A Beholder's Fury

Behind the heavy velvet curtains, thunderous applause erupts, signaling the climactic moment of the night's final act. The Ring Leader, donned in an exquisite, colorful suit and a resplendent hat, stands before a gilded mirror taking a fleeting moment to compose himself.

Once ready, he emerges from the shadows into the dazzling realm of radiant lights and mesmerizing colors. Their circus troupe summersaults and dances offstage, leaving The Ring Leader alone to command the spotlight for the grand finale. The audience's applause slowly wanes as they eagerly await The Ring Leader's voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen,  I thank you from the depths of my heart for joining us! As we part ways this evening, may your dreams be touched by the magic of our performance, and may the memories we've created together stay with like stars in the night sky. Goodnight, dear friends, and until we meet again!"

Anticipating an eruption of applause, the crowd remains eerily still. As the Ring Leader glances up at them, he sees their heads tracking to watch a figure cloaked in the attire of a king crossing the stage. The king is expressionless, and once he stands in front of the Ring Leader, he bows his head in anticipation. The Ring Leader finds in his hand a gleaming crown, and he smiles menacingly.

Upon placing the crown upon the king's head, a cataclysmic explosion shakes the earth. A rift tears through the fabric of reality, severing dimensions, while eldritch beings emerge and swoop down upon the audience, savagely ripping them limb-from-limb.

Despite the unfolding horrors, the audience remains motionless, willingly offering themselves to the nightmarish entities. Looking closer, their eyes are veiled in a sinister darkness, and their skin decayed. The Ring Leader recognizes each face among the victims: kings and queens, men, women, and children—everyone he has used.

Smiling with a look of understanding, he turns to see a mirror. Where he would expect his reflection, there is instead a young boy, barely an adult, looking back at him. His eyes are sunken, and his skin is greyed. A palpable pressure builds within his chest.

"Did we do it?" asks the boy in an emotionless tone.

"It appears we have," he responds as the pressure tightens in their throat.

"What's next?" asks the boy.

In a voice dripping with sinister confidence, "we revel in it."

With mounting urgency, the sensation surges upward until their jaw begins to splinter and shatter. This reveals a grotesque bulging eye wriggling from their gaping mouth. It gazes upon them, a silent probing witness to their fate.

Gwenevere Penhollow finds herself in her study, a cozy den filled with instruments and shelves of books. In front of her is one of her inventions: a delicate yet complex configuration of gears, cogs, and wire that resembles a ballerina. She meticulously applies the finishing touches to the intricate creation, fine-tuning the gears to ensure its flawless operation. As she works, a warm touch graces her neck, and a familiar voice breaks her concentration. "Ohhh, Gweneth! that's beautiful! What is it you're working on?"

Gwenevere looks up and smiles, her eyes meeting her husband's. His arm reaches over her shoulder to run his finger over the ridges of a gear. "Oh Gwen, it's amazing! Are you finished? Can you make it move?" Gwenevere nods, a sense of pride filling her. "Of course, my dear. Watch this." She gently cranks a hidden lever, and the intricate ballerina comes to life, twirling and dancing with an ethereal grace. As she turns to see her husband's reaction, her heart sinks.

His eyes, once warm and loving, are now as black as night. Oil with a hint of red runs from his eyes, trickling down the front of his suit. His skin peels off his body, revealing a decrepit and decaying form beneath.

"Can you make me move again?" he pleads, his voice distorted and agonized. "Can you make me... make me whole, my love. Fix me."

She can't look away as eyes push themselves up through pores in his skin, popping and bursting out, each one watching her with a terrifying intensity.

Pained, he screams, "FIX MEE!" 

Phobia looms in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, casting an eerie presence over a man curled up in the corner, fast asleep. He does not know who the man is or even his name, but he does know the man's deepest fear: spiders.

He extends a hand, fingers quivering with sinister anticipation, plunging deep into the man's dream. The man shoots awake with a dark, foggy haze clouding his eyes as he glances around frantically, shaking his head, and starts to mutter incoherent words. His fear escalates, and he begins screaming and crying while blood drips from his nose.

Phobia watches the man's torment with a cruel and unsettling satisfaction. Eventually, Phobia turns away to find another victim. However, turning around, he finds himself in a chillingly familiar room. It's filled with a sinister array of uncomfortable tools – drills, scalpels, knives, hammers, chairs, and tables designed to hold people in place but seemingly sized down to fit younger children.

Behind Phobia the man's screaming suddenly stops. Hearing a creek of floorboards, he turns to see a man with greasy slicked back hair smiling with cold, unsettling eyes. A smile graces the man's lips as he locks eyes on Phobia. 

Feeling fear for the first time in a long time, Phobia asks, "What are you doing here? I thought they locked you up."

Taking a step closer, his headmaster Malcolm Thorne responds, "I could ask the same of you, child. I'm finished with you. Although, I don't have to be.."

Seeming to remember he is no longer a defenseless child, Phobia raises his hand to see into his mind and probe his fear: a lack of control. Phobia makes him see children running everywhere, jumping on the tables, and laughing at him.

"No, no! Stop! Get down from there, get back here!" As the children in his mind laugh and point at him, he screams in pain, grasping his head, his body contorting in an unnatural and horrifying manner. There's a sickening crack and a dreadful ripping sound as he frantically clutches at his head. He falls to his knees, breathing heavily, his face a grotesque mask of torment.

After a moment Malcolm slowly raises his head with an eerie smile on his mouth and a large eye protruding from his forehead. His voice resonates in Phobia's mind, "Ohh, child.. I fear, but do you know what I do with fear? I let my anger squash it!"

For what feels like an eternity, Silica kneels beside a bed where Elaina lies, practically motionless. Her body exhibits a sickening shade of green, and her clothes remain damp from hours of vomiting. Her chest barely rises with each breath, as if any of them could be her last. Over and over, her breathing is so minuscule that Silica's heart drops, thinking she has finally passed on.

Frantically, Silica gathers her medicines and whatever he can find to rectify the situation. His hands move with desperation, a futile attempt to restore hope. With every passing moment, he slows, beginning to accept the grim reality that lies before him. Then, Elaina's eyes flutter open, and she watches his face, her expression blank and drained, as though the energy required to emote has been sapped from her.

"Silica," she murmurs, "they need help."

Silica gazes into her eyes, his own filled with sorrow and helplessness. "Elaina darling, save your energy."

"The people," Elaina pleads, her voice quivering, "they need you. They need your guidance. Please, Silica."

Silica responds "there is nothing I can do I am no-" as he is suddently cut off by Elaina. With an almost supernatural force, she desperately cries out, "SILICA, SILICA!" Her trembling hands claw at her face, tearing away the damp, matted strands of hair and ripping away her skin like a grotesque mask.  Beneath the layers of shredded flesh and flinching muscle, an unnatural, pulsating eye stares out at Silca. It is a sickening fester in place of Elaina's delicate features, and it fixates on him with a cold, unrelenting stare. 

Amidst the cacophony of swarming rats and the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart, nothing else penetrates her consciousness save for the relentless, macabre cadence of memories. A woman's spine is snapped against unyielding rocks. family's lifeblood splatters on the cliff's edge. A man's skull shatters against the unforgiving stone.

As the rats conclude their gruesome feast, only bone, blood, and tattered remnants of flesh remain. They fix their beady eyes upon her, and a haunting whisper creeps into her mind, a demand for more. "Mooooooore."

"You hunger for more, do you? Patience," she murmurs. The voices in her head persist, a chorus of "Feed ussss. We require mooooore."

The weight of the flute in her hands is a solemn reminder, and it feels as if a rope is binding her to it. "I shall feed you, and you shall obey. I will procure sustenance; wait but five minutes."

The voice falls silent, its patience palpable. Resolute, she departs her tent, venturing into the waking world to search for early visitors to the circus. She spies a plump couple who have clearly never known the gnawing ache of hunger. "They will suffice," she mutters under her breath, taking on the guise of a frightened child. Her eyes glisten with tears as she approaches them. "Excuse me," she sniffles, "have you seen my mommy? I am lost. Will you help me?"

"Oh, my! Yes, dear child, of course! Where did you last see her?" the woman responds with genuine concern. "That way, in that tent. Please, I'm so afraid."

"Of course, we will take you there and find your mommy. Hold our hands." They follow her into the tent, but as their eyes scan the interior confusion overtakes them. "Are you sure this was the right—" the man begins, but his words halt abruptly as they lay eyes upon a pit teeming with rats.

"Here, now eat," she commands, shoving the unsuspecting couple into the pit of ravenous rodents. 

She watched as the rats descend upon their victims, rending flesh and spilling blood in a gruesome frenzy. Their agonized screams are stifled by the writhing sea of vermin. All that remains visible is the man's severed hand, raised aloft amidst the chaos, an eye peering out from his palm. It gazes at her, blinks, and the crimson rope upon her wrist unravels ever so slightly, before tightening once more.

Introduction

• Each character has a dream about the eyes, watching them and calling them.

• They decide to seek out what this is in hopes it will fulfill a desire of theirs.

• They make strained introductions in a ramshackle bar, a nothic procured for them to meet. (killed everyone in it.)

• They enter the lair of their caller. It is revealed to be a beholder named Aldrax Cane, leader of the cult The Eye's of the Beholder.

• He is furious that his previous "vessels" were defeated and is asking the group to exact his vengeance. In return, they will gain some of his power.

• They agree, though hesitant, and proceed to locate their target. A loxodon named Umbra Paciphant of the Silent Defenders.

• To assist them, Aldrax gives them a sliver of his power, "Aldrax's Vision," allowing them to use his eye rays.

Arrival to Oxburgh

• They arrive in OxBurgh, the location of the Silent Defender's sanctum. 

• They see a group of monks, some injured, carrying a mysterious large metallic sphere into the sanctum.

• They catch wind that Umbra Paciphant may be arriving by boat, hopefully tonight.

• While waiting for the boat, they see a group of monks escorting a loxodon in the direction of the sanctum.

• They investigate and have reason to believe it is Umbra. They jump and kill the Loxodon and take one of his guards captive. In the process, they fireballed the town square, causing a massive distraction and many casualties.

• They interrogate the monk and discover that it was Ambro Boar, and that "Loyx Dread" would know the whereabouts of Umbra Paciphant. They also uncover a hidden entrance to Ambro's office.

• Llewellyn disguises as Ambro Boar, and Gwenevere disguises as the monk.

Entering the Sanctum

• They all enter Ambro's office via the secret entrance. Ambro Boar was the combat instructor.

• They discover that Umbra's combat scores were relatively low compared to the others. Odd, considering her "great defeat" of the Blind Eyes.

• Uncovering more information from other offices, they find letters concerned about whether Umbra is breaking their code and if she should be excommunicated.

• They also uncover worrying information about sightings of horrible monsters.

• They reach the incineration room to discover Loyx Dread, seemingly concentrating on a very dangerous spell on the sphere.

• Llewellyn approaches, disguised as Ambro, to inquire about Umbra. She finds out Umbra is off "galivanting at a party." Then she asks Loyx, "and master, how can I help with this situation you are dealing with?"

• This makes Loyx stop since Ambro has never called him "master." Usually they are seen as equals since they are two of three council members.

• This breaks Loyx's concentration, and the sphere opens an unintended surface. The hell-hound-esc monsters spill out. Some fall into the incineration pit while others topple onto the ground menacingly pulling themselves up to face the two of them.

• In a panic, Loyx drops the blast doors, which Llewellyn and Gwenevere are able to escape just before it drops. 

• Phobia leaves his calling card, and the team books it to the secret entry to escape.

• Silica is the last to leave, coating the office with a blast of mist and leaving everything fragile to the touch.

• They escape, and return to Aldrax.

Confrontation with Aldrax

• Aldrax is frustrated that they did not find Umbra, despite the useful information about her location.

• Paranoid, blinded by anger and bloodthirsty, he demands one of them allow him to take their life for their failure.

• They refuse and decide to fight him.

• During the battle, the Proprietor's body is destroyed, and he takes control of one of the nothics.

• In an epic battle, they defeat him and many of his nothics.

• Upon Aldrax's death, his power siphons into each of them as if it has nowhere else to go. The nothic's bow to them, recognizing them as the holders of Aldrax's Vision.

• Silica and The Proprietor refuse the power, whereas Gwenevere, Phobia, and Llewellyn accept it.