Session #08 - More Questions Than Answers

“Well that was unexpected.”

 

Kent was right.  But given the number of underground areas they had found themselves exploring in Elturel it was also hardly a surprise.

 

A finely carved stone staircase led downward.  While the lighting was dim, one didn’t need darkvision to see that the stairs went to a landing about twenty feet below, with side passages to the left and right. 

 

“I want to check the choir upstairs first,” said the dwarf as the rest of the party looked down the stairs.  

 They all turned to him.  “Why,” asked Almont.

 

“We’ve seen this building from the outside.  It can only go up so high.  In fact the choir is probably the top level.  As for down, there’s no telling how far that goes or how much area it covers.”

 

He had a point.  They wedged a metal candlestick into the grooves along which the pulpit moved, preventing it from sliding back into place and blocking the stairs.  With that they went back to the nave and climbed the spiral stairs up to the choir.

 

It turned out there wasn’t much to see other than the triple keyboard for the massive pipe organ.  The white keys glowed with an aura-like brilliance, while the darkness of the black keys seemed impossibly black.

 

“Would you look at that,” the dwarf said with glee, interlocking his fingers and cracking his knuckles.  

“Oh no, please don’t,” Katla started, but it was too late.  Kent hit the keys with gusto and made such a racket that Katla was surprised the stained glass windows didn’t blow out.

 

Almont sighed.  “Let me try something.”  He shooed Kent from the bench.  A piano player at a bar he frequented back in his gang days had shown him a few short passages, and he attempted to play the most somber of these.  It was far from perfect, but it didn’t sound half bad and was more fitting for the setting.  The keyboard glowed a little brighter as he played, and when he finished everyone looked at one another quizzically.  

 

“Is it just me, or do you feel a little better all of a sudden?” Katla asked.  Everyone agreed that was indeed the case.

 

Almont shrugged his shoulders.  “That’s it for up here.  Time to head down.”

 

With that they headed to the main level, then down the hidden staircase.  It turned out the left and right passages on the landing actually led to another downward staircase on either side, taking them further down and in the opposite direction of the first set of stairs.

 

At the bottom they found themselves in a finely built room.  Kent ran his hands over the stonework admiringly. “Definitely the work of dwarves, this.  Whoever did this was a master stonemason.”

 

The room was lit with more magic torches.  The ceiling was twenty feet high, making the room seem even larger than its dimensions.  There were passages off to the north and south.  Directly across from them to the east was a set of eight stone steps leading to a chamber.  They could see that at the top of the steps was a marble platform atop which lay a woman holding a sword.  She looked incredibly life-like.

 

“The Tomb of the Unknown,” Reya said.

 

Everyone turned to look at the paladin.

 

“Um, you’ve been down here before, Reya?” asked Almont.

 

She nodded.  “As new paladins we are brought here to the tomb to pray as the last step in our initiation.”

 

“And you never thought to maybe tell us about this hidden place?”

 

She gave the cleric a hard look.  “The stairs were always exposed when I was brought down here.  I wasn’t aware that they could be hidden.”

 

Had anyone else said such a thing Almont surely would have accused them of lying.  But paladins were known for their honesty, and Reya seemed particularly uncomfortable with even the slightest bit of deception.  That she answered as directly as she did told him she spoke the truth.

 

“Who was she?”  Donyxn broke the tension with his softly asked question.

 

Reya looked at the ranger.  “No one knows her name.  It is said that she slew a red dragon single-handedly and saved Elturel in the distant past.  Her body shows no wounds and has never decomposed.”

 

“Are you saying that’s not a carving?  That’s her actual body?”

 

Reya nodded.

 

Almont proceeded forward and up the steps, Donyxn and Reya following while Kent and Katla conversed quietly at the bottom.  

 

The cleric could feel that this was a holy place, one held in esteem by the gods.  In looking at the woman who lay on the marble slab Almont was struck by both her apparent youth and the beatific look of her face.  A long broadsword lay vertically across her body, her crossed hands on the handle where it rested upon her chest, while the tip was down at her ankles.  The sword appeared to be a standard warrior’s weapon, and Almont could sense no magic coming from it – the sword seemed to be nothing more than a sword.

 

Almont knelt at the marble platform and began to pray.  Donyxn turned and went back down the stairs to join Katla and Kent.  Reya remained, though at a respectful distance.  She saw the priest reach toward his belt, his hand emerging with a beautiful, perfect pearl.  When he finished his prayer he stood and placed the pearl on the cold white slab next to the woman’s right cheek.  With that he turned and quietly went down the stairs.  Reya remained for a few moments longer, touched by the moment, before also turning away to rejoin the group.

 

“Anything else you’d like to tell us about what’s down here, Reya,” Donyxn inquired, his tone remaining quiet and respectful.

 

Reya shook her head.  “No, I have only visited the tomb when I have come here.”

 

“Well, let’s pick a direction,” Kent said pulling a coin from his pocket.  “Heads we go north, dragon we go south.”  The result was dragon, and south they went. 

 

They wandered up and down hallways and in and out of various crypts.  Unlike the ossuary at the cemetery, the burial places under the Great Hall were intended for individuals, those held in great esteem or who had enough wealth to ensure themselves a place with the city’s elite.  

 

Disturbingly they noticed light traces of purple dust in the air, and Almont’s mace began to glow.  As they turned down a new passage it shone even brighter, and at the end of the hall they could see why.  A ragged mummy was trying to walk straight in an area blocked off by a wall, which was surprisingly dense even for a mummy.

 

“This one looks to have just reanimated,” said the cleric.  He strode purposefully down the hall, unclasping Lightbringer and carrying it loosely in his right hand.  

 

The thing never turned as Almont approached.  In one fluid motion he swung the mace back around behind his head, his left hand joining the right on the handle.  As the crystal skull mace head swung around behind him Katla swore for a moment she saw it’s mouth turn upward in a slight smile, causing her to shudder.  It glowed bright white as it came all the way around and obliterated the mummy’s head.

 

The party ended up in large open space that was behind the stairs they originally came down.  It resembled both a chapel and a crypt, the far wall given over to a mural of Torm and a small altar.  This was flanked by two long walls, each housing six sarcophagi inset into individual arched insets.  

 

“Does anyone else hear scratching?” Kent asked.  Which was a very disturbing thing for someone to ask in a room filled with tombs.

 

That being said, once everyone stopped moving and strained their ears, they agreed that there was the sound of scratching on stone.  A quick search pinpointed the source to one of the sarcophagi on the north wall.

 

They stood around it in a semi-circle, listening to the scratching.

 

“Well that’s creepy,” Kent deadpanned.  

 

“Almont’s mace doesn’t like it much either,” Donyxn observed, his head nodding toward the mace that was once again dangling from the cleric’s belt.  Its head glowed brightly with menace.

 

The rogue sighed.  “Let’s get on with it.”  While Almont and Kent worked the lid loose the others stepped back and formed a semi-circle in preparation for whatever might emerge from the tomb.

 

And emerge they did, and with surprising speed.  So much so that they caught everyone other than Kent unprepared.  

 

“They” were a pair of zombies, though these looked nothing like the unfortunate creature dispatched a few minutes prior.  These two had claws emerging from the wraps covering their hands, and their eyes glowed with purple hate.

 

Kent pulled his magic scimitar and inflicted a pair of slashes on the mummy closest to him.  It replied by raking him twice with its claws.  As the dwarf staggered back one could see the wounds beginning to show signs of infection.  This was not good.

 

The other mummy focused its gaze on Donyxn, locking eyes with the tiefling.  Whatever unholy magic it tried to use on him failed, and he grinned as he raised his bow.

 

The mummy began moving towards Donyxn and was immediately struck by a fire bolt from Katla and a pair of arrows from the ranger.  Not to be left out, Reya rushed forward and also landed a blow with her mace, caving in its chest and killing it.

 

Almont dropped his end of the tomb lid and stepped forward to aid Kent, striking the mummy with both his warhammer and Lightbringer.  As the creature staggered forward from the force of the blows, Kent finished it off with another pair of slashes from his scimitar.  

 

As it fell, Kent went down onto one knee.  The wound appeared to be rotting before their eyes.  Reya laid hands upon him, but her healing attempt failed to stop the bleeding or close the wound, though it did seem to slow the spread of the infection.  Almont removed some holy water from his pack and poured it on the wound.  It bubbled and hissed but failed to improve the situation.

 

“This looks to be a curse,” Reya said.  “I have seen this before in battling the undead.”  She looked to Almont.  “Can you remove it?”

 

The cleric shook his head.

 

“Then let us hope one of the priests still remains alive down here.”

 

“It’s just a flesh wound,” said the dwarf through gritted teeth as he took a pull off the bottle of Skallbender he liberated a few days earlier. 

 

They looked in the open tomb and discovered two items wrapped in fine silk.  Inside were a pair of metal bracers and a yellow gem about the size of Almont’s palm.

 

Katla looked at the gem with wonder in her eyes.  “It’s an elemental gem.  They’re very rare.  Should you break it, it will summon an earth elemental who will do your bidding.”

 

This raised eyebrows all around, and Almont stowed the stone in a hidden pocket in his leggings.  

 

The bracers were clearly magical as well.  They appeared to be metal, but were impossibly light.  Unlike standard bracers that covered the entire forearm in either metal or leather, these more resembled jewelry, with intricately curved strands of metal creating designs and leaving most of the arm seemingly exposed.  The unarmored Katla tried them on and they immediately formed perfectly onto her arms.  

 

The elf smiled and looked up.  The others all nodded – it made sense for Katla to wear them, as more traditional armor impeded her magic.  She waved her arms around quickly, studying them as she did so.  

 

Donyxn walked to her and pulled a dagger from his belt.  Reya immediately took a step forward but Almont blocked her way with his arm.  She stopped, looked at Almont, and then back at Donyxn and Katla.

 

Donyxn had informally mentored Katla in knife fighting.  It wasn’t that any of them ever wanted to sorceress to need to stab someone, and she was clearly quite skilled with the quarterstaff.  However, it was a dangerous world out there and it was important to know how to defend yourself in close.

 

The pair locked eyes and both crouched, Donyxn into an attacking posture and Katla with her empty hands out in front of her defensively.  After a pair of feints Donyxn lunged in for an attack.  The bracers glowed a light blue as the elf swung her left forearm down and blocked the blow.  With that they stood up and both smiled.  “Oh, I like these very much,” she said.  

 

The party did a quick search of the room that revealed nothing else of interest.  As they were preparing to leave, Katla handed Almont a ring.

 

“Your ring of protection?” he asked.

 

She nodded.  “I can feel that the ring and bracers won’t work well when worn together.  Take the ring.  It will be of help to you.”

 

He held it in his hand for a moment, nodded, and then put it on his finger.  It of course fit perfectly.

 

“If you two don’t mind, I’d like to find a priest.  A decent priest, unlike the useless one we have,” Kent said.  He was joking, of course, but he was also in a fair amount of pain.

 

With that they moved north, where they encountered more crypts and a sorry-looking animated skeleton that Almont dispatched with Lightbringer.  

 

Heading east they passed the landing at the bottom of the stairs to the main floor.  They continued onward for a few steps when Kent, who was in front, stopped.  Everyone came to a stop behind him, readying themselves for battle.

 

With that the dwarf turned around and walked back down the hall and turned to enter the landing.  The others waited a few moments before accepting that he wasn’t coming back, and turned to follow.

 

When the reached him, Kent was kneeling in front of the Tomb of the Unknown.  He was clearly praying.  No one approached him and they all remained respectfully at the bottom of the steps.  

 

After a minute or so there was a bright flash from the tomb room, startling everyone.  Immediately afterward Kent came down the steps, looking at his wound in wonder.  While the injury was still there, the rotting flesh and signs of infection were rapidly receding.  The sprit of the unknown warrior had lifted the curse.

 

Reya smiled in that way that true believers smile.  

 

They headed east again and their wandering brought them to a meeting room of sorts.  The middle of the chamber was taken up with a wooden table surrounded by twenty chairs.  Along the walls were four different tapestries depicting either Torm or scenes from Elturel’s past.  

 

“That’s some fine workmanship,” Kent said as he admired one showing Torm surrounded by kneeling worshippers.  

 

“It is.  The tapestry makers of Elturel are renowned for their skills,” said Reya, walking up and standing next to him, completely oblivious to the rogue’s intentions.

 

Katla stood behind them both shaking her head.  It wasn’t that she had a moral problem with Kent’s occasional thieving.  After all, in her past she and her mentor occasionally used questionable means and practices to acquire items they needed for their research.  But those were things they needed.  Kent sometimes just took thing because he wantedthem.

 

She also knew if she didn’t intervene then things would get awkward and embarrassing.  And Katla hated awkward and embarrassing.

 

“Reya, I saw some carvings out here down the hall.  Do you know what they mean?”

 

Reya walked over to the sorceress and the pair left the room.  Kent and Donyxn smiled at one another, then quickly removed the object of Kent’s fancy from the wall.  Once it was rolled up it fit easily into Almont’s bag of holding.  

 

“She’s not half bad, that elf,” Kent said with a grin as the trio left the room and closed the door behind them.

 

The party reconvened and continued east.  They stopped a few paces from a turn in the hallway.  Whispered voices speaking in common came from around the corner, sounding more nervous than threatening.  Kent looked back, shrugged his shoulders and walked around the corner.  The others followed.

 

They entered the largest room they’d encountered thus far, fifty feet wide and at least one hundred fifty long.  The ceiling was supported by two rows of granite pillars and there were two raised water-filled cisterns, one at each end of the room.  At the far end the wall was a mosaic with the Triad in the center, surrounded by what appeared to be important people from Elturel’s history.

 

The room was home to roughly a hundred people and more resembled a refugee camp than a place of worship.  Two men sitting on the floor closest to the party stood as they rounded the corner, one holding a short sword, the other a makeshift club.

 

“Put your weapons down.  These are not our enemies.”  The voice was that of a woman, and one used to being listened to.  The men lowered their weapons and looked over their shoulders.  

 

Some of the people behind them began to part, and a few moments later a short woman in priestly robes emerged.  She was aged – probably in her sixties, perhaps even older.  But she still carried herself with the strength and confidence of a lifetime of devotion and struggle.  She looked at the dwarf sternly.  “And who might you be?”

 

Reya’s face brightened.  “Pherria!”

 

The woman turned and raised her hand to her mouth.  “Reya!  We thought you were dead!”  The pair approached one another and embraced.

 

“Everyone sure is surprised when the find out Reya is alive,” Kent said under his breath.  Katla elbowed him in the ribs as she walked into the room, and the dwarf smiled.

 

The priestess was Pherria Jenks, and she filled everyone in on what had transpired.  Most of the high council was killed, and Duke Ravensgard and his men took it upon themselves to protect the innocent in the Great Hall.  They fended off multiple attacks from demons and undead before deciding to head to the cemetery to seek the Helm of Torm’s Sight.  The plan was to return with it to the Great Hall and see if they could use it to find out how to return Elturel back to the material plane.  

 

The mention of the late duke caused Donyxn to begin studying his feet intently.

 

“We just came from the cemetery,” Reya said, a look of disappointment on her face.  “The duke is dead.”

 

Pherria bowed her head and whispered a brief prayer.  “What of the helm?”

 

Almont took a step forward.  “Reya, a word please.”

 

Reya and Almont walked a few paces away where the rest of the party stood.  Almont began the conversation.  “I’m not sure it’s prudent to tell anyone we have the helm.  You saw what it did back at the cemetery.”

 

Kent nodded.  “I’m not putting that thing on my noggin, I can tell you that.”

 

Reya looked at them each in turn, then locked eyes again with Almont.  “This is the problem with you all.  You don’t trust anyone.  And look where it’s gotten you.  Where it’s gotten us.”  Her anger was beginning to show.  “The duke is dead, and we killed him.”

 

“Technically it was Donyxn who killed the duke,” Kent proffered.

 

Reya shot him a look.  “We all bear the responsibility for the duke’s death.”  She took a deep breath and collected herself.  “I won’t lie to Pherria.  I won’t lie for you.  If you want to conceal that you have the helm, that’s fine.  But I won’t back up your lies.”  With that she turned away and returned to the priestess.

 

Donyxn looked at Reya with admiration, though it was impossible for her to see it in his mercury eyes.  He envied her devotion to cause and righteousness.  After all, when he was young Donyxn dreamt of being a paladin…

 

 

Donyxn grew up in a village simply called The Clearing.  It was situated in a large natural clearing in the forest outside the city of Erm’s Landing.  Erm’s Landing was situated at the meeting point of a large natural ocean harbor and wide river, making it a commerce hub.  Like many port cities it attracted all kinds of people, from the richest to the most impoverished, the righteous and the wicked.  Beings from all the main races and many of those seldom seen converged on its streets and were generally left to their own business.

 

There was, of course, an underclass of sorts.  Outcasts, if you will.  Those who had run afoul of the authorities or, even more dangerously, of the criminal underworld.  Those who simply didn’t fit in.  Many of those folks found their way to The Clearing. 

 

The people of The Clearing were generally left alone by those of Erm’s Landing, though some trade took place between the two enclaves, much of it illicit.  That being said, The Clearing wasn’t a bad place to live.  Yes, there was the occasional murder, and sometimes there were altercations with groups from the city that threatened to turn into full-scale battles.  But Erm’s Landing’s paladins were usually able to restore the peace.  They were the only people who were always respectful when the encountered people from The Clearing, and as such the villagers respected them, even if some only did so begrudgingly.

 

To Donyxn, however, they were the heroes of legend with their armor and swords.  They protected those who couldn’t protect themselves and the young tiefling dreamed of someday riding his warhorse into battle to help the innocent and bring righteous retribution to evildoers.  Young Donyxn often led his friends in fictitious battles in the woods playing “paladins and orcs”.  He always wanted to play a paladin, even if it was decided that the paladins would lose this time, because it gave him the chance to playact a glorious and honorable death in battle.  

 

Donyxn was generally allowed to run free in The Clearing and the surrounding forests and he was well known to the villagers.  He didn’t steal or get into any serious trouble, so even the most curmudgeonly folks for the most part left him alone.  Even Esja, the drow elf who lived on the outskirts and was kept at arm’s length even by the people of The Clearing, seemed to tolerate the boy.

 

Donyxn knew that every spring the paladins held trials in Erm’s Landing for young aspirants.  A boy could be no more than ten years old and was only allowed to participate one time.  Those few selected left for the paladin fortress to begin their training.  

 

This was the year of his tenth birthday, and he knew he would be picked.  He just knew it.  The night before the trials he wrote a note for his mother explaining what he had done and why, and tucked it into a drawer in his room where he knew she would find it.  In the morning he took a small pack of belongings and walked to Erm’s Landing.

 

Donyxn knew that he was different, but didn’t understand why many people held tieflings in such disregard.  No one seemed to bother with such things in The Clearing, with perhaps the exception of old Esja.  People didn’t trust the drow, though Esja earned his place in the village because of his healing abilities.  The cleric was occasionally called on to mend a broken limb or help as sick child, and as such garnered at least a level tolerance.

 

As Donyxn walked through Erm’s Landings he was mostly ignored, though a few epitaphs were sent his way.  He shrugged them off.  He was on a mission, after all.  His cause was righteous, his calling true.

 

The square where the choosing was held was set up with a series of tents surrounding a central area where combat trials took place.  Donyxn waited in line for his turn, then gave the old man his information.  He was given a piece of paper with a number on it, which he pinned to his shirt.  Number nine.  That would be his new lucky number, he was sure.

 

After an hour or so his number was called, along with those of five other boys.  The group would compete together under the watchful gaze of some of the paladins.  There was a footrace, which the sure-footed Donyxn won easily, and tests of strength, lifting and carrying heavy sacks.  He won this event as well, earning him dirty looks from the humans he competed against.  

 

The last event was combat.  The boys were paired up, each receiving a small wood shield and a wood training sword.  The human boys had all brought helmets and gloves, but Donyxn had no protective equipment other than his leather breeches and the shield he’d been handed.  It didn’t matter.  He knew he’d win.

 

The tiefling was paired with the largest of the boys in his group, who was only slightly smaller than Donyxn.  He smiled at the other boy, but the look he received in return was one of disdain.  No matter.  Once they saw him fight he’d be selected.

 

The paladin standing between them stepped aside, dropped his hand, and said, “Begin”.

 

The boy leapt forward, smashing Donyxn with his shield and bringing his sword down heavily on the tiefling’s shoulder.  Donyxn retreated, stunned.  This wasn’t how the fights in the forest went.  The boy continued to press, raining down blows on the tiefling as he retreated, eventually forcing him to one knee.  Donyxn held up his shield in desperation as blow after blow struck him.  He looked up over the top of the shield for a moment and then it all went black.

 

When he came to he was laying in a tent.  An older paladin in armor had a hand on his chest and he felt healing energy flow through him.  He inhaled deeply and sat up.  “Slowly, boy.  You took a bit of a beating back there.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“You took a knock on the head,” the paladin said, getting up and walking across the tent.  He returned with a cup of water and handed it to Donyxn, who drank from it gratefully.

 

“You failed the trials.  You have the strength and speed, but you retreated in battle.  You don’t have what it takes to be a paladin.”  The old man was very direct in his words, but there was empathy in his voice.  

 

A tear fell from one of Donyxn’s eyes as he looked down at his cup. 

 

“Look at me, son.  Look me in the eyes.”

 

Donyxn met the paladin’s gaze and held it.  

 

“You have a calling, son.  I can see that in your silvery eyes.  There is a purpose out there for you.  I can feel that radiating from your soul.  I don’t know what it is.  I only know it isn’t as a paladin.  When you are touched by it, you will know.”  With that the paladin stood up and left the room.

 

Donyxn picked up his pack and returned home.  His mother could tell something was wrong, as she made his favorite meal, meatballs, but the boy didn’t eat.  Instead he went to bed.

 

He left the house early the next morning, taking a few leftover meatballs because he knew he’d be gone all day.  He walked deep into the woods, deeper than he had ever walked before.  He had a strange sensation that he was being watched, but when he’d turn around there was no sign of anything or anyone, only the forest.  

 

After walking for four or five hours he reached a small pond.  He sat there and ate his lunch.  Then he dug a small hole in the ground and removed some items from his pack – a flyer announcing that year’s trials and the piece of paper with the number nine on it.  He looked at both for a number of minutes.  Then he tore them into tiny pieces, put them in the hole, and covered it with dirt.  And with that he began the long walk home.  

 

The next day he wandered the village.  His friends wanted him to come play, but he was done with playing.  Instead he found himself outside the blacksmith shop looking at some of the knives laid out on a table just outside the forge.  They weren’t ornate – these were the knives of working people.  But each had a certain elegance.

 

“You’re about the right age for a boy to have his first knife,” came a gruff voice from within the forge area.  Stepping out from the darkness into the light of day was Grimwal Karrus, the one-eyed dwarf blacksmith of The Clearing.  No one knew much about the dwarf.  But the one thing that everyone knew was to not ask him how he lost the eye.  The last person who did, someone from Erm’s Landing slumming it for an evening in The Clearning, was found the next morning dead in the forest.  Missing an eye.

 

“Try them out, boy.”

 

Donyxn picked up the knives in turn.  Whereas a few days earlier he would have pretended to be a warrior using them as weapons, now he was feeling their balance, examining their sharpness.  He still had that sensation of being watched, but shook it off.  

 

“This one,” he said to Grimwal.  “This one is the best.”

 

Grimwal chucked as he took the hunting knife from him.  “A knife is a tool, boy.  Each of these has its purpose, and each was made to fulfill that specific purpose.  The knife you chose tells me more about you than it does about the knife.”

 

Donyxn considered this and it seemed wise, though he didn’t completely understand the implications.  

 

“If you want that knife, you work for me in the afternoons for the rest of the summer.  I can use help, and you tieflings aren’t bothered working around fire.  The work will be hard, but I will teach you some things.  And at the end of the summer, that knife is yours.”  

 

With that he spit into his palm and held out his hand to Donyxn.  The tiefling and dwarf shook on it.

 

Donyxn still had his mornings free since he didn’t need to arrive at the forge until after lunch, which was when Grimwal usually roused himself after yet another night of drinking.  He spent more and more time in the forest by himself, exploring and learning.  

 

He began experimenting with snares and traps, and after much trial and error managed to catch and kill a rabbit.  He felt sad as soon as he killed it, a feeling he hadn’t anticipated.  

 

And there was that feeling of being watched again.  

 

Donyxn knew he had to be respectful of the rabbit and make sure to use it.  So he took it back to town, walked to the butcher’s shop, and knocked on the door.  From inside he heard what sounded like a boulder being dropped onto a table.  “Can’t work with all these interruptions!” came the shout from inside.  Donyxn took a step back from the door.  

 

He knew the butcher Tig was a half-orc, but until you’re right up next to one you don’t realize how massive they are.  The door swung open and Tig looked down at Donyxn.  “What?!”

 

The tiefling was standing there, holding his dead rabbit by the ears.  Tig’s features softened.  “You caught a rabbit, eh boy?  Do you know how to clean it?”  Tig already knew the answer.

 

Donyxn shook his head.

 

The half-orc made space and thumbed toward the inside.  “In you go then.”

 

Tig was amazingly dexterous for a creature with such huge hands.  “I’ll show you the technique, but you’re doing it yourself.  Deal?”

 

Donyxn nodded.

 

Tig grabbed two filleting knives, a larger one for him and a smaller one for young Donyxn.  He showed him how to sharpen the knife on a whetstone then demonstrated the cuts.  Tig began guiding Donyxn’s hand but let him finish the work on his own.  In the end it wasn’t the best job, but it was better than Tig expected.  

 

“You have an aptitude, boy.  I know you work with the blacksmith in the afternoon.  Come work with me for a few hours in the morning and I’ll show you how to handle and butcher all kinds of animals.”

 

And so Donyxn had another job.  He picked up a third when the took the rabbit skins down to the hobbit tanner, who agreed to tutor him a few times a week in skinning and tanning hides.

 

That’s how the next two years passed, with Donyxn learning valuable skills and spending his off time in the woods.  

 

In the spring of his twelfth year he was again out in the forest enjoying the early morning light.  A branch cracking snapped him out of his reverie and he stopped.  And then followed a screech.  He knew its source as soon as he heard it.  An owlbear.  And it sounded hungry.  Donyxn pulled the knife Grimwal had given him, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.  As he turned to run the owlbear burst from the woods in front of him and charged.

 

His options were limited.  The owlbear was faster than him, and a better tree climber.  His only hope was to make it think he was the more dangerous foe.  So with that he turned, made himself as large as possible, and yelled.

 

But the owlbear had been hibernating and was near starving, it’s desperation for food overriding any fear it may have felt.  Donyxn prepared to die.

 

When the beast was within twenty feet of him it was struck in the left side of its neck by a pair of arrows, the heads of which jutted out the other side.  It staggered and slowed, trying to screech in rage but unable to make any sound from its destroyed throat.  It turned to face this new foe and a third arrow slammed into its right eye, felling it.

 

Donyxn looked for the source of the arrows as well but saw nothing.  At least not until he turned back to where the owlbear lay breathing heavily a dozen feet away.  Kneeling alongside it was Esja, the drow elf.  How had he gotten there without Donyxn seeing him?  Esja whispered a few words, then plunged his dagger into the owlbear’s neck, killing it.

 

Esja cleaned his blade and returned his dagger to its sheath.  He then stood and looked at Donyxn.  “Are you hurt?”

 

“No, thank you.  But how… was that you with the arrows?”

 

Esja nodded.

 

“But how?”

 

“Come, let us deal with this animal and then we shall talk.”

 

Esja began to swiftly skin the owlbear.  Donyxn could see what he was doing from his two years working with Tig and the hobbit, but the speed and precision of the drow’s cuts were unbelievable.  Donyxn was able to involve himself at the end and help finish the process, earning a nod from the elf.

 

“Not good meat, unfortunately,” said Donyxn, based on his experience at the butcher shop.

 

“Not true.  There is one good cut, and it is exquisite.  I will show you.”  With that Esja opened the beast’s ribcage.  “There are some secondary ribs here.  The meat in between the two sets of ribs is delicious.”  He pulled apart the sets of ribs and with a few deft flicks of his blade he removed two small pieces of meat.  There looked to be enough there for the two of them.

 

Esja began to build a campfire.  

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“This meat will go bad before we get back to The Clearing.  We will cook and eat it here so that it does not go to waste.  It is unfortunate the animal had to die.  But we will not disrespect its spirit by not using its bounty.”

 

Esja showed Donyxn how to cook the meat and the elf was right – it was the best tasting piece of meat he had ever eaten.  

 

The elf pulled a small bottle of wine from his pack.  “Let us have a drink and talk.”

 

As the sat by the dwindling fire in the late afternoon Esja told Donyxn his story.  The drow had not always been a cleric.  Once he wandered the woods as Donyxn had, learning its secrets.  Once he had been a ranger.  Ejsa had been watching Donyxn for a number of years and could see that the tiefling had the natural talent and instincts to be a great ranger.  “You almost spotted me once.  That hasn’t happened to me in hundreds of years.”

 

If Donyxn wanted to learn the ways of the ranger, Esja would teach him.

 

It was if Donyxn’s brain was made of glass and suddenly shattered.

 

A ranger.  That is my destiny.

 

 

The party discussed Reya’s words and came to a decision.  Reya and Pherria turned as they approached.

 

“We have the helm,” Almont said.  Pherria’s eyes got wide.  “I will pray to Kirk-Jolith and ask him for guidance.”

 

Almont turned and walked away.  He approached the far corner of the room.  The refugees in that area cleared a space for the cleric so that he could pray in semi-privacy.  

 

Almont sat cross-legged facing the corner.  He placed his warhammer on the floor in front of him, head down with the shaft pointing towards the ceiling.  He removed the medallion symbol of his god and placed it on the warhammer, resting on the weapon’s head and propped up by the handle.  A platinum coin was placed on the floor in front of it.  The preparations done, the cleric began to ritual. 

 

When he opened his eyes, he was in the throne room of Kiri-Jolith.  The god sat upon his simple throne.  “You have a question, Almont Bonecrusher.  Speak it, and I will answer.”

 

“Is it safe for us to use the Helm of Torm’s Sight?”

 

Kiri-Jolith considered the question for what seemed to Almont like an eternity.

 

“If you use it, you will not die.” 

 

The emphasis was clear.

 

After coming out of his trance Almont put the medallion back on, picked up his warhammer, and returned to where his friends waited with Reya and Pherria.

 

“I will wear the helm.”

 

Katla’s brow furrowed.  Kent stroked his beard.  Donyxn looked on stoically. 

 

Pherria considered this.  “The helm will give you visions.  Of what I cannot say.  I have a prayer that can pull you back to reality, but it takes time to complete.  Who will decide when it is time to begin the prayer?”

 

“I will tell you when it is time,” Katla said firmly.  

 

Almont looked to the elf and nodded.  “We will do the ritual at the Tomb of the Unknown.  It is a blessed space.”

 

Pherria nodded.  “That is wise.  My assistant Selene will join us.”

 

With everyone in agreement they proceeded to the tomb.  

 

“We will need an item infused with magic to act as a focal point for the prayer to return Almont to us,” Pherria said as she made her preparations.

 

Everyone immediately reached for different items they carried, but Almont waved them off.  “We’ll use my warhammer.  It has been blessed by Illmater.”

 

“A worthy choice.  Someone will need to hold it above your head while I recite the prayer.  Someone with a steady hand.”

 

“Donyxn.”

 

The tiefling nodded and Almont handed the hammer to him.  “Don’t drop it on my head, my friend.”

 

Donyxn smiled, showing his sharp teeth.  Selene, who was watching out of the corner of her eye, shuddered at the sight of the smiling tiefling.

 

Katla used her spectral mage hand to remove the helm from the bag of holding and delivered it to Pherria, who accepted it with her bare hands with no ill effects, much to everyone’s relief.  

 

Almont kneeled in front of the tomb and looked the priestess.  She said a quick prayer in celestial and lowered the helm onto the cleric’s head.

 

The visions came immediately.  

 

Almont saw a bloodied woman wearing full plate armor, her head bare.  A bleeding gash marred the right side of her face and a puncture wound penetrated the armor on her left just below the ribcage.  She held a gleaming sword in her right hand.  

 

Lola flew behind the warrior.  The hollyphant was speaking, but Almont could not make out her words.  

 

Then the demons began to close in on them.  They were hideous monstrosities.  Some generally resembled animals, but others were amalgamations of different shapes and features mashed together without any rhyme or reason.  A five-legged beast the size of a horse had multiple fang-filled mouths arrayed on its torso.  A flying demon appeared to be a human woman, but her wings were actually made up of faces that were stitched together, their expression contorting in agony.  There were more of them than he could count.

 

Everywhere Almont looked there was another horror, and they were all closing in.

 

Back in the tomb room guttural sounds began coming from the cleric through his clenched jaw.  Sweat beaded up around the edge of the helm.  He was shaking from the effort.  Selene covered her ears and closed her eyes at the sounds, while everyone other than Katla winced.

 

“It’s abyssal.”  Katla turned to the priestess.  “Begin the prayer to pull him out.”

 

“No, not yet.  He hasn’t told us anything yet.  Almont is tough.  He can take it,” said Kent insistently.

 

Katla shot the dwarf a look.  “I was the one entrusted with this decision.  Not you.”  She turned back to Pherria.  “Start the prayer.  Now.”

 

Pherria nodded to Donyxn who raised the warhammer and held it over Almont’s head.  The priestess began her incantation.

 

The horde of demons stopped advancing, holding their places.  They were encircled by the horde, but Almont felt a sense of calm wash over him as they halted.  

 

Something approached from a distance, the demons making way as it loped forward on a pair of hoofed legs.  It was at least ten feet tall, its red skin mottled with black patches, its distended stomach wobbling as it came closer.  

 

The beast moved past the inner ring of demons, stepping within the circle.  It faced the female warrior and spoke to her, though Almont could not understand the words.  

 

When the demon finished speaking the woman replied with a shout of rage, grabbing her sword with both hands and plunging it into the ground.  

 

With that, Lola exploded in a ball of yellow light.

 

In the tomb room Almont continued in abyssal.  Not complete sentences, but the words were becoming clearer to Katla’s ears.  “Flee… escape… run…”

 

“Faster priestess,” she said through gritted teeth, her hand tightening on her glass staff.

 

As the blinding flash receded, Almont saw that Lola was still alive.  She blasted an impossibly loud sound from her trunk, the shock of it pushing the wall of demons back.  

 

An alabaster fortress began to emerge from the ground where the sword penetrated, its walls knitting together and growing organically as it expanded outward and upward.

 

Almont continued to spew forth word in abyssal.  The warhammer’s head glowed a gentle blue as the ritual progressed.  Donyxn struggled to hold it steady.  It was as if the warhammer was magnetically attracted to the helm.  No one else noticed the strain in the tiefling’s expression, focused as they were on Almont, so everyone was surprised when the warhammer dipped and made slight contact with the helm.

 

A huge spark and a loud crack startled the group.  Donyxns felt the discharge up his arms and into his shoulders.  He managed to lift the warhammer back in place, but just barely.

 

Kent lunged forward and set the immovable rod under the warhammer’s shaft, ensuring that it wouldn’t fall upon the cleric again.

 

Pherria continued her prayer while tears of blood began to fall from Almont’s eyes.

 

The fortress, initially gleaming and perfect, now began to display wounds as if it were alive.  Blisters formed on its surface, bursting then scabbing over.  Lola now looked befuddled, the way she had since Almont first met her.  The demons began to advance again as the fortress started to collapse upon itself, evil grins on their faces.

 

Something snapped in Almont’s mind.  

 

The cleric began to convulse and unleashed a blood-freezing scream.  A hazy ball of red light emerged from the glowing helm and floated slowly upward.

 

The fortress was gone now.  Two bird-like humanoids hovered above a vehicle the likes of which Almont had never seen.  It was difficult to tell how it operated, or even how large it was as his mind burned with psychic fire.  

 

A second ball of red light emerged from the helm and the pair of them flew downward at Donyxn, striking him with electrical discharge.

 

Katla reacted first, casting forth a pair of Eldritch blasts, striking one of the things and missing the other.  The one she hit burst in a ball of discharge and disappeared.

 

Kent lept forward and struck the other with his scimitar, unsure if the blade could damage the thing but trusting in its magic to deliver damage.  Sure enough his swift blade swung true, bisecting the orb.  The two parts fizzled out of existence.  

 

As that was happening Selene reached down and removed the helm from Almont’s head.  The cleric fell forward on all fours and retched.  He remained in that position, panting, sweat mixed with the blood tears dripping from his face and sizzling as they touched the cold marble floor.

 

Pherria used some healing magic on Almont which allowed him to regain his composure and tell them what he had seen.  Lola became particularly agitated during the telling, though it was difficult to tell if her reaction was due to excitement or fear.  

 

“That’s a hell of a tale, if I do say so myself,” said Kent as he handed the bottle of Skallbender to his friend, who accepted it with a nod.  “But what does it mean?”

 

It was Lola who spoke first.  Her eyes were glazed over, the story disconnected.

 

“There is a devil who hates the sword,” she said in her sing-song voice.  “We must go to Fort Knucklebones.  We must find the Sword of Zariel.”

 

“Oh good, another unholy artifact,” muttered Kent.

 

“The Companion has become our doom,” continued Lola.  

 

“Where is this fort, Lola?” Katla asked softly.

 

The hollyphant’s eyes cleared.  “It’s about ten miles from here.  On the surface of Avernus.”

 

“Oh, this just keeps getting better.”  Kent took a swig of the Skallbender.

 

“I know now how I returned from Avernus before.”  All eyes turned back to Lola expectantly.

 

“Zariel sent me back.”

 

 

The group returned to the sanctuary.  Pherria told them guards would posted and that they should take a rest now if they were planning on heading down to the surface.  Almont, for one, was too tired to disagree.

 

Almont used his magic to conjure up food and clean water, which was disbursed among the grateful refugees.  He then collapsed into slumber for almost half a day.

 

After they awoke and ate, everyone prepared their gear to depart.  Reya came to the group, accompanied by Pherria.

 

“I’m not going with you.”

 

Everyone turned to her.  “We need your help if we’re going to return Elturel home,” Almont said.

 

Reya shook her head.  “These people need me more.  I will protect them while you seek the sword.”

 

Donyxn was leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him.  “Your presence here won’t matter if our mission fails.  These people will all die.”

 

“But if you return Elturel and everyone within it is dead, then it won’t matter either.”

 

Donyxn thought about this and nodded.

 

Reya took a step backward and spoke firmly, her voice carrying across the hall and stilling all the other voices.  

 

“I am Reya Mantlemorn, Hellrider of Elturel, and it has been my honor to fight alongside you.”

 

Kent looked surprised.  “Wait, she has a last name?”