The host raised by the Scarlet Brotherhood, meanwhile, had floundered through the Suss Forest and upward to the Welkwood. Confused and slow, they had been harassed by the woodsmen and elves in the process of their march. Furious at their inability to locate something already far beyond their reach, the "Brothers" gathered a still greater force. Goblins and hobgoblins and any other of the vicious humanoids who could be found were conscripted to fight beside the bandits, brigands, and scum who served as auxiliaries for the main body. This army was composed of the highly trained and rigidly disciplined regiments of the Brotherhood. Its advance guard was a thousand strong, and behind that regiment were four others. Such size was actually why the force was ineffective. It was increased by the addition of thousands of men and humanoids.

So large a horde could not fail but to attract attention. The army had to eat and its scurvy auxiliaries had to slay and burn. The whole rolled northward slowly, and then turned away from the forests to stab into the pastoral countryside of Celene. The elvish monarchy was awaiting. They fell upon the horde almost immediately, and a great pitched battle raged for two days thereafter.

There fell the Marshal of Celene, Lord Parseval. With him many other noble elves and men were slain as well. As spell-caster fought spell-caster, the plying of bow and spear, sword and axe, took the worst toll. Of the "cousins," "nephews," and "brothers" of the Scarlet Sign there was a great slaughter. Afterward, their regiments had no heart and fought fiercely but without direction. So they died. Brigand companies and allied humanoids simply melted away, fleeing this way or that. Those that went east, back to the Welkwood, were ambushed or hunted down and then exterminated. In this manner an assassin sometimes known as Blonk was brought low by Deirdre, a Lady Knight of Hardby, while the great company of outlaws whom he had led was slain to a man by the banner of riders and footmen who served her. Some few managed to remain alive by fleeing north or south. Those who escaped to the south eventually returned to the Pomarj to tell of the terrible battle.

Those who went northward found another fate.

At the northern edge of the Kron Hills, where the fringe of the great Gnarley Forest sent no more of its briars and oaks toward the setting sun, stand the ruins of a large building. Once active, the place is now generally shunned, for another battle was fought near it and its builders slain or gone in defeat. The place is, of course, the Temple of Elemental Evil – its ruin, rather – as any local serf or peasant farm-boy from the neighborhood could tell you. Other than an occasional group of adventurous explorers seeking forgotten treasure, nobody goes to the temple. Bad, evil things haunt the place still.

To this very place came a company of another sort – goodly clerics, stout cavaliers and soldiers too, and a magic-user or two as well. They came because a dire warning said that some being of great evil still lurked there, imprisoned in the temple but about to be loosed. They traveled quickly and with grim purpose.

They were greeted by a mass of fugitives. These evil men and malign humanoids were spoiling for revenge, and they lay in wait for the company. These outlaws had strong and fearsome leaders now, folk from the hidden places beneath the temple and others too. They thought to kill the clerics and knights and all the rest. The evil leaders left them, though, and as most of their fellows had done earlier, these survivors did now. They were killed on the field. The battle, small and brief as it actually was, comparatively speaking, took its toll on the company. There was a delay for meditation and prayer, for healing and rest, to prepare for the entry into the Temple of Elemental Evil.

Time had been purchased at a price held cheap and meaningless by those within the place. A great personage, an ancient magus, a feared and mighty one of eld, had come among the few who still remained within the precincts of the ruin. She it was who set the ambush, brought the delay, and gained the time for her ends. The company came, ready again to face any foe of evil nature. Into the temple they came, driving all before them. Downward they plunged, sending undead things back to the pits from which they came, destroying the lurking monsters who would otherwise prey upon mankind. Deep and deeper they went, seeking what they knew they must find.

Even as they finally discovered the confining place and readied for the great confrontation, a pair of ghastly figures sprang upward, passing through stone and earth as if it were air. Too late had these archclerics and doughty fighters come. Iggwilv, Mother of Evil, had come before them and freed the demoness Zuggtmoy. But as these minions of Good lamented their failure, there were those not allied to Evil who rejoiced at Iggwilv's success. Mordenkainen, one who had secretly aided the plan to free the monstrous demoness, was among them.

Thirteen stone chairs stand above the many lesser seats in the Hall of Dread in Molag. Five to either hand are smaller and lower than the three in the center. Thirteen thrones for the thirteen Hierarchs, the Dread and Awful Presences who rule the Horned Society. Only three of the chairs were empty. The trio of the tallest thrones remained vacant as the Hierarchs took their places – five to the right, five to the left. Officials and military officers filed in to stand below the thrones.

Down the isle left unusually broad by the press of lesser masters of the Horned Society – humanoid chieftains, bandit leaders, all – wafted a terrible stench. As the foul odor came, the ranks compacted tighter still, and a wide space was made wider by this movement. Behind the decaying stink came something from which eyes turned away in revulsion. Before the thrones and the ten Hierarchs came Anthraxus the Decayed, Daemonking of Hades. It is worthy of note that the ten who sat upon the stone chairs did not avert their eyes as the monstrous figure glided toward them.

"Greetings, Lord of Glooms," said the greatest of the remaining ten Hierarchs, acknowledging Anthraxus by the least of his titles as if in challenge.

The Daemonking made no sign that he had noticed the affront. "And to you all," the thing replied in a voice that seemed to issue from an empty chest and a throat choked with maggots. "I am come at the behest of Nerull to assist you in your war."

None of the ten flinched at the mention of the war, even though they had only today received news that masses of Iuz's troops were marching through the northern regions of their realm. Again the greatest spoke.

"We serve Evil and acknowledge Nerull as Overlord. We likewise serve the same ends as Thee, but why is it that Our One Master does not Himself come?"

The great oinodaemon sneered and puffed out a cloud of foetid breath in answer. "Play not fools, you remaining Hierarchs! Isn't the loss of three of your number enough to teach you your place?"

The spokesman seemed totally unaffected by the implication of the question. "You mean as His servants?" he replied in an icy, level tone.

"What else?" Anthraxus shot back in a voice that would sicken any normal listener.

"Of course, Lord of Glooms, just as you come to us…" and the spokesman allowed his voice to trail off but raised a finger and spoke again. "The Three who represented Tar-terus, Hades, and Gehenna are gone. We have not yet had the trials which will elevate three of our own number to these exalted positions – and bring three lessers to sit with the Ten. Until we are Three and Ten once again, our power is insufficient against that rebel who opposes the Unification!"

"You waste My time!" Anthraxus said in a voice that coughed and choked.

"No, Master of Daemonkind, you are wasting your time – and ours too. We Ten erred, but not as did the former Three. It is not my place to question the removal of the offenders by the Master of Us All, but I do state now that unless the Society is given aid, we – and the Unification – are in jeopardy."