Descent Into Avernus
Elturel Falls
Perfect one day, gone the next
Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard’s diplomatic caravan travelled a tenday to reach Elturel, the golden city rising out of the plains east of Baldur’s Gate like a salve to the soul for the weary company.
During the journey Ravengard had made a point of daily visits to the wagon of celebrated soothsayer Madam Portencia, something that didn’t escape the attention of camp chef Spider, who also made a habit of daily visits - coincidentally at the same time as the Grand Duke, the only difference being the young Goblin spent his visit underneath the wagon instead of inside.
Portencia tolerated this intrusion, figuring two minds knowing Ravengard’s intent was better than one should trouble arise. Her various fortune-telling techniques gave him all the answers he wanted, amazingly. It was as if he had answered them himself. His main concerns were the machinations of Duke Thalamra Vanthampur, his main Council of Four rival for the seat of Grand Duke. He let slip that she had pushed hard to convince the Council to send Ravengard to Elturel, reaching a peak of lobbying in recent weeks before the deal was finally done. The ongoing troubles with the Cult of the Dead Three, who had become more active in recent times, also concerned him - alongside more mundane questions regarding family and potential love interests.
Torman spent much of the journey meeting everyone in the caravan, never forgetting a face being a useful trait for a Flaming Fist enforcer. He was particularly pleased to make the acquaintance of the man-mountain named ‘Mak’ who was escorting Duke Vanthampur’s envoy, Smetyana (whose presence surprised the giant bodyguard, as he had witnessed the Duke wish Smetyana dead on more than one occasion - and yet here he was on this most important mission.)
Some had seen Mak being paraded around Baldur’s Gate like a circus-novelty by Duke Vanthampur, and he had eaten several times in Spider’s tavern. Madam Portencia too had seen him hovering outside her wagon, though never getting the nerve up to come in - his physical strength obviously not quite enough to overcome confronting the more existential questions of life and death.
‘Mak’, as the 8ft giant was known, rode an even more enormous elk with a pair of huge antlers, the entire ensemble of mount-and-man presenting an overwhelming impression of height. Indeed Torman’s first conversation with Mak was predicated on this fact: being short of stature, he had walked under the elk, then somewhat-bravely stood in front of it to offer a hearty greeting. “Move aside, child” was Mak’s curt response.
Torman was not deterred. “I haven’t had a chance to meet you in the street my good fried - you are taller up close.”
“And you are shorter.”
From that moment on they were fast friends.
Now the company had been encamped in Elturel for several days. Each morning the Grand Duke’s entourage were escorted to central spires of the hilltop citadel to meet with High Overseer Thavius Kreeg, where, you had no doubt, scintillating conversation and negotiation ensued. Your days were spent escorting, waiting, and returning to the tavern where the travelling group was stationed - A Pair of Black Antlers, Elturel’s base of operations for The Order of The Gauntlet. Comfortable enough, if a little strange being under the watchful eyes of a group of ‘do-good paladins and righteous clerics’, as Spider described it.
Bili, riding a large elk with a set of impressive antlers, approached the heavily wooded forest ahead and dismounted, his senses on high alert. He’d been travelling the lands around Elturel for some weeks, cursing the extra heat he assumed was beating down from the city’s second sun - though strangely he don’t feel any warmer than normal. Ah for the ice and tundra of home. But he had a sacred quest to carry out, and dreams of home had no place here.
The overlanders of these parts had talked of a powerful cult that celebrates death, using mystical powers to talk to places beyond the mortal realms. Bili felt he had finally found a trail - perhaps these cultists commune with the Ice Witch for their powers! Though on further consideration it seemed unlikely she would bother with midlanders - but none-the-less this was the first possible clue to the path to vengeance he sought.
He tracked the rumours to a nearby forest where locals believe the cult to be at work. As he studied the path leading deeper into the woods, he noticed a man on horseback approaching wearing a turban and flowing robes over a chainmail suit. A hawk flew above the stranger who rode directly toward Bili before reining in his horse - a very fine horse, Bili noted - and staring for a few moments, before tilting his head in greeting and dismounting in a single fluid motion.
He approached with weapons sheathed, which led Bili to (perhaps unwisely) drop his guard. In Bili’s tribe, a stranger approaching with weapons down is always given the benefit of the doubt - after all, they stand no chance should they decide to fight the might of the Bear. The man pointed to himself, “Morad”.
Morad had been travelling the borderlands between Elturel and Baldur’s Gate for some weeks, seeking ways to test and prove his strength for the glory of Al’Akbar. There had been plenty of minor scuffles and disputes, but nothing that could seriously test a Jakkari warrior. The slightly disturbing flames of his recent dreams had become ever more potent, and he thirsted for something to satisfy the strange cravings those visions awoke.
And, praise Al’Akbar, hints and rumours of a cult gathering in a nearby forest at last seemed to be leading Morad to a challenge worthy of a son of House Ishtar. As he approached the forest on horseback, he saw a bare-chested man riding some kind of ridiculous and enormous horned beast also skirting the forest edge.
Morad suddenly recalled he had seen this man in his fiery dreams! Or - not the man, but the horned mount? Or something with horns, anyway. This gave him a strange confidence - this surely was a sign from God, blessings to Al’Akbar - and thus he rode to greet the strange pale-skinned man, dismounting in the traditional hands-free manner and introducing himself in the common tongue. The man responded in kind, “Bili”.
Together they looked into the forest, and Bili pointed to some fresh-looking tracks leading into the forest proper. He held a single finger to his mouth - ‘quiet’ - and the together the pair started moving silently into the deeper woods.
Madam Portencia was woken early by a furious Grand Duke. He demanded an immediate audience, which Portencia of course facilitated (he paid handsomely, after all. And was. Handsome.) - choosing tea due to the early hour.
The Grand Duke eyed Madam’s newly acquired weasel companion with displeasure as it crawled around her neck like some kind of living stole. Why not just skin the disgusting creature and be done with it he wondered, but he knew better than to upset the balance of Portencia’s keen insights by questioning her. During the reading it became clear why he was so out of sorts. “Kreeg has spent days pontificating and filibustering and we are still no closer to a resolution. And now this cancellation. Why is that, what do the leaves tell you?”
“My Lord, it is quite clear - as I’m sure you are aware, if you can just unlock that brilliant mind of yours. From what I can tell, all signs point to one thing: there is an external force acting on the Overseer.”
“An external force? Like us? Or something else - maybe that thing in the sky?”
“Yes, very well done my Lord! That’s the most obvious external force.”
“I see - yes, he did mention the Companion a few times, now you say it.”
“Well, I mean look at the leaves. Look at my leaves if you like - it’s quite clear. It effects everything.”
“Well, I can’t read it the way you can, but I trust you.”
“It’s all in the clumping,” Madam Portencia explained kindly.
“Kreeg just seems to be waiting for something.”
“He is waiting for something. That’s just what I was going to say. Yes, waiting.”
“He is waiting?”
“He’s waiting for something.”
“Something to do with - with the Companion! Yes, Madam. It all starts to make sense.”
“That’s right, something to do with the Companion. There is change coming. Like all of us, we stand at a crossroads.”
“Incredible - you are worth your gold, Madam Portencia.”
“I try My Lord, though I am but a conduit for the Fates.”
“None-the-less. It is most frustrating - he insisted on my coming here, now, as did Duke Thalamra. And now we’re here: nothing.”
“Hm, Thalamra. She has her own agenda, you know.”
“She does, does she?”
“Oh yes. She does.”
“She insisted that I come. I suspect so she would get me out of the city so that she could start her upheaval. Hm. But never fear, I have left Stelmane and Portyr holding things steady. I am annoyed.”
“My Lord you are right to be. But heed me: sometimes the best course of action is no action. In a situation like this where the path is not clear, we could always…go for a beer? I mean, it rhymes?” Madam Portenia stumbled out.
“Well. You know, once this is all over, we should have a drink. Not as Grand Duke and soothsayer, but as man and woman.”
“I would enjoy that immensely,” Madam Portencia lied immaculately.
Torman returned from his morning constitutional to the news of the free day - most of the company had immediately set about seriously exploring the libations the tavern had to offer. He had had an interesting conversation with some senior Hellriders he had made the acquaintance of, during which the told him that they were effectively locked down in the city during the diplomatic event - on Thavius Kreeg’s order - in order to keep everything in perfect running order.
As a consequence, a planned expedition outside the city to investigate Cult of the Dead Three activity in nearby Elturgard Woods had been delayed indefinitely. “In fact, young Flaming Fist, perhaps that is something you and your companions could assist with? We would be grateful - and impressed, given the prevailing view of the Baldur’s Gate guard as somewhat, shall we say, self interested.” Torman scoffed at the rudeness, but he was used to it, and the ide had some appeal - to escape the city and mete out some Flaming Fist justice sounded like a good tonic to the days of lock-in. “I will see if we can spare any of our efforts and energies to do the job you should be doing.”
In the tavern, he roused the interested few with a stirring proposal. “We have an opportunity here to show this arrogant city, these so called ‘Hellriders’, just how effective Baldur’s Gate can be. I have it on good authority that there is a danger lurking outside, that they have asked us to deal with. Now, who is with me?”
“Danger sounds good. Mak is with you”, the giant man said immediately in Dwarvish. “Excellent, my good man,” responded Torman in kind. “Now who will join me and my brave big friend here for a little journey into the woods?”, he continued, his gaze swinging over the top of Madam Portencia to everyone else who was somewhat sober. “Spider? Are you off cooking duties, looking for a little trouble, kick these smug Elturens in the shins?”
Spider laughed, “And why would I do that?”
“I take it I’m not invited,” Portencia observed.
“Well, Madam Portencia, of course you are invited, I just assumed you wouldn’t be available.”
“Well, there’s not much to do around here, so if you’re promising a good time.”
Spider spat his beer as he considered the implications of this.
“Madam, I know you are here on diplomatic duties, we men can handle our manly duties. As one of the fairer…”
Mak’s explosive laugh interrupted Torman’s speech. “Fairer! You are one of the ugliest women I have ever seen.”
“You’re not such a peach yourself, my young lad,” Madam Portencia replied archly.
Torman held his hands up apologetically to Portencia, “We did say diplomacy was not his strong point. Well Mak, it looks like it’s just you and me to hold up the good name of Baldur’s Gate.”
“Adventure!”, Mak agreed in Dwarvish again.
“Excellent,” Torman said, slapping Mak’s lower back.
“Ah fook it,” Spider decided. “I’ll come along.”
“Also excellent! Madam P, I’m sure you be safe here,” Torman said, picking up his weapons.
Portencia looked toward Spider. “Don’t let these pricks leave me behind,” she demanded, in Goblin.
“We’re not leaving you behind,” Torman condescended in excellent Goblin, “we’re doing it for your safety”.
Spider replied to everyone - in Common. “I don’t know understand that gibbering garbage. Never have. I don’t know what you said and quite frankly I don’t care. I don’t speak Goblin. Have you met a Goblin? They’re all morons.”
“I apologise,” Portencia replied, “I should have asked.” She turned back to Torman and, in Goblin, told him in no uncertain terms, “Don’t leave me behind, you prick.”
Torman bowed. “I’ll go raise some mounts for us. We’ll be leaving in style!”
Torman procured two horses (Spider, not being a rider of note, or in fact at all, was to ride with Madam - “I’m not going on that giant weird thing”, he made quite clear, pointing at Mak’s elk). The posse rode out of the city under the kind of brilliant morning light that only two suns can produce.
After getting slightly lost in the deeper woods, Morad suddenly signalled for Bili to stop. His hawk had alerted him to a sound, and once they stopped he could hear it more clearly - a child’s voice yelling loudly at something. The pair moved carefully toward the cries, Morad drawing his curved blade.
Just ahead they found a young girl sitting atop a tree branch twelve feet off the ground. “Begone you ugly things! I’ll be making fur coats out of you yet!”, she yelled, throwing a snapped twig for good measure. Below her three snarling white wolves circled the tree hungrily. She wore a brightly coloured rainbow scarf that tangled in the branches as she moved.
On seeing her two potential saviours, the girl called out, “Hoy! Help me! The stupid dogs won’t leave me alone and I need to get to my lessons! Please, please!”
Bili shrugged. He had picked up a rather large fallen log, and turned to his new companion. “Shall we help her?”
“What do you mean, ‘should we help her’? She is child! We help children - you should know that. We help her!”. Morad gave a short battle cry and charged toward the wolves as a log flew over his head and exploded against the trunk. Bili didn’t want to hurt the wolves, hoping to scare them off. Either that or he was a very poor aim, Morad considered as his blade cut a huge rent in the side of a leaping wolf. “What are you doing! We kill them now - they wolves! Wolves!!”
“Yes, they’re just wolves.”
“Just wolves?!”, Morad cried incredulously, “They are attacking a child!”
“That’s what wolves do.”
“Yes, that’s what wolves do, so we kill them! You are very odd.”
Another wolf flew at Bili, and ripped a chunk of flesh out of his not-inconsiderable flank. Bili howled with delight before abandoning his pacifist stance and thumping the beast to the ground with his also not-inconsiderable fists.
The girl clapped with delight and yelled encouragement with each blow, eventually hopping down when Morad finished off the final wolf. Bili noticed a fourth wolf at the foot of the tree, but this one was a runt with a jet-black coat. He approached it with palms down, and after a slight hesitation, it sniffed, licked his finger, and jumped into Bili’s waiting arms.
“Thank you strangers! That was becoming tiresome. My name is Grace.” Morad and Bili introduced themselves as she continued, “Do you know I am studying? I am trying to improve my station - the slums of Elturel hold no future for me. Could you spare a coin, or two?” she finished, slyly.
“What are you studying, exactly?” Morad queried.
“Why, I study…drama! Yes, drama - I shall be a great performer!”
“You are not very good actor.
“That’s why I’m studying!”
“You know you could skin these wolves and make money.”
“Oo. Or - you could skin them for me? I’m not very big.”
Morad drew back. “I am Jakkari warrior. I am not skinning wolf. You are very funny.”
Bili interrupted, “I will skin them later for you.”
Grace smiled thanks at Bili and whistled, and soon a sorry-looking donkey emerged from nearby, left eye and right ear missing. Morad looked horrified. “What is that? That should not live. I kill it.”
“What?! No! That is Lunkey! You can’t kill Lunkey, he’s my only friend! You are a strange man. I can’t afford a better donkey. Please, spare me a few more coins?”
You need more lessons. Here - have this copper.”
Grace hrumphed. “Copper!? That won’t pay for much. How about a silver?”
Morad frowned. “I save you. You ride a monster. I give you money.”
“Well, you gave me a small…”
“No more! We finish!”
Bili watched impassively, patting his new pet. He slipped Grace another 5 copper. “Thank you, naked man! Where are you from?”
“North.”
“North. I see. Well…how about a silver?”
Bili pointed to his bare body. “I’m naked. Do I look like I have any money?”
Grace sighed, exasperated. She thanked Bili (and blew a raspberry at Morad) before mounting her conveyance. She tore two threads from her scarf and dropped them into Bili’s hands. “One for each of you, even your mean friend. Return them to me when I am famous and I will give you a free acting lesson!”
As the group rode toward Elturgard Woods at a thrilling canter, they waved at a smiling girl riding a forlorn donkey back toward Elturel, who twirled a rainbow scarf in friendly reply as they sped past.
Approaching the Woods, Torman saw another horse tied up to a tree. As he drew closer he saw it was not just any horse - it was perhaps the finest horse he had ever seen, beautifully groomed with a perfectly balanced stance. It tolerated his cautious greeting, allow him to put his hand on it’s fine neck - but it was clear this was not a horse to be toyed with.
Mak meanwhile was stunned to see another elk wandering free nearby. He hadn’t seen one since leaving the mountain all those months ago, and now, here, another! He grinned, hopped off his own gargantuan mount, and called out cautiously in Giant, “Friend?” Alas there was no answer, but Mak had an strong intuition that someone worth knowing was nearby - and he knew better than to ignore intuition.
The weather had changed as the party travelled, and for the first time since arriving in Eltugard it felt like the sunlight was slightly less golden. Looking back to Elturel things looked the same, the Companion hanging serenely in the sky, but there was a gentle chill and the light seemed slightly muted.
Torman led the party into the Woods, following a relatively clear trail until he reached an equally clear dead-end. “No way through here,” he said confidently, “let’s turn back.” Madam Portencia coughed politely and pointed to a very clear path leading off into thick underbrush. “I see a future for us in this direction”, she foretold. Everyone followed with Torman sheepishly in tow.
Soon the path opened again, and turned north-east toward a cleared area. Spider heard movement ahead, and called for silence. A large circular open area lay ahead, with a moat of some kind running around a mound of earth in the centre. On the mound a man in hooded black clothing stood over a still body lying tied to a stone plinth.
There was also a small path to the east, which Spider thought best to check before moving to the larger area. He moved silently (where by ‘silently’ he meant stepping on just about every twigs and low-hung branch he could find) through the forested edge of the path.
Luckily that noise didn’t seem to disturb the cultist he espied in a small clearing. A hulking white-bearded figure in tattered clothes stood chanting over a dead body, occasionally mashing a large rock into the skull of his victim, before scattering the bone-ash into a skull he held on a chain in his other hand.
Spider asked Samael for his take on the hellish scene, and Samael replied knowingly, “Not good. Bone-mashing, chanting, a trance. Definitely cultish. I’d run if I were you.” Spider concurred and crept back, but before he could report his findings to the group, a blood-curdling cry rang out from the circular clearing to the north.
Ritual Site map from The Fall of Elturel by Anthony Joyce & Justice Arman
Bili and Morad had just reached the northern edge of the clearing when they heard the terrified cry. The ritualist standing in the clearing held a long thin dagger which he drew slowly down the forearm of his captive, drawing another cry of pain and a great deal of blood. Morad immediately drew his weapon and charged in toward the torturer, with Bili in hot pursuit.
As they entered the clearing they were surprised to see a group of four figures - a goblin, a man-mountain, some kind of tallish dwarf guardsman, and a very old woman - also advancing at speed from the opposite side. There was no time to assess the threat of these new arrivals if they were going to save the victim, and they were half way across the stone steps over the moat when Morad heard movement from behind him. From the trees another similarly clad figure had emerged, stabbing a dagger toward Morad who easily swiped it aside with his shield, yelling “Bili there are more!”
The Baldur’s Gate crew were also surprised to see a near naked man charging into the clearing accompanied by a man clad in a turban wielding a curved sword and round shield, who were suddenly set upon by an ambusher from the forest behind them.
The cultist, seeing the incoming groups, drew his knife quickly across the throat of his victim, drawing an explosion of blood, before turning to face Torman who was first across the moat. Torman swung his hammer but the cultist used the stone plinth to avoid it, as did Torman when the vicious dagger stabbed toward him.
Another black-clad figure jumped from the southern wood, and two more cultists emerged in chainmail and shield, wielding maces in a black-painted gauntlet. Spider, having made recent study of the Cult of the Dead Three, immediately recognised these attackers as Fists of Bane, and the knived assassins as Night Blades, worshippers of Bhaal. The skull-grinder he’d seen earlier was clearly a Necromite of Myrkul. The full Dead Three contingent was accounted for.
Cultists of the Dead Three
Madam Portencia pushed up her sleeves and gave the nearest Night Blade an evil eye before hurling an orb of energy that exploded in a ball of lightning and dropped the cultist where he stood. Madam Portencia shrieked with delight - it had been some time since she had used these powers and she’d forgotten the joy it delivered.
Bili reacted to Morad’s cry, he spun around half way across the moat and let out his own blood-boiling cry - but this one was a cry of rage not pain. He thundered toward Morad’s attacker, but hadn’t accounted for the layer of slime on the river stones and fell flat on his face as he leapt. This, naturally, made him even angrier. Morad’s eyes opened wide at the sight of his placid ‘wouldn’t hurt a wolf’ companion now being something akin to a raging beast.
On the other side of the clearing, Mak saw the incoming threats and growled in anger, his own rage building to a frenzy inside him. He turned to face the new foes, but, just like his raging ally, he too slipped on the semi-submerged stones and fell to the ground. What were the chances, he thought as he fell, managing to make himself even more infuriated as he failed to work out the maths.
Spider snuck between the opposing sides and slipped a dagger of his own into a Fist, drawing a howl of pain that is quickly shrugged off, before withdrawing behind the wall of Mak.
Seeing Bili fall, Morad sliced his scimitar through the Blade’s neck, killing him instantly. He wiped his sword on the body quickly, then turned to his prone companion. “Bili! Are you ok?”
Bili, not able to speak, growled in frustration and thundered away to the torturer. Torman had swung again and this time smashed the cultist with a two handed strike. Just as he did, he saw a raging naked figure leap onto the back of the assassin and crush him into the ground, quite dead. “Whoaaa, friend!”, Torman cried, hands up to protect himself. Bili ignored him and continued his relentless passage across toward the remaining combatants.
One Fist swung his death-head mace into Mak, who lay at his feet. The blow crashed into his side, but Mak hardly noticed. The other Fist sprinted toward Madam Portencia, sensing her great threat, but she swayed out of the way with an easy grace, hoiking her skirt as she did. She reached out to the Fist’s face and more lighting sprung from her hand and shocked him to his knees.
Mak raged to his feet and destroyed the nearest Fist, who fell to it’s death. Spider struck with both his daggers at the last Fist, but both swings missed. As he cursed his luck, a flash of light streaked through the air from Torman’s hands and smoked the Fist into the ground.
Everyone in sight was dead, leaving Bili and Mak pacing around full of rage looking for something to attack. Spider smiled and pointed back toward the clearing where the Necromite had been chanting. “Over in that clearing, my big men.”
The two barbarians charged off south, and by the time everyone else arrived there was only the sight of a crazed Bili ripping the neck of the dead cultist with his bare teeth. Torman looked on in horror, though as he did Bili suddenly seemed to almost shrink, the rage that had sustained him falling away. Mak bore the signs of a nasty wound from the Necromite’s flail, which he’d shrugged off with a crazed laugh before thumping his fists into the stone statues in the clearing with delight.
Spider quickly searched the bodies, recovering some coins, several potions, and he took one of the nasty knives the Night Blades had wielded. His kitchen skills made him realise these were designed for maximum finesse - of pain, in this case. Morad confirmed this as he studied the dead body on the alter, finding it traced with runes that had been carved into his skin.
The group stood in the centre of the clearing, and realised that the sky above had changed - it was a lot darker than it had been only moments ago. The sky was becoming overcast, there were no clouds, but there was a roiling darkness.
Morad looked up and felt a shadow pass over his soul. This was the work of a god - not his god - but a god. And not a good one. There was meaning behind this event - and he feared it. He dropped to his knees and started praying.
Madam Portencia realised deep in her bones that something was wrong with the Companion. The holy light that had been steadfast over Elturel for centuries was gone, or going. For a tiny moment she marvelled that her prophecy for the Grand Duke was coming to pass, then she spun around to Spider. “We need to get back to the city.”
“Right. Ok. Let’s go.”
Torman sensed the urgency. “Follow me - go go go, by the numbers people.” He led them true back to the horses. As they sprinted, Bili held his hand out to Mak in welcome. The two Northmen thumped fists into each other and instantly knew they had found a soulmate. Finally someone who made sense.
The horses were rearing and whinnying, and the elks had come to shelter under the trees. Even Morad’s mount was unsettled, it’s hooves striking impatiently at the ground. You mounted as fast as possible and emerged from the Woods onto the plains.
The sky overhead was now dark as night, arcs of lightning flashing across it. Above Elturel, the Companion, the second sun that blanketed the countryside in radiant light was now black, all black, with a glowing edge as if it were eclipsed.
Morad drove his mount fast, and everyone followed, cantering as fast as their mounts would allow. Crackling thunder and bolts of black lightning struck out from the Companion. With growing desperation, Torman realised there was no way to get back in time.
Screams as cries rose from the city, and from 10 miles away the sight of people streaming from city became obvious - a stream that was suddenly shut off when the gates of the city crashed closed. Why were the city gates closed?! Torman thought of the Hellriders locked inside, and drove his horse as hard as he could. He didn’t consider the consequences, he needed to get inside the city.
With 5 miles to travel, the bolts of dark lighting from the Companion started arcing down into Elturel. Claws of darkness seemed to be reaching down from the black sun and grasping the city, drawing the two together.
There was an almighty clap and crash of thunder that enveloped the entire land. A flash of light spread out from Elturel, and the city and Companion were suddenly drawn down into the earth below, everything being sucked into an enormous crater before disappearing.
All that was left is a steaming crater of rocks glowing red hot, smouldering and steaming with an overpowering smell of sulphur.
Torman jumped down from his horse and fell to his knees.
“Nooooooooooooooooooo!!”
Session played: 20 July, 2020