Shaddar looks at each of the communal thralls to insure that they are in position then nods at the dwarf beside him at the console. Tuthoad jams the master control lever forward and the experiment begins.
The fires under beakers flare and magical liquids begin to bubble fiercely. Cutt makes minor adjustments to the flame levels to insure a constant flow of the required steams. Eesha and Loolipo both crank on the gears of the torture racks, causing the slaves to gasp in pain as their limbs are stretched unnaturally. Shaddar watches the measure of tension on each slave being tortured until it reaches the starting tolerance level and then turns the dial that is his responsibility.
Instantly, the slaves begin to scream as their minds are invaded and memories are brutally wormed into. The drow maiden and the kuo-toa hop from table to table, double-checking the bonds and connections as the victims thrash about as much as they are able. A psionic glow seeps along the tubes towards the console as the mental energy of the tortured slaves is collected. Tuthoad begins to cackle with evil delight – enjoying the chaos and madness of the macabre scene he is in the center of.
And slowly, majestically, the crystal at the top of Felinxtrath’s iron throne begins to rotate.
“Yes!” booms Felinxtrath, still gripping the chair’s armrests tightly. Shaddar can sense the psychic power building inside the throne and especially in the crystal. His master continues, “Increase the mixture!”
Obediently the thralls and Shaddar adjust both the implements of torture and the rate at which the mental intrusion and ransacking of the four slaves is happening. The crystal spins faster.
“Somehow the combination of physical and mental torture is feeding the process. Very interesting,” Shaddar thinks as he works – fine-tuning the rough adjustments made by the dwarf, who can not sense the psychic energies now pulsing through the room.
His contemplation is interrupted by a violent mental thrust into his and every other illithid mind in the city. The elder brain is calling for help!
“TRAITORS! I AM UNDER PHYSICAL ATTACK FROM OUR FALSE ALLIES OF THORIMHOLM! COME TO MY ASSISTENCE, CHILDREN!”
Felinxtrath’s anger and concern is equally mixed in his writhing tentacles.
“Curse these so-called heroes!” he spits mentally to Shaddar, “They seem to be everywhere.” He stands quickly from his seat in the iron throne and begins to cross the room.
“Shut it down. We will restart the experiment once I have made sure that the elder brain is safe. No doubt the elder brain can handle a few whelps from the surface city of the dwarves, but I must be sure.”
As he passes his two thralls, he commands them, “Obey the tadpole, he may have need of your aid.”
Just after he passes through the doorway and enters the hall it happens.
It is the most awful thing Shaddar has ever felt.
The horror!
The death throes of the elder brain!
“NOOOOOOOOoooooooo!”
The mental scream seems to echo throughout the entire city, splinters of pain lancing through every mind that calls the massive intellect their leader. A blast of mental power unlike any Shaddar believes possible washes over him, wiping out all other sensations and thoughts. A burst of energy that feels like it will utterly consume him – and then it is gone. All his senses are blinded to the overwhelming sense of loss and darkness! How is it possible? Snuffed out in an instant, leaving only a void of nothingness in its place!
And then the wave of mental trauma fades away – fades forever with the lifeforce of the elder brain that caused it. Gone! It was gone! That constant, comforting beacon of thought that Shaddar had taken for granted his entire life! No longer did it hum as the heart of the city – no longer did its guiding thoughts direct them and inspire them.
Shaddar blinks rapidly to clear his eyes of tears to see that the room is going mad.
Felinxtrath has collapsed in either depression or some other form of stupor in reaction to the impossible event. The mad dwarf is pounding on the master control lever – trying desperately to turn the machine off, but it was fused open. The victims writhe in agony, arching their backs with unvoiced screams as the experiment runs completely out of control. The other thralls are all doing their best to stop what is happening to no avail.
The crystal is a blur it is spinning so quickly. The tubes are painful to look at - so full of stolen mental energy are they. Electricity crackles along the copper lines. Shaddar issues orders as fast as he can think of them. Nothing works. The edges of the room begin to blur into unreality. The floor seems to twist and tilt beneath their feet.
“The psychic surge has overloaded it!” he broadcasts, “Cut the lines! Cut the lines!”
The minotaur raises his axe to comply, but he never completes the stroke.
It is too late.
There is a moment when there is an utter absence of sound or thought – a moment when time itself seems to stop – and then the crystal explodes. A wave of dark energy rolls over them and unconsciousness (or death) claims all.
Darkness…
Chapter 1 < Chapter 2 Chapter 4 >
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