The City of Suckmor or The land of the Dead as most refer to it these days was originally constructed by dwarves in the days of the first gods, then loosed from its mountainous perch and reset at the base of the Black Lake by the whims of Simon the Eternal. Vecna’s agents claimed the city in his name on the day Simon and the new gods fell, almost two years ago now. Divine blood was spilled in the cities center and to this day that blood fuels the tyrannical dragon avatar of the fallen god of undeath.
Traveling by land is reported to be impossible with the surrounding farms and villages overrun with mindless zombies; while an attack from the Black Lake would be just as unwise as its one time dragon turtle protector has gone insane and sinks any vessel it senses on the water’s surface; and the tunnels below the city are even worse… unmapped, confusing, and rumors say magically change position as needed to trap would be assailants in their depths. The only option left is air…
After a few days of searching, bribing, and even a bit of blackmailing, the location of the changeling assassin, Dajani, is found. He controls an invisible flying sphere, the size of a small carriage… and despite multiple previous near death encounters with him the group is able to gain his assistance by informing him of the price on his head, set by the Frost Giants and their allies.
Dajani agrees to take and drop off the group at the outskirts of the city proper – but he will not wait around as he must find his way to the Frost Giants to remove the price on his head… or remove their heads as the case may be.
The trip from Dauos is swift while riding in the sphere, taking only just over a day. Dajani is able to bypass a few aerial guards, and find an area north of the city, in the old dock region, that was safe to land and off load. Stepping out of the sphere and into the city is sickening. The air, thick with decay, threatens to chock your life away while the maggot and gore soaked ground sucks at the soles of your boots, trying to slow your already arduous journey.
Bones and rotting flesh have replaced broken doors, windows, and even walls. Stretched and distorted faces watch as you silently move from shadow to shadow working your way to the obvious center of town – a twisted black and green spire of crystal that towers three hundred feet in the air. Once closer the spire appears to have risen from the ground itself and is covered in millions of tiny pulsing black veins around the vilest of green crystals.
Guards in this section of the city are prevalent and their dead bodies litter your path from this point to the tyrant’s gate. The closer you get to the spire the more obscene and degraded the minions become… twisted and cursed undead that no sane man would conjure in their worst nightmare. The stench of decay is constant and the slicks of gore make even walking treacherous, but after most of the day you are able to crash the gate and make your way inside…
The grand chamber is oddly pristine white marble walls and floor. The ceiling, one hundred feet over head, is carved blood stone with gold filigree patterned to emulate the inside of a sarcophagus. Dozens of balconies peer into the six sided chamber from different heights, some with enough room for just a few spectators and others with full seating for twenty or more. A grand staircase climbs the back wall at an impossible angle leading to the largest of balconies, eighty feet from the floor, this one covered with a flowing black curtain that seems to breathe on its own.
Welcome to the Lair of the Lich King.