Session #02 - Death To Flying Things

“So, I have an idea about how we can help the minotaurs get out of here,” Almont began.  “I have a scroll…”

 

“You can’t possibly be serious about helping this hell-spawn!”  Reya interrupted.  She was clearly incredulous, and a bit too loud given that they were all in a basement that only had one exit, up a flight of stairs where said minotaurs were awaiting their return.  “They cannot be trusted.  Death is all we should bring them, not salvation.”

 

“Well, if you keep shouting like that we won’t have much of a choice,” observed Donyxn stoically, staring directly at her, his goggles hanging loosely around his neck and exposing his eyes.  Most people found his direct gaze at the best disconcerting, at the worst repulsive.  The reason had nothing to do with the appearance of his face, or red skin, or the two horns protruding from his head.  It was the tiefling’s eyes, which had neither iris nor pupil but were instead one solid color.  Black, red, and white were all normal eye colors as far as tieflings went, but Donyxn was a rarity – his eyes were like two balls of liquid mercury in their sockets, a metallic silver that at times seemed to flow while still maintaining a shape.  Kent had seen people literally attack his friend in terror after just a couple of seconds looking into those eyes.  Of course, there was also a small subset of women that found them irresistible.  Which also led to him being attacked, but by jealous husbands and protective fathers.

Reya, to her credit, held Donyxn’s gaze, though only through a massive effort.  It was apparent her heart really wasn’t in it.  It wasn’t that she was weak, or a coward; on the contrary she’d proven herself more than willing to engage in battle at the drop of a hat.  But she’d been through a lot in the past week and recognized that these people, who had taken her in when she was at her most vulnerable, were the best chance Elturel and its people had in escaping hell and returning home.  

 

“Don’t think for a moment that we trust them, Reya,” Katla said softly, an empathetic look on her fine features, her large doe-like eyes the complete antithesis of Donyxn’s.  “We owe them nothing and will not hesitate to kill them.  But engaging them needlessly can do nothing to help us save Elturel.”

 

“Eye on the prize,” said Kent.  “Eye on the prize,” Katla, Almont, and Donyxn replied in unison.  Reya looked at each of them and knew they were right.  She drew strength from their shared bond.

 

“Alright.  What do you prupose, priest?”

 

After filling them in and gaining agreement from everyone, Almont led the party back up the stairs to present the plan to Kroac, the minotaur leader.  He was concerned that Kroac would balk at sending some of his warriors out of the tavern and into the square as bait to get the devils to attack, but clearly this was due to a lack of familiarity with the minotaur psyche.  Not only did Kroac approve, he decided to send his two best warriors.  

 

Kroac led them into the front room of the tavern and began rallying the half dozen minotaurs gathered there.  While Katla found it difficult to translate precisely, within moments Kroac had his brethren in a frenzy, axe-wielding fists pounding chests, horns clashing with one another, and massive gobs of drool and spit flying in every direction.  It was an impressive enough display that Almont had to admit he too was getting excited for the bloodletting to come. 

 

Surveying the square they observed their would-be ambushers.  There were ten in all.  Scholars referred to them by their formal name – Spinagonous Infernalus Raptorus.  Holy men called them spinagons.  But adventurers simply referred to them as spined devils.  

 

“By the gods I hate spined devils,” Katla sighed morosely.  Katla had an uncanny knack for escaping combat without a scratch (and with a pouch full of briquettes), but for whatever reason didn’t fare well against flying things.  A week earlier she’d taken some nasty raking scratches from an imp when they raided Duke Vanthampur’s cultist-infested home and she was still mad about it.  Her hands began to frost over and she radiated coldness, preparing for what was to come.

 

“Three in the air, seven perched,” confirmed Donyxn, his magic goggles enhancing his already outstanding vision.  “Should be fun.”  He clasped forearms with the dwarf and the pair smiled at one anther before heading to separate windows to prepare their ranged attacks.  Donyxn pulled a table to the side of his vantage point and slowly laid ten arrows along it, each evenly spaced from one another.  Five were silvered, the other five enchanted, all arranged in a way he could quickly and smoothly pick them up without looking away from his target.  The ranger was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to his archery.  On the other side of the room Kent picked a flagon from the floor, put it on the windowsill, and deposited a handful of crossbow bolts in it.  To each their own.

 

Almont reached into his pack and pulled out a grey metal tube.  On one end was a cap sealed with red wax with a thin piece of rune-covered parchment affixed to it.  “Ready?” he asked, looking around the room.  He received affirmative nods from the party, including a suddenly determined looking Lola.  The minotaurs were so deep in bloodlust that Almont wasn’t even sure they’d heard him speak.  But no matter.  They’d get the fight they wanted soon enough.

 

When he broke the seal and removed the cap the tube gave off a wave of cold humidity that surprised him.  Everyone was so focused on the square that they didn’t notice, though one of the smaller minotaurs in the back looked his direction and cocked it’s head quizzically before turning its focus back to the spectacle that was about to unfold.  

 

From out of the tube the cleric pulled a scroll, unrolling it so that the entire surface was unfurled.  It was unexpectedly damp and cold to the touch.  He looked at Kroac and nodded.  The minotaur in turn roared and two of its warriors sprinted into the square while the remainder crowded the glassless window openings to cheer on their companions.  

 

The minotaurs advanced about twenty feet before the spined devils caught sight of them.  Four of the perched devils prepared to take to the sky to join their airborne pack and were caught completely unaware when Kent and Donyxn unleashed their bolts and arrows.  Unfortunately only one of the three shots found its mark, and the minotaurs turned to the archers and ridiculed the pair for their lousy aim.  This was not starting well.  If the minotaurs turned on them it could become a free-for-all very quickly.

 

A moment later Katla emerged from the doorway and into the square, casting forth a ray of frost that struck a glancing blow to one of the flying devils.  At this point, however, all ten devils were still alive and seven were beginning their attack runs at the two minotaurs, which were now about fifty feet from the tavern.  

 

Spined devils were far from the largest hellspawn, but they were very difficult to deal with.  Roughly three feet high and a very emaciated-looking thirty pounds or so, their wide, bat-like wings and long spined tails made them incredibly nimble when in flight.  The pack were armed with four foot long two-pronged pitchforks, but the real danger was their tails, which could be whipped around to launch spikes.  Their lavender and black streaked skin made it difficult follow the flow of their bodies in the mottled hellish sky, camouflaging their attacks. 

 

All that the two minotaurs knew was that the spines hurt and they couldn’t reach the attackers with their axes, the pair roaring in both challenge and frustration as the first round of spines found their marks.  They weren’t going to last long under a barrage like this.

 

Despite her earlier outburst, Reya was filled with righteous fury at seeing the spined devils attacking the minotaurs with impunity.  She let out a roar of her own as she climbed through one of the wrecked windows and ran towards the fray.  Donyxn and Kent both saw her movement out of the corners of their eyes and began to change their aim to offer her some level of protection, but it turned out she didn’t needed anyone’s help.  

Reya's Righteous Charge

 

Reya accelerated to an improbable speed given the weight of her armor, holding her mace two-handed above her head.   She then did something even more unexpected – she jumped at one of the airborne devils that had just completed an attack run on the minotaurs and was looking back over its shoulder to admire its work.  Reya launched herself into the air headed directly at the oncoming purple aberration.  The devil turned its head to face forward and the last thing it saw in its miserable excuse for a life was Reya’s rage-filled eyes, her mouth open in a scream as she brought the magic club down with both hands and annihilated the beast’s skull in a cloud of bone and ichor.

(OK, I have to break down the fourth wall here for a minute, because if you play D&D you're probably wondering how the Dungeon Master allowed Reya, an NPC, to have such a devastating attack, leaping while wearing metal armor and killing a spined devil with one swing of her mace while airborne.  So... if you don't play D&D know this - generally attacks involve rolling a 20-sided die (d20) and a combination of factors and modifiers will determine if the attack strikes the opponent.  Rolling a 20 on the die is referred to as a "crit", short for critical hit, and it generally does extra damage.  In this situation because of the running and jumping and metal armor the DM decided Reya would roll at disadvantage, meaning he would roll two d20s for her and use the lowest of the two scores.  And... he rolled a double crit.  A double natural 20.  There is a one in four hundred chance of doing that.  So Reya got her kill on a massively improbable turn of events.)

 

The minotaurs in the bar erupted, roaring out a cheer for the human champion.  One could no longer contain itself as it too burst from one of the windows, its blood boiling at a fever pitch.

 

And then, with a thunderclap, everything changed.

 

Almont’s eyes rolled back into his head as he read from the scroll, though somehow this didn’t prevent him from finishing the incantation, his mouth continuing to form the words he could no longer see.  As he shouted the last syllable he cast his arms wide, and with that a massive storm of sleet and ice exploded into existence centered on the minotaurs and outward forty feet in every direction.  The storm reached twenty feet high, which was sufficient to catch most of the flying devils completely by surprise.  Three managed to reverse course and escape the edge of the unexpected cloudburst, but four fell from the sky, their thin, fragile wings covered in sheets of ice after only a second or two of exposure.

 

Time seemed to slow down as the minotaurs fell silent for a moment.  Almont could feel the storm roiling in his mind, he could visualize the devils spinning uncontrollably toward the ground.  They landed hard enough to be stunned, the two minotaurs in the middle of the storm seeing the opportunity to extract revenge.  And then everything accelerated.

 

The devil perched furthest from the fight turned tail and went the other way, the others still perched also taking to the air as they tried to make sense of what was happening.  

 

The distraction was the beginning of the end.  Kent fired a perfect shot with his pistol crossbow, a magic bolt striking one of the flying abominations in the eye.  It immediately when limp and fell from the sky.  On the other side of the room Donyxn notched two arrows at the same time, firing both into the chest of another and ending its life.  Katla continued throwing freezing bolts and racked up a kill of her own.  

 

Meanwhile an entirely separate battle was taking place on the ground.  The two minotaurs furthest from the tavern doubled up on one of the frozen-winged adversaries as it tried to get back into the air, hacking it to pieces with their axes.  Reya waded into the storm to attack a grounded devil, while Almont, his vision restored, sprinted from the doorway bringing his hammer down in reverse on another of the scrambling beasts, the spike on the hammer’s reverse catching it just as it took off, the weight of the strike bringing it back to earth and impaling it into the ground.  

 

At this point it was a rout.  The minotaurs killed another spinagon, while Reya and Almont, with some help from Katla, dispatched the other on the ground.  Kent and Donyxn made short work of the last one in the air, and it was over.  The remaining minotaurs erupted from the tavern, running to the middle of the square and celebrating as if they had single-handedly won the battle, which would be the story they would tell other clans when they returned to the endless battle on the plains of Avernus. 

 

“We will see you in the battles in hell,” shouted Kroac over his shoulder to the party as he led his screaming mob of minotaurs down the street headed south.

 

“Ungrateful lot,” observed Kent as he brushed some residual frost off his hat.  

 

“Did I ever tell you about riding bulls when I was a youngster?” asked Donyxn.  “I was sweet for this rancher’s daughter, you see…” he continued as he and Kent disappeared from their respective windows and back into the bar.

 

Katla pulled her hands back into her sleeves in an attempt to warm them.  Almont extracted the devil from his hammer spike while Reya attempted to wipe the ichor off of her mace, which was proving to be fruitless given the engravings on its head.  “That was reckless,” Almont observed.  “It was also one of the most fantastic kills I’ve ever seen.” 

 

Reya nodded.  “I was overcome with righteousness.  It was something I was afraid I would never feel again.”

 

The three headed back inside to link back up with Donyxn, Kent, and Lola.  “… and that’s why you should never trust a bearded gnome,” Donyxn concluded.  Kent nodded as if what Donyxn told him was incredibly insightful, stroking his beard as he did so.  

 

“I’m going to take a look around before we leave.  Who knows, those minotaurs may have missed something.  Not exactly the most thorough lot.”  Kent then went about his normal thorough check of the premises.  It was uncanny how good he was at finding things others overlooked, and this time was no exception.  “A secret compartment behind the bar.  And what is this… oh… oh…”

 

His friends turned as the dwarf’s head rose up from the wreckage of the bar.  He was holding a fine looking bottle, about two-thirds full of blue liquid.  The stopper was an exquisitely carved miniature anvil.  His eyes had a glassy look as if he might be holding back a tear.  “How did you find your way here, my beauty?”

 

Cradled like a baby in his hands was a bottle of Skallbender brandy from the famous Karrus family of distillers, a clan whose reputation extended back hundreds of years.  Kent didn’t often talk about his past, but when he did the tales often involved Skallbender.  After all, Kent’s last name was Karrus.  The Skallbender distillery met with an unfortunate end years ago under mysterious circumstances, which meant the elixir was highly sought after by aficionados.  

 

“Take a sip Almont.  This will help restore you.”  If anyone other than Kent made such a claim Almont wouldn’t believe them, but he’d had this brandy before with the dwarf and knew he spoke the truth.  It wouldn’t fix a broken bone, but it certainly made one feel better after a fight.  Almont took a sip and immediately felt the viscous warmth flow through his entire body.  As he went to return it to Kent, the dwarf cocked his head towards Reya and stuck his chin forward slightly.  Almont took the hint, turning to the paladin.  “Reya, take a sip of this for your health.”  

 

She looked away shyly.  “I’ve never developed a taste for dwarven brandy, I’m afraid.”  Kent shrugged his shoulders and took the bottle back from the cleric.  “Well, more for me then.”

 

“Where to next?”  Almont asked the group.  “The Shield Hall was home to the paladins of Elturel and we may find allies there.  Or we can head to the seat of power in the Great Hall and seek the city’s leaders.”  Everyone entered into discussion about the pros and cons of each option.  Everyone, that is, except for Donyxn, who stood off to the side with his arms crossed, his silver eyes looking at everything and nothing at the same time.  

 

“The butcher shop.”  The conversation stopped and everyone turned to Donyxn.  

 

“Have you gone mad?  That’s just a cultist hangout,” Reya stated bluntly.

 

“The butcher shop,” he repeated.  

 

“Tell us more,” Katla prompted, raising her fine eyebrows.

 

“Cultists are weak-minded fools, but they also often have a lot of information.  If we want to know what’s happening on the streets, and just as importantly what happened to the paladins, I guarantee you the cultists will know,” Donyxn told them.

 

Kent nodded.  “He’s got a point there.”

 

“Plus when we’re done gathering information,” Donyxn continued, turning to Reya and Almont, “I’m sure there will be some cultists to kill.”  His black lips turned upwards into a smile, his mouth opening just enough to show his sharp teeth.

 

After a short pause, Almont spoke.  “I like this plan.” 

 

Reya tightened her grip on the shaft of her mace.  “So do I.  So do I.”

 

 

The portal deposited the party on the east side of Eturel.  The Owlbear Butcher Shop, as well as the Shield Hall and Great Hall, were both on the west side.  According to Reya there were two bridges they could take to the other side of the city, both northwest of Black Antlers.  The closest was Torm’s Blade.  Further to the north was Torm’s Reach.  Neither offered an advantage over the other, so everyone checked their gear one last time and headed towards Torm’s Blade with Reya on point.  

 

The east side of Eturel was in rough shape, looking like a warzone that had been abandoned for decades.  Perhaps a third of the buildings showed battle-like damage, some burned out completely and nothing more than charred shells.  Those that weren’t badly damaged still looked as if they’d been abandoned for a generation, landscaping long-since dead and the paint sandblasted off in patches.  If this is what a week in Avernus could do to a city no one wanted to know what it would look like after a month.  

 

Since arriving the party experienced a series of ground tremors as they advanced through Eturel.  Though they’d only been in hell for less than half a day, they were already accustomed to the shaking and paid it little mind.  What was troubling, however, was the sound that sometimes accompanied the quakes.  It was difficult to place, but it sounded like large metal chains straining, which made no sense whatsoever.

 

They were still a few minutes walk from Torm’s Blade when a particularly severe quake hit, stopping them in their tracks until the ground movement subsided.  As Reya began move forward again Kent hissed, “Stop!”  Everyone froze in place.  “Do you hear it, brother?” he asked Donyxn in dwarven, his eyes staring intently to the north.

 

“I do.  It is a dwarf calling for help.”  And just like that the pair began running up a side street.  Katla and Almont followed immediately, as did a somewhat perplexed looking Lola.  Reya held her position for a few moments longer before breathing out a sigh and following.

 

Katla was doing her best to keep up.  “Kent, what is it?  What are we running towards?”  

 

“A dwarf in trouble.  A lass,” he shouted, reverting to Common not bothering to turn his head.  Kent was surprisingly fast for a dwarf, in part due to a pair of enchanted boots he looted from a corpse in the mouth of Wave Echo Cave while the group were cleansing the tunnels and making the mine safe to re-open.  Looted is perhaps a strong term – it’s not like Kent killed the previous owner, as he was dead when they found him.  And dead men don’t need boots.  Especially not boots that enhance the wearer’s speed and climbing ability.  And also match his hat.

 

Kent and Donyxn stopped in front of what was once a single-story residence.  This was one of the buildings that had seen better days, its roof partially collapsed into the structure and a portion of the front wall having crumbled down to block the door.  The shouting was coming from inside.  

 

“What’s the trouble in there, lass,” Kent called out in dwarven.  

 

“The building collapsed and I’m trapped under a piece of the fireplace,” the female voice responded.  “My two friends are in another part of the house but they won’t answer me!”

 

“Almont, Donyxn, lend me your backs,” the dwarf directed.  The pair didn’t hesitate to follow the order, stowing their weapons and removing chunks of rubble in an attempt to make a hole that Kent could fit through.  Katla instinctively turned to face the street and guard their backs, Reya following her lead.  Lola did what Lola always did, flapping her wings and smiling.

 

“Hold tight, lass, we’re coming,” Kent called.  Almont and Donyxn cleared a small opening.  There was a sturdy door wedged in with the rubble, and it took both of them to pull it back far enough to allow Kent entrance.  “Hurry brother,” Donyxn grunted.  “We won’t be able to keep this gap open for long.”

 

Kent was adept at getting into small places and he quickly took in the situation.  He was inside a large living space that had once been sparsely but comfortably furnished but now was covered in a thick layer of dust and roof debris.  Against the far wall was a stone fireplace, the upper portion of which had collapsed onto the legs of a young adult dwarf, pinning her to the floor.  “Can you move if I get this off of you?” he asked.  

 

“Yes, I don’t think anything is broken.  But hurry, I need to see if my friends are OK!”

 

As a dwarf, Kent had an innate understanding of stone and stonework.  He could see the collapse was precarious, but that if he lay on his back and used his magic boots he could safely leverage up the collapsed section to allow her to escape.   His legs were just long enough to move the weight upwards a few inches, allowing her pull herself free.  “Thank you!” she shouted, as she immediately ran down the hall.  “Kartar!  Strovin!  Are you alright?”

 

Kent slowly let the wall segment down to its previous resting place, stood up, and dusted himself off.  “Pretty handy, these boots,” he said.  He grinned as he looked over at Almont and Donyxn, giving them the thumbs up.  Then his smile turned to a frown.  “Almont, your mace!”

 

Everyone turned their attention to the mace hanging from the left side of the cleric’s belt, including Katla and Reya.  The crystal-like skull was glowing blue with increasing intensity.  There were undead close by.  Too close.  They all turned back to the street, Almont and Donyxn still holding the heavy wooden door.  

 

Six figures approached from the south with surprising quickness for the undead.  The four in front were ghouls, and recently turned by the look of them.  Their skin was blue-hued but had not yet fully darkened, their thin musculature showing signs of deterioration but not the full blown emaciation that would be their ultimate fate.  The clothes they’d worn in life were stained and ragged.  As a cleric Almont was intimately familiar with the various types of undead, holding a special hatred in his heart for them, one that completely lacked any pity for the beings they once were in life.  He wondered for a moment what caused these unfortunates to take on this form.  Had they been bitten by ghouls, or were they just cursed?  The thought left his mind almost as soon as it formed.  He didn’t really care about the why, only about destroying them permanently.

 

Behind the ghouls were two ghoul-like creatures, though these appeared to be slightly more aware and in control.  In fact they were still clad in the armor they’d worn in life, one with a battered studded leather jerkin, the other with a surprisingly clean-looking chest plate.  One carried a short sword, the other a spear, though somehow these seemed less dangerous than their razor-sharp teeth and long, whip-like tongues.  

 

Lightbringer’s warning gave everyone just enough time to be ready when the undead reached them.  Almont and Donyxn released the large wooden door they’d been holding open for Kent, the wood crashing against the stone under the weight of the partially collapsed wall.  As Almont prepared to cast a spell and Donyxn drew his sword, Kent loaded his pistol crossbow.  The opening that remained wasn’t large enough for him to crawl through, but he could certainly shoot bolts from there, and he wasn’t going to let his friends fight these beasts without him.  Reya pulled the mace from her belt, grim determination on her face. 

 

If anyone had looked at Katla during these seconds they would have been forgiven for being a bit surprised.  Because the sorceress was grinning.  “You’re not infernal, are you?” She whispered at the ghouls rhetorically.  “That means no resistance to fire.”  Had the elf’s arms been exposed it would have looked like there was fire coursing through her veins.  As it was her hands began to turn red and emit heat.  Finally she could unleash fire again.

 

The cacophony as the two sides met was a jumble of seemingly unrelated sounds.  Teeth and claws struck metal.  Blunt weapons caused wet cracking sounds as they struck unprotected undead flesh.  The snap of Kent’s crossbow string launched a bolt.  A whoosh of flame escaped Katla’s hands as she launched her fire bolt, and a similar sound as Almont unleashed holy fire on the abominations.

 

The ghouls and ghasts proved tough opponents, Reya in particular struggling as she fought two opponents at once.  Donyxn too was having a hard time, his normally steady sword hand coming up empty.  Both sides were taking damage as the battle devolved into a chaotic melee.

 

Kent, seeing Reya desperately trying to keep from being bitten, made an impulsive decision.  “Reya!” he yelled, “Catch!”

 

To her credit, Reya didn’t hesitate.  She turned and reached out with her left hand, catching the small wand the dwarf threw to her.  She completed a full spin, crouching down to one knee as she did so, and extended her arm toward the beasts.  The wand discharged three magic missiles, all of which found their marks and punched fist-sized holes through her opponents.  

 

The magic missiles were the axis on which the battle turned.  Donyxn found his balance and cut one of the ghouls in half with a one-two combination while Katla and Almont continued hurling fire at the others.  One thing about the undead, though, is they never understood that defeat was imminent and they always battled to the last.  Once the numbers turned in the party’s favor and they began double-teaming those that remained, the combat wound down quickly.

 

There was a moment of silence after the last ghast fell to Donyxn’s blade, but then the group was started by a yell from inside the house.  It was Kent.

 

“I saw that, Donyxn!  You dare call me Ghost Swords after missing that first ghoul not once but twice!  Ha!  At least I was fighting something alive, not some blue undead cannibal!”  The dwarf was laughing.

 

“Funny, Kent, because I don’t see any blood on your scimitar,” the tiefling observed as he wiped whatever it was that was inside of ghasts off his blade.  

 

Almont rubbed his chin.  “You know, Kent, he has a point.” 

 

“Bah!”  Kent turned back to the inside of the house.  “Lass, did you find your friends?”

 

Almont and Donyxn reopened the hole in the side of the building and from it emerged four dwarves.  The first was a female, a holy acolyte by the look of her garb.  She introduced herself as Velkora Ashenwell.  The other two were males, both looking worse for wear.  Velkora spoke for them.  “These are Kartar Boulderstern and Strovin Ironfist.”  Kent brought up the rear a few moments later.  Almont suspected he’d quickly searched the house for any potential loot.  

 

Kent removed his hat, dusted it off, and reset it on his head.  “So what were you three doing here?”

 

“We came to Elturel many months ago,” Velkora told them.  “Kartar and Strovin are apprentice blacksmiths and came here to work with the great armor-makers of Elturel.  I came as well because there are may dwarves here and they lack a spiritual leader.”  She turned to Almont.  “You sir, you appear to be hurt.”  She was right.  The cleric sustained minor injuries against the spined devils earlier and took some additional blows when fighting the undead.  

 

“Let me offer you some healing,” she said softly.  As the party’s cleric it was normally Almont who used magic to heal others.  He wasn’t used to someone offering to do the same for him, and it made him uncomfortable.  But he knew they would soon face even greater dangers, and if he could be partially restored without dipping into the party’s healing potions or his own spells, so much the better.  He nodded to Velkora.  She raised her hand and whispered a prayer in dwarvish.  Almont felt the warm glow of healing as she touched his chest.  It was different than the sensation he felt when healing himself, though certainly not in any way unpleasant.  

 

Velkora smiled and went back to her conversation with Kent.  Donyxn put his hand on Almont’s shoulder.  “There’s something here that might be of use to you.”

 

Donyxn pointed to the dead ghast wearing the chest plate armor.  The beast suffered a range of wounds, include fire damage from one of the two spell-casters.  But the armor was pristine.  “Magic?”  Donyxn asked.  

 

Almont concentrated for a few moments, casting a ritual spell.  “Yes, a fine piece of armor.  And it looks to be just my size.”  Donyxn smiled, his two fanged incisors showing like impossibly white daggers against his black lips.  “My thoughts exactly.”

 

Lola sniffed at the other ghast gingerly with her trunk.  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lola,” Katla advised.  The hollyphant looked at the elf, wagged her tail, and inadvertently took in a big breath.  She immediately flew higher in the air, sputtering out her trunk and spinning in circles, the look on her face clearly one of pure disgust.  Katla shook her head.  “Sometimes you have to learn things the hard way, I guess.”

 

The dwarves shared two pieces of information of interest.  First, the west side of the city was considerably more intact than the east.  The second was that both bridges were guarded by devils.  Because of course they were.  

 

The party thanked the trio and recommended the dwarves find a place to hide for a little longer, then continued toward Torm’s Blade.  They were still a few blocks away when they encountered another pair of cultists.  These were not the same two they ran into earlier, though they wore the same style plain purple robes.  Both the man and the woman had shaved heads, and both sported fresh-looking nine-arrow symbols carved into their foreheads.

 

“Well met travelers.  What brings you to the east side of Eturel?” the woman asked.

 

Katla, clearly in no mood for any verbal nonsense from her companions, stepped forward.  “Greetings.  We are on our way to the Owlbear Butcher Shop.”

 

The cultists were either too dim-witted to notice that Katla didn’t answer their question, or they were simply too pleased at the prospect of fresh converts.  Either way, they didn’t press the issue.

 

“You’ve heard of the Owlbear, have you?  Yes, there is quite a movement forming there.  Do you wish to become enlightened and join us?”  The man had a hopeful look on his face, implying he expected they would be rewarded for bringing such a large and hardy-looking group of potential converts.  

 

“We’re very interested in what is happening at the Owlbear.”  Katla was masterful at dodging a question and yet not lying at the same time.  “Will you tell us how to get there?”

 

“Best we take you ourselves,” the woman said.  “There are devils guarding the bridge and they will allow you to pass if we accompany you.  Otherwise…”

 

“We would be honored if you would offer us your protection and guidance.”  The elf could certainly pour it on thick when she chose to.  The woman smiled.  “Come.  It isn’t far.”

 

The group, now eight strong, continued north for a few minutes before turning west.  And just as they’d been told, there were devils guarding the bridge.  Three bearded devils were on the span and another three spined beasts circled lazily in the air.  Katla kept her eyes on their hosts and took note of the hand signs they displayed to the devils as they passed.  That knowledge might be important later.

 

Most of the party were too focused on the devils to pay attention to what lay below the bridge, with the exception of Reya.  Almont noticed out of the corner of his eye that the cleric had stopped moving and was looking over the side, her face ashen.  When he stepped over to her he could see why.

 

Almont wasn’t surprised that there was no water under the bridge.  They were, after all, in hell.  However, there wasn’t a dry riverbed there either.  Instead it was a complete and total gap, making it appear that the two sides of Elturel were only being held together by these bridges.  And then he saw the chains.

 

The entire city of Elturel was in fact hovering roughly five hundred feet in the air above the plain of Avernus.  One could easily pick out the river Styx meandering across hell’s first level below and also see the dust kicked up by a number of battles taking place down on the surface.  The heat rose from the plain like a furnace bringing with it the grit of hell, which found its way into their eyes, noses, and hair.

 

But perhaps the most disconcerting things were the chains.  They could see two of them, though that implied there were many more.  The rusted links were each the length of four men and the thickness of an oxen.  They were connected to the ground on the underside of the city and extended all the way down to the plain where they were attached to massive metal towers.  Those towers, in turn, were planted firmly into the ground, and in fact appeared to be sinking into it slowly, pulling Elturel closer and closer to the surface of Avernus.  If things were this bad with the city hovering over the hell-layer, Almont shuddered to think of what it would happen with it touched the ground, or worse yet the Styx itself.  At this rate they might only have a day or two to prevent that outcome.

 

“Reya,” he whispered, putting his hand on her shoulder, “we need to go.  We can fix this, but we don’t have much time.”  She looked at him with sheer despair in her eyes.  “Fix this?  Fix this?   What makes you think you can fix this?”  She kept her voice low enough not to attract unwanted attention, but the emphasis on the last word struck like a hammer on an anvil.  She turned away from the side and continued across the bridge, Almont following.

 

As the pair caught up with the group they could hear the cultists still prattling on about something.  The first thing they were able to make out was the man.  “The flying beast.  Is it your pet?  The butchers at the Owlbear are always seeking exotic meats with which to stock their counter.”  He looked pleased at himself at the suggestion, as if he was somehow doing them a great honor.  

 

Donyxn put his strong hand on the man’s collarbone and gave it a very, very hard squeeze, his sharp fingernails ever so slightly puncturing the flesh.  “She’s with us,” he said menacingly, the ‘s’ sounds coming out of his mouth like the hiss of a snake.  The man, startled and in obvious discomfort, turned to look at the tiefling and was greeted by those silver eyes and sharp-toothed grin.  “Of course, of course.  No offense intended!”  Donyxn removed his hand and allowed himself to fall in a few steps behind the cultists.

 

They saw a few additional purple-robed cultists headed in the same general direction, and after a few turns found themselves facing the storefront of the Owlbear Butcher Shop.