelessly. "A new servant? You are not supposed to be here."
Greywind decided to give Jannis the floor. "Speak, Jannis. Reveal yourself."
The air suddenly grew heavy and blistering. Jannis's full demonic form projected into the room towering, with her marble-white hair and cracked, glowing pupils. She smiled, revealing rows of needle-teeth.
"Greetings, Little Stinger," Jannis purred at the imp. "And... Lord Valerius. Your contract with this pittance of a creature is... adorable."
The imp hissed and recoiled, recognizing a far superior authority. Valerius rose, his face ashen. "Who WHAT are you?"
"I am the elder, the stronger, and the one who currently holds an interest in this warlock," Jannis replied languidly. "And I say your contract is far too cheap. Let us make a more... interesting arrangement."
But before negotiations could ignite, footsteps thundered from the passage. Mira or rather, Lyra burst into the chamber, an orange Flame Blade roaring in her hand, her face a mask of absolute loathing.
"THERE YOU ARE!" she shrieked, ignoring Valerius as she lunged at Greywind. Her blade seared through his livery, leaving a blistering burn on his arm. Greywind wrenched his rapier free.
Valerius, seeing the intruders at each other's throats, saw his opening. "Enough! You disrupt my rite!" He slapped his hand onto the ritual circle. The silver lines flared blood-red, and something massive began to heave itself from the center.
"Ah, he calls for a greater servant," Jannis noted amusedly. "This shall be a delight."
An eight-foot Barbed Devil emerged, its skin a thicket of iron-like spikes, a spiked whip coiled in its hand. The threat had shifted. Both Lyra and Greywind were now in the shadow of this fiend.
Greywind shouted at Lyra, "Kill your sister? You are Althea's kin? But you are an elf, and she was human!"
Lyra faltered, her green eyes burning with grief. "Lyra is an elf of golden hair that is me. Althea was adopted by humans after our parents fell. She was all I had! What do you know of family?!" She lunged again, but the Barbed Devil, following Valerius's command, lashed its whip at her, for she was the closer target.
Greywind used the moment to Disengage, diving behind the stone altar for cover. He downed a Potion of Healing, the alchemical fire knitting his burnt flesh. He watched as Lyra, wounded and desperate, raised her hands. An orange-red orb of fire began to swell between her palms a Fireball. She was choosing a suicide pact to take them all to hell.
"No, no, NO!" Jannis shrieked, her voice brittle with uncharacteristic panic. "A fireball in this vault will cook us all! Stop her, or !"
Greywind didn't stop Lyra; he struck the source. He unleashed an Eldritch Blast at Lord Valerius. The bolt of void hammered the nobleman into the ritual circle. His blood spilled across the runes, and his concentration on the Barbed Devil snapped. The fiend roared in confusion, no longer bound by his will.
But Lyra did not cease. Her Fireball was nearly manifest.
Valerius, bleeding on the floor, screamed, "Imp! Counterspell! Now!" The invisible imp materialized near Lyra, unleashing a burst of disruptive energy. The two spells collided and neutralized each other.
The chaos hung in the air: Valerius was dying, the Barbed Devil was free and aggressive, and Lyra was exhausted.
"Fine... that was close enough," Jannis breathed. "But the devil is wild now. And the elf still wants us dead. Your move, Greywind?"
"Fool!" Greywind snarled at Lyra. "You think dying solves anything?"
He turned his hand toward the center of the room aiming to sweep the field. He unleashed Burning Hands, his final spell. A fifteen-foot cone of flame erupted from his fingertips, washing over the altar, the dying Valerius, and the snarling Barbed Devil.
The imp shrieked as its wings caught fire, tumbling through the air. Lord Valerius was consumed by the flame, dying instantly in a pyre of his own velvet. The Barbed Devil roared as its iron-spiked hide turned black with soot, but it remained standing, its rage stoked to a fever pitch. Lyra, caught at the edge of the cone, was singed but standing.
The vault was now a hellscape of smoke and the scent of charred meat.
"YESSS! The burning! The death! I feel Valerius departing!" Jannis shrieked in triumph. "NOW, FINISH THEM!"
The Barbed Devil, now masterless and scorched, turned its eyes on its primary tormentor: Greywind. It stepped forward, raising its talons and whip. Lyra watched Valerius die, her expression shifting from pure hate to a dawning, terrible realization. Her target lived, but the fiend was the immediate end for them both.