Empress Ayn Vanar sat upon her throne within the great audience hall of Stasikov Palace, which was for the brief moment largely empty of couriers, lesser nobles, and petitioners. Only her attending guard and the great vizier were present, the latter standing near at hand.

She turned to him and said, “Convince me that the sudden compliance of the Princess of Gorzytska should not arouse my suspicions.”

Simonyev Blaustavya gave a heavy sigh. The most influential man in Khador was at last showing his age in his posture and his lined face, though if anything it enhanced his gravitas and dignity.

He said, “Perhaps you should take it as a positive sign that the Lady of Hellspass has deigned to answer your summons, Your Majesty.”

“Perhaps,” the empress said with a frown. She adjusted her posture to sit more rigidly on the throne and waved to the attendants across the hall. The massive and wide double doors were pulled silently open and an impressive entourage strode through them, crossing the marble floors where the Anvil of Khador was inlaid into the stone.

“Regna Gravnoy, Great Princess of Gorzytska Volozk,” her herald announced in a ringing voice, offering a deep bow to the lesser sovereign as she passed.

The ruler of Khador’s northeastern-most territory was a striking sight in her flowing white gown, looking every bit the “Winter Queen” as she was sometimes referred to by her subjects. This was rather different than the more martial attire she had worn the last time she had visited Korsk. She also wore her crown, a deliberate transgression, as it was rare for the great princes to retain any such adornment when paying their respects to their empress. Yet the rulers of the farthest regions were proud and enjoyed their independence. Ayn Vanar would have expected nothing less of Regna. Those who accompanied her included several subordinate nobles of modest standing, her advisors, and a small honor guard, though their weapons had been left outside the hall.

Regna curtseyed deeply, her gown fanning out behind her, and stood when bid. She said, “Empress, I am here at your request. I hope to be of whatever service you require.”

The empress and great vizier shared a brief look. Ayn said, “Your obedience is appreciated. I assure you I will not require you long. I know your reluctance to leave your own lands or your people.”

The great princess inclined her head. “I am disappointed not to see your betrothed here. I had been meaning to pay my courtesies to Vladimir.”

“I am certain he would have appreciated the opportunity,” Ayn said smoothly. “He is attending to military matters far from the capital.”

“Of course, as I would imagine is true more often than not.” She said this in a sympathetic tone that managed to sound slightly mocking.

“I would have it no other way,” the empress replied with a smile. “But let us get to the matter at hand. One of the reasons I called you here is I have heard a number of disturbing rumors. I felt you should be given the opportunity to address them directly.”

“Rumors? How unpleasant.” Regna’s expression did not change. “I do appreciate being given the chance to correct any slights. Surely such as we are above idle gossip?”

“Gossip does not interest me. But these were something rather different and from more reliable sources.” The empress glanced significantly at the great vizier, who controlled the empire’s vast intelligence gathering apparatus.

Great Vizier Blaustavya took his cue. In a tone that was nearly apologetic, he said, “There have been a high number of disappearances in your region. Including several noteworthy sons and daughters of important families. Also, many of lower birth, no less a concern. We have lost several tax collectors as well. Altogether, it threatens to put your volozk below compliance. I have reports of other anomalies from Sections Four, Five, Seven, and Eight of the Ministry, to a degree that I find unsettling.”

Here he referred to the government arms in charge of vital reserves like coal, food, and water, as well as those in charge of taxation, prisons, and the census that determined conscriptions for the army.

“Not Section Three?” she asked with an arched eyebrow, referring to the great vizier’s most active spies.

“They have concerns as well,” Simonyev admitted.

“Well, that is all very alarming, to be sure,” Regna said, though her tone and demeanor did not convey any surprise or concern. “We can’t have tax collectors vanishing. I would not have it on my conscience if the royal treasury were bankrupt.”

“We are far from that,” Ayn said a bit sharply. “The missing citizens are a greater concern. Especially as it seems widespread, even to your prisons. It suggests a systemic problem.”

“Gorzytska is a dangerous region,” Regna said, spreading her hands, “with many perils. We have had ogrun clans acting up in the hills around Hellspass. I do not fault Rhul, as these clans are only loosely controlled. We have had our share of unlikely misfortunes: blighted Nyss, Cryxian incursions, and so on. All of which we have informed the great vizier. As for the prisons, I will admit ours are harsh. Perhaps our indentured labor program has been guilty of excesses.”

Blaustavya said, “Even taking those factors into consideration—”

Regna held up a hand and shook her head. “No, you are right.”

She offered a curtsey and after a lengthy pause said, “Forgive my excuses, Your Majesty. You have brought a number of alarming discrepancies to my attention. I am grateful. I promise to speak with my staff and investigate these matters, to see to their immediate resolution.”

It was a swift capitulation, one that the empress seemed to take in stride. Their conversation continued, moving into more general and less accusatory matters, including the heightened needs for conscription. Great Princess Regna answered all queries put to her, showing greater humility and acquiescence than was her usual habit. At last the empress and great vizier allowed her to make her exit after asking if their esteemed visitor might be willing to join in a feast in her honor. Regna had politely refused, insisting she should return without delay to attend to the requested investigation.

After the princess was gone, Blaustavya turned to the empress and said, “That went well, didn’t it?”

His dour expression suggested otherwise.

“Something is definitely going on,” Ayn replied. “Before speaking to her, I had humored the possibility that these troubles might be happening without her knowledge. But no more. Put your best people on this. I would like direct witnesses of this alleged compliance. Leave no stone unturned.”

“At once, Your Majesty,” Blaustavya said, smiling in approval.

* * *

The being called Agathon, the Voice in the Darkness, and many other names, sat and brooded upon its otherworldly throne while considering that the eve of the great invasion was nearly at hand. In its mind’s eye, it observed the strands of a vast and intricately woven fabric of energy connecting all those whose souls had been promised and bound to it. Strands extended across a multitude of worlds and realities, though the most vibrant and numerous converging on Caen. From here, deep within this fortress built from the essence of thoughts and dreams of the Outer Abyss, Agathon could extend its will where it pleased. Reaching Caen was difficult and required an outlay of energy, including Agathon’s own, but aided by drawing on a vast reservoir of souls.

The fortress tower stood as a black jutting crag looming over a bleak and barren landscape of cracked land and swirling dust and sand. Its dark walls thrummed from within and were warm to the touch, like living flesh. Lines of glowing red inscriptions flared to life in irregular cycles along the surfaces of these walls. The tower was itself an extension of Agathon’s mind, its thoughts made manifest and tangible amid the wind-swept Abyss. With small effort, Agathon could see and hear anything within its halls, doing so like a mortal might visit significant memories. The numerous libraries and vaults within were well known to the Voice in the Darkness, each stacked with contract scrolls and tomes, tabulating spiritual wealth accumulated over eons. Lesser minions walked these corridors on errands for their master, afraid of drawing Agathon’s wrath.

The outer doors opened to allow the ingress of a lesser curator sent by the Weaver of Shadows. Agathon guided him with pulses of darkness along the floors and stairs until he arrived to speak praises and debase himself before the greater master. Though the proper greeting etiquette was adhered to, this new arrival did not delay long before sending more demanding words, spoken mind to mind.

“Great Agathon, I am Helisor, and I arrive to beseech you to answer Zaateroth’s questions, as her curiosity must be sated. Leave her unappeased only at your peril.”

Agathon did not conceal its annoyance. “What questions? There are many tasks needing my attention. I do not have time to suffer distractions. Zaateroth might have paid me the respect of attending in person.”

“Apologies, Pactbinder. The Weaver, too, has her own tasks to attend and so sent me in her stead, unworthy as I may be.” the curator made a gesture equating to deep genuflection.

“Very well,” Agathon said. “Speak without delay.”

Helisor said, “I come to ask after certain omissions in our ledgers. I am here in my mistress’ role as Executor of Debts. There are sizable quantities of souls promised by you and owed to my master that have not been properly exchanged. I am certain this was inadvertent, but there seem to have been errors in the accounting, ones that favor you to our detriment. Allow me to enumerate them.”

It was not uncommon in the flow of regular commerce between higher infernals for there to be disputes like this. It was amid these tedious details that the balance of power might sway to one side or the other. This ebb and flow, though not unimportant, gave Agathon no pleasure. It entirely lacked the thrill of the hunt of tempting mortals to enter into contracts intricately fabricated to seal their eventual doom. Agathon allowed Helisor to continue speaking. A portion of its mind assessed these listed grievances, creating columns of imagined numbers, but the majority of its focus was elsewhere.

There was a rippling along one of the walls of its mind, a dissonance like the sound released by a struck gong. Agathon was akin to a spider touching the strands of a disturbed web where a fly has been stuck fast. Across one of those far-reaching strings of energy connecting its mind to countless others, one had quivered and thrummed. This signified that one of the major figures in its unfolding plots was in peril.

Agathon extended its will in that direction, stretching its mind through the infinite divide between one reality and the next, and observed on Caen the banter between the White Queen and Khador’s empress within the Khadoran palace. This was a place it could not easily penetrate, but it watched as Regna Gravnoy departed Korsk in haste alongside her armed escort. Her face radiated arrogant pride and self-assurance, but she did not know they were followed. The great princess was a vital piece on the board, one placed by Zaateroth herself. A piece now in peril of being removed.

“A moment, Helisor,” Agathon said to the curator. “We will address your grievances, but there is a more pressing matter to which I must attend. I will summon you when I can.”

“But—”

Agathon waved a hand, leaving behind a small cloud of black smoke, and Helisor vanished, sent far away from the fortress and also far from the domicile of his own master. Agathon silenced and ignored the strident complaints the curator sought to send back from a distance.

* * *

Great Princess Gravnoy and those with her had ridden as long as they were able into the night, but at last their horses were lathered, and it became clear they must rest. Having avoided any of the towns and smaller villages they had passed, she had decided she preferred to encamp under the stars, avoiding contact with the locals. Her servants and soldiers erected their tents in a neat circle around the campfire and set sentries around the perimeter. She checked with Captain Osokin, leader of her escort, and then retired to her tent.

She was not alone, as several robed figures awaited, kneeling with heads bowed, a series of carefully arranged black candles lit between them. The couriers and nobles brought with her were all dedicated members of her cult who feared for their fates should they neglect their religious obeyances. Having earlier abandoned her white robe for more practical riding garb, Regna accepted a black robe from one of her supplicants. She lit incense and allowed the unusual and pungent aromas to fill the tent as she spoke prayers to their dark masters.

The others intoned a solemn chorus after her words. Combined with the flickering light and the soporific incense, Regna could feel her mind entering a trance-like state. It was a simple ritual, but one that reinforced the oaths by which the others were committed to her and her cause, serving those greater beings beyond Urcaen. On other occasions, there might have been other darker rites, offerings of blood and life, seeking to add to the vast unfulfilled debt of promised souls. She did not take that risk now, not while on the road and far from her secured grounds. They were too close to Korsk and those who would capture and interrogate them for such blasphemies. As this minor rite ended, she was about to allow the others to depart and sleep; they would have an early rise to continue their journey.

But then, amid the swirling smoke, something manifested. Regna felt a tingling along her skin and heard a sibilant whispering. The incense smoke twisted and moved unnaturally, shaping in its voids a pale face with smoking red eyes that stared into her own. She sucked in a breath and anxiously awaited its words, while gesturing to the others to keep their heads bowed and their voices intoning.

The voice she heard was only in her mind, arriving with a powerful clarity that was always startling, though she had experienced it many times.

“Regna, Disciple of Nabezeth, Chosen of the Weaver. Agents of your empress follow. They cannot discover your true loyalties. Not yet. I will reveal them to your eyes.”

“If we eliminate them, the empress will know the cause,” Regna thought back.

“Do as I instruct, and all will be as it must.”

* * *

Regna remained in her black robe, signaling for Captain Osokin to join her as they stepped silently and carefully away from the campsite. Her eyes adjusted swiftly to the darkness and more. The sky was overcast, and no stars or moons loaned their light, but the clarity of the landscape was striking and unnatural. As she guided the captain, she saw him stumble slightly on stones in the path or the uneven ground, which was clear to her. Agathon was with her still, seeing through her eyes, inhabiting the incense smoke she could still feel lingering in her lungs. The feeling of being suffused by this greater being gave Regna an intoxicating thrill.

There, in the near distance, her augmented eyes saw four figures crouched down at their own encampment away from the road, nestled within a slight crevasse, sheltered by an overhanging boulder. Even in daylight she would not have spotted them from where she stood, but now they glowed with a yellow tinge that revealed them through the intervening stone. She clasped Osokin’s arm and signaled ahead, gesturing to signify their number and position. The captain drew his sword and nodded.

They crept silently around the sheltering stone. One of the men was sitting with his back against the rock, keeping watch. She drew on the dark well of power gathered within herself and extended a hand to point in his direction. He did not see her until runes flared with a red gleam around her arm, drawing his attention.

His reactions were swift. He got to his feet with an impressive alacrity, but before he could draw his pistol, she clenched her fist, and he was consumed by orange fire. He screamed as infernal flames swept up his body from toes to temple, awaking the others sleeping in their bedrolls. They thrashed and sought to extract themselves.

Captain Osokin was on the next nearest before he could tumble free. The sleeping agent’s hand just reached the hilt of his own weapon before the captain’s sword pierced his neck. Another of the agents managed to get loose and draw his blade, but Osokin evaded his thrust and stepped back, sword at the ready. Not wishing to risk losing her officer, Regna enveloped that man in hellfire as well, watching him sizzle and burn like tallow. Her augmented eyes let her see the souls tear loose from the bodies of the slain, leaving colorful trails across her vision before they were gathered against their will to be absorbed by the dark master within her.

The last man at the fire had stood, his face now lit by the still-burning bodies of his peers. This one, unlike the others, wore the attire of a member of the Greylords Covenant. He raised his hands to gather his own magic, and the air around them chilled and gathered in a swirling vortex as he prepared to unleash winter’s cold.

“Do not slay that one,” a voice said in her mind. “His soul is already bound to me. His ambitions and thirst for power will allow him to be put to our use.”

“Wait, Greylord!” Regna’s commanding voice crackling with latent power, her eyes flashing white. “You need not fear me.”

The Greylord froze, and the icy-blue runes that had begun to manifest around his hands faded. He stared into her eyes as if seeing the being within her that borrowed her eyes.

“Do not…” he said with some difficulty, as if the thoughts and words could not come. “I am…”

“Hush,” Regna said soothingly, stepping closer and taking down the hood of her robe so he could better see her face. “Do not be alarmed. You are to be spared. Come with me, and we will discuss the terms of your service.”

She extended her hand to him while Captain Osokin watched on. The Greylord frowned and trembled, as if struggling against something within himself.

A slight wisp of smoke left Regna’s lips with her next exhaled breath and flowed to the Greylord, entering his mouth and nostrils. His eyes took on an unfocused look and he stared past Regna, his expression reacting to a voice she could no longer hear. Then he swallowed, nodded, and took her hand. Until the sight fully left Regna, she could now see a thin strand of glowing energy extending both from the Greylord and herself, a strand that attenuated into the distance before vanishing. The ties of souls already bound to higher masters that watched from beyond Caen and Urcaen.

The voice of Agathon spoke again in her mind. “The time nears. Gather your cult and begin the final stages on the Hellspass gate. We come.”

The Oblivion Campaign Set is available online and in game stores everywhere today. Make sure you pick it up to find out everything that is going on in the Iron Kingdoms and to do your part in the war that will decide the fate of Humanity!