The Oozing Bastion was far different on the inside than in comparison to its drab exterior. It was filled with all manner of decoration, mainly macabre trophies of the more organic sort. Heads lined the walls, of monsters and the sapient variety. Pelts stretched down instead of tapestries from the walls, and rivers of clear water quietly babbled as they ran alongside the dry parts of the hallways.

All manner of people wandered its halls, but more than half of them were soldiers, clad in the armor of Slothari’s legions. Those within the field of view of the Uthraki warriors’ vision regarded them with disdain, and in some cases, fear. Tukar found himself wanting to break free of his restraints and beat the looks off their faces, but he forced himself to calm down. Such rage would do him no good here.

Tukar tried to angle his head to get a better look at the armed forces of Mire, but all he managed to see was a small slice of the fighters around him, seen from a near upside down position. It was not exactly the best introduction to the vagaries of life in the Oozing Bastion.

As they progressed through the tiled floors of the palace, the three Uthraki gradually felt a sense of dread overtake them as the aura of a being far beyond their own strength grew and grew on the horizon. It soon graduated from fear-inducing to downright oppressive, and by the time they had reached a pair of double doors the size of a small hill, emblazoned with eons of history, the feeling of being an ant before a descending boot had become all consuming.

The doors were sized for a true behemoth, made out of verdigrised copper and covered with all manner of designs showing Slothari defeating the monsters of Mire and unifying its people. Like much of the history of the Hells, it was completely false. The Uthraki knew a bit about the ancient resistance against the circle lord from listening to Jonathan explain the book he had found in the Ash Heaps, and they knew that it had not always been this way. Once, Mire had been a far better place.

The doors creaked open, revealing a throne easily fifty feet tall. It was to the great surprise of the Uthraki when they saw its occupant. A tiny slime sat primly on it, radiating the potency of a demigod.

“Ah, the rebels against my court,” a ridiculously high pitched feminine voice declared. “Tell me, how does it feel to stand before the barest fraction of my true form? While the rest of my body watches your allies traverse my realm, this tiny fragment is sufficient to watch all of the Oozing Bastion.”

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Tukar tried to say something, but he could not. A face appeared on the slime, seemingly for the sole purpose of conveying emotion. A frown appeared on it, and a small hand formed on its side. The creature snapped its fingers, and the paralysis field dropped, letting the Uthraki fall to the ground. Tukar got to his feet and glared at Slothari.

“What was the purpose of all of this?” He asked. “Why not address us sooner, or even just kill us?”

“It is rare that one asks for death,” Slothari replied. “Normally you mortals are far more greedy for life’s blessings. You mewl and scream as it is torn from you.”

“We’re not from this realm, and not subject to your whims,” Tukar responded, although fear sent tremors through his form. He was not a man to back down from a challenge.

“Not subject? Strength is the only right by which I rule.”

The slime hopped off the throne and landed with an almighty boom, as if tons of weight had been compressed into that tiny body. The figure began to shift and change, until a heavily muscled demon stood before them, horns of a bleached white color stretching to the sky. Four arms jutted from its torso, each ending in shovel sized claws that glistened with the sharpness of a razor’s edge.

“I am everything and nothing, all creatures and none. How can you speak to me with such insolence?”

“Because your days are numbered,” Maranta replied. “Jonathan is coming for you.”

The demon sneered. “Ah, Jonathan Harlowe. The pest who killed Granath. I know exactly where he is. He will be dead before he even reaches the Fetid Plains.”

“You must have a significant portion of your strength secreted away in this form.” Tukar said, pointing at the demon. “How do you know whatever is left of you is even strong enough to defeat him?”

“You know nothing of my strength. Besides, I did not bring you here to banter. You will serve a different purpose, one that will show you your errors in siding with a rebel against my throne.”

As the Uthraki watched, Slothari began to shift once more, this time taking on the aspect of Tukar himself. The circle lord shifted and changed until a perfect copy of the Uthraki stood before him and his companions. At this point, it was clear what Slothari’s intentions were.

She snapped her fingers once more and the three Uthraki were seized by a sudden wave of force. They drifted up through the air and towards a small alcove secreted away in a corner. Then the force dissipated, leaving them there. A field of energy spread outwards from a crystal embedded in the wall, creating a stasis field that froze the Uthraki in time and space. Slothari watched with a slight smile on her face as they were entombed in a coffin of elemental magic. Only that beastman traitor from the mercenary guild was left. His punishment would not be as swift or as merciful.