After we woke up and prepared our day, Apoqulis cast „Cure Light Wounds“ on Darion and on himself. Both of them reached a halfway acceptable level of hit points. Then they sat down to meditate, each with his or her mirror image.

Silence

Complete silence filled the room, and … it worked. As we all calmed ourselves and grew at peace, our path to the deeper level was unlocked. I would really feel stupid for taking this long to unlock the secret, but I am so calm and at peace at this point that I take it free of emotion.

As usual, Darion sent Aretain in front because of her night vision. She padded in front and reached a guard room at the bottom, completely dark, where a single cultist sat sleeping. She did not tarry and cut his throat while he slept – and then heard an argument on the far side of the only door here, a big metal double door. It was a woman arguing with a man, in an unknown language.

The rest of the party reached the guard room and we heard the end of the conversation: It was Hezeroth, who shot back an angry retort at the annoyed woman. No doubt it was Azequia, angry about his constant delays, and he rationalizing it to buy us more time. Good Hez! What a great dude.

Darion would have preferred to interrogate the guard and get an inkling of what waited beyond the door, but no use, and he was still fully at peace from the meditating, so he simply looted the guy. A club (which Apo took instead of his mace), a shortbow, some old bread. Nothing to write home about.

Storm!

The party decided to use the power of surprise and rush in. „Remember,“ said Darion, „only Azequia is our target. All focus on her. The rest will sort itself out.“
We heaved the door apart and streamed into a massive hall full of pillars, with a raised platform in the center, and a redly pulsating crystal beyond it. And no Azequia. Instead, two massive devils, winged and horned, towering over us like titans. The pulsating crystal started to whisper something in our minds, but we were busy: the devils raced in to turn us into mincemeat. Luckily our knives were already out. „Everyone focus on the northern one first!“ called Darion.

The initial onslaught went mid for both sides: The devils were somewhat hindered by all the pillars that provided some cover for us, and the our small size, and we were hindered by rolling low numbers, and the devils‘ outstanding toughness. Clearly this was going to be a tough nut to crack.

Darion missed twice right from the start, and noticed that his enemy took care to stay out of Endbringer’s reach: he could feel the power of the weapon, or knew it, or both, and he respected it for what it was. He tried to gut Darion with his two-pronged fork, and to slap him with his sharp, whistling tail end, while Darion pulled him to the left so Thippet could sneak at his back and bury the necro-dagger in what passes for a demon‘s achilles‘ heel.

Magic Duels

Two agitated blood druids rushed in from the north, alarmed by the sounds of stomping, snorting and growling. Aretain ducked between pillars and dwarf-statues and climbed the dais, and from there she cast Continual Light, blinding one of the druids. The southern Demon attempted to corner Apoqulis, who played hide and seek behind the pillars, but took a moment to cast a spell of Fear at Aretain – yet she resisted the effect. She in turn cast blindness on the demon, which he resisted in turn. Apoqulis capitalized on that breather to cast „Hold Person“ on the two blood druids, freezing them in their tracks for the next 90 minutes!

Excurse: Malebranche

The creature type was a „Malebranche“. A name that warrants a quick detour for education’s sake. In game terms, a Malebranche is a mighty powerhouse, a leader for the infernal armies of hell. Violence and Spellcasting in one neat package of 5+5 HD. Oddly enough, there is also one Nicolas Malebranche, 1638 – 1715, as an Oratorian Priest a member of the Clergy of France, and at the same time a Rationalist Philosopher. He supported the then-theory that every observable effect must have an observable cause; that nothing happens just so. Today we can observe much and the theory is almost taken for granted. In the late 1600s this was not so: much was not observable. So where were the causes for effects that remained unseen? And why were causes unequal, some more direct, others weaker, even imperfect? Nicolas Malebranche explained it with one handy shortcut: Every cause in the universe was all bound to one single root cause which did not need to be observed to be known as true: The Will of God. As if to deliberately tie this back to D&D, Nicolas Malebranche was a strict proponent of what was called a worldview of „Order“: The universe he observed was ordered. Order does not please the sinner, he said, but every righteous mind must bend its will to it: to the higher order of logic and the laws of God.
That Infernals of such terrible power would one day bear the same name as a cleric with such an outspoken Alignment of Order would surely baffle him, were he to know.

Blood and Fire

Darion pressed his attack, but missed a fourth time, and now he seriously started to worry. If the dice would not play ball, this was going to end badly, because he was pretty sure that Endbringer was the key to get rid of these beasts, but for that to happen he had to actually get a swing in.

Meanwhile, Apoqulis was forced to play defense behind the pillars and his dwarven tower shield, because he did not have any weapon that could actually hurt a Devil. He threw that club at his foe, but it sailed past the horns into the red-lit distance, and now he had nothing.

While Darion’s demon didn’t stab any better than Darion himself, he finally got a swish of his tail in with a critical hit! It smarted somewhat fierce: on the plus, it was only minimal damage, that’s 2 HP. On the minus, it left a bleeding gash that would cost Darion 1 HP at the beginning of each of his rounds.

Tick-tock, tick-tock!
We got to finish this.
Now.

Then the southern demon cast another spell: Wall of Fire! A massive line of hot flames covered Apoqulis and Maetrius behind him, costing them 2d4 each, and radiating painful heat for up to 20 feet in all directions! This brutal heat herded both of the targets back into the guard room, where Apoqulis picked up his own trusty mace once more, Maetrius tried to get his magical crossbow reloaded. But then the flames parted, and the devil grinned right at the two of them. He strolled through the raging fire like through his living room and went after them with his fork, driving them back in different directions.

Darion got smarted with another tail hit, and it hurt. His next attack rolled relatively well, reached 23 with the magical bonuses, but still missed. Wiping blood from his eyes, he estimated that he would need a 25 to get one in. He could do that, he was sure. He just needed the dice to roll right!

Aretain ran up to Darion and pressed one last healing potion into his hand, which she had kept for dire emergencies. And she asked for a rope. Darion had one in his belt, and gave her leave to grab it. The Devil wounded Darion, but he also tripped himself up with a fumble on his tail swish: he stumbled back to avoid falling, and gave Darion an opening: Endbringer flashed, and finally he got to 26 and connected!

The devil wailed and began to burn from the serious cut he suffered, and it was clear that Endbringer hurt him far more than just any magical weapon. It was truly designed for just this task. Darion used the moment to chuck down the potion, and he felt strength returning, and even the bleeding cuts closing: he was back in the game!

Aretain ran around he left side with the rope, preparing to trip the beast up, while little Thippet harried it, stabbing at its ankles with the magical dagger. But then the devil shifted its gaze to the small Halfling and it struck – twice! The fork got the small Halfling through the body, and the tail swipe cut his legs: Thippet went into the negatives and collapsed!

Darion pressed the attack to drive the creature away from his friend’s body, but again, Endbringer missed with particularly low numbers, then somewhat higher numbers, anyway, not enough! From its back, Aretain stabbed it, but the creature did not even notice that one.

Tight confines

Meanwhile, in the comparatively stuffed little guardroom, Maetrius had switched to his magical whip „Slavemaker“ to trip the southern demon up. He let the whip crack across the devil’s hide, but the effect was slight, and Maetrius hurt and winded. Apoqulis pressed his attack, but he rolled a fumble of his own: A six! The mace head broke off, and the cleric was left with a simple stick. Still, he knew he only had to buy a little time for Darion to finish off his foe and come to cut down that one. He dared to climb his enemy, grab its horns, and to kick against the hell-beast’s teeth, while his own time was also limited: The swishing tail had got him too, and he was bleeding every round, just like the others.

Darion missed again, and once more got hit with a crit, this time from the fork, but it was minimal damage again: a silver lining in the cloud. Then the tail whistled in again and he suffered another cut to bleed him out. Also minimal damage!

Finally Aretain had done her round and got her rope around the devil’s ankles, and she cast a cantrip: Knot! The rope tightened, and the Devil’s movement was restricted. Darion saw his opening…. and missed!!

Outside in the guardroom, Maetrius kept whipping like a madman, but the devil ignored him and lined up an attack on Apoqulis: Crit! He gutted the cleric, driving his HP count into the negatives, and the mighty Apoqulis dropped to the ground, unconscious and dying. The devil turned around to focus on the little vampire hunter with his annoying whip.

In the vast hall, Aretain was busy pulling Thippet’s body away from the fight and ran up the dais, where she had a good view of the red-tinted room. She was able to look down into the deep room underneath the dais, a massive tomb, where a creature lay dormant that dwarved even the massive Malebranches. This was He, the legendary greater devil that Azequia had to raise in order to join the ranks of Hell. Close by, the red-glowing crystal whispered mind-numbingly to Aretain: „Come to me! Come, and I shall fulfill your most precious desires! Join me and thrive.“

Darion was down to 1 hit point when he finally got his swing in: He rolled a 26 and Endbringer bit. The devil roared in pain, the power of the sword overwhelmed him, and the gigantic monster burned to a crisp and fell, a pile of ashes, vanquished! Darion grinned a bloody grin, dizzy from the blood loss. At the beginning of his next round, he keeled over and fell right on top of the ash heap to soak it with the last of his life blood.

Azequia

Aretain was the last one standing. She had always figured she would go first, on account of her low HP-count, but here she was: mighty Darion struck down, Thippet at her feet, and ominous silence from the soot-stained guardroom. Her gaze fell on the closed door behind the pulsating crystal. Drawn to it by a commanding voice, she walked over, her head filled with promises of power from the devilish voice of the crystal.

As she pushed open the door, she came face to face with the queen of the blood druids, Azequia, an imposing figure of contrasts, pale skin like white marble, jet black hair, black eyes, and a majestic robe in an even deeper black, if that was even possible. The blood druid smiled at Aretain, feeling the corrupting influence of the devil surging in the Elf.

„Welcome, sister!“

Aretain stabbed her.

Azequia’s smile dropped and she looked down at the little fist that drove the dagger into her side.
„Why, you little…“ she said.
Then hate glowed in her gaze, and she cast a spell, robbing Aretain of her eyesight and plunging the Elven Mage into a world of utter darkness and despair.

Morgansfort: The Campaign