[5e] Descent into Avernus (Inactive)

Game Master mishima


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Donal

'Hidden Hand of the Hound' Digging this new moniker! Encapsulates the character nicely, let me know if you have any other ideas along those lines...if not I might dip my toes, seems worth exploring.

At mention of the vambrace shield "Hmm. I would suppose it would be impossible for an ordinary smith. The shield segments would need to be light enough to be arranged quickly into a disc, but sturdy enough to be effective when assembled. Mithral, with some ingenious clockworks could accomplish such perhaps. But I would imagine conjuration magics would be more efficient. I would be happy to explore some possibilities...or correspond with our resident forge masters."

So yeah, she can make a magic fluffed version or have a mechanical fluffed one crafted. Which do you prefer? Feel free to write up the RP details, or I can. I believe we settled on the mechanics earlier, I'll dig for the thread link. This one is free as your reward for delivering the box.

At the Hearth...

Reya grasped Donal's forearm in solidarity "I knew it already, Tormtar. Your resolve was never in question."


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Simon

"The shield was meant to be a symbol of good's triumph over evil. Gazing at such beauty, one can easily overlook the terrible force bound within it. Gargauth is its name, though it calls itself the Hidden Lord. It was a pit fiend sent by Asmodeus to corrupt mortals on the Material Plane, and there it amassed such a following as to rival that of gods. In that way, Gargauth became a sort of demigod, and having worshipers increased its power exponentially. My, how the mighty have fallen!" Jezebel dares to join his mistress in a bit of haughty laughter.

"There are a number of academic mysteries surrounding this ancient entity. 1) His ultimate exile from hell, why and what were the circumstances? 2) How is it he acquired the alias 'Astaroth' when the original Astaroth diminished as a vestige? 3) The shield itself, rather its arcane artifice, is not a prison at all but a communication device. How did it ultimately imprison a dark lord?" Sylvira's personal interest appeared to be mostly on the last of the 3.

"The shield has the power to corrupt everything around it. The Hhune family of Baldur's Gate has kept it for years now. Doubtless they'll want it back, but really the shield should not be taken to any place where thousands of mortals reside. It needs to be locked away in an extradimensional space, away from corruptible souls." she shrugged as if it wasn't that big of a deal.

Turning to the other topic "This Mirror you speak of is a much greater power. Said to be a portal from Avernus into the 8th layer of Baator: Cania...and its lord the archdevil Mephistopheles. Only Asmodeus is ranked higher. Why would you seek such a horrible audience?"

For the reward, how about Ring of Mind Shielding? Might be handy for keeping your secrets secret. Lots of planar creatures use telepathy. It also stores your soul if you die, which might be a loophole to certain contracts you've signed.

Ring of Mind Shielding:

uncommon (requires attunement)
While wearing this ring, you are immune to magic that allows other creatures to read your thoughts, determine whether you are lying, know your alignment, or know your creature type. Creatures can telepathically communicate with you only if you allow it.

You can use an action to cause the ring to become invisible until you use another action to make it visible, until you remove the ring, or until you die.

If you die while wearing the ring, your soul enters it, unless it already houses a soul. You can remain in the ring or depart for the afterlife. As long as your soul is in the ring, you can telepathically communicate with any creature wearing it. A wearer can't prevent this telepathic communication.


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The Hearth

Reya taps her chin "I've heard that before...that a true death can only be granted devils on their home plane. Perhaps the hunt is only beginning..." you spy a curl at the edge of her mouth as the notion takes root.

Falaster Fisk, shiny as a diamond from layers and layers of Grandpa Craggles Magic Moisturizing Lotion greets Mal, Donal, Little One, and Reya in the lively pub about that time. A few pints in, he takes Mantlemorn by the hand and reveals "Reya...I'm sorry. I've known the tortures of the damned, m'lady. The tortures of the damned! I can't join you on the push below. My mistress has...many...enemies and even more mysteries that require this old Calishite's sly touch." Looking to the others, he winks...taking the shame in stride as the scoundrels true modus operandi "Heh. I know. You think I'm a coward. Well, you ain't wrong. I owe you my life for gettin' me outta that devil's cell...but then I ain't about to start payin' my debts. I've a reputation to maintain." the cur admitted.

When the chitter-chatter sprouted in new directions towards the mysterious ogre, Little One inserted a fat finger bookmark and slammed the tome shut "No, I wasn't always this way. I used to prefer such savagery as biting the heads off dwarves, fashioning loincloths from elfskin, collecting one of each dead fish and metallic gong, and of course worshipping Vaprak the Destroyer as a role model."

Slamming a pint in one go "Came across a halfling one day, just like you folk. Well, he was wearing this curious gold headgear...not goat offal as was my custom at the time. I...killed him for it, for no other reason than I wanted it." This obviously quite genuinely pains Little One to recount.

Another pint down "But when I donned the golden headband, the attunement process began. It was a magic headband of intellect...growing in size to fit my big 'n tall proportions, and gifted me with a genius few are born with. Ever since, I've felt compelled to learn the error of my ways and seek a better life...I call myself Little One to honor the poor halfling whose life I cut short."

After an awkward silence "...and the drinks are on me."


m LE half-elf Warlock 5 | HP 47/47, THP 0/8 | AC 14 | Saves: Str 0, Dex +2, Con +2, Int +1, Wis +3, Cha +7 | Perc 10 | Init +2 | DV60' | HD 3/5 | Inspiration - | Talisman 3/3 | Spells 2/2 | Invis +, Spray +, Cloak +, PoP + | -

Simon is thinking. About who could have shoved Gargaut into the shield... He is just a pawn in the big game of infernal politics, although they have given him a different opinion about himself. So the answer may be unexpected if we ever find it. The noble man looks at tiefling in silence for a while, then sighs merrily with a slight smile, as if he is going to reveal some childish secret. I confess.... The shield was stolen by a cowardly but enterprising cambion. I really want to return this item. A matter of honor and principle, so to speak... One of his accomplices mentioned the Fort Knucklebone in Avernus before his death. What's it? And what does the Mirror-Portal have to do with it? Can they be related?

The ring is beautiful! An interesting and smart item.


Male human ftr 5 | AC 17 (19) | hp 46/47 | 5 HD (1 used) | Saves S +6, D +2, C +6, I +0, W +1, Ch +1 | Second Wind used [ ] | Inspiration [ ] | Action Surge used [ ] | passive Perception 14

Donal is silent in thought for a moment, Taking a piece of magic to fashion an eldritch shield... is it possible? Could it fail as a mechanical contraption could?


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AC18(20) |HP 38/[40]| Str+3 Int+1 Wis+6 Dex+0 Con+2 Cha+2|Init + 0|Percept +6|Insight +6|Invest +4| War Priest Attacks 0/[3] Inspiration [Y] Channel Divinity 1/[1] HD 2/[5] Male Human Doomguide Acolyte of Kelemvor Cleric (War)/5

-Later, but not as later as that 'Other Later'...

Donal and Evendur managed to finagle a motley assortment of guards hired from various retinues on the promise of ale, the payment of a silver coin for an afternoon of work or the wager for a sum of money for every hit the guards could land. The pair wheeled, one moving to strike at gaps that the other opened up, only for the pattern to be reversed. Donal and Evendur worked together as almost a single unit, most of the time able to keep the wooden practice weapons from serious strikes, but a good offense wasn't always a good defense - invariably incoming blows landed.

It felt good to train, a return to familarity amid the disorentating wonders of Candledeep. It cost them a few gold but...

Damn that felt good!, says Evendur mopping his brow after the session, bruises and contusions largely forgotten (though they'd make themselves known in the near future).

I know, the Tormite said with a laugh. I saw you crack a smile there when you smacked that fat Cormyrian over the knee.

Excuse me, said a winy nasally voice said. While the voice sounded weak, the tone was not. It was a determined interjection to a conversation rather than a polite aside, or an apology to pass the two warriors.

The speaker was a skinny short man, or a VERY skinny uncommonly tall dwarf, it was hard to tell. The beard covered half the mans face and descended to mid chest, braided and adorned with various gold clasps. His haircut on the otherhand resembled the short practical cut that seemed to be favoured by many here, designed to keep hair clear of eyes and ears alike.

I am Fargrim Rumnahein, he said, again his voice anemic compared to the typical timber of dwarves but strangely fitting in with some of the academics that scurried around the place. He continued with little pause, detirmined to continue speaking... which also fit right in with many of the same worthies who talked over the top of each other.

I am in the middle of a new research paper on the fighting styles of the Sword Coast and noted you to be using some sort of combination of 'Wheeling Wyvern' and 'Olbans many blades' movements. Its more of a mishmash than any sort of fixed form by the looks of it, which leads me to believe....

Who are you again?, Donal said holding up a hand as shield against the verbal onslaught.

And no, we don't want your name again, we mean 'Who are you to us?', said Grim, good mood rapidly fading.

Oh. Yes, well... I am a scholar who, well, not yet a scholar but I WILL be soon granted my first Stole I'm sure. I've already completed my first treatise. Its the "Thermic qualities of igneous rocks as used in forge construction". Copies have been making its way through many hands out here while the master copy is being considered by First Reader Valanaster. The speaker took a breath with every indication that he intended to continue.

Again both Donal and Evendur pushed their hands outwards, warding off additional commentary.

Its all very interesting but... piss off eh?, said the warrior priest who had more than enough of the self important yappy lot of them. They began to pack up their gear in preparation to depart.

Fargrim Rumnahein, author of... who cares, the pair had forgotten that part already, fell silent, looked down and considered.

I can help you make your fighting style work. I mean REALLY work, he said in a rush. Its, well, my hobby... I know more about fighting techniques that ninety nine percent of all the warriors on Toril.

The jaws of the training heros gaped open before they burst into howls of laughter.

I'm serious, look, I've a hogshead of Dwokhumlin Stout back at my quarters... let me show you. I've a pile of fighting manuscripts and scrolls that you'd be hard pressed to find outside the Candlekeep archives themselves.

The pair continued to laugh.

If I can't improve your efforts in two days? I'll pay you 10 gold each... AND I'll pay for your training partners to prove it.

That helped. After they were able to restrain themselves, and with a mutual nod to each other (which was much as a mutual shrug as anything else), they set off to check out just what the scholar was talking about.


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Astrid's Access

The dwarf's eyebrows flash a moment in hope "'ealer she says...and a greenthumb."

Sami shrugs, reasoning "Water would last longer without the flux..." Astrid made the connection immediately, 'flux' being the common name for dysentery. One of the most rapidly dehydrating of conditions, the contagious disease would only complicate the water scarcity and likely wipe out this small band of survivors left untreated.

The dark Companion's lightning struck a nearby rooftop, blasting clay shingles to bits and punctuating Caskfeet's snap decision "Alright, alright, c'mon lass...we'll give ye a chance. Hurry up now 'fore them curse plagued sons of the devil see us standin' about and get excited..."

They hurry you past their meager fortifications, really just an upturned baker's cart and some barrels loaded down with chipped marble. Luckily the regal headquarters of Stars Seen, Tales Told was already an formidable structure, its old dwarven architecture no stranger to the whims of unstable earth. The crisp white marble bricks flowed in a seamless arch overhead the long passageway leading down into this dreary printshop.

You didn't see any food or useful supplies, but there were wicker baskets overflowing with gallnuts and corked glass jars filled the warm amber nuggets of gum acacia. Piles of what looked like broken glass lay abandoned near a mortar and pestle, but on closer inspection it was some kind of natural mineral crystal. The only useful supply they seemed to have in abundance was wine...nothing fancy, but a cheap local vintage called Educated Guess.

Deeper inside, you spotted a little half-elf boy, maybe 6 years old, playing with a few letters of metal moveable type spelling out the word 'goners'. He was instantly afraid of you and hid behind one of the disassembled printing presses. Large transcription tables had become an infirmary of sorts, the ill and the weak doing nothing but suffering at the end of their days...only half a dozen in total and mostly halfling. The typesetting trays were now nasty bedpans.

Caskfeet pointed to a pair of women separated from the others "Edyn and Jaine are the worst off...can ye truly help 'em? I promise ye a wineskin, and a share of what food the rovers return..."


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Syrina Bad News Bears

There was a moment of shock as only the gentle sound of Chad-rain could be heard pelting the broken planks above. The spinning die in Two-fingers nimble grip slipped and tumbled, the worn pips displaying a useless number. "That certainly sours the morning." he finally managed to articulate with an obvious knot in his throat.

Miss Molly took it much worse, shaking ice cold as if the last bit of life within had just departed; her teeth clacking as loudly as Jingersnaps smacking down the last of the rats.

The gnome straightened his hat, but there was no cheery slogan to lighten the mood "Market isn't where you want to be, trust me. That's the Nitro Syndicate's ground zero...cannibalists, rapists, you-name-ists. You would drop before you could shop. Besides Molly here is in no condition to surface again..."


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Lucian's New Sun

Unaware you were looking, Harkina smiled brightly for the first time "Left, always left. The tunnels form a large ring under the city, with a few entrance passages beaming outwards...like the holy symbol of Amaunator."

*boooormmm*

The walls rumbled, your legs felt like jello as another earthquake rattled both your nerves, but the old aqueducts seemed resilient enough. Despite the faded runes, perhaps there was some mote of holy promise still circulating about down here...

...a promise cut short as the color returned to your vision. There was light at the end of the tunnel, and you heard the sounds of horrible, massive warfare. The echoing thunder is intoxicating, the dark chants of the battle metre, you feel compelled to witness this eternal horror.

The aqueduct ends on the side of a sheer cliff, a desert wasteland some 500 ft below. You watch as countless demons pour like water from eldritch portals, crashing into the forms of dark devils and their great machines of war. Thick streams of demonic ichor wash away from the frontline, flooding a black-as-night river that cuts the flank. You feel yourself start to mouth something like 'the Blood War' but the river steals your focus and whatever brief memory lingered with it.

"Sire!" Harkina pulls you back from the edge, your foot about to take a thoughtless, lethal step. Her eyes were bright with the reflected fires of hell.

Sort of hard to describe, but basically you are on the edge of the ravine cutting the two islands in half...with the surface of Avernus far below. The tunnel continues on the other side, but only air is in between. You'll have to backtrack to the last 'ray' passage or climb up/etc


Human Male Ranger (Gloom Stalker) 5 | HP 35/44 | AC 19 | Init: +4 w/ Adv. | Spells: 1st - 0/4; 2nd - 0/2 | Favored Foe: 2/3 | Passive Percept: 18 | Saves: STR: +7 DEX: +6 CON: +3 INT: +2 WIS: +3 CHA: +1 | HD: 2/5 | Conditions: Lycanthropy
Spells:
1st: Cure Wounds, Disguise Self, Hunter's Mark, Speak with Animals, Zephyr Strike; 2nd: Beast Sense, Protection from Poison, Rope Trick
Skills:
Insight + 5, Nature +4, Perception +8, Persuasion +3, Stealth +5, Survival +8

Lucian shakes his head, trying to get his wits back about him.

"Ummm...thank you, Harkina. Not sure where I was there for moment."

"Sire is certainly not necessary, but I suppose my manners have left with my memories. Call me Lucian." he says with a weak smile, realizing that he had never bothered to introduce himself to the woman who had entrusted her life to him.

Surveying the drop and potential climb back up, Lucian had little doubt that he could make the climb, but he wasn't so sure about Harkina.

"Looks like we have little option but to backtrack and try a different route."

Looking out along the break as far as I can see, does it look like the next ray would do the trick, or do I think we might need to skip a few to make our way to our intended destination?


Halfling Dragonslayer | HP: 33/34 | 0/1d8 & 0d6 | Disguise 1/1 | Camo 2/3 | Recover 0/3 | Fast Rit 1/1 |1st 2/4 | 2nd 1/3 | Inspiration!
Stats:
AC 15 | Str -1 Dex +6 Con +2 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha -1 | Init +3 | Perc +7, Darkvision 120 ft | Insight +1

Mal nods along at Little One's story with his eyebrows near his hairline. "Well, I'll always drink to honor the sacrifice of a halfling. But, I must say Little One, good came of it. I would toast to you, sir! And the excellent life you've chosen to lead." The halfling raises his cup in toast.


F Half-Elf Spores Druid 5 | 32/32HP | 14AC | Init: +2 | Wild Shape & Symbiotic Entity: 0/2 | Spells: 1: 4/4; 2: 2/3; 3: 1/2 | PassPerc: 16; Ins: 13; Inv: 10 | Saves: Str+1; Dex+3; Con+2; *Int+4; *Wis+7; Cha+4 | Conditions: Inspiration

Astrid narrows her eyes at the mention of flux and straightens up against her quarterstaff. Her aura of spores seem to hum, retracting and detracting against her sooty skin. "Calm down," She mutters, eyes unfocused and staring beyond the two in front of her for an uncomfortable amount of time. The parasites and bacteria running through the infected weren't exactly kin to her colony...she wonders, briefly, if the bad-boy spore that had shown up might have been bacteria in disguise? She shudders involuntarily at the thought of such an invasion. Surely not.

Astrid seems to shake herself from her train of thought, unaware of how much time had passed, and nods thoughtfully at the Caskfeet and Sami. "I can help with flux."

She follows the pair inside, stepping lightly, almost hesitantly, into the building. Her eyes dart around into the nooks and crannies, noting the mess of repurposed printing supplies. And...the wine. She hums with interest upon reading the name of the wine and files the thought away for later.

The smell hits her before the sight of the makeshift infirmary and the druid grimaces. They're doing their best. Just trying to survive, like me... She reminds herself, taking a deep breath to steel herself for the worst of things.

"Yes, I can help..." The druid reaches out to the pair of women, placing her hands on one of them - Edyn, Caskfeet tells her - and closes her eyes. The halo of spores hugs the druid closely, sinking into her skin to flow down her arms and coat her hands thickly enough that their odd sparkle would twinkle in the dim light that illuminated the room. She directs the spores within the woman, psyche riding their journey throughout the woman's body.

"Ah, there..." She whispers, her barksin eyes taking on an odd, feverish glow as her magic explored the woman's diseased body and drove out the illness. The halo of spores seemed to explode around her and coat both of them in a brief, sparkling halo as the spores and the bacteria clashed within Edyn's body.

The battle is brief--the bacteria are easily overwhelmed; it seems their guard was down after days of dominance in this space. The fungus was stronger. Astrid was stronger. The spores unwrap from around Edyn and move back to coating the druid, basking in their victory.

She turns to Jaine, repeating the same steps to eradicate the disease from her body, the same bright, brief flash indicating the battle was fought and won.

"Mmmmh..." Astrid hums, placing a hand on the forehead of each woman. Sweaty, but they were cooling off already. It had worked.

If I can take liberties with prepared spells... She casts lesser restoration twice to cure the disease. She can cast it two more times.


Male human ftr 5 | AC 17 (19) | hp 46/47 | 5 HD (1 used) | Saves S +6, D +2, C +6, I +0, W +1, Ch +1 | Second Wind used [ ] | Inspiration [ ] | Action Surge used [ ] | passive Perception 14

Donal looks to Grim, What do you think the brain can offer? I doubt he has even picked up a blade, much less seen combat.


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AC18(20) |HP 38/[40]| Str+3 Int+1 Wis+6 Dex+0 Con+2 Cha+2|Init + 0|Percept +6|Insight +6|Invest +4| War Priest Attacks 0/[3] Inspiration [Y] Channel Divinity 1/[1] HD 2/[5] Male Human Doomguide Acolyte of Kelemvor Cleric (War)/5

Part 2 coming then I'll throw over to you for part 3 :)


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Simon

Sylvira shows a hint of recognition "Knucklebone, did you say?" flipping through a few pages of a thick journal. "Curious, that was one of the augered possible origins for my stabilizing gyro. Captive baatezu speak of these junkyard bastions on the edge of the greater infinite expanse...forever rebuilding from the war salvage new and reimagined artifice for the eternal defense against the tanar'ri. I am no planar traveler myself, but I would think if one wanted to get anywhere...like that dread ice mirror...they would first need to pass through one of these fortifications." the archmage infers.


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Donal

The archmage scoops up a thin golden bracer from the clutter, mere jewelry really, but clasps it at her wrist and takes a hard look at its proportions. "Conjuring a disc of force is superior to, say evoking a disc of force. While the end result is the same, the conjured version is an eternal ideal...always existent from some preconceived formula. Whereas the evoked version is more of an 'on-the-fly' creation, subject to the whims and passions of the caster. Conjuring is the reliable option. True, any magic disc is vulnerable to destructive interference possible with abjuration...the so-called dispelling magics. But this can be mitigated somewhat by pulling the dweomer from a sufficiently high leveled sphere of magic..." she lowers her arm, then raises it quickly to get a sense of the timing. "Of course, if you are toe-to-toe with a sufficiently skilled spellslinger...a shield of the warrior's sort is of little use anyways."

"Mechanical contraptions, of the purely mundane variety I should say, are from what I've seen inherently unreliable. Have you heard of the smokepowder weapons popular among the pirates near Lantan? Powerful as a mage's fire bolt, but the mechanism fails more often than not. I personally would not trust my life to such a fickle thing..." Perhaps the archmage was a bit biased.


m LE half-elf Warlock 5 | HP 47/47, THP 0/8 | AC 14 | Saves: Str 0, Dex +2, Con +2, Int +1, Wis +3, Cha +7 | Perc 10 | Init +2 | DV60' | HD 3/5 | Inspiration - | Talisman 3/3 | Spells 2/2 | Invis +, Spray +, Cloak +, PoP + | -

Thank you very much. This will help... in the cause of the triumph of goodness and justice. Simon smiles. Tell me, why are you so interested in all this? Toril faces many dangers, I'm sure. Why the theme of Avernus and Elturel? What it all means to you... He leans closer (I imagine that we are sitting in chairs, by the way).


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Female, Human, Rogue (Swashbuckler) 3/ Warlock (Hexblade) 2 AC: 15(16) | HP: 23/30 | PP: 14 | PI: 14 | Init: +7 | Inspiration: No

Spoiler for Length Only:
Syrina pulls at her lower lip as Two-Fingers describes the gang that has apparently staked out the market. A group that surely needed to be put down, but not by a single lone woman who hadn't had a decent night’s rest in weeks. Lady Raven, sounds like we need a change of plans. She thinks, but doesn't hear anything back except a distant caw-caw-caw. Her eyes flick toward poor Molly and the gnome. Over to Cat chomping away happily on the last remains of the rat. A heavy sigh. She runs a hand through her gritty hair.

"I seem to be gatherin' folk like a dog in a tick farm." She says. "Alright. How 'bout we stick together?” She says looking at Molly trying to throw a bit of courage in her direction, but mostly ends up looking like she's got stomach trouble. Still, it's the thought that counts.

"But we can't stay here. You're hidey hole is compromised…" She’s interrupted by a crash somewhere back down the tunnel. Could be just rubble shifting. "...And your protector is feedin' the weeds." Another clatter of falling stone. She looks at Molly and Two-Fingers. After this long in hell, all three of them know the noise isn’t just the building settling into its grave.

"Workin' together, we've a better chance o'livin'." She pauses. Swallows. A bead of sweat trickles down her cheek. "Gather what you need. I’ll see if I can slow down or deal with our uninvited undead visitors." Drawing her sword and the small crossbow, Syrina slips back down the tunnel not waiting for an answer from Two Fingers or Molly.

”You comin’ Cat?”

”Meow.”

************

Former Detective Inspector Claude Rousseau sits hidden in the shadows of a dark, shattered storefront near the east end of Southbridge. Across the way sits the collapsed shell of a herbalist’s shop. His intense gaze stares at the black entryway as a pair of skeletal warriors snuffle and poke about the wreckage in search of their earlier quarry. Rousseau wasn’t concerned about the undead. He was after bigger bones.

For months he’d staked out the area, keeping tabs on the gnome he’d been trying to nab for years. He’d a dozen aliases. The Red Hood, Rutherford Cobblepot, Gray Shadow, Meebo Firethrower. All names Rousseau has tracked and chased over the years, swearing he’d get the crook even if he had to follow him into the pits of hell. Rousseau stifled a wild giggle at that little pledge. Gambling, Lotus Dealing, Trade in illegal magic, if there was a racket in the city, Rousseau would bet his pension the gnome was involved. Others in the Watch and the higher ups thought he was wrong. Crazy even. Thought he’d let a two-bit con artist crawl too far under his skin. You’re bloody obsessed Rousseau! I’m telling you to back off. Leave the gnome alone and go arrest some real bloody criminals! The words of the Chief right before everything went to hell.

”Somehow, he’s at the center of this whole nasty business." Rambled the mad, undead, detective. ”Just need a little more proof. The show up there in the sky was a message to his gang. I’m certain of it. I’ll show ‘em who’s really crazy. I’ll collar Two Fingers and get him to put things right again. ” He runs a slowly rotting hand over the soft fur of a big three-eyed dog sitting calmly next to Rousseau’s tall, lanky frame. Interestingly, the dog does not appear to be suffering from the same state of slow decay as his less-than-living companion. Rousseau either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

He grabs the tin cup sitting on the broken window sill and slurps the reddish contents gathered from the recent rainfall. Dry, once green eyes watch as one of the skeletons finally decides to climb down into the pit just inside the shop’s entrance. The other lingers above.

The dog’s ears perk forward and he issues a low rumbling growl, hackles rising as his tail swooshes slowly back and forth. Moments later there is a low rumbling *boom* from the pit across the street. A cloud of dust bubbles up from the darkness. A skeletal head arcs up and out of the billowing cloud, bounces off a broken timber, careens off the wall and finally rolls to a stop near the edge of the road.

”What's all this then?” The inspector mutters leaning forward with interest. "Could the little scoundrel finally be making his move? Be ready." The dog grumbles in reply.

Meanwhile the second skeleton moves to the edge of the pit and squats down waiting sword poised to strike. It doesn’t need to wait for long. A grim, filthy, head slowly pokes over the edge of the pit. Matted, tangled, mud covered hair, dark pits for eyes, its mouth a large worried ‘O’. The skeletal warrior swings at the emerging figure.

There’s a heavy clang as saber meets the metal pipe holding up the rotting head. A purple blast of eldritch energy takes the skeleton in the chest knocking it back into a pile of rubble. Before it can scramble back to its feet a woman clambers out of the hole swinging a thin bladed sword and sinking a crossbow bolt square into the forehead of the skeletal knight. She’s followed by a yowling feline. A screeching bundle of three-eyed clawed fury. Between the two the skeleton is shattered and torn into a thousand pieces in a few wild, frenzied seconds.

Spotting the three-eyed cat, Dog goes completely wild. Barking and clawing at the open window frame. Only Rousseau’s grip on the creature's collar prevents it from tearing after the demonic feline. ”Not yet! Not yet! That isn’t Two Fingers! It must just be another one of his enforcers like that Insidious Prime fool. Let the demons get her. We still need more evidence. Quiet boy or you’ll blow our cover.”

But Rousseau knew he was too late. Both feline and woman were already looking over toward the dark cavern of his shop. Both noted the growling dog and that something was keeping it back. Neither move to investigate. Instead they each make a quick survey of the sky. The woman picks up the rotting head and ties it back to her belt. The cat seems to smile in Dog's general direction. Then both quickly climb back into the pit.

Rousseau curses. His whole cover had been blown. "Bad dog."

"Woof." Replied Dog sniffing at the hand that had held it back and feeling a bit peckish.


Male human ftr 5 | AC 17 (19) | hp 46/47 | 5 HD (1 used) | Saves S +6, D +2, C +6, I +0, W +1, Ch +1 | Second Wind used [ ] | Inspiration [ ] | Action Surge used [ ] | passive Perception 14

Magic is a useful tool, I will take that one. It will leave me vulnerable in null magic zones, though. Am I correct in this assumption? Donal muses as he eyes the bracelet...


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The Light of her Companion

"Lucian...means 'light' doesn't it?" Harkina idly chattered, finding herself distracted by the same scene of impossible warfare and mysterious memory-sucking river below, above which everything she knows and loves was tethered like a lemonade stand balloon...decaying exponentially, slaughtering itself by the hourglass.

Ball is in your court for how you'd like to drive the narrative for these pre-party scenes. Whatever helps you explore the character more. But yes, the last 'ray' would take you near the northern bridge on the map. And it would lead to...

*Aiiiee! Arrggh! Nooo-ughgg*

The familiar chorus of death screams lets you know you are reaching the end of this aqueduct branch. A careful look outside reveals various packs of undead. Some feeding on the fallen in the streets, others clawing the doors and shutters of houses, some simply shambling in circles. It would certainly seem, from your experiences so far, the undead are getting much thicker the more you head east.

Beyond them you spot a bridge...and a quake splinters your psyche that matches the shifting streets themselves. You know this bridge, so critical to the defensive system inherent to Elturel. The system you are part of as Hellrider.

You remember your old commander standing just there, speaking its name "Torm's Reach. Key to the terrain...both tactically and strategically. It is one of two lifelines that connect our fortress to the docks, the other being Torm's Blade to the south. Both carry a blessed light...one you would do well to find in your heart." You remember watching the man you admired walk out across the span, the other recruits standing at attention.

This man, only 5 years past a mere artisan from Berduk...lost his wife to vampire spawn and dedicated himself to holy war, and Torm. You remember when he lifted his hands to the sky, and the way the runes covering the bridge filtered a new divine light from another dimension, a blinding and burning radiance. But in the dream of the memory you don't remember the words he spoke...

Or do you?


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Astrid's Stunning Magic

Nature 10:
Forgot to mention this earlier, on some of the supplies... Gallnuts are a strange kind of defense trees generate in response to parasitic wasps. Similar to the way flesh creates swelling and puss around a splinter, trees create these large spherical sap deposits around certain invasive insects. The swollen gall dries, and can be collected and stored as an excellent source of clear, pure tannin.

Gum acacia is similarly an important extract of trees, said to have a number of health benefits. Why they possess both in abundance, along with the strange minerals and wine...isn't clear.

The dwarf's eyes went wide as the energies of the spores illuminated the chamber. That telltale stink of sickness was replaced by an earthy note, and Caskfeet passed a coin to Sami "...told ya she wasn't a priest o' Illmater..."

Edyn grasped at her stomach "What was that magic, dear lady?" thanking you and grasping at you, overwhelmed. Jaine adds "To whom should we send our devoted prayers?"


F Half-Elf Spores Druid 5 | 32/32HP | 14AC | Init: +2 | Wild Shape & Symbiotic Entity: 0/2 | Spells: 1: 4/4; 2: 2/3; 3: 1/2 | PassPerc: 16; Ins: 13; Inv: 10 | Saves: Str+1; Dex+3; Con+2; *Int+4; *Wis+7; Cha+4 | Conditions: Inspiration

Nature dc 10: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

Astrid tries to contain her urge to cringe away from being touched - by anyone - and instead schools her expression into a polite, if uneasy, smile. "It comes from the cycle of death and rebirth. Nature." The spores around her sparkle a tad. "It comes from the energy that is released when something dies and returns to the earth. The essence that sinks into the dirt and feeds the worms." She ends her explanation with an intense stare then takes a deep breath and tries to smile politely again. "Sorry. Haven't been around people in a while." She says after a moment, running her fingers through her hair.

She moves quickly away from the women, inspecting the gallnuts and acacia and the like. "Are you all...trying to make some kind of potion here?" She asks softly, picking up one of the gallnuts and inspecting the surface.


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Sylvira's Story

A coy smile raises at her mouth corner "I may not look it, but I am old enough to remember Elturel during its darker days. It was my foster home, decades before the Companion came you see. The Hellriders back then were a fading memory, little more than thugs for the handful of territories put under 'Elturel's Guard'. That 'protection' a petty excuse for power...and certainly nothing unique to the realms."

"But then the High Rider was exposed as a vampire, and a hellish undead legion took the city both from within its power structure and from without in the ample Fields of the Dead. The Hellriders fought valiantly, securing our orphanage where myself and only a few others remained. We must've been the only living creatures for miles. The gains the Hellriders made by day were lost at night." The tiefling finished off her brandy, and topped of yours.

"We prayed...not just to one god but them all. Prayed for dawn to come sooner, against the will of the dead. We were broken, starving, our defenders dwindled to nothing...in that moment of impossible hope it came. The Companion. A second sun that turned night to day, blasting the vampire lord and all of his spawn to ashes. The man who guided those prayers, and saw they were answered? Thavius Kreeg." pointing a clawed finger at you to accentuate.

"Yes, it was the conjuring of that savior's orb that began my interest in magics; how could the sudden appearance of something so mighty and celestial be wrought from nothing? But it also began a relationship with Kreeg...a debt he would exploit over the years. With time, being used eroded my trust. But I tell you I would have died for him in those first bright years of the Companion." the archmage confided.


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Human Male Ranger (Gloom Stalker) 5 | HP 35/44 | AC 19 | Init: +4 w/ Adv. | Spells: 1st - 0/4; 2nd - 0/2 | Favored Foe: 2/3 | Passive Percept: 18 | Saves: STR: +7 DEX: +6 CON: +3 INT: +2 WIS: +3 CHA: +1 | HD: 2/5 | Conditions: Lycanthropy
Spells:
1st: Cure Wounds, Disguise Self, Hunter's Mark, Speak with Animals, Zephyr Strike; 2nd: Beast Sense, Protection from Poison, Rope Trick
Skills:
Insight + 5, Nature +4, Perception +8, Persuasion +3, Stealth +5, Survival +8

The memories of the past flood Lucian's thoughts...Commander Hawthorn...those words, what were those words. I do not know if you still live, but I do know that if you do, you are still putting up the good fight, if not I know you fell defending the people of Elturel...

Turning to Harkina, the ranger reasons, "If there is still any remainder of our forces it would be on the interior of the Reach and the Blade. That is where we will need to be after we find your boys."

Suddenly, Lucian turns back to the sight of the Reach, struck by inspirtation. Commander Hawthorn's spirit heard me? he thought to himself before launching into the words that now flowed into his heart as much as his mind.

"My Lord the Truehand,
Sitting on your throne in the Lonely Citadel,
Which rests on Mount Celestia,
In TrueHeart bordering Mercuria.

May your name be praised,
May you be worshiped for all eternity,
May your justice be brought through all the Realms.

Give us our Duty,
As we’ll accomplish it in a fashion,
That only you could show us,
And protect us from all incarnations of evil.
For the present and the future."


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AvernusArt 2Grid

Donal

The tiefling with the poofy zebra striped sleeves affirms "Summoned objects would temporarily lose their tether to you, but would immediately reappear on their own outside the zone. They are rare to find naturally, most of them remnants of the Time of Troubles. I do know of a large one in northern Tantras, though. A haven for folk who have wronged vengeful magic-users...quite an inreputible place." Musing casually "Of course archmagi and devout bishops know the secrets of creating them. As for beyond our world, I admit I've not studied their frequency in the planes...but it would certainly be worthwhile research."

She can deliver it in a few days, at some point during the Battle Bros training if you'd like to debut its powers then.


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Stars' Abundant Sundries

The women's eyes went wide, gasping "A priest of the Old Ways, of the druidic circles? Just like Queen Dragonsbane of Damara..." trailing off in admiration.

Sami spoke up "Eh, well...them's supplies for makin' ink, we stocked it all here before the fall. Octopus is fine for quill and parchment, but the presses need something more abundant and less viscous...doesn't run in the rain, neither. We wrote stories here, if you didn't know. Not that it matters anymore. At least we can still use the wine...'course it was just the cheapest swill we could manage." He snaps his fingers quick, grabbing a glass "Speakin' o' which we promised you something in return. Drink all you like."


AvernusArt 2Grid

Lucian's Defense

The holy runes pulse, finding their place in the world at the Hellrider's words...the prayer of Torm. A scintillating sphere erupts from the trusswork, dropping onto the surface a sticky white-hot veil like molten diamond. You take the chance to cross with Harkina, remembering the defensive measure only lasts so long...

...the dead follow. The first to clop across only makes a few paces before a pillar of light erupts from the veil, encasing the corpse in a geyser of blinding radiance. When you uncover your eyes only a wisp of ash remains, falling down to the battle far below. It's mindless brethren are only more eager to die, clawing their way towards you but meeting the same fate...at most making it a 10th of the 100 ft span.

"Could it be the gods are still with us..." Harkina whispers in disbelief.

The effect lasts a minute and can only be used once per hour for future reference.


F Half-Elf Spores Druid 5 | 32/32HP | 14AC | Init: +2 | Wild Shape & Symbiotic Entity: 0/2 | Spells: 1: 4/4; 2: 2/3; 3: 1/2 | PassPerc: 16; Ins: 13; Inv: 10 | Saves: Str+1; Dex+3; Con+2; *Int+4; *Wis+7; Cha+4 | Conditions: Inspiration

oooh, the ink thing is neat

Astrid grimaces a bit at the word "priest." She didn't think of herself as such. She thought of herself as a vessel, of course - a host. Doing the will of the colony she had aligned herself with. Luckily, it aligned with her own goals for now.

She smiles weakly at the women, nodding respectfully, then listens carefully to Sami's explanation. "Ah. Ink, that makes more sense than potions." She takes a glass gratefully and smiles in thanks, sipping the wine while pondering the idea of stories. It did taste sooty and ashen, but it spread a pleasant warmth throughout her chest that made her loosen her tongue just a tad the further along in the cup she became.

"Stories still matter," She says quietly. "How will anyone know what is happening to us if we don't tell the story? Write it down somehow? And stories are how we retain what makes us people." She pauses for a moment, glancing at the people. "Does anyone else need healing?"


Male human ftr 5 | AC 17 (19) | hp 46/47 | 5 HD (1 used) | Saves S +6, D +2, C +6, I +0, W +1, Ch +1 | Second Wind used [ ] | Inspiration [ ] | Action Surge used [ ] | passive Perception 14

Donal nods in affirmation, Very well, I will take one. Grim and I will be training in the courtyard. You can find us there.


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AC18(20) |HP 38/[40]| Str+3 Int+1 Wis+6 Dex+0 Con+2 Cha+2|Init + 0|Percept +6|Insight +6|Invest +4| War Priest Attacks 0/[3] Inspiration [Y] Channel Divinity 1/[1] HD 2/[5] Male Human Doomguide Acolyte of Kelemvor Cleric (War)/5

The dwarf (neither of them was 100 percent sure but the beard adornments, his name and choice of beer, which was excellent, indicated that was the most likely choice - it seemed rude to ask) pawed through multiple piles of organised chaos. One thing was certain. He had money. The chambers they sat in were at least three times larger than that of any up and coming academic.

Lets see... the fencing manual of Ridolfo Capo Ferro. Might be useful..., he mused before taking up another manual. Ah! Gérard Thibault d'Anvers, and his treatise Sword Academy!! Both translations of the original off world texts of course, He said placing one on top of the other... then frowned. What am I thinking?! Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro. Gah!, Fargrim Rumnahein exclaimed before throwing them off the cluttered desk and onto the floor.

After a few more minutes of muttered deliberations he managed to put together an assortment of books, scrolls and illustrations. With an air of triumph he laid them out before Donal and Evendur, who had both started their second cup. This! THIS! See... these are your key, along with, he brandished what looked like a battered diary and an old history book at them, These... the personal diary of Belarus of Tempus, and this History of 'The Abbey of the Sword', an account and analysis of his training is contained within.

The pair of warriors were skeptical. Neither was a stranger to combat manuals but for Evendur's part most of his training had be practical with direct comments from whoever was beating him with a training sword... still, the more the skinny fellow talked, and the more the pair drank the better his crackpot ideas sounded. Sure, they were based in b&$#$*#@ but Donal seemed to grab some inspiration from a few of the illustrations and requested some other books, which were quickly located and discussed.

By the time they left the scholars room they were committed to a mid morning meeting, with Fargrim to arrange their training partners.


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Male human ftr 5 | AC 17 (19) | hp 46/47 | 5 HD (1 used) | Saves S +6, D +2, C +6, I +0, W +1, Ch +1 | Second Wind used [ ] | Inspiration [ ] | Action Surge used [ ] | passive Perception 14

By the time that Grim arrived the next morning, Donal was already down in the courtyard poring over the scrolls and treatises with the skinny scholar. No, look at this stance! The drawing is only taking into account one angle. Your legs would have to be at least shoulder-width to provide stability from all directions. Look... stand in the way you surmise the drawing tells you to.

The warrior circles the sage, and with a shove knocks the skinny Dwarf to the ground, See? Now, widen the stance. Shoulder's width.

The scholar, the embarrassment clouding his face, stands back up, but this time tries as Donal orders. The look of Well, of course, you are much stronger than I... clear to all onlookers. But this time, he does not fall! Sure, he stumbles at the shove, but keeps his feet.

Noticing the Doomguide approach, Donal smiles, Just teaching this brain that practical experience is just as important as book knowledge.

--

The day is grueling, but Donal and Grim spend equal time translating sketch into motion as facing live opponents. Circles and footwork allow the warrior and temple knight to trade off opponents, catching them off guard with rapid exchanges and forcing them to each worry about two opponents rather than one.

Want to add anything else? My arm is throbbing, so I need to stop for now.


Human Male Ranger (Gloom Stalker) 5 | HP 35/44 | AC 19 | Init: +4 w/ Adv. | Spells: 1st - 0/4; 2nd - 0/2 | Favored Foe: 2/3 | Passive Percept: 18 | Saves: STR: +7 DEX: +6 CON: +3 INT: +2 WIS: +3 CHA: +1 | HD: 2/5 | Conditions: Lycanthropy
Spells:
1st: Cure Wounds, Disguise Self, Hunter's Mark, Speak with Animals, Zephyr Strike; 2nd: Beast Sense, Protection from Poison, Rope Trick
Skills:
Insight + 5, Nature +4, Perception +8, Persuasion +3, Stealth +5, Survival +8

"It would seem that way...at least in part." Lucian says quietly, still in awe of the sight.

"We need to move now. If memory serves me correctly, this will not last a terribly long time and it will be an hour or so before it can be brought back up again...if at all."

Intent is still to go after Harkina's boys if that is at all possible. Sticking to less populated areas if we can.


AC18(20) |HP 38/[40]| Str+3 Int+1 Wis+6 Dex+0 Con+2 Cha+2|Init + 0|Percept +6|Insight +6|Invest +4| War Priest Attacks 0/[3] Inspiration [Y] Channel Divinity 1/[1] HD 2/[5] Male Human Doomguide Acolyte of Kelemvor Cleric (War)/5

Yeah, will do a quick part 4 then you do the final part 5 at the end of the 10 day period about progress made


AC18(20) |HP 38/[40]| Str+3 Int+1 Wis+6 Dex+0 Con+2 Cha+2|Init + 0|Percept +6|Insight +6|Invest +4| War Priest Attacks 0/[3] Inspiration [Y] Channel Divinity 1/[1] HD 2/[5] Male Human Doomguide Acolyte of Kelemvor Cleric (War)/5

Day two turned to day three then into day four...

It was becoming an academic workshop and symposium as much as a practice session, and various bored scholars in search of entertainment wandered by from time to time to debate, argue and some amusing cases, wail away on each other with practice swords when debate and shouting matches failed to resolve their nebulous theories or bombastic arguments failed to convince.

It was day four that Donal and Evendur began to catch on. They had before been able to capitalise on gaps, open up enemy guards for the other to strike but now? They occasionally were able ward the other from counter attacks.

When they were able to pull it off? It made the duo very difficult to hit.

But of course just as theory is one thing compared to practice, so is practice when compared to combat. Every time the tempo increased to that of a real fight, the new mutual defensive maneuvers failed in effectiveness or left themselves vulnerable afterwards.

Still, it was now clear to both of them that this was the next level they could elevate this fighting form to. They had offense, well, if not mastered, then at least at a high level of proficiency, but the ability to guard one another would make them deadlier than ever...


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The Case of the Yartaran Bolter

"Woof." dog repeated.

"Wait a minute...g*$-d*~nit dog, that's it! The warp and woof of that woman's fabric...I saw it, too. There's only one tailor on the Coast capable of such a tight knit pattern..." furiously paging back through weeks and weeks of case-notes, leaving smears of green and black death ichor all over. "Firelust Fabrics and Tailoring. So...the Dessarin Valley connection wasn't a red herring after all. The diabolical fiend was smuggling bolts of cloth from Yartar just as I suspected...why didn't you listen, chief..."

"Bark." dog suggested.

Rousseau blinked in instant realization "Of course, dog, the barkeeper's friend! He was in on it the entire time. Poisoning the chief's ear with counter-theories, running against the grain of my hard work. I should have known, the tattoo on his arm was the docksman's sigil...but how in the hell did they sneak it past customs..."

"Whine." said dog.

"Are you f*cking kidding me?!" saliva and Chad-juice running from his mouth, the former inspector detective was pulling out the last bits of his hair with the scalp as his rotted brain made yet another logical deduction "Yes dog, I see it now! They hid it in the wine casks, sending it downriver to the pickup in Sumber Hills..."

Rousseau was a lousy detective, in the final analysis. Dedicated. But lousy. Dog for his part was ever too noble to brag about his degree in forensic science from Buttsniff University...but he certainly deserved a round of a-paws.


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The Isle of the Dead

Lucian feels a drop in his stomach as the runes finally fade and he takes a step onto the eastern island of fallen Elturel. He's met with the gruesome sight of a pair of crucified men standing post at the end of the bridge...now zombies gnawing down at his uselessly.

In the distance to the south he catches sight of a curious silhouette on the rotten-cherry sky: a head on a stick, a flying cat, blasts of ancient arcane energy...something is assaulting the walking bones to the south, and putting up a pretty good fight.

You and Syrina are close enough to meet up if you wish, or continue with solo prologues either way.


AvernusArt 2Grid

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The sooty ash of the Educated Guess is an unexpected stomach churner, but the devilish aftertaste of clove is a deal someone sold their soul for.

At the mention of healing anyone else, Sami and Caskfeet look at each other...not even a whisper shared between them this time. They look back at you simultaneously "...n-No."

Insight 10:
They are obviously holding something back...perhaps it has something to do with the nailed and barricaded 'Archives' at the end of the hall.

Jaine rapidly changes the subject "Uh...say, will you be staying with us, lady healer? Help us mount runs to the outer stalls? Getting harder to pull from under the syndicate's noses...but there's no other choice, fires further east have been burnin' for weeks."


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Highway to Hell

Going to go ahead and nudge things forward just an itty-bit for team Candlekeep. Feel free to continue previous scenes and retcon. And sorry this is super railroady.

Your research complete, training perfected, plots uncovered and letters goodbye sent via the loaded mouthpouches of trained messenger squirrels...Reya Mantlemorn gathers you within the Stablemaster's Respite, adorned in the resplendent full ceremonial arms and armor of the Hellriders. The dual suns no longer dance across her chest, the betrayer companion now altered into a skull's visage. The symbol of her vengeance across the planes. "The Archmage's plane shift to Avernus will be cancelled if we do it from within Candlekeep, so we have a short flight to her friend's tower nearby...hovering above the Sea of Swords. Traxigor owes her a favor, she says. Said he has a friend we should take with us as well, name of Lulu." she tightens a dagger sheathe on her thigh, looking as if she could not care less. There was a certain aura, a hunger for blood, that empowered the veteran.

The Stablemaster's Respite was a special tower, buried behind another mind-bending sequence of guards and wards, and home to a kettle of gold-beaked griffons. They screech. They preen. They're half-eagle half-lions that actually eat horses for breakfast, and its your turn to saddle up.


AC18(20) |HP 38/[40]| Str+3 Int+1 Wis+6 Dex+0 Con+2 Cha+2|Init + 0|Percept +6|Insight +6|Invest +4| War Priest Attacks 0/[3] Inspiration [Y] Channel Divinity 1/[1] HD 2/[5] Male Human Doomguide Acolyte of Kelemvor Cleric (War)/5

-Earlier that day-

My Mistress, The Lady Syrina has bid me to provide access to her secondary armory. While it is not her personal vault, the servant sniffed self importantly, its contents are formidable. She believes it will be of assistance, more over a pledge of good will between her house and yours until the end of days.

He opened the ornate door with a few gestures and a sequence of mutted words, then stepped back with a bow.

Choose wisely.

-Now-

Well... never thought I'd see one of those close up without blade in hand... Life is truly a mystery .

He takes special care to move slowly and carefully in mounting, still trying to get a feel for his meteor iron black platemail. At the least? It looked a damn sight better than his old battered scratch altered plate... and by all accounts, would be more protective. Donal swore by his.

He had caught a look at himself earlier. He looked every inch the Doomguide. He hoped he'd act like it too.


m LE half-elf Warlock 5 | HP 47/47, THP 0/8 | AC 14 | Saves: Str 0, Dex +2, Con +2, Int +1, Wis +3, Cha +7 | Perc 10 | Init +2 | DV60' | HD 3/5 | Inspiration - | Talisman 3/3 | Spells 2/2 | Invis +, Spray +, Cloak +, PoP + | -

> Sylvira's Story

How interesting the circle of fate closes, given your infernal pedigree, isn't it? Simon nods. I appreciate your sincerity. I wonder what guided this savior of Elturel? Did he believe that it was the good of people? Did he think he could outwit the devils and terminate the contract? However... I think I can ask him the next time I see him. Do you want me to give him a message from you? Simon smiles, looking into her eyes. And I'm also interested... Is the supreme archmage of Candlekeep serious all the time, concerned about the fate of the world? Or is no pleasure alien to this beautiful woman? He lightly touches her hand and looks expectantly while the devils dance in his eyes. Don't tell me you can incinerate me for being impertinent. I know...


Halfling Dragonslayer | HP: 33/34 | 0/1d8 & 0d6 | Disguise 1/1 | Camo 2/3 | Recover 0/3 | Fast Rit 1/1 |1st 2/4 | 2nd 1/3 | Inspiration!
Stats:
AC 15 | Str -1 Dex +6 Con +2 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha -1 | Init +3 | Perc +7, Darkvision 120 ft | Insight +1

When Malaric arrives at the stables, you remark at the cumulative changes from the first time you saw him in Baldur's Gate, top to bottom. His unkempt hair is actually clean and resting face is haunted instead of just mean-looking with dark bags of sleeplessness beneath his light violet eyes. Beneath a new leather cloak, he shoulders a crossbow, quiver, and backpack, still stuffed with all of his possessions. He wears a many-pocketed vest over tailored studded leather armor that you remember him buying in Baldur's Gate. He still only wears one shortsword on his weapons belt, instead of two shortswords and half dozen daggers that made even Captain Zodge wary. His hands still look calloused and ink-stained, but his calloused harfeet now wear fine leather boots.

"Griffons. Interesting that we must fly to Hell."


F Half-Elf Spores Druid 5 | 32/32HP | 14AC | Init: +2 | Wild Shape & Symbiotic Entity: 0/2 | Spells: 1: 4/4; 2: 2/3; 3: 1/2 | PassPerc: 16; Ins: 13; Inv: 10 | Saves: Str+1; Dex+3; Con+2; *Int+4; *Wis+7; Cha+4 | Conditions: Inspiration
GM Infinity wrote:

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The sooty ash of the Educated Guess is an unexpected stomach churner, but the devilish aftertaste of clove is a deal someone sold their soul for.

At the mention of healing anyone else, Sami and Caskfeet look at each other...not even a whisper shared between them this time. They look back at you simultaneously "...n-No."

** spoiler omitted **

Jaine rapidly changes the subject "Uh...say, will you be staying with us, lady healer? Help us mount runs to the outer stalls? Getting harder to pull from under the syndicate's noses...but there's no other choice, fires further east have been burnin' for weeks."

"You're bad liars," Astrid states matter-of-factly, flicking her eyes toward the Archives door. "I can stay. There's power in numbers. But if there's a threat within, we need to take care of that too. What are you afraid of beyond that door?"


Female, Human, Rogue (Swashbuckler) 3/ Warlock (Hexblade) 2 AC: 15(16) | HP: 23/30 | PP: 14 | PI: 14 | Init: +7 | Inspiration: No

"Time to go." Syrina growled upon returning to the underground parlor where Two Fingers and Molly stood clammy skinned and pale, knives quivering as they stared at the bounty hunter stepping back into their little sanctuary. Both couldn't help but notice the new gash and broken nose marking the head dangling at Syrina's hip. The wounds adding a certain emphasis to the look of incredulous but impotent rage the Indigo Rose was currently expressing.

They also took stock of the finger bone Cat seemed to be using to pick his teeth with, the pointy ivory digit bouncing up and down and side to side as the hellish feline work some bit of...something...free of his incisors. Bits of rotted skin and bone chips dotted Cat's fur and Syrina's coat along with yet another thick layer of ash, dust, and grit.

"What? Why? We thought y-you'd taken care of them." Molly stammers. Fright leaking from her pores like wealth from a drunk. Syrina gives a derisive snort, but then sighs, in a belated attempt to offer some level of sympathy for the poor girl.

"Them two knights, or whatever they once called themselves, won't be causing any more trouble." She says. "But all the noise'll surely draw the attention of more hell bent critters." She glances back down the tunnel, remembers the sound of a barking dog and Cat's sudden unease. Then the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Something had been lurking in those shadows. Remembering the grizzly and rather abrupt fate of one Insidious Prime, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out just now. "Plus, there was something watchin' from across the street. Lurkin' in the shadows. Had a hound of some kind with it. Critter took to barkin' soon as it spotted us...or maybe Cat." She pokes a thumb at Cat who continued his efforts at good dental hygiene.

"Beooow." Mutters Cat around the finger bone.

Syrina locks the two in a gaze that brooks little argument. "I'm movin' on. Now." She says, slinging her light pack over a shoulder. "You comin' or stayin'? Don't much matter to me either way."

She ducks through the opening at the other end of the parlor, not looking back at gnome and human standing frozen in sudden fear and indecision as their entire minor and insignificant existence completely collapses around them for the second time in so many months. The thump of Syrina's boots climbing the wooden steps back to the surface jar the two out of their stupor and soon enough they scrambled to catch up.

On the surface, Syrina flicked her collar up to keep the Chad-rain from dripping down the back of her neck. Her eyes glance into the sky where the lingering remnant of demonic symbols slowly drift apart. She could hear Two Fingers and Molly hurrying to catch up. The rickety steps creaking and groaning with each courage sucking step they took back into their hellish reality. Syrina quirked an eyebrow in surprise. She had them pegged for staying.

"Damned rain should stop pretty soon." She says to a disgruntled Cat, by way of stalling a bit to let the others catch up. The devil cat's ears had flattened against his overly wide head as his tail flicked back and forth. He was none to happy at having to head back into hell's elements. But the clever kitty figured it was better to suffer a bit of bloody rain than face that dog a couple of blocks over.

"Amazin' how much wet there is in a man." Syrina says still stalling. "Why I once..."

"Meow." Cat interrupts, hackles fluffing up as his three golden eyes gaze out across the avenue and back toward the bridge.

Syrina nods. "I see 'em." Man and woman. At least thats what they looked like from this distance. Didn't seem to move with the usual stumbling, uncaring gait of the undead. Moved more like herself. Racing from cover to cover. Eyes trying to see everywhere at once. Folk on the move. But what kinda' folk? That was the question.

She waves Two Fingers and Molly down into cover as they come huffing up from below. Immediately sensing the sudden tension and danger, they do as told, taking cover behind what used to be a rather ornate cabinet and credenza. She draws her small crossbow, checks the load. Eases her sword in its scabbard. Then calls out across the street.

"Helloo! Hello, across the way there." Her raspy shout stretches out across the avenue as she waits to see how the two react.


Human Male Ranger (Gloom Stalker) 5 | HP 35/44 | AC 19 | Init: +4 w/ Adv. | Spells: 1st - 0/4; 2nd - 0/2 | Favored Foe: 2/3 | Passive Percept: 18 | Saves: STR: +7 DEX: +6 CON: +3 INT: +2 WIS: +3 CHA: +1 | HD: 2/5 | Conditions: Lycanthropy
Spells:
1st: Cure Wounds, Disguise Self, Hunter's Mark, Speak with Animals, Zephyr Strike; 2nd: Beast Sense, Protection from Poison, Rope Trick
Skills:
Insight + 5, Nature +4, Perception +8, Persuasion +3, Stealth +5, Survival +8

"We have to keep moving." Lucian grimly says to Harkina as he sees the runes fade. "The runes bought us a bit of time, but that is all."

Stepping onto the eastern island of what was once Elturel - gods only knew what it was now - he glances up to see the horrific sight of two men crucified and brought back to their bodies by the malevolent energies responsible for the walking dead. If time were not of the essence, I would cut them down and end it, but as it is... he thinks to himself, ushering Harkina along.

As the pair dart from cover to cover, making their way through the ruins of Elturel, Lucian catches the glimpse of something to the south.

Stopping briefly to regard the strange sights of the flying cat and the head on a stick, he notices the blasts of force tearing into the undead horde.

Pointing out the blasts to Harkina, he says, "Whatever is responsible for that is not an ally of the undead, and that makes it a potential ally to us." heading southward.

Along the way, the normally observant ranger loses sight of his target. He pulls Harkina into the doorway of a nearly destroyed building to search further when he hears a voice call out.

"Hello! Good to hear someone else actually speaking." he returns the call, darting across the street to the next bit of cover.

"It would seem you are not among the dead, nor am I nor my friend here. That in itself should make us allies at the moment and there is strength in numbers." he adds closing in on the location of the greeting.


AvernusArt 2Grid

Simon's Last Ploy

The archmage tapped her foot to some unheard melody "Perhaps it is as you say...he thought he could best them. The weak rarely reveal themselves until their moment of purest desperation. In your battle of the vault, by Reya's account Kreeg appeared stripped of all divine gifts. Unable to cast even the most humble orison...carrying only a rusty iron scepter from decades ago."

The tiefling glanced out the window as a sudden sea squall sent blotches of scintillating white and dark grey cloud capturing the sunlight flitting past the greasy, sagging old panes of glass "He was nonetheless respected as a leader, and I imagine will remain so for some time. That he could pose as the highest priest of Torm for 48 years in such a state...bringing how many into the fold? He was loved for denying the inquisitors their tortures...hmm, he is no stranger to the arts of deception. I wonder if a slathering silver tongue is enough to survive the infinite wastelands of Avernus...or what use Zariel has found for him."

As Simon made his latest advance, a thundercrack rattled the tower...Sylvira's fangs looked hungry for flesh as her scaly tail slithered across the nobles face...

Jezebel the Quasit locked herself in her cage, throwing the key across the room in anticipation of the horrors ahead.

I mean do you want to bang her? I'm not going to write that sort of stuff but sure it happens. :P


AvernusArt 2Grid

Sami's Friend

Sami looked down at his harfeet in shame a moment before "...eh, yeah. Well Liam's down there...got bit just when the first were starting to turn. Locked himself inside for our sake yesterday. I'm not afraid of what's behind that door...I am afraid of never shaking the memory of my friend from my mind, should that memory be corrupted by the undead of this hell."

Caskfeet put a hand on his shoulder "Easy Sami, ol' Liams in a better place I think. Not drinkin' ink-makin' wine and listenin' to women with the flux day and night..." The bottle of Educated Guess looked on silently, but was clearly offended.

Sami wasn't consoled "I don't think so. No, I don't think it gets better after...not here." The halfling had abandoned all hope. "All of us...we're already gone."

The women were stunned, but didn't know what to say.


AvernusArt 2Grid

Stablemaster's Respite

Reya, Grim, and Malaric mounted up...the cool breeze steadily flowing from out to sea. The waves were so far below they almost seemed locked in time, deep splotches of turquoise spackled between boy blues and pipe-smoke whites...the wet paint of a titan's art.

An ancient half-orc stumbled out from the side chamber, a rack of bloody horse ribs slung over his shoulder while his monocle was pinched with aging but strong eye muscles. "That one's the meanest f*cker of 'em all. Name of Fallacy." he spit, pointing to Malaric's selected griffon. "'tis acid, not blood that pumps through its veins."

Far to the south Lilibeth the Single Mother had just put dear Branson to sleep after an all-morning cryfest. The cloth diapers were hung to dry, and the guilty pleasures of that trashy novel Trapped in Lace were calling. Earlier that day she was lucky to get the first morning's cream from the farm nextdoor, and was now watching it slowly mix with her DIY moonshine, sugar, and vanilla forming the perfect Mommy's Magic Recipe. Putting her sore feet up, she cracked the cover...

...the slightest quirk from a northern wind had instantly spoiled her day.

*screeEEEAAARCHH*

The great raptor echoed its death cry across the clouds, bucking Malaric this way and that. The stablemaster bellowed "Yeah yeah, shaddup you f*cking bastard! Hwuuuh!!!" tossing the entire horse rib rack up into the air after an arduous, momentum gathering 1080 spin. Malaric's griffon snatched the entire thing easily with a single talon, shredding it into bloody strips instantly and purring as it devoured horse bone, horse tendon, and horse gristle all.

Grim's griffon watched with a beady unwinking eye from the side of its bird-face, the lion's tail swaying back and forth patiently.

The old half-orc sighed "Best you get going soon. Don't worry, they're well trained...they'll take you straight to Traxigor's tower."

Horse is Like Man


m LE half-elf Warlock 5 | HP 47/47, THP 0/8 | AC 14 | Saves: Str 0, Dex +2, Con +2, Int +1, Wis +3, Cha +7 | Perc 10 | Init +2 | DV60' | HD 3/5 | Inspiration - | Talisman 3/3 | Spells 2/2 | Invis +, Spray +, Cloak +, PoP + | -

@GM Infinity, yep, this is a great moment to fade to black like in the oldest Bond films .)

A little sleepy but obviously happy with life, Simon is the last to arrive at the stable. There are several scratches on his neck, as well as a larger one on his cheekbone (like a trace from some kind of claw in a fight with a dangerous monster... probably), smeared, however, with a pleasantly smelling healing ointment for speedy healing. The nobleman looks at the magic animals with a mixture of skepticism and amusement. It will be funny but quite symbolic if one of us dies falling down before going down to Hell. Will it be a curse or vice versa mercy and deliverance from the Gods? Heh. Questions of fate, karma and being. Whistling a melody, he chooses a griffon with a character as calm as possible.


F Half-Elf Spores Druid 5 | 32/32HP | 14AC | Init: +2 | Wild Shape & Symbiotic Entity: 0/2 | Spells: 1: 4/4; 2: 2/3; 3: 1/2 | PassPerc: 16; Ins: 13; Inv: 10 | Saves: Str+1; Dex+3; Con+2; *Int+4; *Wis+7; Cha+4 | Conditions: Inspiration
GM Infinity wrote:

Sami looked down at his harfeet in shame a moment before "...eh, yeah. Well Liam's down there...got bit just when the first were starting to turn. Locked himself inside for our sake yesterday. I'm not afraid of what's behind that door...I am afraid of never shaking the memory of my friend from my mind, should that memory be corrupted by the undead of this hell."

Caskfeet put a hand on his shoulder "Easy Sami, ol' Liams in a better place I think. Not drinkin' ink-makin' wine and listenin' to women with the flux day and night..." The bottle of Educated Guess looked on silently, but was clearly offended.

Sami wasn't consoled "I don't think so. No, I don't think it gets better after...not here." The halfling had abandoned all hope. "All of us...we're already gone."

The women were stunned, but didn't know what to say.

Astrid listens to the explanation and exchange passively, feeling a niggling of pity for the group. The cycle had been disrupted and while she had no real problems with the existence of the undead, she had a problem with this.

"You will not have to replace your good memories of Liam with ones of the undead," Astrid says quietly, kneeling down and placing a hand gently on Sami's other shoulder. "I can take care of it." She smiles kindly, a difficult expression to pull off in this hell, especially as dirty as she was.

The half-elven woman stands up and gathers up her quarterstaff and finishes off the clove-laced wine. It wasn't the best wine she'd ever tasted, especially with the additional hell flavor, but it was something. It took the edge off of the growing pit of tension that seemed to make a permanent home in her stomach since all of this started.

"We're not gone. We're still here. Some of us may be gone. But if you think we're all already gone, you may as well just go outside and wait for your turn to join the horde," Astrid says, a bit coldly. "You need to make difficult choices to survive."

She turns toward the Archive and heads over there without waiting for anybody, inspecting the door and listening at the edges for any tell-tale sounds of the undead. One more thing to handle...then maybe I can get some sleep.


Halfling Dragonslayer | HP: 33/34 | 0/1d8 & 0d6 | Disguise 1/1 | Camo 2/3 | Recover 0/3 | Fast Rit 1/1 |1st 2/4 | 2nd 1/3 | Inspiration!
Stats:
AC 15 | Str -1 Dex +6 Con +2 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha -1 | Init +3 | Perc +7, Darkvision 120 ft | Insight +1

As Fallacy flew and bucked, Malaric hung on to the reins with white knuckles and gripped the saddle with his knees. While he practiced dark magic, the Sharite concluded that flying griffons, especially this one, was crazy.

His faith in Shar would not save him from falling to do his death (he makes a mental note to research that spell), but his new magic boots would save him. Shar doesn't suffer fools.

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