claim himself its ultimate master?
It should belong to a beholder.
Gray Eye knew more of the history of this cloak, and its bearer, Teldin Moore, than most others. This human was much different, he knew: stronger, more determined than any cloak bearer before him. Perhaps the human was even linked to the Spelljammer in some subtle, intrinsic way – a way that might mean failure to the eye tyrants’ plans.
And to myself, Gray Eye thought. If the Cloak of the First Pilot belongs to anyone, it should belong to a beholder... and that eye tyrant is me.
And so, Teldin Moore must be destroyed.
“War,” the leader of the beholders began. His brethren watched him unblinkingly, their great eyes focused and glaring red in the gloom of their ruins. “War. This must be our goal. For too long, peace has reigned supreme upon this ship. We must focus our efforts on one goal – conquest!”
His fellow beholders hovered lazily above the floor of their sanctuary, waiting, smiling evilly, their great central eyes focused on their leader.
Long veins pulsed in anger under the surface of Gray Eye’s huge, ocular body. His scales rippled as a wave of fury washed over him. “The damned Cloakmaster has finally arrived,” he said. “The prophecy of darkness is coming true, even as we speak. The Dark Times will be upon us all if we are not swift.”
He paused in thought. “I almost wish that this human had been killed earlier by the neogi. Now the burden falls upon us, and it is one in which we should rejoice. The humans have decimated the neogi forces. The time to strike is now, to take the cloak from the Cloakmaster and destroy the damned neogi, all in one concentrated attack.
“We must form strategic alliances with others – those who also wish to take command of this vessel, perhaps the ogres, and the minotaurs – they will be easy to enslave – and then —” the beholder laughed maniacally “— break those alliances, and use the inferior species for our own purposes, for cattle.”
His beholder brethren laughed among themselves, the sound of hoarse coughing. Gray Eye looked out among them and hesitated. When last the Dark Times fell upon the Spelljammer and the ship’s food-producing gardens closed upon themselves, Gray Eye had taken full advantage of the chaos and the weaknesses of others to assume the leadership of the beholder community. Cannibalism, looting, and murdering of his own kind – these crimes had kept Gray Eye alive and in power. His brethren were young and knew nothing of the last Dark Times.
Gray Eye would commit the same crimes today to take control of the Spelljammer .
“When the Dark Times soon fall upon the ship, we will be compelled to barbarism that almost destroyed our species here many years ago and will surely devastate our numbers today. We cannot afford that. We cannot afford to wait for the human to come to us. We must leave the confines of this ruined palace and attack. We must take control now!”
The veins in his pale, round body throbbed in rage. His great, milky eye was rimmed with crimson. The cloak, he believed, would soon be his.
Let the Dark Times come, he thought. What will it matter to Gray Eye, the new Cloakmaster?
He laughed, and the other beholders joined in. But he was laughing at them.
“We must destroy Teldin Moore,” Gray Eye said with finality. “We must destroy the Cloakmaster now !”
*****
High in the horned tower of the illithid empire of the Spelljammer , a black-clad mind flayer climbed the last few, dark steps to the level where the illithids’ brain mold was carefully cultivated. Its pungent aroma caused the tentacles on Drikka’s large, octopuslike head to twitch unconsciously, and he hungered for the sweet sentience that the mold offered.
The mind flayer bending over the brain mold, like its junior officer, wore only black. The only noticeable differences, to a human observer, would be the leader’s proud bearing and the intricate field of
It should belong to a beholder.
Gray Eye knew more of the history of this cloak, and its bearer, Teldin Moore, than most others. This human was much different, he knew: stronger, more determined than any cloak bearer before him. Perhaps the human was even linked to the Spelljammer in some subtle, intrinsic way – a way that might mean failure to the eye tyrants’ plans.
And to myself, Gray Eye thought. If the Cloak of the First Pilot belongs to anyone, it should belong to a beholder... and that eye tyrant is me.
And so, Teldin Moore must be destroyed.
“War,” the leader of the beholders began. His brethren watched him unblinkingly, their great eyes focused and glaring red in the gloom of their ruins. “War. This must be our goal. For too long, peace has reigned supreme upon this ship. We must focus our efforts on one goal – conquest!”
His fellow beholders hovered lazily above the floor of their sanctuary, waiting, smiling evilly, their great central eyes focused on their leader.
Long veins pulsed in anger under the surface of Gray Eye’s huge, ocular body. His scales rippled as a wave of fury washed over him. “The damned Cloakmaster has finally arrived,” he said. “The prophecy of darkness is coming true, even as we speak. The Dark Times will be upon us all if we are not swift.”
He paused in thought. “I almost wish that this human had been killed earlier by the neogi. Now the burden falls upon us, and it is one in which we should rejoice. The humans have decimated the neogi forces. The time to strike is now, to take the cloak from the Cloakmaster and destroy the damned neogi, all in one concentrated attack.
“We must form strategic alliances with others – those who also wish to take command of this vessel, perhaps the ogres, and the minotaurs – they will be easy to enslave – and then —” the beholder laughed maniacally “— break those alliances, and use the inferior species for our own purposes, for cattle.”
His beholder brethren laughed among themselves, the sound of hoarse coughing. Gray Eye looked out among them and hesitated. When last the Dark Times fell upon the Spelljammer and the ship’s food-producing gardens closed upon themselves, Gray Eye had taken full advantage of the chaos and the weaknesses of others to assume the leadership of the beholder community. Cannibalism, looting, and murdering of his own kind – these crimes had kept Gray Eye alive and in power. His brethren were young and knew nothing of the last Dark Times.
Gray Eye would commit the same crimes today to take control of the Spelljammer .
“When the Dark Times soon fall upon the ship, we will be compelled to barbarism that almost destroyed our species here many years ago and will surely devastate our numbers today. We cannot afford that. We cannot afford to wait for the human to come to us. We must leave the confines of this ruined palace and attack. We must take control now!”
The veins in his pale, round body throbbed in rage. His great, milky eye was rimmed with crimson. The cloak, he believed, would soon be his.
Let the Dark Times come, he thought. What will it matter to Gray Eye, the new Cloakmaster?
He laughed, and the other beholders joined in. But he was laughing at them.
“We must destroy Teldin Moore,” Gray Eye said with finality. “We must destroy the Cloakmaster now !”
*****
High in the horned tower of the illithid empire of the Spelljammer , a black-clad mind flayer climbed the last few, dark steps to the level where the illithids’ brain mold was carefully cultivated. Its pungent aroma caused the tentacles on Drikka’s large, octopuslike head to twitch unconsciously, and he hungered for the sweet sentience that the mold offered.
The mind flayer bending over the brain mold, like its junior officer, wore only black. The only noticeable differences, to a human observer, would be the leader’s proud bearing and the intricate field of
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