Levistus Prince of Stygia

The biting wind whipped around me as I stood on the deck of the resilient Waterdavian merchant ship, her sails taut and her hull slicing through the frigid waves of the Trackless Sea. Memories of my earlier encounter with the ship’s owner replayed in my mind. He had been savoring a bottle of wine and a roasted leg of goat in the temple’s kitchen when I approached him about passage. His reaction was one of incredulity mixed with amusement. 

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he exclaimed, nearly spilling his drink. "The Ruathen are barely more than barbarians. My pardon, Picaroon, but it’s no place for a gentle sage armed with nothing but a toy crossbow and a metal stick!" 

His words weren’t entirely unjustified, though he underestimated the potency of my Bonaduce crossbow. A light yet powerful hand crossbow featuring a metal bow and skillfully woven metal cord courtesy of dwarven metalsmiths. It fired wooden bolts with glass vials of alchemical reactants inside, tipped with metal, courtesy of some particularly skilled Gnomish artificers I know. On impact, the bolts shatter, mixing the reactants to produce a variety of effects: blessed water and quicksilver, smokepowder and cold iron filings, explosives, smoke bombs, expanding adhesive, electrical discharge, among a few others I identify with runes on the back fletchings, and my secret weapon—a bolt that could send a section of whatever it hit to the ethereal plane, quite violently. 

"I am headed to a library called The Green Room," I replied, watching as his expression shifted from amusement to serious contemplation. He nodded and informed me of the cost of passage, which I paid in full, then and there at his table, between his platter of food and goblet of watery wine, setting the stage for my journey to Ruathym. 

The merchant’s vessel, a blend of Waterdavian craftsmanship and Northlander sturdiness, was tough and swift. Her deep keel and high sides were designed to withstand the harsh western ocean and the occasional clash with an iceberg. The ship’s interior was cramped and smelly but at least warm and dry. Though I don't get seasick, the relentless three-day storm left me with wobbly sea legs upon arrival in Ruathym. The crew, mostly Northlanders, stuck to themselves, didn't ask me any questions and vanished onshore as soon as we arrived, hauling crates, sacks and barrels with them, deliveries for specific orders I guessed. 

Upon setting foot on Ruathym, I was immediately struck by the island’s rugged beauty. Its rocky coastlines, narrow coves, and forested purple mountains created a stark contrast to the endless ocean that surrounded it. The island, barely a hundred miles long and not even half as wide at its broadest point, was dotted with small villages and farms amidst its cold green hills, tucked up against those towering mountains with permanently snow-clad peaks. The rest of the landscape was predominantly barren and harsh, how anyone raised crops and livestock here was beyond me, and I have a very large halfling family, so, I know a thing or two about plants and animals destined for the dinner table! 

There was some mining on the island, but surely that was not enough income to offset imported goods, so I guess life was pretty lean and the people made do with what they had, and if they wanted more, they had to make it themselves. 

The capital, Ruathym, was a bustling town of about 5,000 souls. It was here that I hoped to find the Green Room, the legendary royal library known to house a collection of powerful magical tomes. My first destination, however, was the dwarven settlement of Rethgaard. This fortress had stood for nearly six millennia since it was built by the dwarves of Haunghdannar around −4600 DR. I was not sure how much of the original dwarven people or their structures had survived all that time and after all the conflicts. 

The island of Ruathym had long been a thorn in the side of more civilized lands, its people known for their fierce independence and propensity for raiding. The Ruathen are tall, fair-skinned people with light blue eyes, their culture deeply rooted in the harsh realities of their environment. Despite their reputation as barbarians, they have a complex society with a rich oral history and a fierce pride in their heritage. I hope they don't take this unkindly, but I found a lot of similarities to their culture and that of Frost Giants, though, the Ruathym tell stories I have a much easier time relating to, and that don't hurt my ears from booming giant vocal cords. 

As I made my way to Rethgaard, the wind howling around me, I couldn’t help but marvel at the resilience of the Ruathen. Their ability to survive and thrive in such a harsh environment. The road to Rethgaard was treacherous, winding through rocky terrain and narrow passes, I had been told, time and time again that the Ruathym had long ago tamed the island and killed all the monsters lurking in the passes, but I kept my crossbow handy anyway. Better safe than stupid. The fortress itself sat atop a rocky crag, its imposing walls looming over me, it seemed path was in the shadow of something, but then, they were also sheltered from the wind and occassional stinging gust of snow, so, it was a fair trade and my eyes were good in the dark anyway. 

Rethgard was a bit of a loss, there wasn't much left of the place and I was not in the mood to go inside once I got a good look across the water and saw the unearthly green glow coming from the island of Inthar, even at such a distance, it was just a very clear moment of weather I think, I got a good look at it and instantly decided to go there instead.  

Call it a hunch. 

I prepared to perform a ritual that would teleport me to the island of Inthar, a ruined fortress shrouded in mystery and avoided by sailors. Inthar, located roughly 35 miles south of Rethgaard, was said to be haunted by eerie green lights and shadowy shapes, and that turned out to be entirely true, its history steeped in legend and rumor. As the teleportation spell took hold, I braced myself for whatever awaited me in the depths of the foreboding place. 

The transition was disorienting, the magic pulling me through space to my destination. I found myself standing within the crumbling walls of Inthar, the air heavy with an unnatural chill. The fortress was as eerie as the tales had described, the green lights casting ghostly shadows on the walls. Faint whispers seemed to echo from the very stones, adding to the unease that permeated the place.  

I took a moment to adjust what I was wearing, now out of the wind, I stowed things in my bag and took out my trusty metal segmented pole, screwing the rods together, each with their different utility contents. There may be rules about adventuring in mortal form, but there are no restrictions on my taking along the first artifact I ever made. Anyway. 

As I ventured deeper into the fortress, the whispers grew louder, their unintelligible words gnawing at my sanity a little, there was some supernatural edge to them, not a creature but some effect, I was sure of it, though I could think of a few undead that made sounds like that. The corridors twisted and turned, creating a labyrinthine maze that was easy to get lost in. Despite the growing sense of dread, I pressed on. There were a couple of quite nasty traps, several undead, evidence of a few more I must have avoided, some seriously creepy artwork and evidence of some very dead cultists and then there, in the depts of Inthar, I discovered a portal. 

It shimmered with an eerie light, casting long shadows that danced upon the crumbling walls of the fortress. I reached into my satchel and withdrew a small, ornate mirror and a set of metal tuning forks, relics of the Rilmani, the golden-skinned planar race of pure neutrality. The tuning forks confirmed this portal was to a lawful lower plane, one of the nine hells, and the mirror allowed me to peer through the veil between planes without being detected, or so I hoped. 

Holding the mirror before me, I chanted the incantation softly. The mirror's surface rippled, and I found myself gazing into the depths of Hell. My heart pounded as the scene before me shifted to the icy expanse of Stygia, the fifth layer of Baator.  

I believe I said something trite like "Oh look, more snow" since I was already freezing my ass off. The portal view was strange, it shifted even as I stood there and peered through it with the mirror. Suddenly, something filled the whole portal view: a great ice edifice! 

Within a colossal iceberg, I saw him—Levistus, the Lord of Stygia, encased in his glacial prison. His immobile form was faintly visible, a dark blot within the translucent blue ice. Even from this distance, I could sense his frustration and rage. 

My breath caught in my throat as I gazed upon the imprisoned archdevil. A cold sweat broke out on my brow as the moment's weight pressed upon me. What if the forces of the Nine Hells detected my intrusion? The mere thought of their wrath sent a shiver down my spine. I quickly reminded myself of the Rilmani mirror's reputed safeguards, hoping they would be enough to keep me hidden. 

Levistus appeared as a tall, dark-haired humanoid with a neat goatee and an extremely pale complexion. His coal-black eyes, radiating darkness, and pointed teeth gave him a fiendish aspect. Despite his confinement, he exuded an aura of formidable power. In his projected form, he was known to don loose, silken clothing and carry a shining rapier, though now he remained motionless, a prisoner within the ice. 

My mind raced with all I knew of Levistus. He was infamous for his trickery and charm, a dashing yet duplicitous figure who relished in his graceful agility. Before his imprisonment, he had ruled Stygia with cunning and ruthless efficiency. His cleverness and capability had earned him control over this frozen realm, but his own rebellious nature had been his undoing. Unable to resist the urge to double-cross, he had betrayed his peers and ultimately paid the price for his treachery. 

You see, Levistus had always preferred to challenge his enemies to one-on-one duels, not just because he excelled in such encounters but also due to his peculiar sense of honor and fair play. His prowess as a swashbuckling swordsman was legendary, combining precise moves, acrobatic feats, and elaborate parrying to fell his opponents. He could deflect sword swings and spells, albeit only once per day. His fighting style was typically defensive, relying on his expertise to ward off attacks and retreat when necessary. 

Despite his chivalrous demeanor, Levistus was known for being a complete bastard. He had earned a reputation as a traitor, his schemes often driven by his insatiable need to betray even when it was not in his best interest. A pathological sociopath, I mean, throw a rock in the nine hells and you will hit one in the head! 

This inherent trait, coupled with Levistus's megalomania and blinding hatred for his captors, had only grown stronger during his imprisonment. Trapped within his icy tomb, his brooding mind has remained fully aware of his surroundings, his perception sharpened by his isolation for eons. 

Even in his frozen state, Levistus has wielded significant power. His realm has become even more unbearable, with a pervasive sense of starvation and desperation. He can manipulate the cold, casting spells such as Wall of Ice and Ice Storm, and can enthrall and command others, which is why I was doubly concerned he might detect my attention. He could summon powerful devils like gelugons and pit fiends, though he did so sparingly, preferring to handle matters himself when possible, a simple whispered word to an imp in his employ can move armies, so they say. 

The iceberg that imprisoned Levistus was a formidable barrier, resistant to magic and capable of regenerating almost instantly. Even wish and miracle spells failed to free him. Only the persistent destruction of the ice, or the sacrifice of good-aligned beings of fire, could potentially weaken his prison. Despite his best efforts to control the direction of the drifting iceberg, he remained at the mercy of the currents, his attempts to influence his surroundings thwarted by the will of Asmodeus. 

As I gazed upon the imprisoned archdevil, I marveled at his resilience. Despite his immobility, he maintained an extensive network of agents and masterminded intricate plans from within his glacial tomb. His ability to control and manipulate events within Stygia and beyond was just astounding really. Devils don't have the same sense of time as mortals, on the one hand, they will meticulously count the moments in a strategic battle, having planned for every eventuality with their formidable intellect, on the other hand, they could stay entrapped like this, never going completely insane, or maybe they just always were insane? I don't even want to know what they think about for thousands of years, frozen in a block of ice in the depths of the nine hells. 

Levistus's followers, called blade-reavers, were as treacherous and vengeful as their master. Wielding rapiers and wearing flamboyant outfits, these swashbucklers operated as lone wolves, finding solace in solitude and plotting their revenge. They lacked the cooperative skills of typical cultists, and their mutual mistrust prevented the formation of permanent shrines. Instead, they carried portable shrines, allowing each to worship in their own way. Which did beg the question, were the bodies of the cultists I found all individuals who ventured here and all died in different ways, or were they all together and died the same way? Or did they all die of the same thing on different occasions? I don't know, watch out for poison gas and ghosts, both can be deadly and leave a corpse without a scratch on it. 

The Ruathen, with their fierce independence and propensity for raiding, would be a perfect target for Levistus's manipulations. They were the ancestors of the Illuskan mariners who had settled the sword coast and northern islands of Moonshae long ago, they had spawned most of the human barbarian tribes but, despite that shared cultural heritage I couldn't believe that their entire population could be turned to evil by just one imprisoned lord of hell. 

Or could it? 

Satisfied that I had learned all I could for the moment, I carefully ended the spell and stowed the Rilmani mirror back in my satchel. The whispers of Inthar faded, replaced by the familiar sounds of the crumbling fortress. 

My heart still pounded from the experience of looking into hell, but I felt a renewed sense of purpose. As an immortal newly accepted into the Sphere of Thought, my role was to gather knowledge and understanding across the cosmos. This revelation about Levistus and the portal justified my prolonged stay on the world of Toril. Bound by the restrictions of my immortal status, I was not permitted to take my true form or utilize my full powers, constrained to a mere semblance of my true self. Yet, the mysteries here were too compelling to ignore, and I found myself fascinated by the unknown. After all, what's a few more centuries wandering the Forgotten Realms to the rest of the immortals and the multiverse in the grand scheme of things? Why rush it? 

The forces of the Nine Hells were of immense interest to the immortals. The eternal Blood War, an unending conflict between the devils of the Nine Hells and the Abyss's demons, was a significant cosmic event. It influenced the balance of power across the planes, shaping the destinies of countless worlds. Understanding the intricate dynamics of this war was crucial for maintaining the equilibrium that the Sphere of Thought sought to uphold. 

Moreover, the mercenary wealth-mongering and manipulations of the night hags and the yugoloths added another layer of complexity. These malevolent entities thrived on the chaos and destruction wrought by the Blood War, exploiting both sides for their own gain. The night hags, with their mastery of dark magic and soul trafficking, and the yugoloths, mercenary fiends driven by greed and cunning, were forces that could tip the scales in unforeseen ways. 

As I considered the broader implications of my findings, I realized that Levistus's imprisonment and his machinations from within his icy tomb were but a small part of a much larger puzzle. His interactions with mortals, his influence over the Ruathen and other societies, and his potential impact on the Blood War were threads that needed to be unraveled. This information was invaluable, and I was determined to delve deeper to uncover more about the interplay of these dark forces. 

I knew that my presence on Toril was not without risks. The forces of the Nine Hells were ever watchful, and my discreet intrusion could not go unnoticed forever. The precarious balance I maintained, operating within the confines of my mortal guise, was a constant reminder of the vigilance required. Yet, the knowledge I had gathered and the potential for further discoveries outweighed the dangers. 

The ruins of Inthar, with its eerie green lights and haunted whispers, had provided crucial information. Levistus's presence in Stygia and the portal linking it to Baator were significant findings. They warranted further investigation, and I resolved to explore more of these forgotten places, seeking out the hidden truths buried within Toril. 

Returning to the capital of Ruathym, I began to piece together my next steps. I was not sure I could uncover much from the people of the island, they didn't seem inclined to talk to me, outside of news of some royal wedding on the Moonshae islands which I had no interest in. 

The secrets of the Nine Hells, the eternal Blood War, and the machinations of the night hags and yugoloths were a bit more pressing than some mortal nuptials. Each discovery, each piece of knowledge, brought me closer to fulfilling my purpose and all these adventures were very slowly advancing my power and eventually, my rank as an immortal. 

I set my sights on the next part of my journey with renewed resolve. There were more places to explore, more mysteries to uncover, and more knowledge to gain. places I had long dreamed of visiting, but was short on time, or a little too concerned they would get me killed. The path was long and perilous, but the pursuit of wisdom was eternal. And so, with the winds of Ruathym at my back and the secrets of Inthar fresh in my mind, I waited out a couple of storms in a rustic little ale house, trading stories for better food and a very fine fur sleeping roll that came in handy a bit later on.