Whitleyrr

The trail was remarkably easy for Dalin to follow; armies were not subtle marchers. But it did go on and on. The temperature made the hunt almost unbearable and by the time the infernal light faded into twilight (though without a sun, they wondered from whence the light came and to where it went), they were almost glad because the temperature dropped just enough to make breathing seem like not such a chore. The rocky, blasted ground did not provide much hope for a comfortable place to sit or lie, but that was the least of their concerns. They were exposed here; there was no cover and the lifeless, baked land stretched on towards the mountains of fire in the distance. Any creature passing by for miles would be able to spot them. By the time what passed for night had fallen, they did not know what was best.

I do hope not, however, I am inclined to proceed.

Dalin felt encouraged by Alban’s words and, once her nerves came under control, noticed that there were recognizable signs. Whilst Vadim now flew and so left no mark of his passage, an army had recently come through here. Boot prints in the ash and clay resolved in her vision as if they had not been there a moment before. They led over a blackened hill that was colored with tiny rivulets of lava. If that then was from whence the army had come, perhaps it was to where Vadim had returned. In the distance, a dull roar sounded and when they looked up they saw one the fiery mountains belching smoke and lava into the air. The sulfurous odor intensified and they were reminded that here, even the land might slay what devils failed to find. They needed to take care.

In later years, when this day was reflected upon, it would be said that among the strange occurrences that flooded the battle of Hethton, the weirdest had to be, at least for the vaunted companions, the sudden and total change in the soundscape when they passed through the wavering portal. The cacophony of war went silent and in it’s place the rumbling of distant volcanic activity combined with the eerie quiet of the heat-blasted land; the thick bubbling of molten lava as streams of it flowed sluggishly across the byways; the singular call of an alien bird, or something else like a bird. Sweat broke out on their brows almost immediately, and the stench of sulphur assaulted their nostrils. The ground beneath their boots cracked as if they trod upon the remains of last night’s campfire, a few smoldering coals wheezing into a semblance of life once again. From the vibrant palette of mountainous autumn their eyes adjusted slowly to the dull reds, angry oranges, ashy greys, and coal blacks of this place. But the strangest thing, they would all agree, was how the sound changed as surely as it was sudden. Looking back through the portal, they could swear they saw a shimmering light surrounding a strange host clashing in battle with the devils who sought to take Hethton. At the center of this new melee strode a mighty figure, outlined in shining silver light, that had they been put to the question they all would have sworn bore the likeness of the Captain, through they knew it could not be he. But they turned away from this puzzling, if inspiring, sight for their quarry was not waiting on them. They had to find Vadim. They had to pick up his trail in this infernal land. They clung to the hope that the portal would remain steady, but in order to find Vadim they would have to leave its feeling of relative safety. He lay…beyond.

Thanks, Peace. Once the infernal legions clear the portal, no one will notice your group slipping around. The portal remains open. Vadim is out of sight. As to your second point, lending your might to this fight would be like pushing back the tide with your hands. I know it’s been a bit broken up in “real life” time (apologies) but this is meant to represent a difficult emotional choice for the characters.

Ok, let’s do this!

The battle for Hethton grew in pitch and more and more soldiers of the infernal plane swarmed through the portal. Ren’s spirit guardians spread out around her, bringing light to the darkness and some small measure of hope. Dalin’s axe shone in the light of those guardians, but did its edge glow with its own inner brightness? Alban’s shadows flowed around him, a counterpoint to Ren’s light, but sometimes the darkness must be beat back by its own. Jozelle seemed to dance even when she stood still, movement and grace and danger captured in a still life. Another legion of hellish soldiers was breaching the portal now, creatures of greater size and ferocity than the first wave of imps. They were bound in gore-stained chains that seemed to flow over them and through them, a part of them as much as their limbs were. Behind them rode a greater devil still, astride a nightmare steed with cavernous flames for eyes and clad in fire blackened armor. A banner of black and silver and crimson beat the wind at his back, and on its face the cruel symbol they’d seen below in the caves. Vadim flew next to this general, speaking to him in hurried tones above the din. The companions could not hear them, and when Vadim was done speaking he took wing and flew back into the portal, soon disappearing from sight. But the portal remained open. At the base of the hill the battle grew in intensity, the Hethton guard now understanding the stakes were not just their lives but their souls. The Captain’s men fought valiantly, and with an inner strength that inspired the companions. Without them, the guard would’ve been overrun in no time. Yet, it did not take a military strategist to see that unless something were to change, and change soon, the bravery of the Captain’s men would not be enough to carry the day.

Hey guys - yes still here! But, as noted, this is a super busy time for me. Every time I think I see the light of day, something else happens. All will be well, and I hope you'll stick with me. I probably have at least one more week of radio silence here unfortunately.

Correct, not in initiative yet. While the battle is raging, the object of your quest lies within the portal…

He does not seem to have a guard at the moment, but it is clear for the time being that he is in charge.

My hope is that it’s not initiative time. :) your characters are not soldiers. You must get to the root of the problem and let the grunts do the dying as it were.

Everything fell apart this week but thank goodness it is done. I’m sorry to have been away so long.

It was hard for them to determine whether it was the stench of sulfur that struck them first, washing over them like a putrid, miasmic wave, or the rumble and crack of earth and stone breaking. Alban seemed to have bolstered the men, but each of the companions harbored doubts it would be enough. All too soon, they were proven correct. From beyond the graveyard, from the corridors buried by memory beneath the ground, from the hole ripped in the reality of their plane that had grown below Hethton for who knew how long, erupted an army of Hell. Steam suffused with brimstone parted reluctantly to admit the first ranks of devilish imps to the field between Hethton and the graveyard. They flew on fell wings in remarkably ordered rows, would anyone dare to remark upon it. Rank on rank they came and the men of Hethton squared up and stood at attention for the first time all evening. They faced overwhelming numbers. The charge was ordered and the men sprang forward to meet the onrushing infernal legion. The clash was tremendous. Whip and tail and claw met steel and leather in a sound no one would sound forget. The screams of the wounded and dying were hard to distinguish, man from devil. The Captain’s Guard rode down the hill into the devil’s flank, shattering them on the first pass and giving breath to the footmen of Hethton. But the imps kept coming, and behind them, greater terrors. Ren stood high to see if she could peer through the curling steam and called the warning. The imps were just the first wave. She saw the portal had erupted from beneath the earth, unearthing the buried beloved of Hethton and scattering their bones like hoarfrost on a meadow. A lone figure directed the legions of the damned and Ren knew him not. But Alban did. Dalin swallowed hard in recognition. Jozelle’s eyebrow twitched. From within the portal, driving the infernal corps forward, was the cruel face of Vadim King, in mortal body no longer, but revealed in what must be his true form. Leathery wings held him aloft over the lava-cracked ground and a cruel curved blade danced in his hands. He shouted to the impish soldiers in harsh tongue, whipping them into a frenzy and as he moved to and fro, dangling from his neck swung their cursed prize: the amulet.