Chapter I: Escape from Elturgard

[Kyoh]

Gwen | HP 18/26 | AC 18 | Initiative +0 | Passive Perception 12
Second Wind: 1/1 | Action Surge: 0/1

---

Gwen dismounts from her borrowed horse, wincing and holding her bloody side as she lands.

"You fought well, as ever," he says. "And I must say, you make a fairly convincing Hellrider. Though unlike any of the ones I've met, it's actually nice to see you alive and in one piece."

Gwen smirks. "Yeah, I'm a natural." She hasn't felt the need to tell everyone that she was once a Hellrider and doesn't see that changing. What does it matter? Sure, some in the caravan may already know of her past, but she's not lying about it anyway.

Gwen doesn't see a reason to tell her life story to strangers, not when it will inevitably involve divulging her worst memory.

"Glad to see you alive, too," she says, clapping a blood covered hand on Gaerzil's shoulder. "Good job with that fog."

The half orc nods at Keryn. "I'll take you up on that offer." Getting back into shape will be good, especially if she's going to be getting into more fights like this.

[Gregorotto]

Vasha considers Keryn's words, and with a deep breath, nods. "You're right. Of course you're right. I don't believe in coincidences. Whatever is happening here was fated, by the gods, by the Weave, whatever you like: but this was meant to happen. You and your companions have saved us all. I don't know how all of us can repay you, but I will find a way. Maybe those lessons you're so keen on offering?"

Time passes. Few can sleep, so most spend their time gossiping, talking of loss and grief and fears. But now that Vollis is gone, that her devilspawn are banished, there is nothing left to fear. The dawn comes, and with it the light of the Morninglord. Wellum led the digging of holes for Billiam and, against his better judgment and despite his injury, Vollis. Gordrick forced him to step back and let him and Pal do most of the work with a few of the others, Pal and Wellum not speaking of what passed between them. Ippon provides sheets, notching down numbers in her ledger to mark how much she'll be owned by someone when this is all over, and the two are lowered into a grave, marked by a series of sticks as a marker by Ghorrin, skilled with his hands. It is Dara that gives the eulogy.

"We do not always know those who pass, but we do know their suffering is done. The paths that led them to the end, to the doors of the City of the Dead, are always different: but we must respect the passing of that journey, and no more will there be pain. So mote it be: your journeys have ended, and there will be no more pain in this life." She does not say no more pain permanently: people like Vollis don't get to have their suffering ended at death. No, death is just the beginning.

When the regimen of training comes, Keryn and Gwen are joined by Vasha, by Wellum, by Hastrine, and by three more, all Elurgardians, all farmers. Moved that they will not always have someone to defend them, they must defend themselves, and Keryn is a ready teacher. For the next five days, these morning exercises, and evening exercises to boot, are attended by everyone without a single soul of the original missing; others come and go, stragglers like Ippon or Pal, but Ippon is too busy selling goods to people (for delayed payments) and Pal is trying his hand at writing: he writes best at morning. Hastrine does not not notice this, at the very least.

Five days to Baldur's Gate, the caravan swells to twenty-seven souls, and then the group that saved them: Keryn, Gaerzil, Gwen, Hravin, and Sylvia, Grug, Kilros, and Niri, for a total of thirty-five.

At noon on the fifth day, they arrive: the Chionthar becomes a swirling mass of settlements at the base of a high hill, a familiar sight for Gaerzil and Keryn: Dusthawk Hill, the highest peak near Baldur's Gate. They arrive, and soon, will pass the Basilisk Gate into the Lower City.

If only it were that easy.

---

5 Tarkash, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR
Somewhere in Baldur's Gate, The Sword Coast

The screams continue as the figure's head perks up.

"M'lord... uh, the spirit has returned."

The figure rises from the throne suddenly, using his polearm to lift him; tendrils that hang from his face dance like vines. Each step is meaty, loud things that suggest size, stature, and power, as a swirling howl comes closer, and with it, the golden light that swirls around him. The cloaked figure, surrounded by two more of his ilk, bows, shaking in fear of the thing that comes. The swirling howl is not unlike a cry, a moan, and anything but pleasant. "I see. Vollis has fallen. More are coming. And they bring with them our prey. One has fallen; two more remain among them, in addition to our work here in the city. Excellent. The betrayers' blood shall flow like a fine wine." He looked down at the quivering leader, the other two cloaked figures averting their gaze suddenly, and then joining their leader in fear.

"So pathetic, you mortals. Trembling like a pup in the rain: useless!" His polearm's steel rounded end finds the leader and knocks him aside. "I do this of duty, or less you would all be sacrifices to Lord Zariel. Her suffering is not in vain: but perhaps your actions are, if you cannot conquer yourselves. Leave, before I end your mission early and lead you to the Styx myself."

They obey, fleeing and shutting the door behind them; the screams are only dulled, not diluted. He returns to his seat, his eyes raging like fire.

"Time will soon be gone. It's only a matter of when."