Masterminds

Initiating The Plan

The three hooded ones disguised themselves as ordinary people. Inside Sorcerous Sundries, the one called Alexandre - the senior human - posed as an eminent wizard - with the art of deception - he was able to meet Lorroakan. 

On the other hand, the other two met with Gortash's individuals, coordinating their next moves. 

Meanwhile, you had some rituals to prepare, offerings to be made, and apprentices to teach. All before lunch.

The morning presented itself with a brilliant prospect. Sceleritas gathered some victims and left them in the other novices' hands. While the poor lambs are in their care, he dashes through the temple, entering your room. He jumps at you, radiating excitement at such a tight schedule.

"Master! Get up! GET UP!" he says as he shakes you from your shoulders. Your brows frown. You want to get some more sleep. Lazily, you open your eyes, hitting your butler with your bare fist. He screams in ecstasy as his body hits the solid wall of bones. "Dear rotted master, strong as always. Nevertheless, you must practice with livestock. I have gathered qu-"

You look at him bored at his praises. At your bored gaze, he shuts his mouth. Too many years of hearing him shout acclaim at the top of his lungs, becoming a hassle. Bowing, he brings you your clothes.

"Any news on the scouts?" you say sleepily. You get up, grabbing the clothes from your servant's hands. As you dress up, Sceleritas Fel prepares the report. He takes the confidential scroll from his hat and begins reading.

"A scout was able to infiltrate inside Ramazith's Towers and chat with Lorroakan. He, as expected, is short in devilish knowledge. *ahem* 

As for the other two, they met with banites spies and are collaborating in search of any other trail."

The moment you hear his name you mutter, 'Lorroakan...' as you make the final touches to your garments while glaring at the mirror.
'That insufferable pedantic dimwit... ' you mumble as you make the final touches on your outfit.

While your schedule, busy as usual, keeps you entertained, Gortash is entertained with the arrangements.

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-Gortash POV-

'How strict is Mephistopeles's security? This devil is fond of arcane magic, it must be of the same nature...' you think while walking around the room - pondering. Rummaging through the humongous amount of scrolls, looking for encyclopedias, guides - anything related to the subject.

Just thinking of his snobbish son - Raphael - makes the hate grow more intense. Numerous tragic events rush through your head. The damage inflicted on you. The inhuman conditions you lived in. The warmth of Avernus on your skin.

There you were, a little boy. Shrewd - agile. Pathetically sold by your useless parents, you stepped into the House of Hope with nothing but rags. A sense of humiliation and despair as fiends relished in your suffering.

'Hideous little shit', a murmur slips from your mouth while reading a book of demonology, written by a priest of Lathander. On every entry about Mephistopheles, you annotate. Writing down his feats, his preferences and aversions. A full investigation. Yet, there is a key fact that you coveted the most. 

His vulnerabilities

And no book - none of your collection nor Bane's faithfuls' - contained a single hint. 

An agent then leaves a note on your desk - still reading the book, concentrated -, no words needed, just a text and soon he retreats to his duty.

No luck in finding the Temple of Bhaal

Those failed attempts at locating the temple add to your stress. You craved to know your god's sworn foe nest, though it seems luck isn't on your side on this matter. Yet, as messy as bhaalist tended to be, it seemed to have changed its ways. Most notorious, you thought. 

'Finally, a worthy one... How long has it been since my company revelled in such intellect?'

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In the meantime, the gory ritual that took place is being cleaned up by Sceleritas, who is doing so with much delight. He hums a song while rubbing the floor with a wet towel, the other younglings revere you for the lesson. They bow to you, their eyes blazing with excitement as they savour the sweet scent of death.

Your fame already ascended you to a patron, their devotion flooded the entire sanctuary. Such is the glory of your deeds that your followers preferred your teachings rather than the usual said by other bhaalists.

"You did all deliciously, children," you say as they surround you with questions.

"S-sir, may I ask what is your preferred method?" asks the young girl shyly.

'Preferred method to kill someone?' you ponder. No method that has not been used by you. You don't particularly like one more than the other, rather you prefer the one that is more efficient and less time-consuming. You smile softly at the "innocent" pupil.

"As long as it is effective."

After the Q&A session, you head to your office once again. There, the trio abides on your arrival with exciting news. Standing still in front of the door to your office.

*creak*

"You look like you found something, right?" as you close the door, the three of them kneel with due respect. You sit on your chair and wait for the briefing. The oldest one, Alexandre, begins exposing what was found.

"We discovered that Mephistopheles resides in Cania. He likes arcane magic and most likely will be using it. As for his activity, he doesn't seem to trifle with humans as much as other devils."

"Anything else?"

"Indeed, sir. We have a letter from Gortash. He, himself, said to give it to you. Seems urgent."

The man extends his hand with a neatly folded missive. A pompous seal decorated with a tiny 'E.G' at the right bottom. You nod to the agent, gesturing them to leave. In no time, the three leave you alone with the notice.
As soon as you grab it, you sense a faint trail of magic.

Shall we get some air? Meet me at Rivington, at the beach. I have something to show you.

A mouth spell, and the very voice of Gortash even.

Upon opening it, the luxurious paper with his handwriting reads as follows:

I developed a new device while researching the devil. We might need it.

Then the text changes into weird scribbles, unintelligible to any other person, but it seems it has a pattern. A code. Gortash must be very wary of something - or someone - if he begins cyphering his missives. Which means, you must respond in the same way.

It takes a few hours to decypher the entire text, writing down the substance for further use. With ease, free time and the comfort of screams, you can finally create the notepad which you'll use in the future to decode more messages. The notepad rests on your desk. With a complex incantation, you hide its contents from future prying eyes... Thinking primarily of Orin...

The crown of Karsus is most likely behind some fancy arcane lock.

It'll be no easy task to recover it. I suggest we meet somewhere safe - secluded - or else we could be interrupted by fiends. We need to prepare thoroughly unless we want to be killed on our first try.

By the way, be wary of anyone called Raphael. Make your spies avoid him at all costs.

The prospects look against you. The ancient magic at work, the freezing hell. Looking with hope at Gortash's creation, you vow to retrieve the crown successfully, for Father.