Critical Role & Sagas of Sundry - Introducing: D&D Legends and Lore | The Legend of Vecna

Episode Date: December 11, 2024

Greetings Adventurers! This week, we're bringing you an episode of another show we think you'll love: D&D Legends and Lore. D&D Legends and Lore brings to life the stories that D&D’s decades of lore has to offer as well as deep diving into said lore and presenting it in a digestible manner perfect for inspiring your own game of Dungeons and Dragons. Whether you are a Dungeon Master, Player, or just someone who enjoys learning about and experiencing great fantasy, D&D Legends and Lore is the podcast you have been waiting for. Wondrous magic, terrifying monsters, gods, demons, and unnamable horrors from beyond time and space, all brought to life and detailed on a podcast that runs on the imagination. Join us as we venture from the deepest pit of the Nine Hells to the enchanted forests of Arvandor telling tales both valiant and villainous! Please enjoy D&D Legends and Lore | The Legend of Vecna: Are you afraid of the dark? Of things that go bump in the night? Of the horrors and monsters that are as prevalent in D&D as they are in many cultures across the world? Join us as we take a look at one of the Vilest monsters to ever "grace" the pages of D&D, Vecna! Listen to D&D Legends and Lore wherever you get your podcasts and find them on PATREON, Youtube, Discord, Instagram, Twitter! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Savings may vary by state. Fuel restrictions apply. Seasite for details. Monsters. Those creatures both strange and group. that represent the most primordial of human emotion. Fear. Fear of the unknown.

Fear of danger. Of violence. Of death. And so often we attach physical abhorrentness to these monsters we imagine. Teeth that tear. Claws that rend. Scales, fur, feathers. Strange inhuman appendages.

Sickly. hues, putrid smells, and eyes that shine in the dark. The bizarre, deformed, and otherworldly embodying all that is wrong and evil in the stories we tell. Legends and Dragons is no exception to this. Creeping down in dungeons deep, or stalking by the dark of night, countless monsters lurk in wait, waiting to snuff out light and life. Dragons, eldritch aberrations, undead horrors, and other monstrosities are not mere myth, but very real, tangible dangers to the lives of those who dwell in the realms of D&D.

Lives where dark gods conspire for their very souls, fiends gleefully attempt to sow destruction and death, and monsters hunger for flesh and bone. Woe to thee who ventures here, for here there be dragons. And so who then can blame the denizens of such worlds for missing the truth we so often forget in our own, much more mundane world? We fear the monsters of our imagination, the beasts and boogeymen, the shadows and specters. Those abominations born of our nightmares and dark fantasies, born of all we fear, But the truth of it is that both our world and the worlds of dungeons and dragons have one particular thing in common. Monsters. True monsters. The ones most vile and horrifying are not born. They are made.

I am Omar Timsaugh, and this is D&D Legends and Lore, the city of Fleefe, Jewel of the East, a city of shining white. In sheer juxtaposition against the wild lands that surround it, the white walls of fleeth stand proudly upon the eastern plains as a stronghold of civilization and order. Here, the divine power of Fultus, God of Light, law, and order rules. And his clergy, dressed in silky white gown and cassock, trimmed with gold and silver, and embroidered with suns and moons, or the body of law. The Fultans teach that it was their God that set the sun and the moon in the sky and maintains them in their rigid procession, to show all creatures the one true way, a strict path which allows no deviation, but absolutely assures rightness. Others say that Fultus's order is not but tyranny dressed in robes of white, in the words

of the righteous. Whether through tyranny or divine benediction, for nearly one thousand years fleeth has sparkled on the plains of Eastern O'eric. For nearly 1,000 years, the tribes of Flannes, the native people of these lands, have bent the knee to the clergy of Fultus and their shining city. For nearly 1,000 years, Flethe has profited and prospered. But on this day, Fleeth was on the brink. The city was under siege.

On all sides of the holy city was encamped an army like no other. For this army was composed of both the living and the dead. For centuries now, a dark tide had been growing in the West, a tide that had seen the tribes and settlements of the plains fall one by one. And now the tribes of Flannes had been wholly conquered and united under a single banner. They had all come to heal under a new master. Those who resisted or stood against this master were first to die, only for their bones and corpses to be raised to serve in death. And what was once a far-flung territory became a fiefdom, which then became a kingdom, and now, some whispered, was an empire, an empire that had finally come to lay its claim on the shining city of Fleeth, spanning the gap between the enemy.

Army and the white walls of Fleece was the carnage and death of a great battle. Fleeth had suffered tremendous loss. In their zeal, they had thought to meet the enemy in open battle. Now, the only thing between this vile and dark enemy in themselves were the city walls and the protective shield of pure radiant light maintained at all times by the priests of Fultus. Hope was wearing thin, time was running out. The city was surrounded, and amidst the teeming hordes of ghouls, zealot tribesmen, ruthless cell-swords, dark necromancers, and Blackguard knights that threatened the safety and sanctity of fleeth, only one name dominated the minds of the denizens of the besieged city.

The undying king, Vecna the whispered one. Vecna the Lord of the Rotted Tower. The people of Fleeth dared not speak his name above more than a whisper. Such was the legend of his dark power. He had subjugated the Flan tribes and carved out a kingdom in the Sheldemar Valley through fear and conquest alone. And now he was at their doorstep. If not for the shielding light of Fultus,

maintained by constant prayer and ritual from the Fulton High clergy, Protecting their borders, the city would have been conquered days ago. For now, the siege lay in a stalemate. The forces of the undying king found themselves sealed out of the city, and the defenders of Fleeth, though safe, were sealed within. Upon a throne of corpses and skulls, Vecna the undying, stared down at the city shielded by the light of Fultus. Suspended above in the dark night sky,

hung low the two moons of o'erth. Both were nearly fully occluded in the darkness, and a knowing smile crept across the taunt flesh of the undead wizard's face. The time for his plan was soon to come, with the changing of the moons. But his smile did not reach his eyes, for in his eyes earned a seething, depraved hatred. A hatred so potent, it would not be quelled save by fire and blood. A hatred so uncompromising that allies closest to the undead king knew that this was more than mere expansion of his empire. This was personal. Masel walked with her son down the streets of fleeth. She refused to acknowledge or notice the hushed voices or looks of unease that followed them as they made their way. She was used to them. Her people, the Urflan, were shunned and feared by

others, even before the colonization of Fleeth. They were mystics, druids of the old faith. Known as the Urflanny, the Flann feared her people's association with dark powers better left alone. And with the coming of the Fultans, this ostracization only continued. Called the Untouchable Clan, the few remaining Ur-Flan were designated to a job that befit their station in the eyes of both Flan and Fulton alike. They were made handlers of the dead, embalmers and undertakers, and how those who worshipped and prayed to the God of Light and Life so hated associating with those who worked in the dark and with the dead.

Disdain and denigration were all Mazel had ever known. all of them. What did they know of her people or their ways? Nothing. They knew not of the old faith. Of her people's chosen status in the eyes of the serpent, the personification of magic itself, the serpent who bestowed upon the earthlanny

an inherent connection with the arcane, and through them performed great wonders. No, and for the better. for in the city of Fleefe, practice of the arcane was strictly for all else was considered anathema to Fultus. Mazel looked at her son who followed her closely. She was proud of him. He had taken to the ways of the serpent naturally. His potential was great.

In secret she instructed him, and his prowess greatly surpassed her own when she was his age. In secret she taught him, and he had proven quite gifted at keeping the secret, it would serve him well. For their lot in life, being handlers of the dead, was not enough to keep like her. Mazel's son would have to be creative to keep them fed and sheltered. Mazel dreamed of a day the serpent might bless them so mightily that they could escape this life. But until then, Mazel saw the drop-off point for the delivery, a dark alley off the city walkway. There were those in the city who needed her services, and would pay for them, if only by dark and in secret. Mazel was surprised by the appearance of her rendezvous.

A woman in fine silks waited in the alleyway. Whoever the client was, if even their servant was dressed in silk, it only meant one thing. High nobility. The transaction went accordingly. Mazel handed the woman a slim vial in exchange for silver. She gave her instructions on dosage, when to take it, and the dangers of doing counter to her instruction. The magic within the vial would do the deed the partaker so desperately sought done.

As the client swept out of the alleyway in a rush, Mazel looked down at the coins left in her hand. The glimmer of gold caught Masel's eyes. She gasped. This was an astonishing amount of money for her services, more than she would ever dare charge, maybe even enough to escape this city of zealots. Her mind raced. She, in that moment, dared to dream.

Her mind a swim with fantasies of freedom and a life without want. It was thus that Mazel failed to see the dark looming figures approach from behind. Before she could react to her son's startled scream, she felt the sharp blow to her head. As she fell, she saw the insignia of the king's guard on their armor, not high nobility, royalty, she thought. A cover-up then? No witnesses allowed to live that might attest to the royal family trafficking in illegal arcane activities. She had walked herself and her son into certain deaths.

Mazel awoke the pungent smell of oil and the sound of a jeering crowd. She was tied to a post atop piles of wood and straw. All around her the citizens of Fleefe screamed. They called her witch. They called her unclean. A slight to the sun god himself. Arcane magic was forbidden within the walls of Fleeth, and there was only one punishment for it.

In the crowd, Mazel saw her son held in bonds. He might very well be next. As the fires went up, Mazel prayed to the serpent in desperation. She prayed for deliverance. She prayed for vengeance. She prayed for death to her enemies. But above all else,

she prayed for her son's safety. And when her scream of agony rent the air, the crowd hushed in horror. Not horror at what they had done, but horror at what they saw descending from above. From the night sky descended a great serpent of mist and magic. It came before the burning mazel and opened its great maw. Her soul then left her body to join with the serpent and become a part of magic itself. Such was the fate of all Earthlanny who venerated the serpent. Then it turned to the crowd. In an instant, there was chaos as the people of fleeth scrambled to flee before the

Deythic snake. In the chaos, Mazel's son was broken free, but he did not flee. He stared at the serpent that loomed over him. And the serpent stared back. Mazel's son was alone in the square as he stared at his mother's now ashen corpse. No tears streaked his face, but upon his heart and soul rested a malediction, a silent swear for vengeance. It had been 900 years since that day. Vecna hardly remembered the boy who watched his whole world burn before his eyes.

He vaguely recalled the years he spent honing his craft until, eventually, he assumed a mastery of the dark arts of magic. And he eventually achieved with that mastery something that no mortal before or since had immortality of undeth, paired with the preservation of his soul. Vecna, the dark necromancer turned king, had ascended to something more. Archmage, but even after all of this time, Vecna remembered quite clearly what the serpent had whispered to him on that day. And he remembered the curse of vengeance that he swore. Tonight was the night that vengeance was realized. Under the dark of the two new moons, when Fultz's power was at its weakest, Vecna would strike. He would use his magic to hide a siege tower under a veil of.

Invisibility, his ghouls would breach the walls in the dead of night, and he would stride through the shield of light. It would be unpleasant, but with the changing of the moons, it would not be fatal. Once through, he would harness all his magic to twist time and space itself, to open a portal for his armies to penetrate the hallowed barrier and into the heart of the city. By morning, the city would be his. The plan unfolded just as Vecna had designed. The ghoul swarmed the walls of fleeth, opening a path for the archelage. Vecna hovered over the wall and up to the barrier of light. He paused for a moment. Then he moved into it. The light seared him. It burned his decrepit form and nearly blinded him, pushed forward a bit more to pass through. But then, he came upon

something firm and immutable. A hard light construct barred his passing. Something was wrong. Vecna's knowledge of divine magic was not as extensive as the arcane, but this was not the structure of a protective barrier. It was then that Vecna realized that the barrier light of Fultus wasn't a mere shield. It was a trap. The explosion that resulted from the detonation of the Fulton light shield was enough to brighten the night sky today for miles around. The holy light evaporated hundreds of undead and burned shadows into where they stood. The shockwave cracked the walls of the city and sent Vecna's troops into chaotic disarray. The Litch's body was shattered and aflame as it came crashing to the earth nearly a mile from the city walls.

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Now available in Canada too. That's Q-U-I-N-C-E.com slash critical roll for free shipping and 365-day returns. Quince.com slash critical role. A sererac was named Monster the day he was born. The result of the union between a baller, an exceptionally powerful demon named Tarnham and a human woman named Cassethri. Aserac was a Cambion, a child who was half fiend and half mortal. As such, his existence was an abomination in the eyes of the flan.

His mother, Cassetri, raised her son the best she could. They lived at the fringes of society, eking out a meager existence. Aserac and Cassethri foraged what food they could, sold what little they had for small comfort, and sheltered in the Flannas wilderness. Cassethri kept her son as secluded as she could. She feared what might occur if the people of the nearby villages learned of her son's half-demon heritage. Still just a ten-year-old child, Aserac could only watch as a mob took and murdered his mother

and burned their home to the ground with Aserac's. still inside. If not for Aserac's in human nature, he never would have survived the flames long enough to flee. How long Aserac endured the hardships of squalor he did not know, but when Vecna's army marched upon the very same village that murdered his mother, Aserac rejoiced. A thrill of vengeance visited upon his enemies made his demonic blood sing. And when Vecna's forces spotted the boy and ruthlessly captured him, Aserac felt no fear or despair. He had lived long enough to see those that had harmed him meet an even worse fate. What else was there to live for?

What good was living at all? Then Aserac saw him, adorned in gold and silk with an ornate crown to match. Vecna glared down from his throne, his corpse-like face a stark contrast to the regalia in which he dressed. In his eyes shone a cold, dead hatred. Not hatred of Aserac specifically, but an all-encompassing disdain for all things, for all life. Here was a soul who endured through his hatred alone. Aserac was an awe. So enraptured was Aserac that he did not hear the conversation between the Lich King and his advisors.

He did not hear the recommendations to their lord that execution would be the easiest solution, that the demonic blood in the boy would make him untrustworthy to their cause, that Vecna need not even lower himself to deal with this issue. They would take care of it, promptly. Vekna stared at a Sererac for a long moment. Perhaps Vecna was sympathetic to the boy. Perhaps he saw something of himself in a Serraach's plight. Or perhaps he simply didn't like the tone of his advisors that day.

But what happened next was burned into a Serraac's memory for all time. The Lich king raised his hand to silence his advisors, and with a snap of his bony fingers, they were all dead. And in his mind, Aserarak heard a wistice. I was a whisper. Perhaps it is time I took on an apprentice. Years passed, and As Serraac served Vecna dutifully. He showed great promise under the undying one's tutelage,

and he assisted his master in countless dark rituals and necromanic rites. And as a Sererak star rose, so did his own ambition. He became a trusted advisor and military leader in the campaigns of Vecna's impeach. of Vecna's imperial expansion, and Aserarak became a name to fear in its own right. But Aserac wanted more. He respected and in some ways even worshipped his master, but Vecna's secrecy vexed him.

Aserac wished more than anything to be allowed within the rotted tower, Vekna's personal laboratory, and be shown magics both deep and terrible. He wanted the secret of Vecna's immortality, Vecna's immortality. Aserac wished, too, to become a lich. But Vecna would not.

He was too guarded, too prudent, too paranoid. How could Aserac gain his master's utmost trust? It was in the empire's siege of Fleeth that Aserac found his chance. He would take advantage of Vecna's personal stake in the city's raising. Uncharacteristically blinded by emotion, perhaps the archelitch would not notice a trap set right in front of him. It was time a Sererac paid the Fulton's a visit, in disguise, of course. They just needed a little advice, a little push in the right direction. And if Vecna took the bait, a Sererac would be there to save him. Vekna's consciousness returned, and with it came the

realization that he should be dead, but dead you was not, or at least undead he remained. It was not long before Vecna had heard the tale of how Aserac rescued his burning corpse from the field of battle, how he alone had kept the armies from falling away after their overlord was smote, how Aserac had poured every ounce of his magical ability into keeping Vecna stable while he recovered. Vecna called Sererac to attend him. He stared intently at his Cambian apprentice. In the blink of an eye, the lord of the rotted tower had almost lost at all. His empire, his magic, his immortality, and, if not for this boy now grown, his armies

would have dispersed to the winds, giving fleeth in the surrounding kingdom's time to recover. He stared at a Serraac and realized he had greatly underestimated him. It was time. His newest general led the charge on the white walls of Fleeth. Without the barrier light of Fultus, Fleeth was in an unwinnable position. The siege had already long ago worn down their food and supplies. The citizens were resorting to eating rats and vermin, and the army of the dead outside their walls had no such needs as food and water.

It would not be long before the walls fell to Vecna and Aserac's assaults. And so the council of Fulton priests, along with their high priest, surrendered themselves to Vecna's forces. They beseeched Vecna, asking for mercy. They offered up the entire city and her wealth, if only Vecna would spare the lives of her citizens. But Vecna was not satisfied with this. So the officials begged and pleaded.

They offered their own lives in exchange for Vekna's mercy on the citizenry. And so Vecna gave one of their number and his family over to one of his most feared lieutenants, a fallen paladin named Cass, who spent the entire day torturing and murdering. murdering them before the other officials. And yet Vecna found himself still unsatisfied. And so he ordered the slaughter of all within the city walls and had their heads stacked before the officials, with those of their family members made most prominent.

It was then that Vecna decided to grant his mercy. He granted the officials leave to depart, and, in a perverse sense of irony, he promised them his protection for the rest of their lives, so they might live with the horror of this day for as long as possible. Years passed after the fall of Fleeth, Vecna's empire continued to expand. He conquered vast realms and swept great cities beneath earth and rock. Within his rotted tower, an obsidian structure that rose from the bottom of the black waters of the near Deve, to stretch far above its surface, he penned his dark thoughts into an artifact of great power, today known as the Book of Vile Darkness.

And Vecna grew dissatisfied. He was the most powerful wizard in the history of the earth. He was an orphan who became a king, who in turn became an immortal emperor. But as that power grew, Vecna became even more paranoid. Even an immortal being could die as he had learned so well in the siege of Fleece. There was only one way to assure his everlasting life. For in a world of men, magic, and empires, only one thing withstood the pass of time indefinitely. They were true immortals.

Impossible or nearly impossible to slay. Yes, Vecna was the first to master life itself through his unmatched knowledge of necromancy. He would also be the first to master immortality itself and ascend to true godhood. It was only a matter of time. The war is over and both sides lost. Kingdoms were reduced to cinders and armies scattered like bones in the dust. Now the survivors claw to what's left of a broken world, praying the darkness chooses someone else tonight. But in the shadow dark, the darkness always wins.

This is old school adventuring at its most cruel. Your torch ticks down in real time. And when that flame dies, something else rises to finish the job. This is a brutal rules-light nightmare with a story that emerges organically based on the decisions that the characters make. This is what it felt like to play RPGs in the 80s, and man, it is so good to be back. Join the Glass Cannon podcast as we plunge into the Shadow Dark every Thursday night at 8 p.m. Eastern on YouTube.com slash the Glass Cannon with the podcast version dropping the next day. See what everybody's talking about and join us in the dark. Look, there are a lot of celebrity interview podcasts out there, but there's only one happy, sad, confused.

I'm Josh Horowitz, and yeah, I'm the host of the show, so I'm a little biased, but truly. Happy, Sad, Confused is the place for nerdy and intimate conversations with all your favorite actors and filmmakers. From Andrew Garfield and Scarleth Johansson to Christopher Nolan, casting what-ifs, backstage stories, and much more. Listen to Happy Say It Confused on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. A Sererac fled by Dark of Night. How it had come to pass, he did not know. But Vecna had discovered his treachery on that day so long ago. outside the walls of Fleeth.

Perhaps in his soul-mongering, Vecna had come across knowledge possessed by only the long dead. Or perhaps it was the whispering of the serpent his master told him of. Aserac had suspected for some time, if the serpent was real, it perhaps might explain Vekna's prodigal rise of power at such a young age. Regardless, Aserac was not going to linger to discover how Vecna had uncovered his betrayal. Acerarak was done here. He had gained the knowledge he had wanted. The secrets of immortality threw on death, how to travel planes and worlds far and wide,

and the time had come to begin his own legend. After Aserac's escape, Vecna's rage, always a fearsome thing, rose to new heights. Not only had the most powerful mage who overcame death been tricked by an underling to revealing his most closely guarded knowledge, the thief had escaped retribution entirely. Vecna swore that from then on he would protect all of his secrets with a fervor that bordered unreligious fanaticism. While Vekna's power grew, his obsession with secrecy became a literal religion to those who worshipped him. Among those zealots was a ruthless, cruel soldier named Cass. Before the time of Aserac and his deception of Vecna, there was Cass.

Cass was a human paladin in Vecna's service, drawn by visions of blood and a thirst for foes who would challenge his prowess at arms. Years earlier, he had pledged himself to a god of death, but Cass soon grew bored with mere death. It was the path to dying that fascinated him. And the more violent that path, the better. Cass wanted to swim forever in a red sea of combat, and chaining himself to Vecna's ambition would grant this wish. While Vecna assembled his forces for what would be his first successful major campaign,

he became intrigued by Cass's passion for battle, his skill with a sword, and his recklessness. He was also entertained by the paladin's hypocrisy and insisting on a fair fight, before he mercilessly cut down his opponents. Cass rose through the ranks of Vecna's followers by eviscerating them when necessary to become one of the whispered ones top lieutenants. He gained the name Bloody Handed, when after the Battle of Fleeth,

Cass publicly tortured and then butchered an entire family chosen by Vecna for no other reason than to torment the city officials who were foolish enough. to plea with Vecna for their citizens' lives. In Cass, Vecna believed that he had found a reliable weapon, as long as there was blood to be spilled. And even with the treachery of Aserac,

an open sore on whatever small amount of trust Vecna still had, Vecna held no uncertainty of Cass's loyalty. Cass had no interest in Vecna's arcane secrets. The warrior cared only for blood, steel, and dominating his enemies in combat. Over the years, Vecna and Cass talked often inside the rotted tower. They discussed future targets of invasion and rumors of recently discovered artifacts. Vecna also taught Cass to be craftier in battle.

Although Cass's brutality was effective, Vecna's lieutenant would master more subtle tactics in order to overcome stronger foes that challenged the Litch's power. Eventually, Vecna used necromancy to extend Cass's life. wishing to retain his trusted weapon as long as possible. When Cass's mortal form had reached the point when even Vecna's spells could sustain it no longer, the lich fashioned for him a fanged mask of silver and channeled the energy of undeth into it.

By wearing the silver mask and accepting its necromanic embrace, Cass willingly received the dark gift of vampirism. But eventually, as Vecna's empire grew, the whispered one was forced to reconcile with a problem he could not solve. He had not yet found the path to godhood, and in his current corporeal form, he was increasingly becoming unable to watch over all of his lands, slaves, and future test subjects alone. He would need to share power with another. Of course, Cass seemed the logical choice, but Vecna's practicality was mixed with paranoia.

Even though a century had passed, since Aseraraq's treason, the memory of that humiliation came to dominate Vecna's thoughts. And so, the Master of Secrets sought a window into even the possibility of seditious thoughts that Cass might have. He made for Cass another gift, an enchanted sword of great power, forged from the frozen heart of a fallen star. As he spoke the final enchantments over it, he carefully pulled a thread of shadow from his own consciousness and wrapped it around the sword's black blade. From that point on, as long as Cass bore the sword,

Vecna would be able to listen in on Cass's activities, and even his thoughts. Cass was honored by Vekna's offering. According to the martial code that the vampire imagined he still followed, the gift of steel from the hand of a warrior's lord was among the greatest of honors. He felt the sword's strength the instant he drew it from its scabbard, made from the skin of gibbeted doppelgangers, and with his characteristic lack of imagination,

named it the sword of Cass. As for Vecna, his confidence was now supreme. More lands were being brought under his rule by sword, spell, and claw. His most powerful minions were obedient, or at least controlled. He now had an unobstructed path to his ultimate goal of Godhood, but such confidence is a slow and insidious killer. His scheme to spy on Cass proved to be too clever. The sword of Cass not only contained part of Vecna's consciousness, it contained a portion of Vecna's avarice, obsession with secrecy, and love. lust for knowledge. The sword's intelligence quickly wrapped itself in a mental cloak to shield

itself from Vecna's detection, and it began to feed Vecna false thoughts of obedience from Cass, while it instead nurtured rebellion in the vampire's heart. The sword turned against its creator. It believed that there could be only one true master of secrets, and it sought to seize that title by destroying Vecna. As the years passed, it subtly influenced Cass's mind. gradually convincing him that Vecna didn't want to share power with anyone, let alone a brutal, unsophisticated warrior. It also made Cass aware of Vecna's attempts to read his mind through the sword. The discovery of Vecna's distrust of him struck Cass's steadfastness like a hammer blow. Perhaps these thoughts he had been harboring were more than mere fancy.

Perhaps it was time the student, became the master. Cass wished to seek retribution on Vecna immediately, but the sword assured him that the ideal time would come. Of course, Cass was unaware of the sword's true motives, believing the sword was loyal only to him. And it was loyal in its way, as long as Cass was committed to the death of Vecna. The time had finally come. Over a century of work had led to this moment. Through the use of artifacts and rituals, his own. own terrible intellect, and the harvested lives of thousands of victims, Vecna had finally gathered

enough power to perform a new right that would transform him into a god. His ascension was imminent, and with it Vakna would finally attain that which he had sought for over 1,000 years. As a god, there would be none left who could defy him, none who could take from him, None that could betray him, not ever again. The sword of Cass, sensing the powerful ritual atop the rotted tower, called for Cass to strike now and strike true. If the ritual was completed, it would be too late, and Vecna would become unkillable. Cass leapt into action.

He would slay Vecna during the ritual, seize control of his empire, and ascend to Godhood himself in Vecna's place. While Vecna spoke the incantations under the stars, at the pinnacle of the rotted tower, Cass charged into the keep. Vecna's guards might have proven a challenge for Cass at one point, but the vampire's fury had been stoked to near insanity by the sword's whispers. The guards fell beneath his blade like wheat at the harvest. As they died, Vecna detected Cass's presence.

He saw the sword's trickery and realized, too late, how his paladin's His loyalties had been twisted. He tried to suspend the ritual, but the godlike power he had unleashed would not be contained. Just as well, for at that moment Cass reached the top of the rotted tower, his blade and fangs dripping with blood. The lich would need all of that power for battle. Perhaps had the combat been on equal terms, Vecna would have quickly felled the vampire. But whether due to the effect of interrupting the ritual, the sword's ability to anticipate its

creator's attacks, or Cass's great strength and stubborn refusal to die, the combat raged on. The two traded blow for blow. Vecna's spells were blazing fire and crashing thunder. Cass's strikes were quick as lightning and stronger than steel. Cass backed Vecna into the center of the ritual circle, its chaotic, thunderous energy now lashing them both. Vecna staggered Cass with a bolt of lightning, but as the Litch moved to finish him off, Cass lunged forward, slicing off Vecna's left hand. The vampire, his body crumbling faster than it could heal from the strain of Vecna's spells, pressed the attack. He shouted as he plunged his sword into Vecna's left eye, gouging it out.

It was at this moment Cass's sword sensed its opportunity. Triumph would be its at last. With a surge of searing energy as bright as the sun, the sword poured all of its magic and malice into Vecna's body. The effect of the sword's act was like tossing a torch into a sea of oil. It set off an explosion so powerful that it completely annihilated the rotted tower, leaving not but a smooth crater. Creatures for miles around were blinded and deafened in an instant.

and Cass, at the center of the arcane maelstrom, were sent hurtling through the abyss between worlds, days before anyone dared approach the aftermath. Those that eventually did spoke of the utter destruction of a mile-wide region, and the only objects that were found intact amongst the heaps of ash were Vecna's severed hand in eye and Cass's sword, and unfortunate discoveries They were. This episode was brought to you by our patrons, Nick Kivers, Noah Crawford, Daniel Payolillo, Tina Marie, Keith DeVault, Tyler Lehman, Kevin Rigden, Zach Ochoa, Frank Thames, Christian Roberts, and Kevin.

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