Whitleyrr

The trinity of companions, overheated, exhausted, bruised and beaten, resolutely marched forward. The trust they placed in skill and steel bolstering their courage if not assuaging their doubt. Courage and doubt often danced together, though, as any veteran would tell you if they were telling the truth. Fear has little to do with right action; one may precede the other, but in the courageous, it is not a determinant of future action. When Dalin shoved at the door it opened on greased hinges, eerily quiet, and thudded softly against the vestibule wall. The layout of the manse was an open one, with a central outdoor courtyard and two stories of outdoor hallways punctuated by doors surrounding it on all sides. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain, but the pool was dry save for a disturbing red stain in one area, and the fountain itself was broken. It was lined with red and yellow tiles featuring beautiful geometric patterns. Some were broken but most were intact; wealth had once resided here, whatever such may mean in this infernal place of dust and stone and ash. The dust itself was churned up, as if recently a large company had gone from here. Looking around, the courtyard could have held over a hundred, but likely not much more, not comfortably. The ground floor had three doors in each of the side hallways, and two on the hallway on the opposite side of the fountain. Four stairwells provided access to the upper story in each corner, which layout was the same. In the back of their minds niggled the thought: this whole thing, this house, this realm, it didn’t…fit. Something here was not right. Or was it them? Was all of this as it should be and they were the ones who made it not right? Anxiety crept in like melting snow in a warm blanket.

Oh, poor Alban, the pampered life not suite for the trials of the road!

Closer to hundreds. But you’re right on with the mind trick. How much of this is as it seems. No worries, I’m in the same boat after some travel last week and catch up this week! Yes, now you’re there “overnight”.

The party pressed on, despite the heat, despite their weariness, despite the odd nightfall. But it was not long before their persistence was rewarded. In the distance, at first a speck in the rusted twilight of this infernal plane, then growing into a shape they recognized was a house. Nay, a manse of sorts. It was incongruent with the landscape in strange ways. Dalin saw elements of her old trader’s lounge in it; Alban saw echoes of Vincent’s house; Jozelle thought the architecture was reminiscent of the lordling’s hall where she had danced the night away before slipping Midnight’s Tears into his cup. They all agreed it was a mansion and they all agreed on what it looked like. But the details seemed at once personal and…off, and familiar to all. The house grew from a slight rise in a hillside, and behind it burned the mountains. Darkness hung like a pall, as dark as this place could get it seemed. The gate to the manse was unguarded, though windows looked down from a second story on the entranceway. Aside from the distant rumble of violent mountains, it was eerily silent. Naturally, the trail led to the front door.

Everyone, please make a CON saving throw, DC 10, or be inflicted with Level 1 EXHAUSTION, meaning you take disadvantage on ability checks until the condition is removed.

In the event they do not show back up, we’ll just go with the idea that Ren stayed behind in the village to help the fight.

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.