Descent Into Avernus
After the fall
What just happened?Elturel was gone.
All that remained of the holy city was an enormous crater, the ground sealed beneath glass-like obsidian rock. In the distance terrified escapees fled away from the devastation, almost all on foot.
Torman pounded his fist into the dirt and stood up. “We need to get down there.”
“And find out what happened,” Madam Portencia added.
“Why would we do that?” Morad questioned, his brow furrowed.
“There’s a hole in the ground where an entire city used to be,” Torman responded.
“That’s bad, but - are you a detective? You go around and work things out?”
“Have you been to Baldur’s Gate?”
“No.”
“Then yes, I’m a detective.”
“Oh. Ok. This seems like God destroyed that place. This is bad. Maybe we should go and see if we can help people - that I can understand.”
The stunned party rode down toward the crater, quickly reaching a group of fleeing refugees. Many were in tears, all terrified and confused. They all looked to be working class, outer-city residents - the poorest citizens of Elturel. There was no sign of the Grand Duke’s company, nor any gatherings from the richer areas of the city.
A man wearing a leather apron was trying to direct the stragglers, encouraging them to hurry and move away. Madam Portencia addressed him from her horse. “You there. What happened?”
“Who are you? Can you help us? We don’t know what happened.”
“We can help you - if you tell us why you ran away from the city.”
The man looked incredulous, pointing back to the crater. “Wouldn’t you run? Look! Look at that! This was our home!”
“I understand that. But how did you know what was going to happen?” Portencia demanded.
“It was a normal day - I’m a tanner by trade - but the Companion started to change. Our protector for so long. It changed, it…” He paused, clearly upset. An ashen-faced woman in his group continued. “It started to go dark. The warmth and light vanished, blackness covering it. And black lightning. Jaquon saw others starting to run, and told us to follow.”
Jaquon, the tanner, nodded. “I don’t know why they were running, but they were. So we did too. And because we did we live. But someone… they closed the gates. People behind us couldn’t get out.”
“You’re a good man, Jaquon. You read the situation well, and saved these people. They are your people now,” Torman replied.
Madam Portencia elaborated. “Gather who you can and head to Baldur’s Gate.”
“Baldur’s Gate? We won’t be safe there - it is not like Elturel. Will you speak up for us there?”
“We will let them know you are coming, and advise them of your plight.”
Torman nodded. “We ride to Baldur’s Gate ahead of you, and will use what influence we have. Now move, it is no safer here than there.”
Spider whispered to Madam Portencia’s ear. “Madam P, we have to get back to Baldur’s before this lot gets there. The gatekeepers are not going to just let them come inside.” She nodded.
Before Jaquon could leave, Torman grabbed him again. “But what happened to the city?”
“It’s gone. I don’t know what happened. It’s gone.”
“Tell us what you mean man!”
“I don’t know anything!”
Torman was angry. “It’s not as if a whole city can disappear. Where are the gates? Where did it go? Any of you? What happened!?”
The gathered crowd looked down, some in tears, children clutching to their parents.
Spider tried to calm things down. “Torman, why don’t we go and take a look? There is no answer here.”
Torman seemed to come to his senses. “Yes. Yes, I agree.”
The rim of the crater was a sheer fifty foot drop down to the ruined surface below. The glassy rock surface of the drop looked like it had been melted by extreme heat, and the ground below was a ruin of jutting rocks, some of it still steaming with a foul sulphurous smell. There was no sign of the ruins of Elturel at all. Nothing to indicate a city had ever been here, no bodies, nothing. It was an eerie sight.
Torman stared down into the pit and noticed that some of the larger rocks appeared to have a glowing script pulsing on their surfaces. There were a series of similar rocks, each around forty feet from the next. It was too far away to read. “And now we’ve got to get down there,” Torman said pointing to the scripts.
Morad suggested roping “the little man” and lowering him down. “You can fookin' climb down there yourself, Turban” Spider sniped back.
Bili spoke briefly to Mak. “Lower me down. I’ll have a look.”
“Good plan.” Mak unravelled a rope and tied it to Bili, who without fuss jumped the lip and rapidly moved down. Mak had no trouble holding the weight, though Torman did jump in to brace him when he slipped slightly - and then proceeded to drop down himself as soon as Bili was safe.
The surface was a nightmare of sharp glassy rock, making it difficult to move safely, and it was hot enough to make Bili in particular uncomfortable. The rock seemed to have burst from the earth below, reaching toward the sky above, surface like black glass. It was unlike any rock Torman had seen, his Dwarven heritage telling him only that it was similar to the volcanic surfaces he had seen with his father - but this wasn’t a rock that should be here. Bili chipped off a piece and slipped it into his satchel.
Madam Portencia called from above. “For gods sake. Just read the runes and come back.” Spider stood watching with amusement, smoking a cigarillo.
The ground party nodded and carefully moved toward the nearest marked boulder. As they did, both noticed that the writing - which they identified quickly as infernal script - was starting to fade, the pulsing inner light dimming rapidly. They moved faster and started to yell out what they could still read, grabbing scraps from each rock to form what seemed to be some kind of incantation or dedication.
We give blessing… unto the holy conquest of Elturgard… We offer adulation… under the fear and tyranny born in Her name… We give the blessing of one god to another…
Spider scratched down each phrase into his dog-eared leather bound recipe-book, before folding it back up and tucking it away.
Bili’s eyes lit up as he read, and he ran to the rope and scampered up. He sprung back to the crater’s edge and declared: “I know who ‘She’ is! It’s the Ice Witch!”
Mak raised an sceptical eyebrow - he knew the Ice Witch, otherwise known as Hedrun Arnsfirth. But she was from the North, a traitor to her people sure, but this didn’t look like her work to him.
“Right. Who’s the fekkin' Ice Witch?” Spider asked.
“She is someone who is the enemy of my tribe. She is the reason I am here - to find her and exact revenge. She has fled and taken refuge in the Hells.”
“There’s not a lot of ice around,” Madam Portencia observed wisely.
Torman agreed. “I know the name, but I am having trouble making a connection between the smell of sulphur, infernal runes, Elturgard, and a god from the North.”
“I have to concur,” Portencia nodded.
“I think she brought this ruin to this land.”
“We know you think that sweetheart, but we want to know why you think that when there is no snow or ice here.”
“Because she has been taken to Hell.”
“To Hell?” Torman queried. “Well, I’m sure you will tell us more, but for now I think this sounds like a grand story. Why don’t we get on our various mounts and get out of here. We need to get in front of this refugee crowd.”
On the journey out of Eltugard Bili told a long, rambling, incomprehensible story about Druids, Shaman, Elks, and more. Mak understood most of it, but nothing Bili said married up to the visions Mak and his tribe had been having about coming destruction. And now that he had witnessed Elturel’s fall, the Ice Witch was far from his list of causes.
Everyone quickly realised Bili was somewhat obsessed by this Ice Witch. And equally, that she didn’t sound like the kind of entity that would have the power to drag a city into the very earth.
“Maybe it’s like an ex-girlfriend or something,” Spider observed wryly to Madam Portencia. This quickly became the popular theory, though all were careful not to let Bili hear. “Where did we find this guy anyway,” Portencia asked. “He was with the turban guy…” Spider explained.
Morad protested. “I understand what you are saying. I have ears. My name is Morad Ibn al Torag - I don’t know if you know proper…”
“Is that like son of or something?” Spider jumped in.
“It is! You have big brain for small body.”
“Actually I do.”
“I am Jakkari. You may know?”
“What brings you to this land?” Torman asked.
“Well. As a Voice, you must go and find what Al’Akbar has destined for you. That is what I do. Then I find big man, with Elk, we see trouble, stop trouble. We find you, stop more trouble. Now we here. I don’t even know him!” Morad cried, pointing to Bili, and seeming to realise the craziness of his situation.
“There is only the time after the sundering,” Torman opined.
“Yes. Yes, we are all witnesses. That is all.”
“We have been bought together.”
Morad looked troubled. “Well that might be a bit strong. But I am hoping the reason is I am here is my god meant this to happen. Lots of god stuff happening here, it is very strange.”
Torman agreed. “It certainly appears to be the work of a god.”
“Or someone’s ex-girlfriend,” Spider said quietly.
Morad continued. “I will say this. They locked the gates. That means someone tried to kill your friends. That was on purpose. It’s not just gods - I know when people need to be removed, this is what happens.”
Torman’s obsession suddenly returned. “Why would they close the gates?”
“To keep them in. Someone knew beforehand.”
“I don’t understand. Why order the gates closed prior to the city being destroyed.”
“Because they wanted to keep them inside to go with them, Torman,” Spider explain.
“Where? This is what I don’t understand. Where has the city gone?”
“I don’t know. Talk to god or something. Maybe he’ll tell you.”
Madam Portencia interrupted. “Spider. I’m assuming you’re aware of what the Duke said to me yesterday?”. The chef nodded assent. “There is no doubt in my mind that Vanthampur is involved with this. She encouraged the Duke to go, and she sent her least favourite acolyte.”
“I wouldn’t be saying that out loud, Madam P.”
“When we get back to Baldur’s Gate, we must be cautious.”
“I’m not saying shit to anyone.”
“I’m not saying we should not say anything, I’m suggesting we may already be implicated by the very fact that we have come back at all. That might be an… embarrassment to someone.”
Overhearing this, Morad looked worried. “Maybe me and the Barbarians should go away from you. It sounds like you have a lot of trouble.”
“The only trouble I have is eavesdroppers,” Madam Portencia parried.
“You are professional eavesdropper, and you said the little man is one as well! You are all in a club - an eavesdropping club!”
Bili looked confused. “What is eavesdropping?”
“Listenin' in to other people’s conversation,” Spider explained.
Mak put it in terms Bili could understand, Barbarian to Barbarian. “It’s like the womenfolk in the tribe. They listen to all your secrets. These are all like the women,” he said waving his hand at the smaller party members.
Bili nodded slowly, “Ahhhh.”
Madam Portencia didn’t look impressed with this slur on her sex but was relieved Bili quietened down. Bili eyed her strangely - there was something not quite right about her that he couldn’t put his finger on.
“Mak. Thank you for speaking up. You worked for Vanthampur, I recall. You will need to watch yourself. Let this be a prediction from Madam Portencia to you - watch your back when we get back to Baldur’s Gate.”
Spider nodded. “You might want to take that livery off too, Mak.” The big man accepted this wisdom, stripping it off quickly. “I was tempted to kill them myself half the time,” he rumbled.
Torman spoke up. “We may have jumped ahead here. We have had the suggestion of an Ice Witch being behind it, we have had a suggestion of Morad’s god from the South, and now it’s something that’s been organised by the Council in Baldur’s Gate. I’m not sure anything can be laid down just yet.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Madam Portencia assented, “I just think caution is the better part of not getting your head ripped off.”
“Of course, Madam, of course. I should also take this opportunity to say I misjudged you, my lady. You mystery has been uncovered. Please accept my humble apologies - you more than proved yourself.”
Madam Portencia smiled weakly.
“And fear not, I am of the Flaming Fist, we will pass through the gate with no problem. I can bring you in, Morad son of Morad.”
“No, Torag. Morad Ibn al Torag! It is very simple.”
“That’s what I said,” Torman claimed.
“You sometimes confuse me. Because that is a very simple name where I come from. Little children, they can say that!”
“How long have you been on the road?” Madam Portencia queried.
“Many weeks. You seem not too smart so - 6 moons?”
“As a traveller to other realms, do you treat everyone with disdain?” Torman asked.
“No, just you Torman,” Spider laughed.
Morad frowned. “I came, and I helped you kill people. So that is not disdain. You say some stuff, and so I question it…”
“Yes of course of course, but as someone who has also travelled, you know there are different ways in different places.”
“Well, there is wrong ways, and right ways.”
“Ah. You are a simple man,” Torman concluded.
“What did you say? What did you call me?!”
“A straightforward fellow.”
Spider cackled. “Is it just me or is it getting hot in here, Madam P?”
Morad cantered off in a huff. Everyone noticed once again that it was a beautiful horse he rode - and that he rode it exceptionally well.
After several days of hard travel, a single rider approached from behind, calling out. Torman recognised her instantly as a Hellrider.
She pulled up next to the group. “Thank you for stopping. A man called Jaquon spoke to me of a group that questioned him after the fall,” she said looking directly at Torman. “You are Torman, are you not?”
“Yes, yes - tell us, where were you stationed? Were you in the city?”
“You know what had happened. My name is Haruum. We had been ordered to stay within the city gates by Overseer Kreeg. I was in the City when people started to leave, so I followed them to try and control the chaos better. Not long after I did, the gates were closed, by chainmail-clad men with one black fist.”
Torman’s brow furrowed. “We also encountered such men! We were sent to investigate Cult of the Dead Three activity outside the city - which explains why we too were outside - and killed several black-fisted warriors.”
“Bane worshippers,” Spider confirmed. “They’re the bully-boys of the Dead Three.”
“Damn. So it was the Cult of the Dead Three after all. We had been tracking their rise in recent weeks, but compared to the rise of the Dragon Cult - and their defeat, praise Stormwatch - they seemed of little threat.” She looked downcast. “How wrong we were. Now Elturel is no more.”
“Can I ask - how is that they came to be in charge of the gates?” said Madam Portencia.
“I’ve asked myself the same question - and can only assume they murdered the gatekeepers at some preordained signal.”
Bili looked confused, as Bili was wont. “Who is this Bane? I overheard - this must be eavesdropping?”
“He is a death god, pal” Spider answered.
“So he works for the Ice Witch?”
“No, he doesn’t work for anyone. He’s a death god. I’m not aware of him having a boss. But he’s the god of killing people.”
“Does he get souls, in Hell?”
“Oh probably. I’ve never kept track of where they go after they die. But all gods want souls for something. That’s their deal.”
Bili pondered this. “So we need to kill Bane.”
Spider burst out laughing. “Sure pal, ok. You do that!”
The Hellrider continued. “The Cult aren’t normally found in Elturel, they are a curse from Baldur’s Gate,” she said, spitting on the ground.
Bili finally understood. “So we need to destroy Baldur’s Gate.”
Morad was the one confused now. “She didn’t say anything like that?”
“She said they come from Baldur’s Gate.”
Spider rolled his eyes. “They don’t come from Baldur’s Gate, pal!”
“Your Cult destroyed our city. You allow the Cult to spread, to practice in the open - it is a religion that is tolerated there rather than outlawed!”
“For god’s sake, can we stop with the rivalry between the two cities for five minutes!” Spider spat out.
Madam Portencia had heard enough. “Can everybody just be quiet for a moment. Did you see anything else, anybody leaving the city in other directions? Even before it happened.”
“No, nothing before. Most are heading for Baldur’s Gate.”
“Haruum you are now alone. You should temper your fury and hatred toward Baldur’s Gate before arriving there,” Torman cautioned.
“But you understand my fury? My city, my home, has been destroyed. By this cult nurtured in your city. You understand,” she said directly to Torman.
“I understand.”
Bili looked at Mak. “Are you following this? Who are we fighting? Are we sacking Baldur’s Gate? Destroying the Cult who work for the Ice Witch?” Mak merely shrugged his massive shoulders.
“We don’t need to destroy the Cult, we need to find out what has happened and what this is all about,” Torman said firmly.
Haruum disagreed. “Oh, destroy the Cult if you can. For that is what we will do when we arrive.”
“When you say ‘we’, you last one? No more Hellriders?” Morad asked.
“There will be more. And when we gather, we will take our vengeance on the Cult. As should you,” she said, glaring at Torman. And with that Haruum wheeled her horse and rode away.
“Well that was weird,” Spider said. “She’s probably right though. If the Dead Three are behind it… Let’s face it, the Three have been problematic back in Baldur’s for a while now.”
Madam Portencia pondered this. She briefly considered whether the sacrificial activity she had seen in Elturel Wood might have caused this catastrophe, before quickly realising there was no possible way what they were doing made the city disappear. What they were doing was nasty and unpleasant, but not city-destroying.
The Dead Three are known as minor cult in the scheme of the great gods of Faerûn. Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul were men-turned-gods who once walked amongst the gods, but their ambition was too great and they were slain by their angry peers during the Time of Troubles. They are now known as the Dead Three, and they stalk the mortal realms as quasi-divine beings, feeding on the deaths provided by their cultists.
Bane’s followers, adorned with a jet-black painted right-hand gauntlets, embrace tyranny and the strict rule of iron, believing intimidation, cruelty, and martial strength will return their god to his rightful place. Bhaal prefers a darker path, embracing gruesome murders and death to invoke fear and dread, his believers using fear, suspicion, and the paranoia that seemingly unstoppable killers evoke, wielding murderously sharp blades for their victims. Myrkul is the Lord of Bones, claiming power over corpses and souls, and his followers care only for the acquisition of knowledge to claim lore, power, and even fealty from the deceased - no matter the cost.
Their power diminished, the Dead Three are none-the-less are a formidible trio, and the malevolence of their followers causes trouble for all in Baldur’s Gate. The Flaming Fist are not officially meant to harass sanctioned religions, and permitting the Cult to practice rather that be outlawed is seen by the Council as a judicious way of keeping an eye on their actions. They are tolerated but forbidden from pursuing their darkest arts, however in recent months they have become more confident and open about their activities. The rise of the Cult has mirrored a general rise of the darker side of Baldur’s Gate over the past year, almost as the decades long balance between good and evil has finally started tipping toward the latter.
After five days of hard riding, the group arrived at the infamous Basilisk Gate, where all the travellers arrive and proceed to be fleeced immediately by all and sundry. Torman proved as good as his word, managing to not only get everyone inside without fuss but Bili and Mak’s mounts too - usually such large beasts would be stabled outside the city proper.
Torman immediately excused himself to request an audience with his commander, Flame Zodge, promising to meet back at the Howling Harpy, Spider’s home. The rest of the party followed Spider into the streets of the Lower City.
While he waited, Torman worried about what might have happened to the Flaming Fist now the steel will of Ravengard had been removed. The Fist always walked the line between justice and brutality, and the removal of their beloved leader would likely see them embrace their darker side. The Lower city was likely to get worse, fast - even The Watch in the Upper City might struggle to contain an out-of-control Flaming Fist.
Zodge stormed into the room looking harried and scowled at Torman. “What are you doing here? Where is the Grand Duke?”
“This is a question I cannot answer.”
“You can’t answer? Explain yourself. You were assigned to the Grand Duke.”
“I do not know where the Grand Duke is.”
Zodge was exasperated. “What do you mean, how can you not know?! All Hell is breaking loose here. Without Ravengard the Fist are like a dog with rabies. Duke Vanthampur is making no secret of her ambitions, asking if the Grand Duke has abandoned Baldur’s Gate. We need him back.”
“Unfortunately that is not something I can achieve. There has been something much larger than the small troubles of Baldur’s Gate.”
“Small troubles? Have you seen the streets?!”
“Have you seen the streets of Elturel?” Torman countered.
“Well of course I haven’t! I’ve been busy dealing with these streets right here, your streets! The streets where the god-forsaken Cult are ripping people off the street in broad daylight!”
“Well it makes sense that the Cult have risen up against us here. There is every indication that they have been involved in a great cataclysm at Elturel.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t got time for this!”
“The Duke has fallen. All are gone. The city has been destroyed.”
“What…”
“The Companion has fallen. We come here in advance of 1500 refugees - all that is left of Elturel. The city is gone, it is a smouldering hole.”
Zodge stared at Torman for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. “This is rubbish. You have failed in your duty, and you come here with ridiculous excuses. Tie this man up,” he called to the guards at the door. They immediately moved inside and bound the uncomplaining Torman to his chair.
Zodge stood over Torman. “Cities don’t disappear. You have lost the Grand Duke. Tell me the truth.”
“I do not know where he is, he is where the city is. The city is gone. We have seen runes…”
Zodge punched Torman hard in the stomach. “Tell. Me. What. Happened.”
Sucking in air, Torman gasped out, “We were in the city. We left the city in order to chase down a band of Cultists.”
“You were assigned to the Duke. Why did you leave the city?”
“We did so under the instruction of the Hellriders.”
“The Hellriders do not instruct you. The Grand Duke instructs you. So you disobeyed orders?”
“No I did not.”
Another punch. “You disobeyed a direct order from myself and you left the Grand Duke.”
Torman struggled to speak. “If you will but give me a moment to explain this. I have come here to bring you the new of the great cataclysm of the city’s destruction. If you are not interested in that, then merely assault me.” Zodge did so, smashing his fist into Torman’s jaw.
“Tell the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
Smash. Zodge held Torman’s face in his hand. “What happened to the Grand Duke. Is he dead?”
“I don’t know. There is no evidence of the cities remains. A fifty foot crater stands in its place. Runes of an infernal language surrounding the crater where the city was. There are 1500 refugees but days behind us who will confirm this story. You can choose to act on it or not. I understand things are somewhat unsettled here, but this is a larger story. I do not know where the Grand Duke is. I do not know where Kreeg is. I do not know where the Hellriders are.”
“I don’t give a damn about the Hellriders, or Kreeg. I care about the Grand Duke.”
“The Grand Duke is with Kreeg. They were inside the city when it disappeared. The evidence we have is that the Cult…”
Zodge held up his hand. “Stop.” He turned to his inner chamber as a halfling emerged and gave a single nod, before drawing back. Zodge turned back to Torman, his face grim. “You speak the truth.”
“Why would I make up a story like this. If I was to deceive you there are easier ways.”
“You said thousands of refugees?” Torman nodded. Zodge called back to his private room, “Shut the gates. Start preparations to keep this caravan out. You didn’t see the Grand Duke fall, but you saw the city fall?”
“We saw the city collapse in on itself. There was nothing left behind. All of Elturel bar these stragglers fell.”
“And who caused this?”
“The only evidence we have is the Cult of the Dead Three were involved. We have it on authority from a lone Hellrider that the gates of Elturel were closed from within by cultists of the Black Hand.”
“Enough. Get out on the street, find the Cult, find their lair, find out what they are doing and how they did it. This can’t get out - do not speak of the Duke’s disappearance. There’s enough chaos already. Vanthampur obviously knew about this, I don’t know how. The minute Ravengard left she was making her moves. If she has her way she will take power in this city. We need to stop that. Now leave - find the Cult. Oh, and sorry about the assault.”
Spider led the rest of the party via an extraordinarily complicated route that none-the-less cut the journey significantly short. Those from Baldur’s Gate marvelled at shortcuts and lanes they had never known existed, and Spider’s was confident the route he took had the major advantage of hiding the conspicuous return of Mak from Vanthampur’s spying eyes.
“Spider,” Madam Portencia opined, “we need to be very careful about who we tell about what’s coming. I don’t trust Madam Vanthampur as far as we can throw her.”
“Oh absolutely. I know who I’m going to be telling. And Mak here shouldn’t go anywhere near her with a barge pole.”
“But the Council are going to need to know. And no doubt she has been shoring up her power base in the Grand Duke’s absence.”
“Bah. The Council can find out from the refugees. And the nobles can play their games as they always have.”
It was late afternoon, and the tavern was already busy. Spider directed everyone to a ‘VIP’ area - basically just a single table roped off from the drunken rabble - and went to find Ma Betts. The fine aromas from the kitchen were so tempting that the clearly uncomfortable newcombers - Morad and Bili - decided to order something against their better judgement. And were rewarded with a scrumptious meal. Morad refused any alcohol, in slight shock at the crowded tavern and teeming streets of Baldur’s Gate, while the barbarians sunk several huge drinks in short order.
Ma Betts immediately pulled Spider into her office. She spoke rapidly in Thieves cant, “Is it true? Elturel is gone?”
“How did you find that out?”
“You don’t need to know, but is it gone?”
“It’s gone gone. There’s a smokin' crater there. I saw it happen, Ma. It was pretty fuckin' scary, I’ll tell you that for nothin'. We were only miles away, the bloomin' Companion, the star thing, it went all black and lightningy, then some sort of rippling black clouds and stuff, then the whole damn thing just got sucked downwards. By the time we got to the crater there was no sign,” Spider recalled. “Though apparently Torman, and one of the lads out there, saw some devil writing.”
“Devil writing. Just what we need.”
“And there were definitely Dead Three cultists inside the gates keeping people from getting out.”
“Dead Three,” Ma spat. “They’ve risen up here as well. They are all over the city. Nine-fingers is concerned - the Cult and Fist are out of control, there’s a power vacuum that Vanthampur is rapidly filling, things are not going to plan.”
“Well she’s gonna' have to change the plan.”
“She is. The Fist are encroaching on Guild business. Protection demands, stopping our legitimate business. We need to put a stop to it and get things back under our control. And the Cult are just ripping people off the street. Nine-fingers wants that shut-down. The Flaming Fist are a bigger problem and she’s working on that, but the Cult need to be stopped. You think you can manage that? You had some leads, right?”
“Well - the bathhouse.”
“Right. Who are these companions of yours? I know Mak - he was working for Vanthampur. You’ll need to get rid of him.”
“No no no, he’s not working for her no more.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He chucked in the towel, and said ‘I’m fuckin’ sick of it'. Coming from Mak that means that just means he’s done. He’s not going back, he’s not going above the wall again.”
“You’re sure he’s not a double?”
Spider smiled wryly. “Ahh, he’s not the type.”
Ma Betts nodded. “He may know something that can help us. Lean on him. So to speak.”
“He’s twice my height at 15 times me weight, but I’ll keep it in mind. He was sent to guard Vanthampur’s envoy, Smetyana, who Vanthampur hated anyway. So my guess is Mak wasn’t set to come back regardless. In fact we were all supposed to be in the city, the only reason we’re here is the Duke gave us the day off.”
“The Duke gave you the day?”
“Well his Nibs, Kreeg, decided to call off negotiations for a day. Which was weird in itself.”
“On the same day they disappeared? And what happened to him?”
“On the same day. And Kreeg is gone with the rest, as far as we know.”
“Interesting. And what of the other two?”
“Well the guy wearin' the turban, he’s Jakkari. He’s been sent here on some kind of holy mission, travellin' where his god tells him. And the other guy, he’s a biter.” Ma raised her eyebrows in surprise as Spider continued.
“And you know what, he’s probably freaking out because he’s not used to being in crowds, but I’ll tell you what you though, he can handle himself, and if we ever needed someone to go and bite someone’s face off - literally, ‘cos I’ve seen him do it - he’s your man. So, look, he’s got his own theories about what happened which mostly involve something called an Ice Witch - which sounds more like some kind of a revenge fantasy on an ex-girlfriend to tell the truth - but anyway, he’s keen to kill cultists. Long story short. And Madam P, the Duke was in her ear the whole time, so to speak.”
“I didn’t know he had that fetish. Ears eh?”
Spider laughed. “And who knew - Madam P can actually cast spells! She killed some cultists with this coloured ball thing that had lightning coming out of it!”
“The Soothsayer? Nah, you’re bullshitting me Spider.”
“Ma.”
“You’re not bullshitting me? Well - she could be handy.”
“I know! She can lightning bolt someone and read me palm at the same time.”
“Well. Put your crew together and get to it. And they’ll get paid double - Nine-fingers is feeling generous.”
“Excellent. Leave it to me, Ma.”
Torman arrived at the Howling Harpy and quickly found the group, joining them for a drink - the patrons letting him through the crowd somewhat begrudgingly, the Flaming Fist having made no friends in recent days.
Both Spider and Torman briefed the group on what they had been told. Torman summed things up. “Most importantly, we must find out more about how the Cult are operating, and what is the reason behind this. We must find out what’s happened to the Duke. We need to find out what’s happened to Elturel.”
“The Duke fell in a giant hole in the ground,” Madam Portencia said wisely.
“It can’t be that they were destroyed. There were no bodies.”
Morad disagreed. “They look like they gone.”
Torman looked vexed. “Well if they have gone, and if the Duke can’t be recovered, if that city has been lost, then - this city is on tenterhooks.”
“That might be true. But I don’t really care about any of that. So, I thank you, I have a meal because you people are very nice, I get my horse, and I go.”
Spider spoke up. “Just before you go, Morad, what’s your deal? What’s this big quest you’re supposed to be on? Do you fancy goin’ and offin' some Cultists that worship death and murder people all the time?”
“Ah. That’s very different. Yes. Evil cultists. My god, I worship, Al’Akbar, you all know? I am a Voice - do you know that? Do you have that? He speak through me? I kill for him where he say. That’s what I do.”
“My good friend, Voice of Al’Akbar,” Torman said, “Did you not see a premonition in the destruction of a whole city? Is this not appalling?”
“I did not see that… there was something, something very bad was about to happen. And it scared me. I do not scare, but it scared me.” Everyone could see this was a hard admission for the proud Jakkari warrior.
“Then this must be your moment, your calling.”
“I am not sure. But you mention evil. And Al’Akbar - no-one better, no-one more holy! Then I help. But I don’t care about your city.”
Spider smirked, “Fair enough.”
Torman agreed. “Thank you for making that clear. A holy mission it is.”
Morad nodded. “Sure. But the biter might want to go after the Witch?”
Madam Portencia interrupted. “Torman - am I to assume you’re on the clock there?”
“There’s no escaping the Flaming Fist, we’re always on the clock.”
“And what about you, Spider?”
“Well funnily enough, Madam P, I have an opportunity for work for all of you.”
“I assumed as much.”
Morad shook his head. “I do not work. No work.”
Spider looked side-eyed at Morad. “Ok. So what did Zodge want from you, Torman?”
“Obviously the main concern is trying to keep peace in the city. But for me personally, Zodge wants me to follow up on the Cult. Find them, find out what they did, find the Grand Duke.”
“I can help you out there. Of late I’ve had reason to be paying attention to the activity at a certain bathhouse in Heapside called the Frolicking Nymph.”
Madam Portencia rolled her eyes. “Is this germane to the subject?”
Spider nodded. “It is germane to the subject. That particular bathhouse seems like it’s a little bit of a hot-bed for your men and women of the Dead Three. They have a tendency to lure unwitting toffs, upper middle class types unlikely to be missed, in for a bit of a rub and a tug. And basically they don’t come out again. Interested parties have been interested for a while now, and now things have come to a head.”
Bili looked very worried about what was being said. “Imps don’t frolic. They’re evil demons.”
“It’s just the name of a place that people go to get washed.”
“What? By imps?”
Spider saw the mistake. “Nymph! Not imps, nymphs! In the big cities we have these places with big pools of warm water, where people go and wash themselves… and sometimes do other things too.”
Torman turned to Mak. “Mak. Do you think you can take care of him,” pointing at Bili, “or do you think we have to cut him loose?”
Mak looked at Bili quizzically, then back to Torman. “I’ll try.” Those few words were enough to qualm the Fist’s fears. “Bili, are you interested in finding out whether the Ice Witch is behind this.”
“Of course! But why are we looking for nymphs?”
Morad tried. “No, no, they’re not nymphs. But - are you saying they are women? You go have a bath, and the woman wash you?”
“If you pay the right price, honey,” Madam Portencia winked.
Morad’s face flushed deep crimson and he quickly took a long drink from his juice.
Mak gestured to Spider. “Too much talking.”
Spider nodded. “Everybody eat up. My employer is willing to offer you 40 gold pieces. That offer would extend to you too Torman, should you choose to take the gold. That would be formalising some things that weren’t previously formalised…”
“He a policeman though?” Morad protested.
“Ah yes,” Torman coughed. “But Spider, you know you have crossed my palms before. And let me just say that our paths are aligned - but gold is gold.”
“And pebbles are pebbles,” Bili added sagely.
“Excellent,” Spider confirmed.
Torman sat back. “Good. Our paths align and our palms are lined. And Bili - the only way to find the Ice Witch is through the Cult.”
Morad jumped in. “I don’t think that’s true. The two are different! The biter cannot keep track - he on two different paths! I think you know this - is this a joke?!”
“But Torman is a detective?” Bili tentatively interjected.
“He is not very good! The Witch is different!”
“I don’t know where the Ice Witch is?”
Torman jumped in. “Bili. Follow our lead. Don’t kill unless we tell you to, but when we do, please go ahead.”
Bili smiled widely. “I will kill.”
“Welcome to Baldur’s Gate!” Torman laughed.
Morad sat back laughing too. “More juice!!”
Spider tried to sum things up. “Ok. We will go to the bathhouse. The priority being, it goes without saying, we need to find out what they’re up to, not just go in and shiv ‘em all.”
Bili looked crestfallen.
“Being the lower city, it’s all about information, and death.” Torman affirmed.
“Information first, then death.”
Bili looked pleased.
Spider had already spent some time scouting the bathhouse, and reported to the group that during the day it was apparently unguarded, while at night it was protected by what were obviously cultists. A morning reconnaissance - with perhaps a pleasant bath as a bonus - seemed in order to get the lay of the land, before going in at night and getting down to business.
Madam Portencia raised her hand. “This is not normally my realm of expertise, but unfortunately I find my circumstances somewhat diminished at the moment and you have me at an advantage. My wagon, all my possessions, my home for fifty years, went up and down into a hole to god knows where. And I’ve lost my main patron - I would like to find him again. So, I should be delighted to join your endeavour - and take your coin.”
“Madam P it would be an honour, and I am very sorry about your losses,” Spider bowed.
“On that note, I will need somewhere to stay.”
“Of course, we can set you up right here in the Harpy.”
“And perhaps one or two other things of a more… personal nature.”
Spider hesitated. “What… kind of things?”
“Well. I only have what I’m wearing…”
Spider looked relieved. “Well I can talk to Ma?”
“…and we’re going to a bathhouse in the morning.”
Spider blushed.
Session played: 3 August, 2020