There are few planets like the ringworld Toram in the known spheres, and most people are rather thankful for it. Like the planet H'Catha in Realmspace, it's a beholder world. Some sages believe at one time, other life forms lived on that world, but no one has found evidence proving this. Sure, there are ruins of temples and other structures, but no one travels to them. Everything has all but been destroyed by the terrible Beholder Wars.
The Free City of Toram is the only city on the planet. Surrounded by impenetrable walls, it stands alone on a desolate world. Travellers from off world are few and far between, for many reasons. The beholders not withstanding, there are other forces that protect, and at times haunt and terrify the city.
They are undead Beholders. Called Doomspheres, they are Beholders who died within the walls of Free City, but did not reach a final end. The mythal that protects the city and keeps Beholders from using their powers against each other also creates Doomspheres at random to keep the other races in line. Doomspheres get their orders from the Mythal; none wish to even be near one, for they no longer have their old abilities. Doomspheres can use their eyestalk powers to chill flesh, or to strip it away from bone.
Ghostly in appearance, Doomspheres are rarely seen. On the occasion they do appear, most people just hide in whatever building they might find. None walk the streets; it's just not safe. That's what's happening this night. For some unknown reason, about a dozen of the undead beholders are roaming the city, seemingly searching for something.
Within the walls of one rundown, grummy inn, customers sip drinks and pass the hours until it is safe once again to venture outside. Beholders (the live variety, of course,) and humanoids sit around, tell tales and generally behave courteously. To some, the sight may appear strange, but they are cutthroats all. All respect the rules of the Inn and the presence of Doomspheres: They declare a truce.
In one corner, a tall, well built copper-skinned man sits uncomfortably on a chair that just wasn't designed for one his height and build. He shifts, trying to relax. He is a stranger to this place, and all gathered know this. His kind has never been seen before. He looks like he may have human in his genes, but at the same time, he has something about him that resembles a dwarf. The only thing keeping the others from questioning his lineage is his imposing presence. He has no hair (save for what appears to be recently-shaved eyebrows), and a grimacing look.
"You're quite good at that look, Taraq."
The copper-skinned man looks over to the beholder floating next to him. "I've had years of practice in the arts of war. I know how to intimidate an opponent, and how to avoid a fight when outnumbered."
The beholder closed his large central eye, almost like a human would nod. He levitated closer to the table, and sipped some of his drink through a long straw. While taking a long pull, the Beholder named Normakon looked over the crowd gathered there. Most of them were human, beings looking for a new ship to journey off to the stars in. The bartender was a minotaur from the Krynn system, from the look of his jowls. Hanging from the mirror behind the bar was a rather large and nasty looking double bladed axe, giving all who saw it the impression that they shouldn't mess around.
There were two other beholder-kin in the bar as well. They were directors, the caste of Beholder that could give orders to others of their kinds. They occasionally would glance Normakon's direction, but nothing more. Finally, there were a party of bugbears in the opposite corner of the inn, laughing and having a good time. They were the only ones making any loud noise in the bar; everyone else was talking quietly.
"You say those creatures are called...bugbears?" Taraq questioned Normakon. "They would never survive life on my world, let me tell you. They would roast under all that fur."
Normakon finished his drink and belched. Taraq gave him a sideways glance.
"I would believe that," Normakon replied, motioning with one eyestalk to the minotaur for another ale. "There aren't too many texts on the world of Athas available, and those that still exist are protected more than a dragon's lair."
"It is fortunate, then, that there is only one Dragon," Taraq commented. "We should be able to learn something about my being here."
"Only one dragon?" Normakon commented. "I see you have much to learn of the otherworlds."
Outside, in the distance, a death scream could be heard. Taraq narrowed his eyes at the cry while Normakon merely dipped his body slightly. The minotaur brought another round of drinks to their table, and just shook his head.
"The Doomspheres again," he commented. "They haven't been around in months. Why tonight?"
"I know not, Aberlin," Normakon replied. "I know this is a momentous night, but exactly why, I have been unable to determine."
"Perhaps it has somethin' t' do with our new friend here, eh?" Aberlin joked. Taraq just looked at the creature, not half a head taller than the mul. "Relax, friend. You're safe in here. The doomspheres can't enter a building, it's their law. And you're with Normakon, a friend of mine." The minotaur turned and walked to another table, picked up the drunk-and-sleeping human by the neck, cleaned it with a dirty rag, then put the human down.
"You are correct, Normakon," Taraq replied, looking Aberlin over, "I do have much to learn about the creatures in this world."
Suddenly, a pounding could be heard at the door. Whoever was outside was banging away with such ferocity, many thought the door would give way. Aberlin rushed behind the bar, took his axe from the wall, and ran over to unbolt it before whoever it was smashed it in.
As he unbolted the door, the person on the other side rushed in. One of the patrons near the door caught the briefest of glimpses outside: There was a doomsphere, one of it's eyes trained on an unfortunate humanoid whose flesh was literally being melted away from the bone. A man in armor entered, with Aberlin closing the door right behind him.
"Many thanks, sir," the armored man said, grasping the minotaur by the shoulder. He looked the crowd over, trying to find a place to sit. As he started off, Aberlin roughly grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Ten gold," the minotaur demanded. The knight (and one could tell he was a knight) wore full plate armor. While dirty and dusty, it was ornate and showed some scars of battle. A dark shadow covered the breastplate, probably due to the bends and dents of battle. His helm revealed no facial features.
"A rather steep cover, don't you think?" The knight asked as he dug through a small bag attached to his belt. Some of the bugbears (and some of the formerly sleeping patrons) placed a cautious hand on their swords.
"You wanna get tossed back out there?" Aberlin motioned to the door with his head.
"You have a point, good sir," the knight replied and handed several coins to the minotaur. Aberlin bit into one as the knight walked away.
In his corner, Taraq stared at the knight. He couldn't keep his eyes off the armor the man was wearing.
"Is something wrong, Taraq?" Normakon asked.
"That armor," Taraq replied, following the knight as he checked table after table. He was going to sit near the bugbears, but they all placed hands on their swords. He motioned to them and looked elsewhere. "In Tyr, I could sell a set of armor like that and live like a sorcerer-king for the rest of my life. And to think he wears it out in the open like that, unprotected from thieves?"
The knight checked one table, but then noticed Taraq's stare. He started their direction.
"Is something wrong, sirrah?" the knight asked.
"Please pardon my comrade," Normakon replied, "but he is unused to seeing men in armor."
The knight raised his head slight. "Does everyone run around in a simple loincloth where you come from?"
"Where I come from, a man such as yourself would roast if he ventured out in such a set of armor. You would most likely be boiled alive. Sit. Drink." The mul stood to take an extra chair.
"My thanks. I will accept the company but not the drink. My faith does not allow me to show my face in the company of others not my own kind. I am sure you understand."
"Of course, sir knight," the beholder responded. "I am Normakon, and my companion is named Taraq. What may we call you?"
"I am Sir Fairland, of the Order of Shadows, from Greatspace," The knight bowed before sitting down. "From where do you hail?"
"I come from..."
Normakon cut Taraq off. "My comrade hails from Oerth, in Greyspace. I originally hailed from H'Catha in Realmspace."
"You are not native to this world?" Sir Fairland asked. The beholder closed his central eye in affirmative. "I have been travelling the spheres for many years."
"It is rare for someone from H'Catha to journey alone into the stars, away from their own kind, is it not?" Sir Fairland asked.
"My reasons for travelling are my own, Sir Knight." The beholder's gravelly voice held a slight bit of apprehension. "What of you? I am unfamiliar with the Order of Shadows."
"Then it would seem that we both have our secrets to keep, beholder," Sir Fairland replied. Outside, another anguished scream could be heard. The gathered remained silent for a few minutes, with Sir Fairland speaking first.
"Where are you headed now, Taraq of Greyspace?"
"My...companion makes the travelling arrangements."
"Ah! Interesting," Sir Fairland replied. "And what arrangements might you have in mind?"
"An Illithid Dreadnought will be landing here tomorrow," Normakon replied, whispering. "We will be departing on it."
"A beholder on an Illithid ship?" Sir Fairland replied, cocking his armored head to one side. "That could be interesting."
"The Mind Flayers no longer hold the ship. It is The Eternal Wanderer, captained by the samurai Onestar."
Sir Fairland leaned back in his seat, folding his hands together. "Onestar, eh? Think there might be room for another crew member on his fabled ship?"
"Perhaps," Normakon replied. "Meet us at the water dock tomorrow, at midsun."
"Very well." Sir Fairland stood and bowed slightly. "Please forgive me, good sirs, but I believe I will see with the proprietor for lodgings for the night."
Sir Fairland turned to leave. Once he was out of earshot, Taraq leaned over to Normakon, but the beholder spoke first.
"Trust me, Athasian, it is better for all concerned if they do not know your true heritage."
"I trust you, beholder, but only so far. It is true I do not know much of this new world, so I need your help. But he seemed like an honorable sort."
"He is in the Free City of Tomar, Taraq," Normakon replied. "Trust no one here. That goes, to a certain extent, for me also. You will find most people have a great hatred or fear of beholders."
"But you see, Taraq, I am not like most beholders." Normakon's eyesprouts waved over his head, scanning the room.
