Session #01 - Welcome To Hell
Arriving in hell was not a pleasant experience.
That, of course, was to be expected. First there was the loud and disorienting thunderclap when the portal opened, followed by nausea and vertigo upon arrival as the members of the group plane shifted from a tower in the forest outside of Candlekeep to, well, quite literally, hell. Throw in the heat and the dry stagnant air and it was only hardy constitutions that kept them all from throwing up as the portal closed behind them with another loud crack. All, that is, except for Donyxn. But, of course, the ranger was a tiefling, his bloodline a combination of human and infernal. He had hell in his veins. In fact Donyxn looked quite pleased, his normally dark red, leathery skin taking on a brighter hue and making him look younger, rejuvenated. “You know, this reminds me the time the good people of Venk asked me to handle a pesky demon that was killing their herds. You see, what happened was…” Donyxn turned to face his friends and regale them with his tale but trailed off. The looks on their faces made it clear no one was in the mood for one of his stories. His long tail swept back and forth around his legs and he went back to deeply breathing in the scents, a smile forming on his black lips.
There were six in the group. Kent, the sturdy dwarf rogue, recovered the quickest, brushing to dust off his leather boots and re-setting his ubiquitous brimmed hat so that the angle was just right. “I wonder if there’s anywhere to get a drink in this infernal city,” he muttered. Kent and Donyxn shared an easy rapport, Kent sipping from his flask and constantly coaxing Donyxn for yet another story. They certainly attracted attention whenever they arrived in a new town, the hat-wearing, scimitar-wielding dwarf and the horned tiefling sporting his crazy magic goggles. But when trouble started, and it inevitably did when they were around, they anticipated one another’s actions flawlessly, Kent looking to quickly draw first blood because Donyxn’s aim with his bow was uncanny when firing at an injured opponent.
“Are you ever not thirsty?” asked the fine-featured elf as she re-arranged her robe, her sly smile betraying the jest lurking behind the seeming rebuke. Small bursts of flame pulsed momentarily from her fingertips, causing Kent to furrow his brow slightly. One could see tendrils of flame inside her hands and fingers through her nearly translucent skin. “That fire won’t likely do you much good here in hell, Katla,” he said. “Best keep it in your hands.” Katla’s pyrotechnics saved the party on many occasions and the sorceress took a perverse joy in burning enemies so intensely that all that remained were small, dense briquettes, which on occasion she collected in a pouch for reasons her friends never ascertained (and honestly they preferred not knowing). In the days leading up to their journey to hell she worked on some freezing spells since devils and demons are resistant to fire, occasionally creating ice cubes in Kent’s ale when he wasn’t looking. And Kent hated ice in his ale.
Only three people in all of the Forgotten Realms would have been able to discern what passed for a smile on the face of the scale-armor-clad human. The clerics of Kiri-Jolith, god of honor and war, weren’t particularly known for their gregariousness after all, and Almont Bonecrusher was nothing if not a devoted servant of the deity. His friends would be able to tell, though, had they seen the momentary display. He would do anything for them, his battle brothers and sister. Their adventures were legendary in the area around Phandalin and up the coast to Neverwinter, and rightfully so. They weren’t exactly subtle, but they got the job done. He pulled his long, jet-black hair back and tied it up. They were in hell, after all. The killing would start soon. He was sure of it. Best to be prepared. And if he was honest, he looked forward to reaping souls for Kiri-Jolith.
Almont turned to check on Reya. The paladin looked morose as she checked her plate armor. That was understandable. After all, over the course of the last week she learned that her trusted spiritual advisor Thavius Kreeg was not only consorting with devils but even went so far as making a pact that resulted in Elturel, the city she was sworn to protect, being torn from its plane and sent to Avernus, the first level of hell. While she had fought and traveled with the party over the last week and they valued her sword, clearly their methods did not always agree with her sense of honor. That being said, they treated her well, if a bit coolly, and gifted her with a magic mace just prior to their arrival in hell. She felt the heft of it in her hands and was anxious to put it to use smiting the infernal. Almont respected her as a warrior, but hoped her judgment wouldn’t be clouded by her emotional reaction to the situation. After all, the plane shift dropped them right into Elturel, her former home.
Catching a glimpse of something flying out of the corner of his eye, Almont pulled the warhammer free of his belt, assumed a defensive stance and shouted, “Movement!” Turning to face the potential threat he saw what looked to be a two-foot-long elephant covered in golden fur flying on bat wings. It smiled at him and fluttered its wings rapidly, making no attempt to attack or evade.
“Wait, what are you doing here?” he asked as he lowered his hammer and glanced at his friends. Donyxn was paying no attention to Almont or the creature, being too busy deeply inhaling the sulphurours infernal air. Katla looked at Almont sternly with her arms crossed. Kent simply shrugged, the gob of liquid caught in his beard implying he may have just put away his flask. Turing his attention back to the oddity Almont asked, “Lola? Explain yourself.”
Lola smiled at Almont and her wings beat faster, her tail wagging. They first met Lola perhaps half an hour previously, but that was back in the Forgotten Realms before they’d been magically brought to hell. Apparently she was in Elturel when it first transported to Avernus but managed to return to the material plane. The problem was that she couldn’t remember how she accomplished that. Or what she did while she was in hell. Or much of anything else for that matter. “Great. What could be more inconspicuous than five outsiders walking around being trailed by a small flying elephant?” Almont grumbled. Katla saw his scowl and shook her head before turning back to her gear. “She’s not an elephant,” Katla clarified. “She’s a hollyphant. Be respectful.”
The group found themselves in a small courtyard roughly thirty feet on each side. Roads connected to it from the north, west, and south, with the east taken up by the façade of a two-level building that appeared to be some kind of dwelling. There had once been two trees and grass here, but now the trees were barren and withered, the previously lush green lawn now yellow hardscrabble. Everywhere they looked things seemed as if they’d been untended for decades even though Elturel was a wealthy and well-maintained city. At least it was back on the material plane. It appeared that hell was not good for the landscaping.
A crackling sound came from above them, along with scent of ozone from an electrical discharge. Everyone looked up simultaneously, and none were prepared for what they saw. In the sky above the city was a dark orb, its blackness so dense and complete that one couldn’t tell if it was a flat disc or a sphere. Shooting out of it at random intervals and with varying lengths and intensities were electric bolts, similar to lighting but wilder and going off in every direction. They all stared at it for what seemed like an eternity.
“What in the name of the mountain gods is that?” Kent asked no one in particular.
“It… it’s the Companion…” stammered Reya.
The rest of the group looked at her for a few moments. “But I thought the Companion put off a golden light?” said Kent.
“It did. Before. But not now…” A tear ran down Reya’s cheek.
The sound of running footsteps approaching from the south put everyone on alert, instinctively drawing their weapons and taking up the curved formation they normally adopted, with Almont and Donyxn in the middle flanked Kent and Katla. Reya moved toward the center, preferring the fight up close and personal with her enemies and eager to wet her blade and christen her new mace. Two humans ran into the square, terrified looks on their faces. They paid no mind to the mixed-race group and kept running north, the party’s eyes following as they passed. Turning back to the south it became evident why they were running.
Pursuing the men were three humanoids, as tall as Almont but more solidly built. Their purple skin rippled with muscles and each was armed with an eight-foot-long glaive, the blades mottled with either rust or dried blood – it was hard to tell which. Each was armored with brass greaves on their forearms and lower legs, engraved with infernal symbols that burned the eyes to look at. Leather and tattered cloth covered their waists, with holes in the back for their long and muscular tails. But what really stood out were the beards, which were most certainly not made of hair. The beards writhed seemingly of their own accord as if they had their own independent thoughts and actions. They smelled of rot and decay. Donyxn raised one eyebrow. “Bearded devils,” he observed, as he calmly notched an arrow into his bow.
If the devils were surprised to see the party they didn’t show it, though Kent thought he saw one look at the hollyphant and lick its lips before returning its attention to the greater threat the five warriors posed.
Neither side hesitated to engage in battle. Kent let fly with his hand crossbow, drawing first blood and eliciting a smile from Donyxn who quickly freed two arrows of his own at the same devil, one of which found its mark. The devil was knocked slightly off stride by the blow but it continued to close the gap. On the other side of the line Katla rotated her free hand in a circular motion. Everyone expected to see a chromatic orb of crackling lightning fly forth from her as they had so many times before, but during their brief respite in Candlekeep the sorceress spent hours behind closed doors with the mage Sylvira Savikas and apparently added some new weapons to her arsenal. Relying on wild magic, Katla struggled at times to control the power she wielded, and that was compounded by using a new spell in combat for the first time and being on a different plane of existence. No one was exactly sure what they saw, but what appeared to fly from her hand was a shockwave that rippled in the air and struck one of the devils with a massive thunderclap. Perhaps even more shocking was that she immediately cast a second spell, the wild magic clearly flowing through her and barely controlled, the shockwave followed by a ray of frost that struck the third devil.
By then the beasts closed the gap and the fighting became fierce and personal. Almont held his magic warhammer in his right hand and the magic mace in his left, and he engaged one of the devils. Reya followed suit with her longsword as the heavily armed and armored pair clashed with the hellspawn. Kent used the opportunity to skirt along the side of the melee, holstering his crossbow and drawing his paired scimitars to catch the devil engaged with Almont unaware. Kent didn’t believe there was such a thing as a fair fight. There were only fights, and they were to be approached with the goal of ending them as soon as possible. He wasn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe, but was much more effective when he used stealth as he did here, his flashing blades cutting deep into the purple hide.
Bearded devils were not to be taken lightly, but the party was experienced enough to know the ultimate outcome of the fight was not in doubt. The devils managed to inflict some minor wounds on Almont and Reya with their glaives, but fortunately everyone was familiar with this type of infernal denizen and took extra care to not be struck by their beards, which attacked with minds of their own and could cause flesh to rot. It was over in less than a minute, the three creatures oozing foul black ichor from multiple wounds. Reya spat on the body closest to her before going about cleaning her blade.
“It’s good that you don’t smell this foul when you bleed, Donyxn. If you did Almont would use up all his healing spells every day just so we didn’t have to deal with the stench,” quipped Kent as he took a sip from his flask.
“You should spend less time worrying about what flows in my veins and more time practicing with your scimitars, Ghost Swords,” Donyxn replied.
Kent shot a look at Donyxn, while Katla looked at her feet, stifling a grin. Almont pretended to be interested in the engravings on his hammer’s head, his feigned lack of interest fooling no one except for Reya who seemed concerned the dwarf and tiefling were about to come to blows.
“We’ve been over this time and again,” Kent stated flatly. “The ground was slippery from all the blood I’d already spilled. That’s why I missed twice,” referring back to the battle that earned him the Ghost Swords moniker.
“You know, that reminds me of fighting in the Battle of Baston Woods years ago…” Donyxn started, as the pair entered into their normal banter, completely oblivious to the dead devils at their feet that appeared to be rotting with unnatural speed. Reya said something under her breath that sounded to Almont like “idiots” before turning away.
Almont would never admit it, but he liked the pair’s easy rapport. Their bond was strong despite the mutual distrust their races held with one another. The chain that bound them together was forged in battle. They used to keep track of who owed the greatest debts to the other, but after so many adventures together saving each other’s lives they simply lost track.
Almont returned his attention to his warhammer, but this time in earnest. He acquired the weapon days earlier. Previously he wielded a magic battle-axe named Hew, though he was never fully comfortable with it. Kiri-Jolith’s war priests preferred blunt weapons, holding hammers in the highest esteem. But Kiri-Jolith also expected his charges to be the most capable warriors possible, so Almont traded his faithful, non-magical hammer for Hew when the opportunity arose. And Hew proved a worthy weapon, one that landed many killing blows in Almont’s right hand, being particularly effective when used to deliver backhanded decapitation strikes.
It was only chance that put a warhammer back in his hand. The mage Sylvira noticed Hew during their first meeting in Candlekeep. “That axe will cause you nothing but grief if you bring it to hell,” she warned. “You’ll hear voices in your head and won’t be able to control them.” This stopped the entire party cold as they all turned to Almont with hard looks. The last time the cleric heard a voice in his head was in Wave Echo Cave when they were confronted by a beholder that tried to communicate with him. The result was a huge mess as the cleric immediately attacked it in a blind rage, continuing to smash the pieces of its corpse with his weapons long after it was dead. Almont did not like voices in his head.
“I have something more suitable for a man of the cloth such as yourself,” the mage continued, gliding across the room to a trunk along one wall. She opened it with a mage hand that then reached in and withdrew an exquisite warhammer, handing it to her. “This is a weapon worthy of one of Kiri-Jolith’s chosen.” In Almont’s eyes it was perfection – a flat striking surface on one side, a spike on the other. The balance was flawless, the mass seeming to shift so that no matter how he held it, it always felt right. Now it had drawn blood for the first time.
It was Kent who brought him back to the present. “So, we’re here. Now what?”
“Reya, where are we likely to find allies, if any such still remain in Elturel?” Katla asked.
Reya considered this for a few moments. “The closest place will be the Black Antlers, it’s a tavern used as a meeting hall for members of the Order of the Gauntlet. It’s not far, perhaps a ten minute walk.”
“A tavern, you say,” Kent said, a smile clearly forming under his beard. “My flask could use a refill.”
“Kent, we just got here!” Katla was clearly exasperated as she often was with her three close companions. The three males all assumed Katla was older than them – she was an elf after all, and it took elves almost a century to reach adulthood. That being said, none had the courage to ask her age. But she had clearly experienced more than all of them put together, and tried to keep them at least somewhat in line.
“I never turn away an opportunity to top off my flask, m’lady,” he replied in mock seriousness.
“Alright, enough of this,” Almont interjected. “Reya,” he said turning to the paladin, “lead the way.”
Elturel was eerily empty for a once bustling city. It wasn’t until they were half way to the Black Antlers that they encountered anyone or anything else on the streets, coming across a pair of purple-robed human cultists walking toward them from the other side of a short footbridge across a now-dry canal.
“Well met, travelers,” the tall one greeted them. They were dressed like normal city dwellers, garbed in well-made if not expensive clothing under their open robes. They wore no armor and while each carried a short sword, it was clear that neither had any skill in using the weapons. The most striking feature was a nine arrowed symbol carved into each of their foreheads. The work appeared fresh with the wounds looking to be infected. But then again, this was hell, so it was hard to tell.
Kent, always the most outgoing, engaged them in conversation and the group was quickly invited to join their new cult based out of the nearby Owlbear Butcher Shop. Reya was clearly uncomfortable with the brazenness of these devil-worshippers but showed restraint, limiting her comments to providing additional information about the locations and people the cultists described. Almont, who was standing to the far left side of the group, was also less than happy about the entire situation and slowly used his left hand to remove his mace, Lightbringer, from his belt, turning it over so the head was pointed at the ground. He let it slowly slide through his hand, stopping when the handle reached the right spot in his grip.
He was just about to crush the skull of the closest devil worshipper when he felt a hand on his right arm. Somehow Katla glided to his side without him detecting her and was lightly holding his right arm while continuing to watch the conversation unfold. Almont didn’t need to turn to look at her to get the message. This wasn’t the time. She was, as always, correct. Almont had certainly gotten the party into few tough spots with his impulsive bouts of righteous indignation, but he was learning to control those urges.
Kent wrapped things up with the cultists and they went on their way, completely oblivious to how close to death they had been. Almont consoled himself that they’d be dead soon enough, because when the party helped return Elturel to its proper location in time and space there would be a reckoning. Oh, there would be a reckoning…
The next few minutes passed quietly until Reya broke the silence. “The Black Antlers is just around the next corner.” And indeed it was. But there was also quite a bit more.
It turned out there was a battle raging in front of the Black Antlers. Trying to force their way into the building were a handful of animated skeletons supported by two medium sized demons. A half dozen destroyed skeletons littered the area and the four that remained standing were armed with short swords. Ten paces behind this seemingly disorganized group was a humanoid wearing a dark cloak that may or may not have been made of tanned human flesh. It was difficult to look upon the thing, its features and form indiscernible, the cloak and a brimmed hat the only things to lock onto. Clearly this being was directing the attackers. Facing off against them and lined up as if guarding the entrance to the bar were four masses of muscle, generally human-like but with hooves and horned bull heads. Minotaurs. All four carried axes and clearly were having a difficult time of it. A fifth beast lay dead on the ground under a pile of bones, a spear sticking straight up from its chest and a sword lodged in its neck.
“You don’t see that every day,” observed Kent as he dropped a bolt into his hand crossbow.
Almont felt warmth radiating from the head of Lightbringer. The mace had been constructed specifically to battle the undead. Its head appeared to be an opaque crystal skull. Almont had no idea what the material actually was, but it was as hard as the finest steel and despite frequent use it didn’t have as much as a scratch on it. When in the vicinity of the undead the skull emitted light, as it was doing now. It was hungry for the undead.
The combatants paid the group no heed, likely not even noticing them as the fight raged on. “Which do we help?” asked Katla.
“Well, we want to go into the bar, and the minotaurs seem to have control of it currently,” Donyxn noted.
“OK. I can let them know we’re here to help them,” Katla announced.
Everyone turned to Katla. “You speak the language of minotaurs, Katla?” asked Almont. “Of course,” she replied with a grin. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Their course of action decided, the warriors readied themselves. Donyxn rolled his shoulders and pulled two arrows from his quiver. Reya drew her sword. Almont whispered a prayer as he prepared to cast a spell. Katla started to glow as the wild magic built up within her. And Lola just flitted about and smiled.
When it happened, it happened all at once. The party didn’t even have to discuss the plan, everyone knew to concentrate their firepower on the infernal leader in an effort to remove him from the fight first, and the creature never saw it coming. Kent’s crossbow bolt struck it in the area that should have been its upper right shoulder blade, followed immediately by two arrows from Donyxn, one of which found the mark and spun the creature around from the force. As it turned Almont launched a beam of radiant force from his hands, striking it in the torso at the same time as Katla’s frozen ray.
“We are here to help you,” Katla shouted to the minotaurs. The startled beasts looked up and simply replied, “Good!”, minotaurs not being known as great conversationalists, even in their own language.
Finding themselves besieged on two sides the infernal mob was quickly dispatched with minimal effort. As expected killing the leader eliminated the greatest threat and from there the others fell in short order. “Fight good,” the largest minotaur grunted, pulling its axe from the body of the last demon. It then turned and walked over to its dead kin, picked up its axe, and headed for the door. “You come inside.”
Once they entered the tavern they immediately wished they hadn’t. The place was destroyed. The furniture was shattered and what had once been a sturdy bar was reduced to kindling. Broken bottles and scraps of food were strewn everywhere as were a few body parts that may or may not have also been partly eaten. The stench was awful and clouds of black flies gathered over the largest pieces.
“Well, I’ve been in worse,” mused Kent.
Donyxn seemed unfazed. “You know, this reminds me of a bar in Nightwarren. The bartender was a half-orc with a short temper…”
“You come,” directed the minotaur as he walked across the room and through a door leading to the back of the building. “Meet boss Kroac.”
“This should be fun,” muttered Katla. Even Lola couldn’t manage a smile in this place.
Kroac the Minotaur
As hard as it was to believe, the back room was even more disgusting than the front. A pile of demon bodies rotted in the corner and the flies were even thicker. The walls and floor, and even parts of the ceiling, were splattered with rancid black ichor. Sitting on a table along the far wall was an enormous minotaur, a full head taller than the others, it’s horns the thickness of a man’s thighs and filed to razor sharp points. The beast was drinking ale out of a 20-gallon cask, lifting it as if it were a simple ale flagon. It put the cask down and regarded them for a few moments, liquid drooling out of the side of its mouth. It then let out a belch, the smell of which could have felled an ogre and caused Lola to spin around in two circles.
“You fight good. Need your help to fight flying demons so we can leave.” It was unclear if this was a request or an order. Other minotaurs milled moved in and out of the room and up and down the staircase on the left side of the room, seemingly paying them no notice. “We can’t fight flying things. You help.”
“Are any of the humans who used this place still here,” Katla asked, somehow making the guttural tongue sound almost poetic.
“All dead,” it replied, causing Reya to wince when Katla translated for the group. “Did you kill them, you brute?” Reya spat in Common.
Almont sighed. So this was how it would to start. His hands began to take on the shape needed to cast a guided bolt at the beast.
After a few seconds delay that seemed to stretch out for minutes the minotaur replied. In Common. “No. They already dead. We did eat some though.” The sheer surprise of the response likely kept Reya from starting a battle royal in the tiny room and gave Katla the opportunity to re-establish control.
“Did the humans leave anything behind? Any weapons?” she inquired.
“Downstairs. You take anything you want. Then we go fight flying demons. We get back to war,” it said, then resumed drinking.
“There’s an Order of the Gauntlet meeting room downstairs,” Reya mumbled, still clearly stunned by the Common-speaking minotaur. As the party headed for the stairs Reya continued to look at the drinking beast. “Don’t stare,” Almont whispered in her ear as he walked past her. “They hate it when you stare.”
The basement was a mess, but not nearly as bad as the upstairs if for no other reason than there were no dead bodies. The table and chairs in the main room had been thrown into the corner, though likely not in an effort to cause destruction but instead to clear the quickest path to the alcohol, of which none remained, much to Kent’s dismay.
There were four small rooms off the main space. The largest was an armory with an assortment of weapons, including many that were silvered and therefore potentially effective against the infernal. The group took advantage, replacing non-magical weapons with silvered versions. There were also some locked chests. “Oh, what do have we here, my babies,” Kent said gleefully as he cracked his knuckles.
It took just over a minute for Kent to open both chests. “You’re slipping, Kent,” Donyxn chided. “You should have had that done in half the time.”
The dwarf laughed. “You can’t solve every problem by shooting an arrow at it, my horned friend. Sometimes you need to use finesse, something you clearly know nothing about.”
“I knew a girl named Finesse once, in Shiretown…” the tiefling started.
With the story firmly underway it was left to Katla and Almont to determine if anything in the trunks was magical. Surprisingly there were a few items.
“Kent, catch,” shouted Almont as he threw a cloak to the dwarf.
“A bit big for me, don’t you think?” he asked, holding it up. It was clearly human-sized.
“Just try it on.”
The cloak adjusted its size and shape to fit the shorter, stouter frame of the dwarf. It had the effect of making his shape and movement slightly difficult to discern, a bit blurry, especially if he moved quickly. “It’s a Cloak of Protection,” Katla told him. “It should keep you from getting stabbed so often.”
“Oh, I like this. I like this very much…”
There were also a pair of potions, one of Growth and one of Diminution. The most significant item was a Pearl of Power. “I haven’t seen one of these in a long time,” Katla observed, a faraway look in her eyes. “Not since… You should take it Almont, as we’re reliant on your spells to create the food and water we need while in hell. The Pearl will let you cast that spell once per day without tapping into your magic reserves.” Almont secreted the Pearl into a compartment in the back of the medallion that was his holy symbol.
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