Safad's Nightmare
And yet, there was still...something.
Safad awoke in a nightmare. Rows and rows of people were laid out in what looked like the great hall of one of the taverns. Monstrous thralls and Lakevillians patrolled every row, as scores of illithids levitated above. Every now and then a pair would float down and minister to some poor soul. Sometimes they would latch on to a cranium with their tentacles and feed on the psychic energy while consuming the brain it in orgiastic glee.
Safad was in a cold sweat, with a deep craving for sfos—deeper than he had ever felt. He thought he would die without it. He noticed he was bound and gagged, his tentacle wound bandaged. He called out for Rook but his Raven familiar was nowhere to be found. A sightless grey Grimlock with a notched ax was standing next to him and grunted unintelligibly when he awoke.
An illithid heard the creature and floated over, holding his beloved sfos. He could feel the saliva warm in his mouth at the thought of that sweet nectar.
A voice in his head.
“This? Yes, it’s yours….I will help you….it's easy: you can have the sfos but then we will both of us indulge and I will enjoy the humanoid delicacy of the terrified fellow next to you. If you overcome your addiction and abstain, I will abstain as well, and let him live.”
Safad looked over and saw a battered Deelon Cart, administrator at the GreyPeak School of Ranging and friend of the party's. Safad wriggled in his binds as the illithid cackled with glee. He tried so hard to resist but when the floating aberration held the vial of succulent blue liquid over his mouth, he let the drops fall in. The crunching sound of Deelon's skull haunted him as he fell back into sated sleep.
He awoke again, this time clammy, vomiting, and pain everywhere. He wanted to die. He knew it had been many days since he had taken his dose. It was excruciating.
He saw a similar scene as before except far fewer people on the floor. Instead, there were rows of people standing, with an illithid master floating above. It clutched a rough stone that glowed a soft blue, and seemed to be emitting instructions, as the mass of people moved in unison, re-learning. Safad caught a glimpse of a dwarf with wild auburn hair in the front row, and a halfling woman with shorn hair.
Then the illithid—the same one or different one he wasn't sure—hovered over and brushed Safad's damp face with a tentacle.
“Oh yes, good, now you are ready…”
And then Safad's brain erupted into a searing fire of pain and he knew nothing.
Safad awoke in a nightmare. Rows and rows of people were laid out in what looked like the great hall of one of the taverns. Monstrous thralls and Lakevillians patrolled every row, as scores of illithids levitated above. Every now and then a pair would float down and minister to some poor soul. Sometimes they would latch on to a cranium with their tentacles and feed on the psychic energy while consuming the brain it in orgiastic glee.
Safad was in a cold sweat, with a deep craving for sfos—deeper than he had ever felt. He thought he would die without it. He noticed he was bound and gagged, his tentacle wound bandaged. He called out for Rook but his Raven familiar was nowhere to be found. A sightless grey Grimlock with a notched ax was standing next to him and grunted unintelligibly when he awoke.
An illithid heard the creature and floated over, holding his beloved sfos. He could feel the saliva warm in his mouth at the thought of that sweet nectar.
A voice in his head.
“This? Yes, it’s yours….I will help you….it's easy: you can have the sfos but then we will both of us indulge and I will enjoy the humanoid delicacy of the terrified fellow next to you. If you overcome your addiction and abstain, I will abstain as well, and let him live.”
Safad looked over and saw a battered Deelon Cart, administrator at the GreyPeak School of Ranging and friend of the party's. Safad wriggled in his binds as the illithid cackled with glee. He tried so hard to resist but when the floating aberration held the vial of succulent blue liquid over his mouth, he let the drops fall in. The crunching sound of Deelon's skull haunted him as he fell back into sated sleep.
He awoke again, this time clammy, vomiting, and pain everywhere. He wanted to die. He knew it had been many days since he had taken his dose. It was excruciating.
He saw a similar scene as before except far fewer people on the floor. Instead, there were rows of people standing, with an illithid master floating above. It clutched a rough stone that glowed a soft blue, and seemed to be emitting instructions, as the mass of people moved in unison, re-learning. Safad caught a glimpse of a dwarf with wild auburn hair in the front row, and a halfling woman with shorn hair.
Then the illithid—the same one or different one he wasn't sure—hovered over and brushed Safad's damp face with a tentacle.
“Oh yes, good, now you are ready…”
And then Safad's brain erupted into a searing fire of pain and he knew nothing.
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