The Pit Fiend
Session 7 July 2024
Patience is busy shoving the new hoard into his bag, while Morph questions the wisdom of continuing with so many valuable items weighing us down. We can’t easily flee if we need to. We turn around and realize there’s no door behind us.
Deciding to move forward, we head down the lightning hallway. I sprint ahead with enthusiasm, trying to follow the dark mage’s instructions. However, the lightning still affects me, and by the time I reach the safe spot, I feel half-fried. The rest of the party is discussing strategies.
“Are you going to move now?” I shout, frustration seeping into my voice.
“TO THE NORTH!” Jaf’ar calls back.
Taking a deep breath, I run north. Morph and Biro are already there. We find a large door with great knockers and a small note beside it: knock before entering. Before we can react, a red glare surrounds Biro and we’re all scorched by a fireball. I collapse.
I wake up with the taste of a healing potion in my mouth, feeling awful. Jaf’ar mentions the knocker on the door now resembles a handle.
“I don’t know what to do…” I mutter, still disoriented.
Morph, equally hurt, spreads coins around him, speaking in Sylvan to his sword. The coins vanish into shadow, summoning a shadowspirit. It looks otherworldly, with a raven skull head adorned with strange symbols and damaged wings.
Unsure of my next move, I debate whether to heal myself or save my magic for the party. The consensus is to press on. I use my highest spell, Cure Wounds, to heal myself. When Patience asks for healing, I reluctantly oblige, using my last bit of magical power.
Farryn is busy mending Grond. The atmosphere is tense, everyone exhausted and on edge.
Biro opens the door. When I look around the corner, I see an iron plate with angelic wings on it – it’s a grand shield. Jaf’ar asks if he can check it out, and Biro moves to the other door while we take cover in the hallway where the shield is located. Farryn insisted on total cover, so I just took cover with Grond, finding a safer space.
Morph and Biro walk into another room filled with various components for brewing potions. We follow them, and Farryn begins searching for components to make potions of healing. He places about ten sets of components into Patience’s bag.
Suddenly, from the shield-room, I hear Jaf’ar shout, followed by an unfamiliar voice saying, “YOU FOOLISH MORTAL. Thanks for the release from this awful prison; I’ll reward you with a quick death.” It’s a fiend.
Patience starts talking to the fiend: “Well well well, look what the cat dragged in… you’ve been here all along??”
“Okay… Red Baron, we meet again,” the fiend says, continuing in another language I don’t understand. I can see the fiend preparing to attack Patience.
First, fire engulfs Patience, followed by vicious claws. Holy smokes, Patience is down.
I quickly draw my bow and shoot three times at the fiend. My invisibility provides some cover, but I still catch the fiend’s gaze. Shit, he can see me. The arrows cause significant damage, though.
Farryn leaves my side to join the fight, and moments later, Morph runs into the room as well. The atmosphere is charged with tension, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.
I hear the mocking taunt of “COWARDS” echoing down the corridor. My heart races as my party seeks cover, but my immediate concern is for Farryn. He stands guard, positioned squarely at the door shielding Patience, Morph, and me. The din of battle intensifies from the hallway—clashing metal and fierce growls piercing the air.
Instinctively, I fire two arrows towards the tumult, then swiftly vanish into a nearby cabinet crammed with assorted curiosities. Behind a stack of books and trinkets, I find shelter from the imminent danger. Morph conjures a swirling cloud of daggers at the doorway, ready to skewer any foe daring to breach the threshold. With a well-timed spell, Patience incapacitates the fiend, granting me a brief opportunity to dart from my hiding spot and take aim again. Yet, my persistent tick frustrates my concentration, causing two shots to miss before the third finds its mark, delivering a lethal blow enhanced by crackling lightning.
We retreat to the safety of the component room, where we can finally catch our breath and recuperate during a much-needed hour of rest. There’s a debate over whether a longer respite would be prudent, but ultimately, we opt to remain vigilant and prepare ourselves for whatever lies ahead. Farryn busies himself brewing potions while we divide up our spoils: Patience claims a pair of boots of elvenkind, Morph secures a luckstone, and Farryn retrieves his boots of elvenkind.
Jaf’ar conjures a protective tiny hut, stationing his manifest mind near the fiend’s body and securing the door with an immovable rod. We settle into the comforting confines of the hut, taking stock of our situation and recuperating as best we can.
Unexpectedly, the manifest mind alerts us to an intruder—a woman cloaked in robes emerges through the crackling lightning. She scrutinizes the scattered debris before attempting to breach our sanctuary. Patience steps forward to engage her cautiously.
“Good afternoon,” Patience begins, his tone diplomatic yet cautious. “Can I help you with something?”
The woman hesitates, her replies cryptic and tinged with nervousness. She claims to gather materials for her master, but her evasion raises suspicion among us. When pressed about her master’s identity, she remains elusive, simply stating, “My master.”
Patience’s mind races through possibilities—could she be a pawn of Trobriant, the infamous master of intrigue? Jaf’ar considers the significance of snake tongue, pondering its potential uses while Farryn interjects with concerns about her true intentions.
“Perhaps we could offer an alternative,” Jaf’ar suggests, wary of the risks involved.
As Patience probes deeper with his mental powers, a sudden shift in his demeanor sends a ripple of unease through us. “Something’s wrong,” he murmurs, his expression tense with apprehension.
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