Do Not Go Gently (IC)

[AmberVael]

Gethzorim

Snarling lightning tears across the sky while black, nightmarish storms of chill rain and fanged shadows tear at the remains of Gethzorim's once impressive citadel. Inevitably, the stone is worn down just a little further, gradually each piece of his castle is torn away, leaving him in the midst of a slowly developing ruin. His servants and allies are by now fleeting memories, and all that remains of his lordship are his own pride and thoughts.

One of his towers crumbles away, collapsing into a long eroded courtyard. His temporary home would not last much longer, and with it, the last vestiges of his small bastion of power would be ripped away.

"A Lord is not merely one who obtains authority. Such power can be taken and given, bought, bestowed, stolen, and traded away. A Lord is one who creates his own authority- he controls all around him through his will, and his grip does not falter."
Asmodeus smiles, a black and bottomless maw without mercy. All who saw it knew that they were merely prey before the predator.
"And so it is that I do not bestow Lordship upon you, Gethzorim. Let it be acknowledged that you took the title on your own."

Control.
He had lost control.
His enemies had risen against him, and he could not turn them back. When his home had been invaded, he had to flee. When he arrived in this forsaken place, his remaining servants had fled or vanished one by one, leaving him alone, no power but his own to rely on.

He could see the same despair leeching through the few other entities who shared this prison of a plane- the Black Cabal had shattered, its few surviving members killing each other in feuds, or locking themselves away in fortresses of magic and nightmares. The few fiends he had seen were either listless, soon to be devoured by the chaos roiling around the plane, or driven mad by what they had experienced.

But he remained, and though the power he had held in Baator had slipped from his grasp, there were still resources available to him. The damnable forces of good would not follow him here, so he had a refuge. Though they despaired, fought, and snarled at one another, he knew of the locations of at least a few of the remaining Black Cabal members... perhaps their magic could be of use to him. Still more interesting were the latent properties of this plane; others might not know it or understand it, but he could feel the strange similarities to the realm of Baator. He had attuned to that place once, becoming the devil he is now, and so he can feel that this place, mad and terrible as it might be, might have its own power to tap into. Whether this would be beneficial or not was, of course, unseen.

His few imp servants that somehow remained alive watched their lord quietly, awaiting some kind of action from Gethzorim, as if expecting him to rise from his throne and take back what had been lost from them.


Ohrmuzd Ahriman

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

The storm spun in the distance, so far from him, yet so monumental in size that he could see it clearly, even from his current position. Mere echoes of the fathomless fury of the infinite gyre tore apart the mountainous flesh of this plane, and its lightning struck down to touch even those who could not see its body.

Yet, this was not the sight that brought Ohrmuzd to his current location. Though the flashing spectacle of the lightning illuminated the caves, and the howling screams of the winds echoed across the rocks in unholy chorus, they were not the main features of interest. Instead, what there was to be seen were the strange carvings and language that he could not identify. Of course, though he did not know their precise origin, he knew enough to narrow it down; the style of the carvings and language pointed towards an origin not of the material plane (not that this was any surprise whatsoever), but more specifically to ties that seem unusually similar to those of the Illithids.

That said, knowing their origins doesn't help him decipher them. They're still in a language he's unfamiliar with, and the carvings are in a sort of Far Realm style... which, while easily identifiable, are no more comprehensible without a great deal of close study.

Of course, what else does he have to do on this plane? To find something to study at all is unusual, let alone a sample of writing of this nature. Perhaps with a bit of time and magic he might unlock a few secrets of this place. As he looks upon the drawings, the scholar's quill pulses in his hand, beating in time with the lightning of the storm.


Tibian

The storm rolls away, quietly rumbling overhead as it moves on to other sites, leaving behind a dusty and scoured plain, dark gray and blue rocks its only adorning features. That is, the only lasting features.

Strange, toxic and gelatinous ichors spill across the ground, coating it in macabre paint. Atop this base lie the pieces of a hideous sculpture, carved from flesh and bone, ectoplasm and cartilage. Yet, this is not a lone masterpiece, but a single piece in a gruesome gallery strewn across the alien landscape. The wide array and effortless mastery of this artistry speak to any who understand the skill required to execute this level of butchery.

The artist himself stands in the midst of his work, his burning sword in hand.

There was no challenge here- mindless creatures with hunger and nothing more. Meaningful foes could only be found elsewhere, and such a place was seemingly denied to him; so he wanders and slays, moving endlessly without destination, confined to this plane where any harm he could inflict had as little impact as possible.

He had no allies- who here would ally with one such as he? There was little to find or gain. He was without resources, and without direction.

Perhaps it would change.
Or perhaps not.


Zillithon

The feeling was strange. Familiar, but changed; strangely comforting, but cold and dangerous as well. Zillithon couldn't identify it, or at least not in a way that made sense. Anyone else wouldn't have felt it, or known what it was even if they did. But Zillithon was different, this was the sort of thing his mind was created to do, attuned and sharpened for.

It was such a subtle thing- a quiet whispering, a soft pressure or emotion in the back of his mind. Anyone else would have attributed to their own thoughts or feelings, but Zillithon recognized it, for it was something he was used to feeling every day: the telepathic presence of an Elder Brain. Yet, though he could understand it in theory, there was something dreadfully wrong about it. It was not quietly unfathomable or comforting in its fatherly, relentlessly driving and demanding way- but cold, keening, and hateful. Worse still, Zillithon could not understand it, it was as if it spoke some strange language, or was unintelligibly babbling. While the Elder Brain's thoughts were not always understood, it was like listening to a muffled voice: one might not understand what was being said, but they knew something was being said, and could infer and understand the tone or voice.

What he 'heard' could not be understood in this way. It was shrieking and foreign, but with the same touch of what he understood. More pressing, however, was the strength of its presence. If it were near, Zillithon could have sensed its mind, tracing it back to its source with his power. But he cannot trace it- its mind reaches out further than his, further than the reach of any Elder Brain he knew of.

The few facts he had made him conclude that this was certainly not the same as the entities he was familiar with, but the similarities were strangely fascinating and intriguing...


Gilgeas

"Our time isn't over, Gilgeas. We're only being delayed."
Bane, head of the Black Cabal- or what was left of it- turns towards the window of his tower, looking out towards the oncoming storm.
"Everyone knows my name, Gilgeas. I have titles and myths- but they all focus on what I've done. Sometimes, I think it is a shame how much we focus on what is done, rather than what is not done.
"Patience, patience is what so many like us lack. With drive, vision, and power... I can understand why such a trait is abandoned, but it is a foolish thing to toss aside."

The silver, pristine armor of Bane's body is edged and spiked, emphasizing the warlike and violent nature that is so often ascribed to him. It is true- when in battle, Bane is a terror to behold, but to think of him as a mad, furious archmage is quite mistaken. The warforged is cunning, patient, and efficient as well; not the efficiency of a machine, or warrior, but of someone experienced and aged.
"But, I think you are ready to act, aren't you?"

His magical prowess was indisputable, and he was likely the most potent arcanist on the entire plane. Further, he was given grudging respect due to his position within the Black Cabal and his fame. There were few who hadn't heard of Bane- this was the first Gilgeas had met him, but the tales of him were spread all over. Of course, much the same could be said of most people who lived on this plane now, but Bane was a step beyond most of them.

If anyone could point out or locate potential allies, either by magic or mundane knowledge, it would be Bane; and that is why Gilgeas is here, in the top of a tower Bane constructed of magic, steel, and the plane itself. While most other magically crafted structures have been crumbling, Bane's has remained quite stable.

[WhiteKnight777]

Gilgeas

Gilgeas reclined in his chair, watching the warforged with alien, cat-slitted eyes. There was indeed something feline about him - a lazy, patient sort of hunger combined with an almost arrogant self-assurance. But whatever else he might be, right now, he was alert, eager - and angry.

"Ready? Now that's a difficult question. I don't think any of us are ready to strike back. But I think we need to begin preparations for our return as soon as possible." He watched the construct, trying to gauge his reaction - no easy feat, given bane's impassive metal mask. "I know of patience. It's been eons since I felt my own heartbeat - and you and I both know that without the whisper of grains in the hourglass keeping your mind obsessed with the here-and-now... well, one tends to take the long view of things."

He paused, pursing his lips. "So yes, I know of patience. But I also know about plagues. Have you ever sat and watched a plague? Watch it slip its dripping, sticky tendrils itself through a city, a nation? I have." His eyes flickered with distant memory. He could smell the fetid air, and the stench of charred flesh, and see the horizons stained red with the smokey, hellish glow of burning cities. "They all have their differing natures, plagues. They hunt and prey in their own special ways. Some linger like a lover's touch. Others are quick and cruel as a jagged knife across the throat." he raised up one hand, a his index finger extended for emphasis. "If you give them time to fester, let them take root and spread... then they will drown you in blood, offal, and an ocean of corpses."

"What we are dealing with is a plague. And the longer we let them settle in, the stronger their hold becomes on the world - on our - world, the harder they will be to burn out. I'm not saying that we must charge back in, swords in hand. At this stage, that would be both foolish and premature. But we need to organize. We need to plan. We need to discover what resources we have, how freely we can move in and out of this place - and how easy it will be for them to reach us. We need to marshal our forces and husband our strength. Most of all, we need to unite. Right now, we are a mob, formless and without purpose. They have already proven they can butcher us divided. We need to ready ourselves, rally those who are willing to make a common stand, and begin determining just how we're going to take back what is rightfully ours."

[TheDarkDM]

Dust.

It had all turned to dust. Armies and palaces, riches and power, all of it was gone. The sorrow of failure ate at Gethzorim, grinding down his will just as the storm outside ground down his home. For days it seemed like he might be lost, surrendered to the madness of the plane, but then his ruminations turned to his lord. Asmodeus had embodied everything a devil longed to be, power without end, malice without match. Those ancient words cut through the fog of the citadel like knife, for what was this plane compared to the terror that was the Lord of the Nine? Standing to the cracking of joints that had remained still for days, Gethzorim unfurled his wings in a burst of wind and speed. Behind him, the throne of his despair shattered under the tempest, and as he looked up Gethzorim saw the storm begin to dissipate through one of the many holes in his roof. Catching sight of his cowering imp servitors, Gethzorim bellowed commands in a voice that was raw with disuse.

"You, parasites! No longer will you benefit from the protection offered by my power without earning my good will. There are multiple entities wandering this void who have yet to surrender to despair. Go, find these beings, tell them that Gethzorim, last Duke of Hell wishes to meet them. We must decide how we can take back our power. We must decide how to re-establish...control."

With a shriek the imps flew off, still more terrified of their master than of their bizarre surroundings. Cutting through the twilight skies on red wings, they sought out whomever they could who still seemed capable of resistance. Eventually, the fiends landed before Ahriman, Gilgeas, Tibian, and Zillithon, each with the same message on their lips.

"Excuse us, great ones, but we bear a message from our master. Gethzorim, Lord of the Black Spire, wishes to speak with you. He believes that together, you all may be able to achieve what none of you could alone. He awaits your presence within his ruined citadel."

[Jalor]

Ohrmuzd Ahriman

Ahriman studied the symbols and markings, committing every feature to memory. Later, he would draw perfect replicas for further study. In case it was necessary to return to the area, he had already noted the plane's major landmarks in relation to one another. The turning of the distant storm provided a makeshift clock; Ahriman no longer had to even think about counting its rotations to measure time.

When the imp addressed Ahriman, he thought for almost an entire minute before responding. "I have tentatively accepted your master's offer. I am ready to depart at once." He traces an outline in the air with his quill pen and mumbles something, and a misty silhouette of a horse materializes. He climbs onto it as though it were solid, motioning for the imp to join him. "This phantom steed travels more quickly than you or I are normally capable of traveling. Tell me how I might reach your master's citadel from our present location, preferably avoiding such delays as the lairs of airborne beasts."

[Zaydos]

Zillithon

The mental force that Zillithon felt caused him more than a moment's pause. He felt a flash of resentment, the presence of an Elder Brain meant his new found 'liberty' was in danger. This was a situation that he would need to approach carefully. An Elder Brain needs servants, and is sure to surround itself with them. An Elder Brain is also extremely powerful, and a very useful resource in these dire times. Zillithon would have to approach carefully, he would have to discover what he could about this new development. He would have to learn how powerful this new Elder Brain is so that he could approach it from a position of strength. He would have to do what he could to prepare for this inevitable meeting.

Suddenly he sensed the presence of an inferior mind nearby. An imp flew towards his sanctum and Zillithon's eyes narrowed. It delivered its message and for an instant, less than a moment to the human mind, Zillithon paused to think. "Tell your master that I will consider his invitation" Zillithon says telepathically dismissing the imp.

As soon as the creature was gone Zillithon stared out across the mad wastes and cast Greater Scrying on this so called Gethzorim, Lord of the Dark Spire.

He also considered what information he already had about this Gethzorim.
OOC:

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Knowledge (the Planes) [roll0]
Knowledge (Nobility and Royalty) [roll1]
Knowledge (Local) [roll2]
Knowledge (History) [roll3]
Knowledge (Religion) [roll4]
Knowledge (Arcana) [roll5]
Lore [roll6]
Yeah a little overboard but just wanted to make sure I rolled any that are relevant.

[Zaydos]

OOC: oops messed up my Knowledge checks.

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Greater Scrying DC 32 with a modifier to the roll based upon how much knowledge I have about him.
Knowledge checks.
Knowledge (the Planes): (1d20+34)[46]
Knowledge (Local): (1d20+34)[48]
Knowledge (Religion): (1d20+34)[52]
Knowledge (Nobility and Royalty): (1d20+21)[25]
Knowledge (Arcana): (1d20+44)[53]
Lore: (1d20+24)[33]

[AmberVael]

Ahriman

The citadel, as the imp knows and will easily be able to inform Ahriman (and I assume it will), is relatively close by.
The plane unfortunately does not have cardinal directions- it has an annoying tendency to shift around and reform, and there are not enough sentient and coherent creatures living here (that any of the new arrivals know of) to have ever tried making a set map of the place.
However, relative to Ahriman's current position (assuming the direction he faces is North), the citadel is north-east, and about ten miles from his current position.


Gethzorim

A short time after he sends out the imps, Gethzorim feels a strange magic reach out for him- he feels that if he mustered his will, he could dismiss it, but the real question is- does he want to?
It's possible that someone is attempting to contact him, perhaps.

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I already rolled a save for you, and you succeeded- however, you may choose to fail if you wish.

You can also roll a spellcraft check to try and determine what the spell is, since you feel its effects, but it might be harder to succeed since you don't know where it is coming from.

Zillithon

Zillithon knows a fair bit about Gethzorim- a pit fiend in the service of Asmodeus himself, specifically, and powerful enough to be regarded as a Duke of Hell. Mainly known for his skill at war and combat, Gethzorim was one of the last devils to survive the attack on the Nine Hells.

He's been a power for far longer than Zillithon is alive, so the illithid only knows myths and rumors of his origin- that he was once a mortal man, who sacrificed an entire kingdom for his own gain. Using politics and combat, he swiftly and brutally rose through the infernal ranks, eventually ending up in the position he gains his title from- Lord of the Black Spire.


Gilgeas

"A state of mind is not a disease- and even with all the magic in the world, you cannot eliminate free thought without eliminating the quality of having a mind."
Bane doesn't look towards Gilgeas, instead staring out the window, making it impossible to see it his expression except for the faintest reflection on the glass... which doesn't reveal much anyway.
"It may take time beyond that which most of us will survive, but eventually this state of mind will fade away, and others will express themselves. What is occurring now cannot last, though it may remain for quite some time. We may need a new species before it fades away."

Bane turns towards Gilgeas.
"I am not willing to commit important resources to an attempt just yet. Their forces are too strong, and even if we gathered all of those who remained here, our chance of success would be slim. What I desire can be gained simply by waiting, and I have infinite time in which to wait.
"However... I would not by adverse to returning sooner. If there are things you desire, information you wish to have, I may be able to provide, or direct you to them."

[WhiteKnight777]

Gilgeas

The vampire lord inclined his head in acknowledgment to the warforged before speaking once more. "Ordinarily I would agree with you - but this is more than a simple war or shift in the balance of power. This last war has seen the alteration of fundamental planar principles. The Abyss is a weak and dying thing, pulsing out its last faint flickers of life in the midst of the void - and hell is poisoned and dead. The old eidolons of darkness, the gods and archdemons and devils, they are slain or vanished. Perhaps in time the shadows will creep back into the world - but I am not willing to gamble on a maybe."

He steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Nevertheless, I respect your position, and I would be grateful for any assistance you could render. I would like to know a few things - first and foremost, how secure we are here. What the means of entrance and exit are to this plane, and how they may be accessed. Second, the locations of any other holdouts you may know, and lastly, the identity of any entities you know who may be sympathetic to my intent."

[Zaydos]

Zillithon

Zillithon watches the pit fiend. He notes its casting of spells, most likely signaling that it knows it is being watched.
Spellcraft to determine which spells are being cast

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(1d20+38)[50]
(1d20+38)[55]
(1d20+38)[44]

As he suspected. Zillithon decides almost instantly that he will go to meet this pit fiend. The fact that it noted his scrying is distressing, but its hasty use of spells will weaken it in the long term. He has no need to rush as of it, and he can wait for its defensive spells to wear off and then prepare his own defenses.

Zillithon prepares to wait. He casts his own standard issue long duration defensive spells (assuming they are not already active)
Buff spells

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Extended Greater Mage Armor (30 hour duration): +6 to AC
Extended Superior Resistance (48 hour duration) +6 to saves
Extended Heart of Air (30 hour duration) +10 to fly speed
Greater Anticipate Teleport (Sp-L; 24 hour duration): stops incoming teleportation for 3 rounds and gives warning.

And then will wait 3 hours observing the pit fiend.

Edit: I had a typo in the time he was waiting.

[TheDarkDM]

As the minutes pass and the being who scried on him failed to show, Gethzorim moved to a convenient hole nearby to watch the horizon. Eventually, he turned towards the sensor.

"You know, if I was inherently hostile to you I would have resisted your attempts to scry on me. At least do me the courtesy of coming quickly rather than making me wait and ponder your identity."

[Zaydos]

Zillithon

Zillithon notes Gethzorim's words but continues waiting, allowing someone to scry on you is no proof of friendly intent many a trap can be set that way. He would wait, and watch.

In the meanwhile he could at least ponder the problem of the Elder Brain. He directed his mind once more towards it, and the problems it presented. He had no way as of the moment to determine its location, scrying on it would be doomed to failure unless it let him succeed and prone to backfiring in some way he would find undesirable. His mind focused on it, he was within the range of its telepathy so perhaps it could hear what he was thinking and respond. He doubted it due to his difficulty in understanding its messages but he could try.

Mentally Zillithon reaches out towards the Elder Brain and says, "What/who are you? What do you want with me? Where are you?"

Then he waits, more than slightly afraid at what can come of this.

[Jalor]

Ahriman

"Ten miles? The phantom steed can travel more than twice that in an hour. We will arrive at your master's location in approximately twenty minutes." Ahriman tapped the steed's flank with his quill; it took off at an incredible speed, galloping through the air as though it were land,

[AmberVael]

Ahriman and Gethzorim

Gethzorim's imp appears at his side, informing him that Ahriman will arrive soon.

And so, Ahriman does arrive soon, finding the crumbling fortress in which Gethzorim resides. The outer walls have already fallen, and making his way inside is simple. It won't take him long to arrive at the only remaining room, which is Gethzorim's throne room.


Zillithon

The mental message of Zillithon does not receive a response, but he can feel it reaching its goal. It is not as though he is being ignored, but rather, that his message has reached something incapable of hearing or understanding it- he is unsure how he knows his, but somehow, he can sense it is true. This seems to confirm that the Elder Brain is not reaching out to him specifically, but rather, merely emitting its psychic presence in the same manner that all Elder Brain's do.

Which is hardly reassuring, given how its presence seems to Zillithon. Something is undoubtedly wrong here.

Still, perhaps if he could reach the Elder Brain, he might learn more of what it is- or even find some aid or assistance, or at least an understanding of what happened. With such a vast mental presence, doubtlessly this entity had some understanding of what had recently occurred...


Gilgeas

"Secure? The only method of entry or exit are the same rituals that brought us here, as far as we know. But there is very little we know of this place so far.
"I believe we have more reason to concern ourselves with the plane itself than outside forces, however. We have already lost some to it- it is not a place in which to muster forces or plan quietly, at least, not yet. It lacks the required stability and safety such a place would need. However, I have done some preliminary investigations into creating a safe area, as you can see...

Bane gestures to the tower around them.
"So far, the attempt seems to have been successful. But in such a place as this, I would not rely on my success lasting."

The warforged crosses his arms, looking down at Gilgeas in a distant and formal manner.
"We know of no other survivors. I could direct you to those whose fates I was unaware of, but we are cut off from everything while we wait here. They could be dead, or worse. I can give no guarantees beyond those who are here, with us.
"Of those, however, I believe there are already entities here sympathetic to your position on the matter. In fact, they have already begun looking for you. There is an invitation waiting for you outside, extended by one Gethzorim."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

A figure steps from a darkened house, a silvery gauntlet reaching around the door-frame and reflecting only pale ghost-light. A creature steps out, though it appears as a man at first. It steps into whatever dim light it is provided to reveal it's divine nature. It's gray wings fold more tightly against it's back to appear almost like a feathered cloak. His sword is caked with burnt blood and sheathed in pale fire. With an unfathomable whisper the flames seep into nothingness and he sheathes the weapon. Tibian now walks the streets, leaving his latest prey in their former home.

He watches the imp land on a statue of a bowed, grieving woman before him and explain the will of his master. "Hm. Then a wanderer will wander. I will meet him at this citadel." And with that he ventures forth, a ruined stronghold on the horizon.

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This illness has been hell. Posting the sheet in the OOC thread soon.

[WhiteKnight777]

Gilgeas

The vampire nodded. "Then I shall respond to it post-haste. I appreciate your advice, and thank you for your time. Before I depart, with your leave - is there any way you can share with me the method of egress from this planar shard? If we cannot muster here, then perhaps I will be able to search among the planar shards to find somewhere more conducive to my plan - provided I can find somewhere appropriately concealed from prying eyes."

[AmberVael]

Gilgeas

"It is a complex process, and you have things to attend to... I do not have the time to properly convey it, nor have I committed it to writing.
"If you return to me in a few days, I can make this ritual known to you. Though, it may be more complex for one such as you to perform, given that your magic is innate, not learned."
Bane waves Gilgeas off, as if his patience were waning.
"Now, you and I must bid farewell. You know the way out."

With that, Bane turns away rather abruptly and climbs up the stairs to the next level of his tower, leaving Gilgeas alone to do as he pleased- perhaps linger here a little longer, or exit to find new allies.


Tibian

The demon's citadel is not far, and soon enough, Tibian arrives. As he moves to enter, he will see Ahriman just ahead of him.

Whether they move in silence, or address one another, it does not take long to reach the throne room, where Gethzorim awaits them.

[WhiteKnight777]

Gilgeas

Having received the Pit Fiend's invitations, he inclined his head to Bane, exited the tower, and took off, flitting through the shadow-filled air towards Gethzorim's fortress.

[Zaydos]

Zillithon
Zillithon continues to wait and watch while pondering the nature of the elder brain. Even so he is not ready to go meet with a magically improved pit fiend, yet. He is willing to be patient.

[TheDarkDM]

Seeing Ahriman and Tibian enter the courtyard, Gethzorim let out a hum of surprise. The Elan was expected - his people were well known to the Pit Fiend - but the fallen angel was an unexpected development. Nevertheless, he didn't seem hostile, so Gethzrim moved to greet them. Wing's folded behind his back like a great cloak, Gethzorim emerged from the ruined archway of the main keep, striding towards the newly arrived powers on talons that dug deep furrows in the fetid decay that had been cut stone.

"Greetings, fellow outcasts. I am Gethzorim, former Lord of the Black Spire, and I bid you welcome to my home, such as it is. I believe others are on their way, as I sent more than two messengers and something has been scrying on me for the past hour. Regardless, make yourselves comfortable, please."

[WhiteKnight777]

Gilgeas

The Father of Midnight slipped down through the shadowy air, descending silently into the courtyard and greeting the others with an inclination of his head.

"I thank you, Gethzorim. I'm sure we already know each other, by reputation, at least. Few without skill escaped our burning world to make it to this half-land intact. And I assume the restoration of our former positions is what we have all gathered to discuss."

[Zaydos]

Zillithon

Ceding that it was probably in his best interest not to make them wait too much longer, and casting some preparatory spells he finally mutters the words of magic and teleports near to Gethzorim. Mentally those assembled there can hear his oily words, I am Zillithon the Last Scion of Althion, and Archmage of the Twisted Spire. You have asked for an audience, so I will grant it?

Spells

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Superior Invisibility (15 minutes, cannot be seen or heard or sensed with blindsense/blindsight, true seeing penetrates). 1 casting left.
followed by Psionic True Seeing (13 minutes). 19 PP left
Greater Teleport (0 castings left).
He'll teleport directly behind of Gethzorim but then fly 35-ft straight up.

[TheDarkDM]

Gethzorim seems unsurprised by the voice, with only the faintest flicker of annoyance in his face to show that he hears it at all. Despite the interruption, he continues.

"Indeed Gilgeas, I have heard of you. Your conquests added a good many souls to the infernal pits, and in hellish circles it was said you are a great warrior. As to the purpose of this meeting, we have all lost a great deal to the damned Diamond Smile. We must retake our old bastions of power, but first we must secure this fragile refuge. There is power here, just below the surface, and I believe we can harness that power with more information on the nature of this plane."

[WhiteKnight777]

Gilgeas

The vampire lord nodded in agreement with the fiend. "Indeed. I am potent, Lord Gethzorim. My strength is in sorcery, however, not arms. That aside, I agree with you. We need to gather intelligence on the nature of this place. I was speaking with Bane, actually, on just that subject. He seems to know a great deal - or at least more than us. I was most interested, however, in how we might leave this place. He told me there was a ritual that can be used for that very purpose, and that this plane is otherwise secure. "

He paused, looking around at the others. "If we are going to reconquer what is rightfully ours, the first thing we must do is raise an army. And then... well, I think we should start striking them where they live. We go to their homes. We murder their smallfolk. Burn villages, raze cities. We show them they shall never be safe. We make their lives hell. We show them suffering."

[Zaydos]

Zillithon

Zillithon's telepathic voice reverberates within the minds of those nearby So you call me here to help fortify our position in this plane. Do you have a proposition on how we set about doing this or is it for consultation I have been called?

Spoiler

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Zillithon will move up as high as he can in 1 more round if ceiling level will permit. He wants to get out of the 120-ft range of true seeing just in case.